#all i can weakly compare writing to is acting

[lilac-melody]

Hm....g?

[syluslnd]

girlie can I request that you write for y/n being jealous on sylus but so shy to admit it and he find it cute and he assures her that he only belongs to her and comfort her ? If it is possible .

sylus reaction to jealous girlfriend

imagine

You sit across from Sylus, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, trying to ignore the flutter of insecurity gnawing at your chest. It wasn't that you didn't trust him, but seeing him laugh and flirt so easily with others, even if it was harmless, stung in a way you couldn't put into words.

Sylus, as usual, seemed completely at ease.

He stretched out lazily on the couch, legs spread, eyes sharp and observant-of you.

You feel his gaze but you refuse to meet it, instead keeping your eyes stubbornly on the floor.

"You're awfully quiet, kitten" he drawled, amusement lacing his voice. "What's on your mind?"

You tense slightly but shake your head. "N-Nothing."

"Mm, nothing, huh?" Sylus leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. His smirk deepens as you shy away slightly, refusing to look at him.

"You're acting cute, but you're terrible at hiding things from me, sweetie."

"I'm not... hiding anything" you mumble, feeling your face heat up.

He chuckles, the sound low and teasing, sending a shiver up your spine. "Is that right? because the way you've been sulking all day says otherwise."

"I'm not sulking.." you mutter, though the words lack conviction.

Sylus tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You jealous?" he asks, his tone light but dripping with that smug confidence that made your cheeks burn. "Is that what this is?"

Your stomach twists in embarrassment. "I-I'm not jealous!"

"Oh?" He leans closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up so you can't hide your face from him anymore. "So, when I was talking to that girl earlier, you didn't feel that little pang in your chest? Didn't feel like pouting because she was all over me?"

You squirm under his intense gaze, unable to deny the truth but too shy to admit it. Your silence only makes his grin widen.

"Aw, kitten" he coos mockingly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You're adorable when you're jealous, you know that?"

Your face burns and you try to turn away again, but his grip is gentle yet firm, keeping you in place. "Sylus..."

"Hm?" He raises a brow, leaning even closer, his lips dangerously close to yours now. "Go on, tell me. You were jealous, weren't you?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling small and vulnerable under his teasing. "Maybe... a little" you admit in a whisper.

"A little?" His voice lowers and he presses his forehead against yours. "I think it was more than a little, kitten. You looked ready to rip her head off."

"I wasn't!" you protest weakly but the pout on your lips betrays you.

He laughs softly, clearly enjoying every bit of this. "You're so damn cute. I could eat you up."

You huff, trying to pull away again but this time he doesn't let you. His teasing expression softens and his hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly along your skin.

"Listen to me" he murmurs, his voice dropping its playful edge, replaced by something more serious, more sincere.

"There's no reason for you to feel jealous,you're the only one I want. The only one I see."

Your breath hitches, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. You glance up, meeting his eyes and the intensity in them takes your breath away.

"You really think anyone else could compare to you?" Sylus continues, his voice rough but full of emotion. "I'd rather die than be with someone else. You're mine, kitten. No one else can even come close."

His words melt the insecurity that had been bubbling up inside you all day. You swallow, blinking back the sting of tears. "Sylus.."

He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I mean it" he whispers against your skin. "You're everything to me."

Your heart swells and you finally let yourself relax in his hold, resting your head against his chest. Despite all the teasing, the playful cruelty, Sylus always knew how to bring you back, how to make you feel like you were the center of his universe.

"I'm sorry" you mumble, snuggling into him.

"I just... I couldn't help it."

He chuckles again, but this time it's softer, more affectionate. "I know, sweetie. But you never have to doubt me. Not about this."

You nod, feeling his arms tighten around you. In this moment, you knew you didn't need to be insecure. You were his and he was yours-completely.

[flwerswrld]

relationship headcannons ୨୧ | hsr men

cw: lowercase intended, tooth rottingly fluffy, slight crack if u squint, gender neutral!reader, established relationship for all characters, grumpy x sunshine if you squint (caelus), sick!reader (dan heng), dan heng being a worrywart, marriage #4lifers >_< (welt), flustered geppie, ooc for probably all of them...😞 whoopsies i haven't written fanfic in like 4-5 yrs

character/s included: caelus, dan heng, welt, gepard landau

caelus ♡

- biiiiig cuddler :3

- like this man is ON YOU.

- march has multiple photos of you two attached to the hip (one where u guys were literally HANDCUFFED to each other. caelus wanted to try the idea out, might write a whole other fic just on that)

- literally anything could remind him of you

- he sees a bag of chips? oh, they're y/n's fav, oh i'm thinking of my partner now, oh how i love my partner :3

- ^ literally his thought process

- adding to the last point, he'll find or buy random things to give to you because he thought you'd like it/it reminded him of you

"caelus, are these... cat keychains?" you ask, the gift random, but definitely not unwelcomed, conveyed by the growing smile on your face. "they reminded me of us." he replies, his shoulders moving up and down in a noncommittal shrug. "i'm the orange cat, and you're the black cat."

well... now that you look at it, the keychains do remind you of you and caelus' relationship dynamic. the ginger cat— a tabby, it seems, is laying on the black cat's belly affectionately, the aforementioned feline having an annoyed frown on its face.

"it's cute." pressing a kiss to his cheek, your then soft smile grows into something more joyful. "thank you for the sweet gift, caelus."

and caelus swore to the aeons themselves that he was having heart palpitations from the feeling of your lips on his cheek.

dan heng ♡

- way less affectionate compared to how caelus is, not because he doesn't love you, but because he's more reserved

- doesn't mean he doesn't cuddle, he loves it when you and him have a nice snuggle sesh after a stressful day (but shhhh don't tell him i told you, it's supposed to be a secret 🤫)

"you're sure you don't need more tea?"

- prefers to show you his affections through acts of service rather than words or physical touch

- he's so dorky ugh i want him so bad

"dan heng, i'll be fine—" another coughing fit ensued, the hacking so intense dan heng backs away. "yep, more tea for you." he mumbles under his breath. "and more soup."

he reminds me of a mother hen... you think, sipping on your mug of tea that your lovely boyfriend had made for you. the beverage is hot and relaxing, feeling like a smoldering fire was in your belly whenever you swallow it.

"you know..." you start when he comes back inside your room, looking at your boyfriend with a hint of a smirk on your face. "you remind me of a mother hen, sometimes."

and you almost laugh at the disgruntled expression that appears on his stupidly handsome face. "i do not act like a mother hen—"

"oh, come on! you know you do, babe!"

with his cheeks turning a shade of light pink at the nickname, he sighs. "you can call me whatever you want, just drink your tea, for the love of aeons." he replied begrudgingly. "then give me a kiss!" you shoot back, weakly puckering your lips. "then i'll drink my tea, eat my soup, and then take a niiiiiice long nap."

dan heng stands there for a second, weighing his options. on one hand, he gets to kiss his partner — whom he loves very dearly he might add — to get them to eat their soup and drink the tea he had prepared for them. the only problem is that they're sick.

oh, fuck it.

pressing a kiss to your lips, he sighs into it, pulling away after a few seconds. "there. better now?" he asks.

he got sick two days later, but to him it was worth it.

welt ♡

- this man KNOWS how to treat someone right. i just know it in the deepest parts of my soul.

- shows you the animations that he made when he worked as an animator (it probably has 12 episodes, only 1 season, and ended on a cliffhanger 😞)

- HE DRAWS YOU. IDC. his sketchbook is full of drawings of you, random things he sees while out on his travels with you and the express, and other random doodles

- loves sightseeing with you. every time you go to a new planet you guys take pictures together at every tourist spot

- slow dancing w/ him to frank sinatra... it'd be so cute??? STOP STOP EVERYONE SHUT UP FOR 2 SECONDS. ☹️☹️

you felt like life was perfect right now.

with all the drama on penacony being over, you and welt finally had some free time to just chill out and take a breather.

"this is so nice..." you mumble to yourself, the metal of your ring softly pressing against the skin of your finger as your hands rest on welt's shoulders. "slow dancing is so romantic, don't you think?" welt asks, smiling down at you as frank sinatra records play in the background.

"are you trying to seduce me, mr. yang? even after years of marriage?" you ask, smiling when he spins you around slowly to the soft voice of frank sinatra, and the romantic melodies of the instruments. "and what if i am, mx yang?" he leans down in your ear to mumble, his tone teasing, maybe a bit... mischievous?

when the record stops spinning, welt holds you close to him, heat radiating off of him like a radiator. "hm, you're warm." you mumble, letting out a yawn. "like a heater."

hearing your husband let out a little chuckle, he smiles down at you. "you say this every time we hug."

"is it romantic, though?"

there was a pregnant pause, as if welt was deciding on what to say.

"do you want me to be honest or nice...?"

"welt!"

gepard landau ♡

- he's soooo protective ik it :[ like he's always keeping an eye on you while he's on patrol to make sure you're safe (not in a stalker way, just looking out for you bc he cares (⁠◕⁠દ⁠◕⁠))

- gets you something on every holiday, even if it doesn't count as a ‘holiday’. for every valentine's day he buys you chocolates and a cute little teddy bear 🥹🥹 he's so cute

- bc he's so busy with belobog duties(??), he doesn't have much time for dates

- so for the time he does have off, he'll spend with you!! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

- serval is also you and gepard's biggest supporter, and lowkey played matchmaker with you two so you guys could get together

"aww, geppie! this is so cute!" you say, smiling at the rose bouquet and chocolates he had gotten you for valentine's day.

"serval actually suggested for me to buy you them..." the blonde replied, a mixed pile of mush and flustered mumblings underneath his breath. "she said your favourite flowers are roses, so i tried to find the best ones in belobog for you."

you actually think your heart is going to explode. or that you're going to squeeze your boyfriend to death from his cuteness.

and that's exactly what you do, making a mental note to thank serval the next time you see her.

"gepard, you're the best!" you exclaim, leaning your head onto his chest.

"don't mention it, y/n..." he mumbles, praying to qilpoth that you can't hear the relentless beating of his heart, the thumpity thump of it so profound he can feel it in his ears. "it's my duty as your boyfriend to give you gifts."

you also make another mental note: to wife this man up as soon as possible.

