#and if there's no one in my age group i can assure you there's no one in a different group hyped to get beat by a random butch 17 y/o

[butchlifeguard]

2025 i might take a class so i can do something that isn't just school. hockey or jiu jitsu vote now on yr phones!

[luvly-writer]

Is it a Wonder I Broke?

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: I really did NAWT want to write a two parter but hey, I should have expected it with how much I write. I am so new to writing angst but I've had a thirst for writing and reading angst lately and I just NEEDED to cure it!!! ENJOY

Warnings: The Bats being kinda shitty, Neglect

Part 1 // Part 3

---

Damian was sure something was missing. He woke up that day and as he had breakfast, he had noticed something odd about Alfred. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that Damian couldn't place. None of them had gotten injured in last night's patrol. Jason's deathaversary (as he loved to call it) wasn't near. No one had fought, quite the contrary, he'd say this has got to be one of the weeks where they had best behaved and gotten along. Even Bruce and Jason were relaxed. So what plagued the man? Damian looked around the house and wondered what could be the problem. Maybe he was tired? Or Sick? That could be it. Sensing the young man's gaze on him, Alfred erased all emotion from his face and looked at Damian questioning.

"May I help you with something, Master Damian?" he asked with a raised brow. Damian inspected him thoroughly and hummed.

"You are different, Pennyworth" observed Damian and the butler gave the boy a deadpan. Nop, he's good, never mind. Maybe he was just thinking something unpleasant and it showed in his face.

And yet, the feeling didn't leave Damian. There was something odd in the house. Thankfully, it was Saturday, so he had the rest of the day to walk around and investigate. He had visited the gardens, and overseen the entirety of the first and second floor, yet nothing came to mind. What the fuck was wrong in this damn house?

He had decided to empty his mind in the art room. There, he spent the rest of his afternoon sketching a portrait of some plants he had seen in the garden. His 16th birthday was soon approaching and he really needed to get some new art supplies. The ones he had were old and very worn out. As he finished, he noticed the time and realized he had spent the majority of the day in the art room. He had gone to clean his hands and headed to the cave to suit up, hoping tonight's patrol would clear his head. What was missing?

So into his thoughts, Damian hadn't noticed the rest of his siblings down at the cave suiting up as well.

"Hey, Littlewing! What's got you looking so constipated?" Asked Dick with a hint of humor in his tone.

"Have any of you noticed that the manor feels rather odd?" he questions as he suits his boots up.

"What do you mean, bat brat?" Asked Jason raising his eyebrow.

"The manor, it feels….odd. As if something is missing. It feels emptier and I can't help but ask why. Not only that, have any of you noticed Pennyworth looking….strange lately?" He questioned and the group fell into silence, all thinking of his observation.

"Now that you mention it, Alfred has been looking a little tired lately. Like, you know, as if his age is kinda showing." Tim recounted

"And he has had this sort of sad glaze in his eyes" Steph added.

"It's not my deathaversery, I can assure you that" hummed Jason.

"And no other impacting date is near, so what could have caused him any sort of discomfort?" Asked Dick.

The group looked at each other, clueless about what could have caused their beloved butler and grandfather to feel odd.

"You don't think he might be sick and is hiding that from us?" Asked Duke

"But why would he be sad about that?" Barbara question.

Plagued with the heaviness of confusion, none of them noticed the patriarch of the family arrive all suited up and looking at them.

"Is everyone ready?" sounded Bruce's deep voice snapping everyone out of their thoughts. They all nodded still a little bit distant and lost. Bruce, not wanting to push his kids, nodded and clapped his hands to gain their full attention. "Tonight we have a slow night as it seems. Everyone has their patrol route, let's hope that we can be already finished by 2. Everyone, dispatch.

It was a relatively slow night. So much so, that it had allowed them to goof around a little as they went on. Midnight had arrived and Damian was crouched next to his father as they overlooked the city. He could hear Jason, Stephanie, and Dick joking around in the back and smiled a little as they laughed. That's when he felt it. The lingering gaze in the shadows. Surely, he looked up to his father who had felt it as well.

His mother.

After years of being separated from her and getting only a handful of visits, he had gotten used to her gaze when she was lingering, watching him. He knew it was her. Damian stood up and turned towards his left and there he saw her. Black, gold, and green armor shining in the night. The sudden silence told him that his siblings were on high alert as well. What could Talia want?

She finally noticed their gaze on her and began running. This alerted every one of them.