[llycaons]

ep19 (part 1) : you know it's bad when you see a torture scene and you're like 'oh yeah this is the least painful thing to happen to him in three episodes and it'll only get worse after this'

on my first watch I remember being like 'oh god she looks like shit', honestly he's a little tired looking and he's got a far-away look in his eyes that points to some extreme inner distress or distracting pain and he coughs very weakly but. yeah no he looks pretty bad

what we all assumed was hunger but was. you know

unintentionally (?) funniest shots in the episode. wzl might actually know about wwx's core at this point - I assume he can sense them. I can think of no other reason for him to look at his hand like that

scream. with context...well we know why. and wwx likely hasn't slept either

of all the additions to the story cql made, this is by far one of the most powerful and memorable. it's such a beautiful scene and imo it points to what jc deep down wanted more than anything. happy family. everyone getting along. his some safe. wwx is there, and I know there's a lot of debate over whether jc sees his as a brother but it's hard to argue he didn't see him as par of that family in some way, regardless of how he treated him

this scene wasn't in the novel unless im really misremembering, but it's much easier to believe that jc viewed wwx differently there compared to here

his mother welcoming him! smiling! being kind and affectionate to his siblings!

his father interacting with him willingly! playing with him! believing in him! such simple things, and so out of reach for jc, once hard to imagine him attaining and now impossible

he knows to thank bssr but I don't think he'll ever thank wwx :/

RUDE BITCH

he's tired so I can forgive that his comeback to 'you're a dog' is 'NO YOU'

why are you like this. maniac

here he is! wwx is defined by his low birth status and his unstable relationship with the aristocracy. they can cast him out at any time, and do so once it's clear he will act against them. there is treatment and slander he endures that a highborn individual would never face even if they did the exact same things that he did. but wwx is scrappy. he uses everything he has to his advantage. he even weaponizes his lack of privilege.

wjl are you stupid. like. love this woman, she's very funny, but seriously. you work with cultivators

oof oof ouch. this is a rough scene and it's the least bad thing to happen to wwx from his enemies (or allies) in a while. after watching his home be destroyed, seeing myu blame him for everything then died with jfm, LP overtaken and disrespected, needing to get jc back, staying awake for days researching, then lying awake for two days and a night undergoing surgery, and AFTER this getting thrown into a pit of corpses where you're expected to lose your soul to endless torment....well. this is bad but relatively bearable

anyway ohh yin iron is reacting to his blood

I love when side characters deliver exposition loudly and obviously. very convenient for our protags

JC SAW THEM. SCREAM. I don't think he could have done anything esp since he doesn't have his sword but he SAW them. isn't that wild

if he was just a few hours earlier...well, wwx would still die, wouldn't he? being thrown into the burial mounds was horrifically traumatizing but it did facilitate his career in necromancy and he wouldn't have been resurrected without his own writings on the topic. and this is a very shitty situation for him to imagine an plot divergence

that being said this is one of the most horrific things that can happen to a person in like. any piece of media. this man has suffered so much bizarre and specific trauma

DON'T TOUCH HIM

DON'T CALL HIM THAT

SCREAM

shut up wen chao you're not the one binding him there

the smoke catching him, making his descent somewhat gentler. it can sense what's happening

in the book I think it's canon that he breaks several bones in the fall. or maybe that was in a fanfic I read. I like it more when it breaks his bones honestly bc it adds to the rawness and realism of the scene tho I am not complaining cql wwx has it a little better

and if that's not enough, wen ning has also been tortured! and wq in imprisoned!

[hawkins-losers]

Tiger stripes | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After your first time with Eddie, you open up about your body image insecurities

Word count: 1k

Warnings: body image issues, insecure!reader

Request: Feel free to ignore this, but can you please write a fic with Eddie where it’s not your first time ever having sex, but it’s your first time having sex with him? Eddie’s not a virgin either, he just hasn’t had much experience lol

Can I have reader being insecure and not liking her body? With Eddie!

A/N: Reader is not necessarily plus size, but I didn’t go too specific so you can read it the way you want <3

-

‘’Was it…was it okay? Was I okay?’’ you asked nervously after a moment, holding the sheets over your body.

You've had sex twice before - with other people - and they weren’t exactly great experiences. Your first time was awkward and very short, and the second was mediocre at best. Both times, your partner made it sound like you were the problem, so you were a little worried about your performance with Eddie.

Did he like it? Were you too quiet? Or too loud? He finished, but that didn't mean it was good.

Eddie looked at you with his soft brown eyes and smile. ‘’Yeah.’’ He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled, trying to find a way to explain himself without sounding like an inexperienced dumbass. ‘’I mean, I don’t have much material to compare. It might surprise you, but the town's 'freak' doesn't exactly have girls lining at his feet.’’

While Eddie had left to dispose of the condom, you slipped on one of his shirts, covering your naked body. It was probably stupid to cover up after having sex, but you were self-conscious to be naked in front of Eddie - even though he been inside you ten minutes ago.

Under the yellow light of the bedside lamp, you could see everything. The scar on your leg from when you climbed a tree with your brother and slipped, the softness of your stomach and the stretch marks on your thighs, the shaved unevenness of your intimate region.

You hated all of these. If you could make them all disappear, you would.

‘’You alright?’’

Eddie’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You raised your head and smiled weakly. ‘’All good,’’ you lied, pulling at the bottom of your shirt to cover more skin on your thighs. Corroded Coffin was scribbled in the middle, acting as a comfort blanket over your body.

Eddie sat on the bed and studied you with a concentrated face. You tried to put on a poker face, but unfortunately for you, he could see right through you. 

‘’What's wrong?‘’ He took your chin between two fingers and tilted your face, making you look at him. ‘’What is it, sweetheart?‘’

You wanted to brush him off again but you couldn't, not when he was looking at you like that. With his soft puppy eyes full of concern, talking to you with the uttermost gentle tone. 

You held your breath, hesitating. You didn't want to bother Eddie with your silly body image issues. He probably wouldn't understand how it feels to not like something about yourself. 

‘’I’m wearing your shirt,’’ you stated, playing with a loose thread. 

A grin spread across Eddie’s lips. ‘’I know. It was difficult to not notice.’’ He let go of your face and took your hand in both of his, kissing the back tenderly. ‘’Looks good on you.’’

‘’Do…do you want to know why?’’

Before you, Eddie’s expression changed. ‘’I self-guessed that you were cold, but now I’m guessing I was wrong. Wasn’t I?’’

You bit your lip and guided Eddie’s hand under the bottom of your shirt, right where your stretch marks were. It’s your first time opening about these body insecurities to anyone and you were nervous. A little scared, too.

You held your breath, feeling naked despite being physically covered.

Eddie didn’t understand at first, but then it clicked. He had seen the marks on your thighs when he helped you take off your jeans, but hadn’t said anything.

‘’Oh, you mean these tiger stripes?’’

You chortled a laugh. ‘’Tiger stripes?’’ you repeated. 

Eddie hummed, pushing the shirt higher on your thighs and revealing more stretch marks. ‘’That’s what they look like.’’ He leaned down and kissed some of the marks, making your cheeks flush. ‘’My pretty little tiger.’’

‘’Eddie,’’ you giggled, his lips beginning to tickle your skin. 

He straightened up and looked at you. ‘’You think these will bother me? That they'll make you less beautiful to my eyes?’’ 

You looked down. They make me feel less beautiful to my eyes.

‘’It’s not just that. It’s…a lot of things. So I covered it all up.’’

‘’From…me?’’

You nodded slowly and Eddie’s heart sank. He wanted to pull you in his arms and hug you so tight or kiss the insecurities out of your body, but that’s not how it works. In books and movies - yes; not in real life. 

‘’You know, I’m not built like a Greek god either. This,’’ Eddie said, patting his not so tight and flat stomach, ‘’is from all the chocolate candy bars I eat on a weekly basis. It’s probably too much, but I can’t go to bed if I haven’t had something sweet. There’s probably a lot of hot pockets too,’’ he added.

It was strange because you had seen him shirtless before, but you had never noticed his stomach. Now that you were looking, Eddie was right. You wouldn’t say he had a belly, but it wasn’t super flat. 

‘’I also got scars too from stupid shit I’ve done. That’s what happens when you’re a kid with too much energy and can't stand still.’’ He propped his knee and pointed at a two inches scar on his shin. It was very pale pink and difficult to see through the sparse hair, but it was there. ‘’I got this one when I climbed on the roof of the trailer to read. I climbed on a couple of trash cans and they didn’t hold my weight. Cut open my shin on a piece of metal when I fell down.’’

His story made you wince in pain.

‘’I had to get stitches. There was blood all over Uncle Wayne’s truck seat,’’ Eddie continued with a laugh. ‘’No one’s body is perfect, Y/N. We all have things we don’t like about ourselves whether it be a scar or uneven balls.’’

‘’You think your balls are uneven?’’ 

He grinned, cocking an eyebrow. ‘’Do you?’’

Your cheeks flushed. You didn’t want to answer that.

Eddie pulled you closer to him, dragging you by your ankles. ‘’I’m not gonna force you to be naked in front of me if you aren’t comfortable, but I don’t want you to cover from because you think I won’t like what I see, okay?’’ He pecked your lips. ‘’You’re beautiful. All of you.’’

-

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3  @cursedandromedablack  @Slashersimpfor  @savagejane1   @wh0reforbucknasty   @eddiemunson-slut   @slvdsjjk  @hehehehannahthings  @dreamdancers-world  @grace-loux  @iamharrystyleslover  @matildavol6  @Original_babababoo  @eddiemunsonbby  @notbeforelong  @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog  @tatespillows  @alwayslexii  @lilygreennn   @milkiane  @imahomeslice  @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re  @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick  @wandamaximoffs-deadchild  @horrorstreet  @rmeddar123  @Pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys  @lanalanabanana @Sinclairlust  @luvmybbies  @chloepricesgrafitimarker  @inluvweddiemunson   @i-like-trains  

Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang @fourlokiss  @eddiemattress  @ghoulishlygrey   @paola-carter @bubsonnobx @pauldanoswifereal @ofherscarlettwitchways @kiszkathecook  @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19  @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @jenlouvre @bonked-beyond-belief2  @tvserie-s-world @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @chrisxevans-seb @satinselenite @thikkiesixx  @jennilynn63  @nia-um  @welcometohellfirw @strangermarvelgirl @sugar-simz @fandomloversvaries @miakatharinaa  @julsss321 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess  @Minksblog @soph69420world  @ameliakf13 @nancewheelersworld @parasadic-blog @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @ali-r3n @Luv.eddie @stephylovesmayahawke

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Safe House: Night 1

A series of drabbles about Sierra Six. In this part, Six finds a place to hide out.

Warnings: these drabbles will containt dark content, including blood, violence, possible rape/noncon, and my usual fare. Your content consumption is your responsibility. If you proceed past this warning, you are consenting to reading sensitive content.

As per usual, I would love feedback. I didn’t expect to write this character so for this, I’d love to know if anyone wants to see more.

There’s a man at your door. A stranger. Sitting on the floor, one long leg stretched to its limit, the other bent as his shoulders slouch, head hanging weakly. 

Is he awake? Alive?

The building isn’t on the best side of the city. Usually, stragglers loiter by the door, trying to sneak in or bum a smoke. You’ve learned to keep your head down and lips sealed. Act like they aren’t there. 

How can you when he’s between you and safe haven?

You squeeze your phone, always in hand just in case. You tilt the screen up.

“Don’t,” his low voice crackles dryly, “no cops.”

You look up. He leans his head back against the door. He groans as he grips his ribs and bears his teeth.

“Sorry, I–” he grunts as he plants a foot, dragging his other leg up below him, unable to put much weight on it as he slaps a hand against the door to keep from falling back. His gloved fingers curl as he swears under his breath, “I’ll get out of here,” he wobbles on his feet, “I don’t– where am I?”

“Holland and Mackenzie,” you give the closet intersection, “what happened to you?”

“Not your problem,” he takes a step and staggers, his shoulder hitting the wall as he hisses. He’s in bad shape, that cut on his forehead is the least of it, but the smear of blood already has you queasy.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” you offer.

“No, no cops,” he insists a second time, “shit.”

You take a breath. You know better. You near with your keys in your other hand, holding one outright, ready to stab.

“Don’t try anything,” you warn as you point it at him. He laughs but it only makes him wince.