"Oracle, send Red Robin and Orphan our coordinates. We encountered Talia Al Ghul and are on the move." Ordered Batman

"Copy that, B." Answered Barbara in their comns.

What did the League of Assassins want now? If they meant no harm, she wouldn't have run, so what happened?

They followed Talia as she led them farther from the city and closer to the harbor. As they went, he noticed that more assassins made themselves visible and surrounded them and that alone raised his suspicions even more. Normally, when his mother wanted to talk to him, she came alone. Why were they here?

Finally, she stopped in front of a boat…the same one where I met my father…WITH Y/N. Damian came to a sudden halt. That is what was missing! He tries to think back on the past few weeks and he couldn't conjure up the slightest memory of seeing his sister. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen her in the past few months…Where was Y/n? Was that why Pennyworth looked distressed? Why did he just notice now?! Had he been so busy that he couldn't recall his sister? No….that's imposible. She probably has been in practice. She was busy with her own life as well. Especially now, that it was getting closer to the Ice Skating National Competition. He had been keeping tabs on her competition schedules. Yeah, that was probably it. Any time a competition got closer, she would either be locked in their home rink or her practice rink making sure it was perfect. Yeah, that had to be it. She probably left early, was busy in practice, and came during the time he was in the art room or getting ready. Damian wanted to believe that..he really did, but something was nagging at him in the back of his mind. Why would Alfred be sad at that? Had she gotten hurt in practice? Ice skating meant the world for Y/n so that was probably it. Alfred adored watching her skate. Per Damian's request, he would record her practices and competitions so that once he got back from a mission and patrol, he could watch her. She was truly wonderful. That could have been it. She got hurt before Nationals and had been resting in her room lately. That could be why Damian had not seen much of her in the last few weeks. Before that, he had stayed a few months with the Titans, so that could also explain the lack of memories in the past year o so. That was the logical conclusion, right? But if she was hurt, why did Pennyworth not mention anything? He would have to ask him when he arrived later because now he was concerned for his sister's health.

He looked forward and realized that all of them had stopped further. He ran and reached his father's side. Observing his surroundings, he noted that there were 10 or so assassins on both of their sides. Why would his mother need so many?

"Ah, Damian, finally, you are here," Talia spoke up with her back to them. If she was a threat, she wouldn't be giving them her back. Ras taught them better than that.

"What are you here for, Talia?" questioned Bruce.

"Well. Beloved, I have come to extend an invitation, per my daughter's request" She smiled turning around to look at them fully, "I had to lure all of you out here so that we could settle this private matter without the sounds of the city." she explained.

"My sister is resting back in the manor, Mother, what could you mean?" Damian questioned narrowing his eyes at her.

"Is that what you all believe, my dear?" She smirked and watched each of their reactions one by one.

"Where is our daughter, Talia?" Asked Bruce slowly

"You mean to tell me that MY daughter was left under your care and you have no clue where she is?" asked Talia, venom slipping into her words. "Is that what you are letting me know, Batman?"

"Our daughter is safe in the manor" Bruce answered. Damian looked at him and if he wasn't doubtful himself, he probably would have believed him.

"Well, that's not entirely true, beloved. Y/n has not been living in the manor for almost two years now." Talia corrected and everyone froze. "Can't believe you would lie to my face like that"

Jason, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra looked at Bruce expetantly. Surely what Talia said can't be true. They all take a moment to digest the information. Y/n was in the manor, right?

Tim tried to look back but he couldn't think of a moment he had seen her. He lived in the manor as well for fuck's sake. Had he been too busy with Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin that he hadn't noticed his sister's absence? Then again, Y/n was always training so it was difficult to tell….or was it?

Dick and Jason looked at each other. They didn't live in the manor anymore but surely, they had seen her at dinners. Y/n rarely spoke up so she could have been there but they just didn't notice? But as far as they can remember, Y/n loved to talk about her competitions in the hope that they would be able to go to one. They thought she had finally given up on asking them….and that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Why had she all of a sudden gone silent?….or was she just not there at all?