“Sure thing,” he shakes his head.

You aim it towards the lock and turn the latch back. You cautiously turn the handle and push inward, letting the heavy door open on its own weight. You look at him again.

“I… I got some rubbing alcohol? Some gauze somewhere–”

“You inviting strange men in around here?” he snorts.

“I suppose it’s like you said, it doesn’t need to be my problem.”

“Right,” he turns and grasps the door frame, arm above your head as you enter. 

He limps in behind you, falling against the wall once more as you shut the door. He’s tall, he would be even bigger if he could stand straight. You twist the lock into place and hang your keys. You unzip your coat and hang it on the rack with your purse.

“Bit cramped,” you say as you continue down the short hall, the front room and kitchen one and the same.

He trails you, one foot thumping heavily. You pull out a wooden chair from the table and he falls into it. You back away and look down at your phone. It’s not too late to call.

“No,” he repeats as he peels his gloves off, “if you like this place as it is, no cops.”

You frown and look away guiltily, “you mind if I order some food?”

“By all means,” he eyes you, taking in your stained apron and the bandana around your head. You’re a mess but nothing compared to him.

You key in an order adding a double portion of noodles to stir fry. You put the phone face down and search the kitchen drawers. You grab a few dish cloths then go through the bathroom to dig out the bottle of isopropyl, the box of bandaids, and the forgotten roll of gauze. 

You return to him as he lets his jacket droop down at the bend of the chair. There’s a tear in his black shirt, he rips it until most of his torso is bared. He’s covered in dark blood as it leaks from a gash down his ribs. You quickly drop your wares on the table and hide your mouth behind your hand as you gag.

“It’s not all mine,” he says, “I’ll survive.”

“Mmhmm,” you swallow, “I’m sorry, blood just make me—” You turn away, “I can smell it, oh my god.”

He scoffs quietly but says nothing. His breath gristles as he reaches for the bottle and you watch from the corner of your eye. He’s so nonchalant about it all, it scares you. 

Who is he? What is he?

“Shit,” he mutters, “can I ask you a favour?”

You look at him, pushing your hands flat to the counter to keep from shaking, “yep.”

“I need you to get my boot off,” he says, “I can’t… really bend over.”

He has gauze pressed to his ribs, deep red staining through. You go to him and get on one knee. He directs you to the left and untie the laces. You wiggle it off his foot and he groans. He sits back in the chair and huffs through his nose.

“Alright, one more thing,” he grits through his teeth, “put your thumb at the base of my big toe…” you glance at him in confusion but do as he says, “alright, take your other hand, grip my heel–” he inhales, hugging his middle as he presses the gauze tighter below his chest, “now push above my toe until you hear a pop.”

“What–”

“Just do it.”

You hold back another gag. You hate this. You hate blood, you hate injuries, you can’t.

“Come on, sweetheart, take a breath and–”

You suck in air and push. He snarls and hits the table. His toe pops and he throws his head back as a long ‘fuck’ rolls off his tongue.

“I’m sorry, I–” you let go of his foot, “did I hurt you?”

He snickers and shakes his head, “nope, you did it. Damn.” He puts his foot on the floor, “not the first time. You boot a guy hard enough in the skull and it just pops the joint outta place.”

You stand and stare at him. “You do that a lot?”

His eyes flit to the wall and he smirks, “when I need to.”

He pulls the gauze from his cuts and snatches up another square. You scrunch your nose at the torn flesh. “Got some medical tape? Even scotch tape? Something to keep this on.”

“Uh, I’ll go have a look,” you nod.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he leans his arm on the table as he mops up more blood with the fabric. You hesitate. The scars down his arm suggest this is just another night for him. You hope it’s just one for you.

[marchtothefuckingsea]

Overworked - Ten (Doctor Who)

Ayee another doctor who fic! I really enjoy writing for this fandom currently, so definitely expect to see more!

My Masterlist, if you're interested! I currently only have one other Ten fic up, but I have some other stuff that might catch your eye :)

Enjoy!

bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, no usage of y/n, x gender neutral reader. I think I proofread this.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: brief but undetailed mention towards injury, reader passes out.

Summary: Reader has been losing sleep, not eating regular meals, etc trying to keep up with the doctor. They end up collapsing on a mission, and Ten has a talk with them (but it's fluffy don't worry :).

"You look awfully tired. Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"I'm fine." I insisted for the umpteenth time in the past fifteen minutes. "It's just one night of broken sleep, really, it's not that bad. A little coffee or something and I'll be good to go!"

"Are you sure? It can wait, y'know the whole timelord thing. We can always go back and-" He cut himself off when I gave him a pointed look, sighing. "Fine, fine. Alright. We're going."

"Good, because I was about to just go down there and save the planet myself."

He snorted. "You don't even know how to land the TARDIS."

"I'd figure it out." I huffed out a laugh as he smiled, turning back to fiddle with the control panel.

The truth was, it hadn't been just a night of missed sleep. It hadn't even been a week of missed sleep. It had been months of missed sleep, missed meals and just plain missing basic human things that I should not have been missing.

But, of course, all that got tossed to the side, traveling with the doctor. His need for food and rest was much lesser, almost non-existent compared to a human. I didn't want to slow him down or be a burden, so I didn't exactly carve out time for regular meals or sleep. I attained those things in between everything else, whenever I could.

That meant maybe a single decent meal a day, some quick snacks in between, and often going days or even weeks without a full eight hours of sleep. Sometimes going without sleep completely, for days on end.

Short term, this would have been fine. Not the healthiest thing exactly, but as long as I could have time to eventually take care of myself and recover, it wouldn't be a problem. But after months of this with no real recovery, it was only a matter of time before I crashed completely, whether I liked it or not. I only hoped it didn't happen in front of the Doctor.

I noticed the changes in me too, as I'm quite sure he did, with his concerned glances. I had lost quite a bit of weight which, with my previous insecurities, had been just fine to me. But it had made it to the point where I, and he, could now see how worryingly thin I was.

I panted as we came to a stop. We had to run for our lives from the aliens invading the planet. It was no use, there was nothing we could do. There were too many of them, not to mention the locals had acted less than friendly and cooperative towards us. We had no help.

I clung to the corner of the building as I desperately gasped for precious air. Spots danced across my vision; I felt weak and lightheaded, leaning heavily against the building.

"Wait." I gasped out, squeezing my eyes shut to try and get rid of the dots.

I heard his sneaker clad footsteps pause before they grew closer.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" His voice was full of worry.

"I'm- I'm fine." I panted. "Just. Out of breath. Haven't ran like this in, in a long time y'know?"

I glanced up at him only to see a skeptical look on his face. He was frowning.

He bent down to my level, his hands on his knees as he met my eyes. His gaze was soft with concern.

I attempted a small smile at him. "I'm fine, really." I reassured him.

To prove my point, I tried to straighten up to my full height.

As soon as I did, a wave of exhaustion and dizziness overtook me and I staggered forward weakly.

My vision went hazy as I felt his arms around me, instead of the hard ground, and heard his frantic voice repeating my name over and over again.

I groaned, forcing my eyes open in an attempt to not fall unconscious again. The light in the room was anything but bright, but it made my head pound painfully regardless. My entire body felt like a bruise.

"You're awake." He stated, his voice was guarded.

My gaze trailed over to meet his, he was sitting in a chair that I didn't remember having by my bedside.

His eyes, however, were far from guarded. They were full of concern.

I weakly propped myself up on my forearms, attempting to lean against the wall behind me. I clenched my teeth as my arm brushed against a particularly tender spot on my side.

He sat silently and watched me. That was the part that worried me the most, I knew he was furious.

"So," He started, his voice a falsely upbeat tone. He clasped his hands together and leant forward. "What was that?" He asked lowly, his tone switching in a heartbeat.

I sucked in a breath, wincing when I felt a pang in my side, likely another bruise.

"I didn't sleep very well, I was tired and I overestimated what I could do. I'm sorry." I apologized, though it was an automated apology. There was no way I would or even could tell him why I had collapsed in a potentially dangerous situation like that. If he knew, he'd send me home. I couldn't risk that, traveling with him had become my life now, my entire and only reason for existing. If he sent me home, I didn't think I would be able to cope.

I could see it plainly on his face, he wasn't buying my sorry excuse of an apology at all. He sighed, leaning further forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees.

"The real reason." He said flatly.

The hesitation was evident on my face, I knew. I didn't even try to hide it. When I finally spoke, my voice was quiet.

"If I tell you, you'll send me home." I whispered.

His features softened. "I won't." He promised, reaching forward and gently taking my hand in his. "I'll never make you stop traveling with me, not unless you want to."

"No, never."

"So why?" He persisted.

"It's kind of difficult trying to keep up with you." I managed a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. He frowned as I continued.

"You don't need to eat as often as a human, you don't need to rest or sleep as much. I don't- I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to weigh you down with my bothersome human needs." I admitted quietly, looking down at our intertwined hands.

This was, at this point, almost too much for me. I had always thought of him as a friend, and he thought of me as his companion. Up until recently, that's how it had been. Until my feelings developed and became more complicated.

Dare I say, I loved him. But I was nothing more than a traveling companion to him, a partner in crime. He was an immortal being, he was probably used to not forming strong attachments to his mortal companions after all this time. I was temporary to him. Replaceable.

This moment we shared, right now, was too much for my aching heart to handle.

To him, all he was doing was comforting a companion.

His soft voice drew me out of my thoughts.

"Love, oh, love, you will never be a burden to me. You're human, and that's what's beautiful about you. It's not the weakness you think it is." His voice was low and velvet as he comforted me.

"I would never leave you behind." He continued, his thumb now rubbing gentle circles on the back of my hand. I sighed contentedly, leaning back into the pillows.

"I need you to promise me something."

I glanced back up at him, questioning.

"Promise me you'll tell me if you're tired, hungry, anything. Don't push your needs aside for me, we can stop, get a bite to eat or proper sleep, whatever you need. If you need, we can take as much time as you want away from traveling so you can rest up properly and get back on your feet."

"I just can't have you exhausting yourself. I can't have you collapsing on me like you did this last time." He sucked in a shaky breath. "If that was in a more dangerous situation- not that it wasn't already- that would have cost me you. I can't let that happen. I can't let you get hurt or lose your life over me. Too many have already, I can't bear to see the same happen to you." He admitted softly.

I blinked hard, trying to clear away the unexpected tears that had formed in my eyes, catching me off guard.

He noticed this, and leaned forward to hug me. I sighed, resting my chin on his shoulder and reveling in the feeling of his arms around me. I felt so safe. I felt loved.

I stopped my mind at that. I wasn't going to wander that path.

His hands rested on the small of my back, tracing aimless, thoughtless patterns. He shifted to sit on the bed with me and I relaxed into him even more, nestling my head into his chest as he rested his chin on the top of my head, pulling me closer.

"I care about you, perhaps too much." He mumbled into my hair.

"I care 'bout you too. Way too much." I admitted tiredly. I wasn't really thinking straight as my eyes fluttered open and shut, trying to stay awake. His warmth was too comforting.

He noticed the way I struggled to stay awake.

"How about a bit more rest, then I'll make us something to eat, how does that sound?" He asked, pulling away to meet my tired eyes.

I nodded slightly, uttering a "mhm" in agreement.