Cassandra had noticed what Damian had said earlier. The Manor had felt different. It seemed as if one presence was lacking but she was constantly with Stephanie so it was rather difficult to keep up on the whereabouts of her life. Besides, Y/n was always training…

Bruce stiffened. Where..was..his..daughter? Since when had she not been living in the manor? When did that happen? He had noticed that Alfred had gone out less and figured Y/n began transporting herself to her things, but that was odd because the old man loved taking her. It was the one moment where Bruce could tell he had peace. Y/n had always been such an independent child from a young age. She didn't need the same training as Damian because she abandoned that life once she was in Gotham. He was truly so glad that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps, that she had chosen to be normal. When was the last time he had seen her come to dinner? When was the last time he heard her songs blasting from her room? When was the last time she used her rink? He would always watch footage of her through Alfred's recordings and the security cameras installed in the ice rink. He still remembers the day he surprised her with it. "I didn't think you'd even know" she whispered thinking he hadn't heard, but he did and those words had plagued his mind ever since then like a broken record. Why wouldn't he know? Sure they were all busy but they cared for her.

"Oracle, search footage of all of the security cameras in the past two years. Find anything and everything about Y/n."

"Right on that, B."

"What invitation does Y/n have for us, mother?" Asked Damian, unsure whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

"To her coronation as the new Heir to the Demon Head and Future Leader of the League of Assassins, of course" She answered almost instantly.

.

..

…

"WHAT!" yelled Damian. Everyone felt their blood run cold, "My sister, my beloved twin sister, would never NEVER desire that. You must not be serious! Y/n Wayne Al Ghul has never EVER wanted to be like grandfather. She is better than that. She is too good for the Demon Head. I was the one trained to be the heir an-"

"And you weren't the only one trained. Have you forgotten that both of you endured the same training and whilst your grandfather disciplined you, I was disciplining her." interrupted his mother harshly. "Y/n moved back to the League a year and a half ago and has been training endlessly to become the next Leader of the League, Damian. You would have all known that had you chosen to not neglect my daughter. She is safe and well-"

"My sister will NEVER be happy-"

"Because you know her oh so very well, my son?" Talia let her gaze linger on her son. Her disappointment was palpable. He had failed to be there for his twin….

"Nightwing, Red Hood, do one last round on the city, then head to the cave. The rest of you, you are dismissed. Head straight to the came, now. Especially, you, Damian. I have to speak with your mother first." Batman's left no space for argument. They all nodded and left, aside from Damian.

"Father-"

"Go, Robin"

"Father, this is just my problem as it is yours"

"To the cave, now. We will discuss this later."

Damian wasn't happy with the outcome, but one look at his mother and father; and he knew he wouldn't want to be part of this discussion when he had many important matters to attend to.

Once Damian left, Bruce turned to Talia.

"Tal-"

"You neglected my daughter-"

"Our-"

"MY daughter. You spent six years ignoring one child and favoring the other and you THINK you can make demands and look at me as if I have done something wrong? I went to her practices, I went to her competitions, I visited on their birthday every. fucking. Year. Bruce, I may not be the example of motherhood, but at least I was as present as I could be and I didn't even live with her." She hissed at him coldly.

"This is different, she wanted to be a professional ice skater. I know my daughter well enough to remember that. Damian is right. Becoming the Leader of the League of Assassins will never make her happy-"

"Because you know her so well? Bruce, I believe in what Y/n can bring to the League. She has astounding potential as a leader. She is levelheaded and diplomatic, she understands my father's ideal and vision without a vengeful eye. Unless you intend to be supportive…Do not cross her path. I came here to extend the invitation per her request as cordiality, not because I planned to. It will be a week after her birthday. I will not repeat myself. Farewell, Batman"

"Talia" Bruce tried, but she was already gone.

---

Author's note: Well fuck it's gonna be three chapters. I swear, part three will BE THE LAST ONE!!! I SWEAR!!! I HAVE ANOTHER ONE SHOT THAT I WANNA WRITE DAMN

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You've been working here for ages, in this once rusty old bar which is now adorned by lively colors and music, turned into the best nightclub in the city, serving the best drinks and entertainments with the most beautiful dancers.

All in all, you have witnessed the worst and the best of this place. 

And you have come to know the people who own the place. 

In fact, you know them like the back of your hand, even better than themselves one might say. 

You're bright and perceptive, and working as a bartender in a place like this where it is jam-packed with important people all the time has its own perks. 

With a little bit of booze and honeyed words you bring out everyone’s hidden side and in no time, they’re spilling their deepest darkest secrets to who seems like just a sweet, harmless bartender. 

“Here you go.” you say to Simon, placing his usual Kentucky Bourbon on the counter, “Thanks, dove.” he says and brings the glass to his lips. 

“You know... I say don’t fuck around with the Russians!” you remark while drying the cups and placing them on the shelves. 

They asked your opinion on the matter since you’re their most trusted ally outside the group. As a matter of fact, they consider you part of the group by now. 