With that, he leaned back onto the mattress, pulling me down with him and tucking me against him. I now realized he hadn't been wearing his normal attire this whole time, instead he now wore a t-shirt and sweatpants like a normal person. It was an odd sight, but one that I drank in gratefully.

As the sound of his dual heartbeats lulled me to sleep, I felt him press a gentle kiss to my hair.

[glcdss]

| feels like coming home

battinson / grant!flash

a/n: i saw batman on friday and i wanted to write smth as gay as possible cause the movie got me out of my creative block 😭 be careful of any potential spoliers if you haven't seen the movie yet!!

don’t ask what this is cause ion know either, i deadass thought of how interesting batflash's dynamic would be with battinson and grant!flash - especially with the fluff and angst lmaoo

AU: after the events of the movie (obviously excluding selina and bruce’s relationship for batflash with some tweaks to the movie's plot, i.e: like riddler almost flooding the city and the movie’s time being modern compared to the early to mid 2000s so it can be congruent with barry’s existence in this fic 🙄👊), bruce comes home to barry.

not that his worry was unnecessary, it's that bruce wasn't used to it. he wasn't used to anyone caring about him, not since he was a kid anyways.

not that his worry was unnecessary, it's that bruce wasn't used to it. he wasn't used to anyone caring about him, not since he was a kid anyways.

he wasn't used to someone as eccentric, vibrant, kind, loving as barry. he was practically like a golden retriever. the speedster was a welcome change to bruce's...lack of a personal life, to put it lightly.

"bruce!" barry called from the bottom of the stairs. all bruce could register was the blur of red and yellow, the rush of wind sending papers littered around the dining table nearby to the floor.

then a second later, bruce was tackled into a tight hug - the force of hug sending him stumbling back just a bit.

he let out a quiet grunt, "barry," he whispered weakly, his half-lidded eyes fluttering as he watched barry pull away, he took one of his delicate hands to press to his chest, letting his body loosen from tension. he shut his eyes momentarily.

he felt so, so tired.

bruce felt barry let go, his hands cupping his cheeks to gently peel off the cowl.

the cool air of the room hit bruce's face, his eyes adjusting against the breeze once he reopened them. the mascara he wore tracked down his cheeks - accentuating his bruised, exhausted features. bruce's gloved hands reached up to grasp barry's much smaller, warmer ones in his own.

barry leans in to steal a kiss, long and tender.

once he pulls away, he gazes up at bruce - lips tugged into a small frown, brows knitted in concern. "you look tired, bruce. dealing with the riddler must've been rough," he murmured. "yeah," bruce merely hums in reply.

"you should let me help more often, y'know." barry's frown deepened. bruce shook his head, "no. you have central city to protect. i have to keep gotham safe on my own. i'll be fine." he assured firmly.

barry sputters, pulling away.

bruce winces.

"babe, riddler would've nearly flooded the city if you didn't stop the bombings in time! you could've died today. you can't just-" barry snaps, before he cuts himself off with a sigh - tearing his gaze away from bruce.

he took a moment to steady himself. placing his hands on his hips. he looks back up at bruce, "you can't act as if you don't care about what happens to you. people care about you. i care about you. sometimes i can't help but wonder what it'll take for you to see that." he rasps.

"i know, sweetheart." bruce nodded, gaze softening.

"no, you don't!" barry retorted. "sometimes, i get afraid. sometimes, i think you won't ever come home. how can you live like this? knowing that you'll die because of how careless you're being." the blonde pressed on.

"i do care, barry. i know you're scared, i understand. i only do this to keep the city safe. i promise i'll never let anything happen to me, especially you. i could never forgive myself if something happened to you. i can't risk losing people i love." bruce said calmly. barry opens his mouth as if he was to going to say something, but decides against it.

barry sighs deeply, "bruce..." he tapered off. "i'm sorry." he looked away for a beat, letting his shoulders sag.

bruce frowns, "for what? are you sulking because you know i'm right?" he chuckles wryly, watching as barry lets a short sweet laugh escape his lips.

"shut up," he huffs. bruce pulls him closer.

"mhm. but, there isn't any need to apologize. it's okay to be angry, darling. i know i haven't been the smartest recently," he attempts to joke with a small smile, despite barry still seeming to look uneasy.

“oh, it's fine - don't dwell on this for now. let's try to relax, okay?" bruce suggested softly.

barry nods, "alright…if you say so,” he mustered a thin smile.

“yeah,” bruce replies. barry rolled his eyes, dropping a kiss to bruce’s forehead.

“you have such a way with words,” he comments wryly, pressing his forehead against bruce’s own.

“sure i do, barry.” bruce said flippantly, eliciting a chuckle from the younger man. “i hate you sometimes, you know that?” he jokes.

“whatever you say,” bruce shot back teasingly. barry laughs, low and warm.

after a beat, barry pulls away - blinking up at bruce with a smile playing at his lips. “i love you, bats.” he whispers, inching closer to kiss him deeply.

“love you too, barry.” bruce spoke once they broke away for air, voice velvety and sincere.

to bruce, barry feels like home.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ❤️ 

View all 9,208 comments

caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

‘He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[teamfreewill56-blog]

It Means Nothing Ch.2

So I had several people ask for a chapter 2 of “It Means Nothing”. So here it is, I hope you guys enjoy! I do plan on continuing this, just not sure if from this moment or a time-skip. If you have a preference or something you’d be interested in having happen let me know! (I will not write anything that is sexual so please don’t ask)

Link to “It Means Nothing” 

https://teamfreewill56-blog.tumblr.com/post/653839518026416128/it-means-nothing

 “D-Dad?” Senjuro stuttered.

Kyojuro was also looking at Shinjurou shocked, but he quickly smiled, “You’re just in time Father, Senjuro was just bringing your plate in!”

“I’m sorry it took so long--” Senjuro said nervously and froze in place when Shinjurou took both sides of the plate and lifted it from his hands.

“It’s fine Senjuro.” He sat down and set the plate in front of him, Y/N took Kyojuro’s momentary distraction of greeting his father to take the plate farthest from Shinjurou so Kyojuro had to sit next to him. The current Flame Hashira looked at her baffled but then saw her little smile he gave her an endearing sidelong look as he sat down. Senjuro turned around and saw the bandage on Y/N’s forehead, his eyes widened. He has heard his father yelling earlier, he thought it has been at Kyojuro. She winked at him with a smile, “It looks great Senjuro.”

He weakly returned the smile, still nervous, “Thank you Y/N.” He sat down at his place.

 “Mh! TASTY!”

“Brother you say that every time you eat it.” Senjuro smiled a little but tensed seeing how Shinjurou was looking at his older sibling. ‘That’s right Dad’s never seen brother act like that, what if he upsets him?’ He didn’t know what had caused the sudden change in Shinjurou but he was scared that if they did something wrong he might go back into his room and not come out.

“DELICIOUS!”  

“Ah brother--” Senjuro said nervously, he froze when Shinjurou looked at him also.

“Yes?” His older brother looked up from his food with a sunshine smile.

“Ah..um, nothing. Nevermind. I’m glad you like it.” Senjuro smiled,  lowered his eyes to his plate and focused on his food.

But it was too late for that, Kyojuro and Y/N both noticed he was nervous. Y/N was just as caught off guard by Shinjurou joining them as his sons were, even though Kyojuro wasn’t acting like it, but she wasn’t about to let surprise of the situation ruin such a huge step.

“Rengoku-kun, can I ask you something?”

Shinjurou didn’t know what to do about Senjuro’s unease, and now that he was actually paying attention to him--was seeing him face to face without the influence of sake muddling his brain, he saw how scared and nervous the boy was. He couldn’t hide the realization from his expression, or the flash of worry and guilt, and the burning embarrassment, a child shouldn’t fear their father. ‘What have I done…’  He looked at Y/N just as she finished her question, a bandage on her forehead because of him, the shame grew stronger. This girl had cared enough about both his sons to confront him, at the risk of her own safety. He’d thrown so many jugs at Kyojuro in the past while in a rage to be left alone, he had always missed, but what if he hadn’t? He could have blinded him, hurt him like he had done this girl, the more he thought about it the stronger the sensation of spider silk tracing underneath his skin grew. His throat felt like it was closing and yet both Kyojuro and Y/N looked at him with ease, attentive and alert but not an inkling of hostility.

“Just...Shinjurou, is fine Y/N. Go ahead.” He had no idea what she intended to ask, especially not after everything she’d said earlier.

She smiled, “Okay Shinjurou, is shrimp tempura a favorite dish in your family?”

“No,” His eyebrows furrowed and he then shot a stern glare at Kyojuro, “We did not get our hair from past Rengokus eating shrimp tempura, boy!”

“It is a very effective explanation all the same!” He flashed a smile at the patriarch. Kyojuro had never received any confirmation of Shinjurou actually listening to the reports that he gave him, he had always laid so still, and never spoke unless it was to tell him to leave, if that, or in an outburst. ‘But that was back when I first became a Hashira, and he called Y/N by her name, but she never introduced herself to him, I’ve talked about her when I’ve come back home.’

Y/N didn’t miss this either, having also heard about Kyojuro’s incident with Hairo. She chuckled, “Especially considering you made it up on the spot. Is it true that Rengokus have had it for generations?”

“It is indeed!” Kyojuro confirmed with a nod.

“The first performance of Flame Breathing was accomplished by a Rengoku, in the middle of exhibiting the breathing style the wielder’s hair and eye color changed to the colors of flame and Rengoku children have been born with it since.” Shinjurou explained. “There’s few records of the change, after his children were born the Rengoku clan started practicing the kankagari ritual.” He gazed at his eldest, “Do you know what that is, Kyojuro?”

“Yes! An expecting mother would watch a fire for two hours once a week until she had the baby. They thought it would make her child have flame colored hair and eyes, providing them with a strong spirit!” He tipped his chopsticks against his chin, looking up at the ceiling, “I remember Mother showing it to me because I wanted to know why Senjuro and I both had your features and not hers.”

Shinjurou’s eyes widened, the words cut right into his spine and lungs. He put his chopsticks down and closed his eyes.

“Babe.” Y/N said softly, Kyojuro instinctively turned to her at the sound of her voice, missing the agony and shock freezing his father’s features. She naturally had never seen Ruka, not even a drawing of her, she had no way to compare them. Yet having now seen Shinjuro face to face, and seeing how his father had just reacted to that statement, she understood why Shinjurou’s face was so pained. ‘Do you see it now Shinjurou? They were babies, they need you in order to remember.’

Senjuro’s eyebrows creased, trying to understand why Y/N had suddenly spoken so softly, what was wrong? He looked to his father, worried that maybe Kyojuro’s words had angered him but it was the complete opposite. “Sorry,” Y/N smiled, “Nevermind.”

“Dad?” Senjuro said softly.

“You do have her features Kyojuro,” Shinjurou finally spoke, “you have the Rengoku eyebrows, hair and eyes, but you have your mother’s face...you’ve always had her face.”

The words seeped down into Kyojuro’s soul, his mouth opened a little, the day he had made his promise to her flashed into his thoughts.  

Warm tears flowed from Senjuro’s eyes as he heard these words, he wiped at his eyes with the butt of his palm quickly and rubbed his hand across his eyes and the meaning sunk in, through his brother his mother had been there. The kind and loving smile that always encouraged and provided him comfort was the same as the mother he had never met. An image from the descriptions he had been given of his mother started to suddenly take shape in his mind’s eye.

Shinjurou opened his eyes hearing the youngest Rengoku starting to cry, for once Shinjurou didn’t feel angry hearing Senjuro cry, except for the anger he felt at himself for having such a reaction. Instead he felt a powerful pull to help him, to provide him comfort. He started to get up but his eldest was faster, and tunnel-visioned. Using his incredible speed to not waste a second Kyojuro seemed to just appear beside his sibling, pulling him into a strong embrace, leaning over him protectively with his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed as though concentrating. Senjuro’s back to their father, Kyojuro facing him fully. “It’s okay Senjuro. I didn’t know either.”  Kyojuro gently told his little brother. The one simple movement from his eldest and Shinjuro immediately understood, while he had been wallowing in pain, diving into alcohol as far as he could to escape his pain Kyojuro had stepped into the gaping tear he had left. Taken on two roles that he had been far too young to be responsible for, a mantle that wasn’t supposed to be his.

Link to chapter 3: https://teamfreewill56-blog.tumblr.com/post/655790895084519424/it-means-nothing-ch-3

[urimaginespimp]

Ivy

Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister Reader where she’s betrothed by Thomas for a truce, now her and Alfie’s secret love affair is in thin line.

A/N: Here I go again, associating an Evermore track to Alfie. Sorry not sorry!

--------

The air was cold at dawn. You’ve been sitting alone in a cemetery since last night, dreading the moment the day was slowly breaking, and how it reminded you of how time of his arrival was getting nearer.

No, you weren’t there to visit a deceased loved one, but might as well have started grieving for yourself. This was the haven where you would often meet Alfie to either stay and talk in each other’s arms, or where he’d fetch you and bring you somewhere you could freely be with each other for a night.

A full year of secret meetups undetected led you both from solely enjoying each other’s company and wits, to being inseparable. Your special spot was a few feet away from the actual gravestones. It was under a huge tree nearby.

You knew from the start that your fondness with each other would never be accepted by your family. And the odds of them actually even coming close to being open on the idea of you both became slimmer every time Alfie would get power in his head and betray your family despite your friendship.

Months would pass of you ignoring his apologies and notes pleading to meet; To be only forgiven when he’s in Thomas’ good graces again. But it became increasingly difficult to be warry of him when you started feeling funny whenever he’d laugh at your jokes, or when he’d offer his coat for both of you to stay under when it starts drizzling and you both forgot to bring an umbrella.

He’s started a goddamn blaze in you.

Now how were you to tell the lone man you’ve ever loved that your brother was planning on marrying you off for a truce?

You only found out last night, leading to you throwing a fit for the very first time towards your brother who tried to calm you down and make you understand the benefit it would bring to the family – much like what he did to John. The way he told you sounded like it was a mere suggestion. But you knew better that he’s already fixed it.

In a fit of tears and frustration from not being able to give him the truth to why you refuse to concede, Polly barging in the study to intervene and ask what was going on was your take to leave and go to your room, shouting loudly that he better leaves you alone that night.

It took you the night trying to write everything down for Alfie. How you were to be married, and begging him not to intervene. Because as much as you love him, you couldn’t risk him and your family being in another war with the still unknown family you were to be part of.

Sneaking out later on, that’s how you found yourself in your favorite spot in the cemetery crying your heart out, and reminiscing all the memories you hold so dear with Alfie.

Taking a deep breath, your hand took the folded page of paper from your coat pocket. You almost crumpled it and wait for Alfie to tell him yourself. But you were a coward and just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Not when you know you wouldn’t be able to open your mouth without breaking down.

Taking a rock big enough to hold it in place, you placed your open letter under the tree and willed yourself to walk away from both your favorite place and your happiness that morning.

It’s been days and you have not uttered a word to your family. Still crying yourself to sleep every night, it became increasingly harder not to call Alfie and beg for forgiveness and ask him to take you away.

Alfie himself was sending your office missives after missives, asking you to see him at least. But all of it were left unanswered and kept in one of your desk’s drawers.

Tonight, was the celebration of your engagement and the first time you were to meet the man you were to be married to. You’ve learned from Polly that he was from a wealthy Italian family, about your age, and that he’s already seen you before and was actually the one to ask Thomas for your hand in marriage.

What a puss. You thought, He couldn’t even ask you and get rejected personally.

Well at least the dress he sent was decent. But hell were to freeze over before you would even consider wearing it.

Opening your closet, your hands skimmed through your numerous formal dresses, and finally landed on one that meant so much to you. It was beautiful, fit you perfectly, and it was a gift from Alfie.

They don’t know it’s from him, but you had to admit that wearing it in front of your family and future husband would be a satisfying last act of proclaiming your love for the King of Camden town.

The night began rather peacefully. It seemed that you were the only one miserable in the occasion thrown for you.

The man you were to marry was alright. He was polite, charming even. But he was a shy pup compared to a beast like Alfie. Sooner or later, you had to stop thinking about him.  

“What’s the Jew doing here, Tommy?” you heard your aunt ask Tommy discretely.

“I invited him, Poll. All bad blood in the past, he’s a good business partner.” He explained to your aunt.

But the rest of the conversation drowned out for you. He’s here.

For the first time in the entire night of the party, you moved from the corner you were sulking on, looking for the pair of opal eyes you were wishing to see. To hell with the Italian boy.

You were turning on every corner looking for him. If he really were in here, you figured he’d be in a corner somewhere like usual.

“I knew you’d look absolutely beautiful in that dress.” A voice called out just loud enough for you to catch. Snapping to the direction it came from, your eyes met Alfie’s.

He was dressed formally as asked, his beard was trimmed, and he had his hat on.

“Alfie I-“

“I’ll take a dance, yes.” He cut you off, not wanting to make you cry in front of the guests. Taking your hands in his freezing ones, he led you to the dance floor.

“I though you hated dancing in public?” you mused at him, placing your hands by his shoulders, ignoring the lump in your throat.  

“If this were to be our last one, everyone else be damned, yeah?” He answered, looking at you lovingly. You smiled. How could he still look at you so endearingly even after your cowardness?

“The wine’s shite by the way.” He commented, trying to make you laugh. He couldn’t stand looking so defeated anymore. You couldn’t resist breaking into a laugh, and bit your tongue from telling him the drinks are courtesy of your future husband.

Polly and Arthur were stood near each other, looking at the both of you dancing, when your aunt finally spoke up.

“She hasn’t cracked a smile ever since the night Thomas told her.” She told the oldest Shelby brother. “And all it took was for Solomons to dance with her.”

“Yeah, looking at ��em makes me almost forget the bastard tried to kill me. It’s almost as if they’re…” Arthur didn’t get to finish what he was to say from the sudden realization. He knew that look. Yes, he’d never seen you look at anyone like that, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was - the color coming back to your face, almost as if it actually lit up at the presence of Camden town’s king.

Turning to Poll, she was already smirking at him. “She couldn’t tell Thomas the real reason she doesn’t to be married off for business. But you’re the eldest, Arthur, and when it’s on matters of your siblings’ personal happiness, you have to put your foot down.” Patting the back of his shoulder, she took her drink to go who knows.

“Is there somewhere we can talk, luv?” Alfie asked you quietly, sliding his hand on your shoulder, to your hand where he held it.

Looking around you, relief washed over when you saw that the guests were immersed in their own conversations and dance partners.

“Meet me in my room in a few minutes. It’s the third door at the right hall, and I’ll keep it slightly open.” You nervously told him, trying to keep your voice low.

Letting go of him, you acted natural, smiling at guests your way.

--------

In your room, you stood fidgeting with your fingers. The light from the crescent moon that peeked through your window was the only source of light.

What if he got lost and mistakenly entered Tommy’s office? Or that he decided to confront that fiancé of yours?

You were saved from the panic attack rising when your door finally creaked open bigger, and the silhouette of the man you love came in.

But before you could talk, his lips met yours desperately. Alfie hoped that his kiss would be able to tell you how much he’s missed you, how the past days felt like absolute hell, and how it led him to be willing in being a mister for you. A mister.

“Are you sure that brother of yours won’t be looking for ya? What if he found us out, pet?” He asked in between kisses to your neck.

“He’s gonna burn this house to the ground” you answered, gasping when he squeezed you in closer to him. You almost hated having to stop him. “Alfie, we came here to talk.” You weakly pushed him off you.

His eyes under the moonlight was glistening. It was only now that you realized he was crying. Taking his face in your hands, you held it gently, wiping his damp cheek.

“Alfie, I love you, okay? Everything that we had – no matter how it was only stolen moments, I’d live and die just to experience them again. But I can’t risk losing you and or anyone from my family for my personal reasons.” You tried to sound brave in front of him, knowing that the second you’d break, he’d take you with him.

He shook his head. “Now that’s just selfish of that brother of yours, pet. You know I could help settle any problem he has with ‘em Italians. He didn’t have to drag you into this.”

“And what, have him figure out why you’d go through great lengths for his sister whom you never seemed to care about?” Whenever Thomas was in the same room as you, the both of you would only resort to a formal greeting and not even try to converse. That was how you were able to keep it up so long. “It’s either I run or we dare come clean to him and see what we’ll become. He’ll find me either way, or he’ll shoot you dead.”

Alfie moved away from you, and walking by the window to take a breath and calm his nerves.

Suddenly the door to your bedroom was kicked completely open, revealing Arthur and Tommy who looked like they were ready to murder.

You didn’t know what came over you, but you immediately stood straight as if ready to block them before they could get to Alfie. But to your surprise, Arthur stayed standing by the doorway, and it was only Thomas who took a step closer.

“Alfie, you have one chance to tell me that what Arthur's saying isn’t true.” Tommy was seething, ordering him. “You of all people know my sisters are off limits.”

“It’s true, Tom.” You answered before Alfie could even open his mouth. If he were to push through marrying you off, at least leave him with the guilt for snatching your life away. “I love him.” Relief from finally being able to say it in front of your brothers washed over you.

“I am not gonna let you use my sister for whatever scheme it is that you fu-

“I was gonna ask her to marry me, you fucker!” Alfie growled from behind you, before finally reaching your side. You stood there gaping at him, having been clueless as well of his intentions.

“I went to meet her in our spot with a fucking ring in my hand, right. And what do I find? A letter from her telling me that some scum wants what’s only mine, and her cunt of a brother is allowing it!”

Arthur having been satisfied from what Alfie said, was smiling at you across the room. “And as the eldest of the family, I give you my blessing, so long as you promise to protect her.” He spoke, nodding at him. You wanted to run into your brother’s arms in gratitude, but Thomas spoke up again.

“Don’t celebrate yet, Alfie." He both looked at you with a stern expression. "There are Italians out there still thinking that there’s a marriage happening in a fortnight.”

Alfie scoffed at your brother’s statement. As if he hasn’t dealt with them before.

Taking your hand in his, he turned to your brother once more. “And what is expected to happen when I call off the marriage?” He asked him.

“I’m gonna start a war” you answered nervously.

Squeezing your hand, he turned to you. “Then it's gonna be the goddamn fight of my life, pet.”