He chuckles before saying “That’s what I told Price.” 

“So why is he doing this?” you ask regarding cutting a deal with the Russians and Simon shrugs. 

You’ve had a weird feeling about it since they mentioned it to you. 

“Well, if any of you care about my opinion, don’t do it. It just doesn’t feel right to me.” you say with a shrug and look over to find him deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and gorgeous brown eyes focused on somewhere far away. 

Gods, he’s so handsome! You've been fond of him for some time now, and by the looks and little touches he gives you, you’d say the feeling is somewhat mutual. 

Out of all of them, he’s always been the closest to you.  

And he’s been your biggest protector all throughout this wild ride you’ve been on together. 

He always keeps an eye on you in case any of the customers gets too close and makes you uncomfortable; God forbid if any of them gets touchy, they’d be digging their own grave by doing that. 

You come back from your daydreams after hearing him clear his throat. 

You notice you’ve been staring far too long, choosing to ignore the faint smirk on his lips. 

“Sorry... just thinking about the deal.” you lie and dip your head, busying yourself with cleaning the cups and hoping he won’t notice your burning cheeks. 

“Well, I'm off to meet John now. I'll make sure to give him your opinion too.” he says while standing from his chair, “Thanks for the drink.” he offers a small smile with a nod. 

“You’re welcome, Si... and I'm sure he won’t listen to me. His mind is set on the idea and that’s that. Not that I would ever question his decisions. I have too much respect for the man to do that. He must know something that we don’t.” you mention while grabbing his glass and placing it in the sink. 

“I can assure you that he values your opinion just as much as you do his. He'll think about it. Don't worry.” he says while gathering his stuff and placing your tip on the counter, a hefty envelope, so generous as always. 

“Simon! I can’t accept this! This is... too much! You do this every time!” you exclaim with a frown, nudging the envelope in his direction. 

“Take it. I insist. You can renovate your apartment. Last time I was there, it was a bloody mess!” he teases with a playful smirk.

“HEY!” you say in mock annoyance while throwing the rag in your hand at him.

“My apartment is fine as it is, thank you very much!” you retort, failing to hide the smile forming on your lips. 

You take the envelope hesitantly after so much persuasion on his part and wave him goodbye, feeling butterflies dance in your belly as thoughts of him linger in your mind.

You dip your head and go on with what you were doing, lost in your own world and not noticing the dark shadow lurking in the distance and standing in a corner, carefully observing the place, and most importantly... you. 

[pitchsidestories]

little me (to my sister) II Alexia Putellas x Putellas!Reader

masterlist I word count: 882

a/n: thanks anon for giving us the idea for this story, enjoy 🫶🏻

“Something’s off.”

You looked up in surprise, suddenly torn from your thoughts by Aitanas voice.

She observed you closely through narrowed eyes.

You thought it was funny how she strained to figure out what was wrong.

With an innocent grin you stretched your legs out in front of you and leaned back against the dressing room bench.

“I don’t know what you mean, Tana.”

“Something just feels very wrong today.”, she said once again, her gaze still fixed on you.

You were just waiting for her to finally realize it. The white 11 printed on the chest of your warm-up shirt wasn’t really subtle. Everyone knew which Putellas sister this number belonged to.

“More like looks wrong.”, Mapi corrected the midfielder and winked at you.

A few of your teammates had grouped around you, smiling at each other once they saw you wearing your older sisters shirt.

“Hello? Can you stop staring at me?”, you complained playfully.

Vicky flashed you a lazy grin in reply: “Wait until your sister sees it.”

Luckily, your sister had a habit of putting in some extra work in the gym before your actual training so she left the house early that morning, her shirt unattended in her closet.

“She won’t even notice.”, you calmed Vicky with a laugh.

You were wrong about that.

Alexia walked in a few minutes later, a blush on her cheeks and sweat beads on her forehead from her previous workout while she sipped on some isotonic sports drink.

She only took one look at you and immediately yelled: “Is that my shirt?! You little…”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised that she had stopped herself and curious about what insult she had planned on using: “Little what?”

“I’m going to murder you!”, she replied and took a few threatening strides towards you. The familiar upward curve of her mouth telling you that she wasn’t actually mad at you.

Laughing, you lifted your hands in defense: “Don’t! Remember, I’m mums favourite!”

Your sister gasped offendedly: “You’re not even mums third favourite!”

“That’s not true. Mapi, help me!”, you called your friend while your sister cornered you on the bench, blocking the obvious exit with her body.