[heyheydidjaknow]

So you know when you write about the same character that isn't even yours for almost half a year and you think, “Hey, why not expand a little bit and try writing for a different fandom?” and you end up writing for someone you know very little about because you were too impatient to play through all of the source material and you have to pray that it isn’t a blatant bastardization? Yeah, me too. Anyways, here’s this.

‘They’re going to die someday.’

You are next to him, your legs crossed, sat on the ground as you continue a story that now went in one ear and out the other— something about someone causing some trouble for a personal friend of yours. You were grinning from ear to ear as you orate to an invisible audience in front of the two of you, and as you took a sip from your apple cider, the thought struck him with such an unprecedented, dizzying force that, had he not been seated, he would have stumbled from the sheer magnitude of it.

He had, of course, been aware of your mortality. It was impossible not to be aware of it, given the type of person you were; you spoke often of your own death, laughing about it more often than prematurely grieving, but more noticeably planning for when you would have to die, hopefully, according to you, either by some dramatic and romantic disease— Phthisis— or in your sleep. The god would have been foolish to believe that you would— or, indeed, could— live as long as he would, but as was with the other citizens of his kingdom, he had simply decided to not think of it, to cross that bridge when you got to it.

But at that moment, as you sat there, simply wiping off the blood from sitting on a particularly sharp rock, hardly caring about such a blatant reminder of your mortality, he can not help but be reminded by just how fragile you are.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You glanced over at him. “Yeah?”

“Who do you think will take care of the funeral arrangements?” He fiddled with the buttons on his sleeves, not quite meeting your gaze. “When you die, I mean.”

You thought for a moment, shrugged. “I guess my family. What about you?”

He rested his head on his knees. “If I had to ask someone to perform the arrangement,” he admitted, “I’d probably ask you.”

“Yeah?” You grinned. “I don’t know you held me in such high esteem, Venti.”

“Yeah, well,” he smiled weakly, “it’s not like I have anyone else to ask.”

You pushed him playfully. “Rude.” He heard you rest your head on one of the rocks.”If I die before you, I’ll send you an invite to my funeral.”

“Promise?”

You hummed in confirmation.

The silence that fell between you two was unusually heavy.

“Why do you ask?”

He leaned back, joining you at your side. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Just been thinking about it more recently.” A rueful chuckle bubbled up his throat. “I’ve probably spent too much time around you.”

“Probably,” you agree, crossing your legs as you stare up at the stars. “But, hey? It gives you things to write about.”

He smiled at that. You are not wrong, he supposed, but a bit out of the know. He was not a stranger to writing songs about grief. It had just been a while since the sting of it was as fresh as it was now, and like a picked scab, he struggled to keep his quiet dread from spilling over. “I guess so.”

“But you know “ you shuffle closer to him, “if you’re finally going to join the Painfully-Aware-Of-Your-Own-Mortality club, you can’t let it get you too down. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you do.”

“Wisdom coming from you?” He reached down, taking your hand gently in his, thumb on your pulse.

“I know,” you grinned, “terrifying.” The stars swam in your eyes, and you shivered in the cold night air. “Almost as bad an omen as you getting introspective all of a sudden.”

“Is it?”

You closed your eyes. “Yeah,” you yawned. “It’s creepy. Like how right before the inciting incident of a book, the characters talk about death and then one of them dies.”

“Or when right before the climax,” he offered, “right before the battle’s won, one of them dies?”

“There you go.” A smile graced your lips, features highlighted by the moonlight. “You get it.”

His fingers squeezed your hand a second. “It’s lucky we aren’t in a book, then.”

“You don’t know.” Your eyes drifted open a second, closed again. “I heard that some people think that—“ you yawned again— “that we’re all living for someone else’s amusement. It’s a whole thing.”

“Do they?” He rolled over on top of you, resting his head on your chest with his ear pressed against your heart. It thumped so assuredly, unflinchingly, and the impossibility of it stopping made his chest feel hollow.

You nodded. “And they say that, if that’s true,” your other arm wrapped around them, “then it’s a whole deterministic thing, right? Because writers care about how they write stories, so everything’s set up, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

He closed his eyes softly. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. Someone controlling all my actions, I mean.”

“Well,” you sighed, body relaxing against the earth, “you don’t have to believe in it. Isn’t that your whole shtick, not having to do things?”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean I have control over that.”

Your fingers gently played with his hair. “Venti,” you declare, “we don’t have any control over anything ever. We fight an endless stream of uphill battles based on a hollow belief that the grass will be greener on the other side, and when it turns out that it always is, we feel bad about it.” You squeeze his hand back. “We struggle against our bodies to live long enough to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s all we can do not to keel over.”

He laughed dryly and your boisterous delivery. “You are very optimistic.”

“But,” you continue, ignoring his comment, “that’s what makes life so valuable; it’s so hard to live at all that even being able to talk to you is worth more than almost any gem or vision or whatever thing you want to compare it to.”

“Almost?”

“I will kill a man for good hash browns.” Your chest shook with quiet laughter. “But you get what I’m saying.”

He thought for a moment, nodded. “I think so.” He smiled again, more comfortable now. “You are acting very wise tonight, Y/N.”

“Hey,” you protested, “I’m totally wise! Just not most of the time.”

“A broken clock is right twice a day.”

“Don’t push me, little man.” You looked down at him, pressing your hand against his face. “I can and will push you off.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. “I’m stronger than I look.”

The rest of the night was a pleasant one. There was a lot of quiet laughter about this and that, huddling in each other's warmth. You had to leave him after a while. You offered to walk him home, but he had insisted on staying out a bit longer. “Go on,” he waved you off, smiling after you. “I’ll be there before morning, I promise.” He would be.

His hand stretched out towards the stars, fingers flexing every once and a while as he examined it for the umpteenth time. It was not a foreign object anymore; when he was younger, he had taken a while to get used to the idea that he was attached to it, for his head to wrap around the fact that it was not his. It had taken him a while to get used to that idea, too, that he was gone forever. As an immortal being, that part of humanity was always hard to accept. There were ways, he supposed, that he could keep you from dying. If other beings like himself had become gods, it was certainly possible for you to join him.

But he could not honestly say that he wanted that for you. Immortality was undeniably terrible. It was a long, unending sludge of an existence, being unable to relate to the bare minimum in regards to humanity. He could write thousands of songs, sing a thousand more, but he would never quite understand those he cared about. It was unfair to even consider it. Still… the idea of seeing you, skin pale, cool, eyes wide and glassy and blood dripping—

He shut his eyes, screwed them shut. Even if you had to die, you would not do it like that. You would die quietly, he knew, in bed. There was no reason you would have gotten involved in anything that gruesome.

It was like you had said. He just needed to hold onto you as long as you would allow. Before you slipped through his fingers, he needed to appreciate you as you were

Venti could only hope that you had enough time for him to remember you by.

List of Works

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary:  Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It’s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”

[takamishinko]

HI i have a request !! sero x male s/o where sero’s bf is really extroverted + hyper but deep down, really insecure about his image. sero knows & has always helped but one day his bf isn’t acting normal and sero gives him some cuddles and/or reassurance in words. i love comfort sero and he’d be great to have rn if thats not too much to ask :,) keep up the great writing too btw !!

ofc you can np, sorry it took so long i needed to head home first

my sunshine boyfriend

pronouns: he/him

warnings: nothing really mainly just fluff

_____

sero's boyfriend was one of the most cheerful people in class 1A. In fact sero got together with him in the first place because of his extrovert and bubbly personality. almost everyone in class 1A was fond of y/n. honestly, who wouldn’t? someone who always has a smile on his face and gets along with people sounds pretty perfect as a friend and a boyfriend.

y/n of course loved sero very much. sero might not have the top looks in the class compared to the likes of todoroki, but he's decent looking. not to mention, sero is a really nice guy to be around. he’s kind, easy to get along with, and pretty funny! many would say that they're a great match for each other.

y/n and sero have always had a great relationship together and got along quite well. they would often pass around small notes in class when they sat right next to each other. small giggles would fill the space between them as the boring class time went by. they had the perfect high school relationship that everyone wishes for.

some would say that a crucial part of a healthy relationship is honesty, but everyone has something they wish to keep hidden away from the world. y/n was no different. everything appeared to be going smoothly with their relationship, but something has been bothering y/n since the beginning. the truth is, y/n has always been incredibly self conscious of his own image, whether it’s around other people or his own body image, etc. contrary to his usual personality, things like this will often get him down. it’s been a deeply dreaded trouble of his, which he has been dealing with for a while now. there's only one person who has known this side of y/n and it was none other than his beloved boyfriend sero. he was always there to help y/n whenever he needed him, and he even promised y/n that no matter how he looks, no matter what happens, y/n will always be perfect to him, he appreciates y/n for just the way he is.

on the day class 1A was doing mock battles against each other for their combat practices,  y/n, unfortunately, was matched against bakugou, one of the strongest in the class. everyone knows about bakugou's strength, there's a reason why everyone's intimidated by him. both for his combat prowess, and the fact that his manner of speaking isn't what you would consider pleasant. the practice match was pretty much one sided, with a crushing victory on bakugou's side while y/n was left defeated, barely able to stand. mr.aizawa ceased the battle and told y/n to take a break back at his dorm. the usually bubbly and cheerful y/n is now slouching his back and dragging his feet back to his dorm.  sero saw this and immediately knew something was wrong. He had already completed his match against kaminari so he decided to follow y/n back to his dorm.

“hey y/n are you ok? You look… kind of down” Sero asked politely.

“y-yah of course i'm fine! don’t worry about it” y/n replied weakly.

“you don’t look alright to me. c'mon, y'know you can tell me when there's something wrong. ” Sero said as he started holding you in his arms.

the warmth of his touch immediately broke what little emotional control you had left, you felt your vision blur as warm streaks of tears came flooding down without control.

“hanta... you’re right, I guess I'm not okay.” you whimpered as you pushed your face into his chest.

you could feel hantas hand gently stroking your back as soft hics came out of your throat.

“there, there…let’s go back to my dorm, we don’t have any more practices for today, we can go back and relax. how does that sound?"

you slowly lifted your face and gave hanta a small nod. he gently guided you back with his hand tightly holding on to yours.

once you two got back to the dorms, you quickly took a shower and changed into some comfortable clothes to enjoy the rest of your day together. you still looked pretty dejected so sero decided to carry you in his arms and softly placed you on the bed to join you.

“c'mon babe, tell me what’s wrong?”

you nudged closer to sero and held his hands, it gave you a sense of security.

“it’s just,  when bakugou defeated me… i felt everyone looking at me, everyone looking down at someone who lost, a pathetic loser…i felt so weak. It was like I was underneath everyone” you murmured under your breath.

sero pulled you even closer to him and looked at you right in the eye

“oh c’mon y/n you know that’s not true. you did so well out there! there's barely anyone in this class that can have a full on duel with bakugou and come out still feeling like their body parts are intact. not to mention,  everyone wasn’t looking down on you, they were all impressed by how cool you looked out there! especially me! I can't believe that the person fighting out there, someone who is that strong, is my boyfriend and you don’t know how happy I am for that.”

sero somehow always knew what to do, his words gave you confidence and this time was no exception.

“thanks... hanta, i really appreciate it”

“of course babe, don’t worry about it. now death from huggles and tickles!!”

“haha! hanta stop!!”

“there's my sunshine! your laugh is beautiful, y’know that?”

you could feel your cheeks warming up from sero's comment, but you enjoyed the nice compliments.

“don’t ever forget, I'm always here for you.'' sero reassured you with a smile before the both of you comfortably fell asleep together in his bed.

[toosicktoocare]

ya’ll ever dissect a brief two-second clip in a trailer for a season of a show that hasn’t come out yet and concoct a small story around it that turns into an almost 2k-word fic at almost 2 am in the morning? no? just me? 

anyway, i’m obviously hung up on that brief clip in the 911 season 5 trailer where Eddie falls. Is he panicking? Maybe, and that’s definitely what I wrote about. though, halfway through writing, when I was just watching a gif set for the clip, i had a thought that maybe he was poisoned instead. but, well, I was in too deep by that point. 

Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks. 

There’s panic, Eddie thinks, when he’s on the job. Panic that strikes a chord against the adrenaline thumping in his blood. Panic that drives his muscles and activates the sheer need to act and save in his mind.

This, Eddie thinks, is not that type of panic.

This is the panic that pools at the bottom of his stomach, always there and always waiting to accumulate, to feed on his fears, to expand upward. This is the panic that slides past his rib cage in the background until it’s snaking around his lungs, constricting slowly until he suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath and thus panics harder.

This is the panic that chips away at his brain, replacing the known with the biting edge of the unknown. Burning away the calm and revealing the trauma that’s been tucked away. This panic nips at his heart and eats at his nerves until he succumbs to it, the icy trace of its presence bringing with it a cold sweat that slips down Eddie’s temples.

He tugs at his collar, his pulse pounding hard against his neck, but it’s not enough. His breath is trapped, unable to sneak past the panic molding over his lungs. His hand falls to his side limply, and for a moment, he stares at the ground, his vision swimming, the faint background sounds becoming lost to the roar of his heart.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling until his back hits the ground, the air trapped in his lungs pushing out with a low wheeze. The pain that erupts along his back is numbed under the weight of bottled memories, of the gun shot that ripped through his arm, of the blood painting his world in a thick, deep red that drowns him.  

“Eddie? I heard something fall.”

He’s no longer on the floor, instead lost in a hazy limbo, what he fears most unfolding before him. He’s gone, and Christopher is grieving. His son is shutting everyone out, his voice muted under the pain. The 118, once a solid foundation, cracks, and Buck? Buck screams his voice raw. Buck punches at a brick wall, over and over until his knuckles tear and bleed. He swings when Bobby tries to stop him, and then he crumbles.

“Edmundo!”

As quickly as it comes, it’s gone, and Eddie gasps, the single breath a mountain to climb over. He’s at Ana’s. It’s their date night, and she was finding a pair of earrings she received as a birthday gift a few years back. They were set to leave for their dinner reservation in just a few minutes.

His shirt is damp against his skin, and he trembles the entire way to his feet, each muscle wobblier than the last.

“Edmundo, what happened? Are you ill?”

Ana’s frantic at his side, and she palms at his forehead, the worry across her face evident even through his fuzzy vision. He shakes his head, and she pulls her hand away, lips pointed downward.

“You’re ice cold,” she worries, one hand sliding down his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head again, unable to speak around what little breaths he’s able to take in. He’s on autopilot when he’s helped over to Ana’s couch, and he fades in and out of the present, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he struggles to recapture his breathing. His hands are fists at his knees, and he hunches over, curling in on himself, shielding himself.

He stays this way until a hand tugs lightly at his wrist and a voice calls out his name gently. He’s slow to lift his gaze, but when he does, Buck crowds his vision, blue eyes impossibly worried before him.

“Buck?” He croaks out, and Buck nods sharply, his fingers pressing to the inside of Eddie’s wrist.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures calmly. “I’m going to check your pulse, okay? Keep your eyes on mine.”

Eddie can only nod, the lump in his throat keeping his words from him. He trains his gaze to Buck’s. He knows Buck is counting silently to himself, and yet, Buck’s gaze doesn’t waver; his concentration doesn’t fold in the slightest. His eyes are sharp, focused, and after sixty seconds, his face relaxes a fraction, and Eddie’s lungs deflate with a low sigh.

“You’re okay,” Buck whispers, leaning forward until his forehead knocks lightly against Eddie’s, warm compared to his Eddie’s clammy one. His hand finds the side of Eddie’s neck, cups it gently, and Eddie holds the position, pulling all his focus toward the weight of Buck’s hand, the heat spreading across his forehead and down to his cheeks, his neck, stopping at his heart.

“I’m okay,” he finally repeats, voice low, cracking slightly, and only then does Buck pull away, frowning.

“Ana called.” Buck keeps his voice quiet, just a breath above a whisper. “She said she found you on the floor.” He opens his mouth, prepared to press further, but Eddie shakes his head sharply.

“Not here. Where’s Chris?”

“Kitchen with Ana.” Buck rises to his feet and steps away from Eddie’s view. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave him—”

“—It’s fine,” Eddie mutters, his ears perking up to hear Christopher and Ana talking nearby. Christopher giggles quietly, and the furrow of Eddie’s brow smooths over slightly. “I need to postpone our date,” he adds, more to himself, and Buck extends a steady hand to help him off the couch.

“I’ll get Chris settled back in the jeep. Will you be okay to drive your truck back, or should I arrange to get it for you later?”

“I can drive,” Eddie mumbles weakly, and then Buck crowds his vision again, worry painted down every inch of his face.

“Try that again. If I still don’t believe it, I’m taking your keys.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath. His chest still hurts, the panic still a nagging sheet of ice burrowed deep in the base of his stomach, but he’s able to hold air in his lungs until he exhales slowly, the line of tension across his shoulders breaking.

“I can drive.” He repeats, stronger, and Buck nods, his own body relaxing.

“I’ll see you back at your house, then. Be careful.” Buck turns on his heel, a smile playing across his lips as he rounds into the kitchen with Eddie close behind him.

“Chris! Do you want to put the band-aid on your dad’s arm?” Buck turns to lean in close to Eddie, whispering, “I told him you fell and hurt your arm.”

Eddie mouths ‘thank you’ at the same time Christopher shouts, “Yeah!”

Eddie plants a smile across his lips, forced against the lingering, nagging edge of panic, and he rolls up a single jacket sleeve halfway up his arm. He crouches down, points to an unmarked spot on his arm, and Chris carefully, almost delicately, spreads a Superman band-aid across his arm.

“All better?” Chris asks, and Eddie nods as he gets to his feet. He ruffles Christopher’s hair, his own smile warming across his lips.

“All better,” he repeats. “Thanks, bud. You okay to go back to the house with Buck? I’ll meet you there?”

“Yep!”

Christopher offers multiple goodbyes before he and Buck slip out the door, leaving Eddie to work around just how exactly to explain to Ana that he’s not sure he can do this right now, that he’s succumbing to the issues he’s been too stubborn to recognize over the last couple of months. That he would be miserable company for he’s too wrapped up in a gut-wrenching fear that bears its fangs when he least expects it.

“It’s okay, Eddie.”

Her voice is impossibly soft beside him, soft but classically genuine, and he turns toward her, frowning.

“Ana, I’m so sorr—”

“—Don’t,” Ana interrupts, stepping toward him and brushing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her breath is warm against his skin, her voice delicate, her words knowing where to step and where to tread gently. When she pulls away, Eddie almost feels guilty at the relief, at the weight that drops from his shoulders.

“Talk soon?” He asks, and she nods, a small smile tight at her lips.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, and he means it. Every inch of him means it.

---

When Eddie pulls into his driveway, he turns off his truck, but he doesn’t rush to get out, instead sinking against the exhaustion that’s been creeping over him his entire drive home. He’s drained, emotionally and physically, and he tips his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. He doesn’t look when his car door opens at his side; he only sighs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

Buck’s being careful, Eddie thinks. He can tell by the way Buck’s tone almost tips up into a question, just not quite reaching that pitch. He’s leaving an opening for Eddie, and Eddie takes it. His eyes flutter open, and he rolls his head toward Buck.

“I’ve got some issues,” he says, and the laugh Buck lets out is nervous, worried.

“You don’t say.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Eddie admits, twisting around until his legs are hanging out of the door. “Tonight was a lot.” He can see Buck taking in his words, dissecting them in a way he does best.

“You look exhausted. Do you want me to go—”

“—No!”

Buck’s jaw snaps shut at the force of Eddie’s single shout, and Eddie slides out of the car, slumping forward, his forehead dropping against Buck’s shoulder. “Sorry. No, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone right now. My thoughts are—”

“—dark?” Buck finishes, his hand slipping to the small of Eddie’s back. “Not you,” he continues. “Scary?”

“All of the above,” Eddie mutters, and Buck’s hand presses against his back, pushing until Eddie’s flush against his chest. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s back, and Eddie returns the hug, melting against him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Buck whispers. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to help you.”

Though Eddie knows Buck would quite literally bend over backwards for him, the ease of Buck’s tone, the determination laced within Buck’s words, cracks the icy panic that’s nestled in his stomach. It surprises Eddie still—just how much Buck is willing to be there for him no matter what.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and for the second time in a single night, every entire inch of his being means it.

[akitohsworld]

It's okay to be sad - MC/GN!Reader who bottles up emotions

Short story with additional scenes

I was emotional and wanted to write something mildly angsty +with happy end

|Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan

You're perfect at masking your emotions. It comes naturally to you, no not in an 'oh I'm so different than the rest" manner. But in a 'I shouldn't be dramatic'- kind of way.

You know, the seven brothers, they all have problems. Problems that to you, were maybe evident. Because you came to them with your human standards and your human socially acceptable behaviour and your human psychology.

You judged them under those standards because it's all you've ever known. That's normal. It made sense.

But that also meant that you could see:

Lucifer's prideful, cold, distant demeanour due to guilt and sadness.

Mammon's greed as a form of escapism.

Leviathan's envy and due to an overwhelming inferiority complex.

Satan's masked, distant anger issues due to his own insecurities (father issues).

Asmodeus narcissistic personality due to his struggle with self image and self worth.

Beelzebub's gluttony to fill the emptiness, maybe distress.

And Belphegor's constant tiredness because of depression.

Whatever the real reasons, the real cause, you knew that specific behaviour came from underlying issues. Underlying problems, that, when thrown at you, were never meant to be personal. It was them 'acting out' due to their own pain.

Although, this gave you more the reason to forget your own issues. Even if for a little while, you could indulge in the feeling of being a helpful person to others. You felt needed. You felt loved.

But as obvious as their behaviour made their problems for you, as undetectable your behaviour was for them as you were a natural at masking to be fine. That was what you had to do. That's what the detached society in the human world looked like. Nobody wanted to be vulnerable, but everyone wanted to belong, fit in.

What do you do to fit in?

Exactly. You're fine. You're normal.

Everyone has problems.

You pass Leviathan's room one day, hear him sniffling, sobbing and he just sounds so incredibly devastated and lonely to you. You can't stop yourself, you knock. The sniffling stops and you hear him try to calm down, in fear of his brothers hearing and teasing him for it. And then he asks:

"Wh-what do you want??"

In your head you already ticked a box.

Mistake number one: He hasn't asked for a code.

"Levi, it's me", you respond, voice as soothing as you could possibly manage.

"Y-(y/N)? Uh- uhm"

Mistake number 2: He normally immediately tells you to come in or opens the door himself.

"Can I come in?"

"...", he says nothing, probably because he is debating. Probably, because he can't decide if he wants you to see him like this... What if you think he's annoying?- But he also doesn't want you to go because he doesn't actually want to be alone. He wants comfort.

And so, instead of answering, he cautiously opens the door, peaking outside, hoping to see some kind of rejection, or sympathy in your immediate reaction.

You just shoot him a sympathetic smile. A smile that says 'hey it's okay', a smile that says 'I will never judge you' and you go in, as he opens the door, taking a step back.

You close the door behind you, so that no one sees him and, without a word you just reach out to him, inviting him in for a hug. And he just immediately falls into your arms and begins to start sobbing uncontrollably. He burries his face in your shoulder and hugs you tight, just as you soothingly rub his back, pressing your cheek against his.

"It's okay. I'm here", you mumble as your hand pats his head and softly caress his purple locks, "It's okay. You can cry.. just let it all out"

And he shakes even harder as you just stay like that for what feels like an eternity. While he calms down, muffled sniffles dying down, you part, but not fully. Just so you can see his face.

His eyes are puffy from crying, and he looks better, not so devastated anymore, but still very distressed.

Your hands cup his cheeks and rub the tears away lovingly, giving him time.

"A-aren't you wondering why I'm c-crying...?", he tries not to, but you know he's worrying about your motives. He's worrying about you caring or not. He's worrying about being a bother. He's worrying about you hati-

"Yes, of course. I'm worried", you smile, "But I don't want to pressure you. If you want to talk about it, then I'll gladly listen and if I can be of help, I'd-"

And his tears well up again as he hugs you tightly once more. "Th-thank you, (y/N), you're the best."

Afterwards, he would tell you the reason and you would hug more. And finally, you would ask if he wants to cuddle up and game or watch anime to calm down and distract yourselves. Having dinner in his room and just cuddling until the next morning.

That's what Leviathan's break downs looked like. And you were always happy to help. Because you cared for him.

Everyone has problems.

Satan and you had these afternoons. Just at random, he would hit you up to just sit down somewhere and rant. Rant, rant, rant and finally letting his anger out in one choleric blast. Sometimes ending in maniacal, distressed laughter.

Why did you have these sessions? Because you wanted him to have an outlet. You wanted to make him feel understood and not judged.

For everyone else in the Devildom, his wrath was "just" a result of his sin. But you knew, that it was more than that. It was bottled up emotions and a deeply routed insecurity.

It made him angry, he hated it, to be compared to Lucifer, to not feel like his own person.

And you knew that.

Why?

Because you listened to him. You gave him the space to talk and rant about what made him angry and why. Without judgement.

Yes, you were definetly a therapist without a license. But that didn't mean that he didn't feel better after each rant. He loved you for being that safe space he missed in his life.

After another one of many explosions, you would normally put a hand on his shoulder. Your eyes asking if he needed more time. He would, strangely, calm down instantly. He just felt so serene with you there.

"It.. just made me so mad and I'm getting angry just thinking about it", he would say, trying to search for a calmer way to explain himself.

"No, that's perfectly valid. Nobody has the right to do that/ Feeling the way you feel is your mind's way of telling you that there is a reason. It doesn't matter if you know it or not, it's there and that makes it valid.", were things you would say to make him feel validated and accepted in his emotions.

"Why do you think, you feel that way?/ What do you think was the thing that really stung about what they said?", were questions that would follow.

And when you offered a hug, he would gladly hug you and enjoy the comfort of your hands rubbing through his hair, almost making him purr.

"Thank you for telling me.", you would say.

"Thank you for always listening.", he would respond.

And both of you would be smiling.

Sure, it sounded tiring. And sure, sometimes it took all your mental capacity to really be of help to him. But you were appreciated and you cared for him. He cared for your opinion because he cared for and respected you.

Everyone has problems.

Lucifer on the other hand, would be a tough nut to crack at the beginning. He masks all his exhaustion, his overthinking and his worries by working until he collapses from exhaustion.

It was basically his form of escapism.

Late at night, you'd come to his study. Bringing him snacks and some tea. You didn't even have to knock most of the time. He would open the door with magic and wouldn't even look up.

You look at him, burried in his papers from head to toe. His pen sliding over the paper swiftly, as he mumbles work-related things to himself in concentration. You muster up a sympathetic smile, even though you just want to sigh and shake your head.

"Scones?", he asks as he stops for a second to look at the platter you put before him. He smiles gratefully, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

You wordlessly put your arms around his head and feel him tensing up for a second, before relaxing against your touch, putting an arm around your thighs, rubbing them absentmindedly.

"You should take a break", you'd tell him, as you had so many times before. And he'd weakly nod, sighing.

"I appreciate your concern, but there's so much to do."

"I'll make you take breaks, Lucifer", your fingers caress his head and he sighs contently, "I'll tell Diavolo."

"Oh anything but that", he chuckles. The first sign of him being too exhausted is his inability to properly react to a threat like that.

Lucifer, bless him, is a bit of a buzz kill. So he normally doesn't take kindly to remarks like that. And that's when you know.

"You're taking a break. Now."

And he would just grip onto you more tightly and not say anything. Deep in thought.

Your voice would soften as you ask him:

"Love, tell me what's going through your mind."

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?", and with a defeated, but grateful sigh he would spill everything that worries him, that pains him, that makes him insecure. About Diavolo, the Devildom, his brothers... Everything really. And then, you would take his hand, and guide him to the bedroom through the connected door. And he would let you help him wordlessly, as you loosen his tie, unbutton his shirt and help him change. Afterwards, you would lay down cuddling and sleeping, too tired to do anything else.

The next morning, you would make him take a bath in his demon form. Helping him groom his feathers, wash and proceeding to get wet as he shakes himself like a bathing bird. And just like that his mood would be enhanced, he would feel happy and full of energy.

A well-deserved break was something you were willing to force him into. Because you cared for him.

Everyone has problems.

Yes, everyone has problems.

And that's why you didn't even think about yours. That's why you didn't want to think about yours.

And nobody notices at first.

Because that's just how you deal with everything.

Because when it threatens to overflow, you can just pretend to have an occasional bad day.

Because you don't know how to deal with them.

Because even though you behave like the absolute reliable therapist, you're your worst client.

But one day. One day your mask cracks. You can't stop it. It just happens.

Because one day you'll reach your limit and nothing can stop you from doing so.

It doesn't matter what triggers it. A thought at breakfast, a comment you took personally, someone who looks at you strangely, food that you don't like. It doesn't matter.

One day, your mask cracks.

It's a small crack.

But it's noticeable.

Maybe you snapped out of it in the middle of overreacting. And you just excused yourself saying you're tired and go to the bathroom.

But it's too late.

Because now that they saw you reacting uncharacteristically their eyes are fixed on you more than ever before. They notice, and they will notice, the crack. They can't put their finger on it, because you hide it well, but it's definetly there.

And you break down in the bathroom, desperately clutching at the sink, looking into the mirror and trying to calm down while tears continue streaming down your face. You wallow in self pity and self deprecation. It just comes over you, like a wave.

And suddenly it's time to leave.

Lucifer knocks on the bathroom door, after telling his brothers to leave already. Everyone noticed. But he wants to make sure you're okay without them around.

You wipe your tears, wash your face and try your most natural happy-go-lucky smile. But he notices your puffy eyes. He reaches out to ask you what's wrong, but you distract him with whatever shenanigans his brother is doing at the moment and quickly go off to put an arm around Asmo and Satan, asking them 'what's up' in the most natural way you can muster. As you talk, you think he will, they will, eventually forget, or maybe ignore your behaviour. That nagging feeling that is telling them that something is not okay.

Throughout the day, you get more random hugs than usual, more attention bits than usual and also more treats from Beel than usual.

You can't hide it. Because no matter how normal you think you behave, there is something 'off' about you. It could be you being a bit too cheerful, a bit more tense, or a tad to unresponsive. Either way, there is something on edge about you.

You go to the bathroom again, this time at RAD. You enter one of the stalls, have a quick cry and go out to wash your face. You go out and meet Lucifer and Diavolo in the hallway.

You're even more on edge now, because you can't lie. So, you try to just wave at them and pass them quickly, trying to look like you need somewhere to be.

"(y/N).", Lucifer would call out to you and you would flinch in the most subtle way, before turning around smiling

"Hey! I need to go- what's wrong?", which would be technically the truth.

"We need to talk later, alright?"

And your stomach drops so hard, you'd think it hit the floor, when you try to seem as unbothered as possible, faking concern. "Of course? I mean, we'll eat dinner together so"

He would just worriedly look at you and force a smile as you went your way.

He knows. He knows. Oh no, he knows.

Thinking up excuses to questions you were making up in your mind is proving to be too exhausting and frankly, you're too preoccupied with 'being fine'.

But the damage is done. You're mask is this close to breaking. It only takes three little words to break you at this point.

RAD ends and you walk home in silence. You simply don't have the energy to mask anything more than a semi-interested, seemingly invested smile as you listen to Asmo talking about the newest skin care serum, and Mammon talking about his newest cash grab. Superficial topics they picked up half heartedly to make the atmosphere less tense.

And finally you arrive at the house of Lamentation.

To your suprise not even Beel goes directly to the kitchen. You wordlessly follow them, as they enter the living room in silence.

"Honey, sit down please.", Asmo says, sympathetic look on his face as he pats the spot beside him on the couch. You mask a confused expression and a:

"Uh? Okay...??", as you sit down, everyone else taking their place next and in front of you. As you all sit or stand in a circle.

Neither Belphie nor Asmo directly cuddle up to, or lay on your lap, even though they're sitting beside you and that's what they always do. They're giving you space. And they all have a worried expression on their faces.

"So, (y/N)-", Satan begins but he is cut off by Mammon.

"Are ya okay?"

That's it.

And in a flash Asmo's arms are around you, Belphie offers you to hug his pillow before he hugs your waist, Satan gets you tissues and rubs your back, Beel crouches down before you, food in his arms and a worried sad puppy expression on his face, Levi stutters and doesn't know what to do besides sitting down beside Beel and try to comfort you, Mammon short circuits and just sits down with the others while putting a hand on your knee and Lucifer asks if there's something you need, or if you want space. When you shake your head he joins the others on the couch as everyone group-hugs you, letting you cry.

The mask breaks and falls as you feel your stomach sink to the floor. Your face contorts in pain, trying to calm yourself down. You can't even form words as you take a breath to speak.

Your head just falls to your hands and you sob and cry, in front of them, for the first time. You feel so small, and the world feels like it's crushing down on you in a single motion.

The occasional 'don't apologize ya idiot', 'you have nothing to be sorry for', and 'its okay to feel sad sometimes' responding to your incoherent sentences.

It's good to help others, but remember the world is made of giving and taking. It's okay to receive help and be vulnerable around others. It's okay to confide.

Just as you think your favourite people in the world could never be a bother, just like that it's okay to assume that that feeling is reciprocated.

You're not alone, you don't have to wear a mask.

It's okay to be sad sometimes.

Because everyone has problems.

If anyone alludes this to not actually wearing a literal mask against Covid I swEaR tO gOD yoU'Ll cAtcH thESe hAndS 👀