Mapi shrugged nonchalantly: “I mean… I really thought she was you for a moment, Ale.”

“What?!”, you both said simultaneously, staring at the defender.

You and Alexia did look similar but there was no way that you looked over thirty years old!

Ingrid put a hand to her girlfriends arm, subtly grimacing: “You offended two Putellas at once, that’s a new record, love.”

“But I agree with Mapi. They look so similar.”, Kika chimed in and was immediately rewarded with a glare from your sister in return.

“Are you saying I look old?!”, you asked the Portuguese woman, your lips formed to a pout.

An amused smile appeared on Alexia’s face. “I’ve to admit I’m a bit flattered by the fact that I still look as young as her.”  

“I can assure you, you don’t.”, you replied teasingly.

“Rude.”, your older sibling commented, punching you playfully.

“You’re basically twice my age.”, you added grinning.

“Don’t exaggerate.”, she laughed, hands resting on her hips.

“I don’t!”, you insisted. The age gap between her and you were thirteen years, and you turned 17 in June. You were forever your mother’s miracle she hadn’t expected anymore but was glad to have received.

“So, are you going to swap shirts or play with each other’s?”, Aitana interjected curiously.

“We’ll swap shirts. Come on, little one.”, Alexia declared in her captain voice.

“Come and get it if you want.”, you gave her a challenging look.

“Don’t play games with me.”, your sister rolled her eyes in an annoyed manner.

“Or what?”, you stuck your tongue out cheekily before starting to jog away from the blonde.

“Fine! I’ll catch you anyway.”, she yelled smirking.

“Prove it.”, you responded, you stumbled over your feet which was then Alexia caught up with you, her body towering over you.

“I got you now give me my shirt.”, the midfielder demanded slightly out of breath, after she started to tickle you.

“Ale, stop!”, you gasped.

“I’ll when you return what belongs to me.”, the captain said.

“Okay, fine. You won.”, you sighed, swapping her shirt for yours.

“Thank you.”, Alexia smiled satisfied.

“Happy now?”

“Very., your sister confirmed, she paused for a moment when continued beaming, this is your friendly reminder that cooking is on you tonight and no, Olga won’t help you this time.”

“I already gave you your shirt back, you could at least let your girlfriend cook for me.”, you whined.

“No, it’s your turn.”, she shook her head.

“Ugh, fine.”, you groaned.

The training was about to start now, the playing time was officially over, and you wanted to prove Pere that you belonged into the squad not because of your famous surname but because of the talent of your own.

Later in the kitchen Olga noticed you struggling with the recipe you were trying to cook, so she stepped inside with a friendly smile on her lips.

“Don’t worry I’ll help you, Ale is busy with business calls, so she won’t notice.”

“When is she not busy?”, you returned smiling.

“Good point.”, your sisters girlfriend admitted.

Gratefulness was spreading in your chest.

[aouiaa]

hii can you please do an abby x reader where Manny throws a party at the WLF stadium and abby and her gf go and her gf gets quite drunk and when she gets drunk she gets clingy and it’s just cute and fluffy and stuff.

if not don’t stress 💐💐

❝ HOW ABOUT THAT OFFER ? ❞ — ABBY ANDERSON

warnings and disclaimers, dealer!abby, alcohol consumption, usage of pet names (babe, pretty), descriptions of types of drunks, abby being so mm (need her).

TAPE THE MOUTH SHUT, i couldn’t resist the chance to scooch in the amazing dealer trope. i meannn, who doesn’t love her? I DO, MUAHAHA. keep sending requests! i love getting requests, or asks in general. just read my rules AND don’t be weird. OKAYYAYAABYEYEE

A firm knock on the wooden, painted door interrupts the participants inside. the music, once a mere background noise, now assaults your ears as the door opens and manny stands there, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. after greeting abby with dab, the two of you step into the room, the space seems to shrink as groups of people mill about, mingling together. the thick air, laden with the combined scents of sweat and weed, assaults your senses.

The tension in the air calls for some liquid courage, barely letting abby mingle with her own crowd, you practically drag her towards the makeshift alcohol table, where you promptly pour a random assortment of shitty, cheap liquor into a solocup. abby, who’s barely registering how she even got it there, notices your witch’s concoction, and laughs, leaning close enough so you can hear her over the music. "you sure you wanna drink that?" she taunts playfully.

In response, you scoff, rolling your eyes as you defiantly pour the chaser into the cup. "i can handle my liquor just fine, abby." you assure her, unamused. she immediately leans back, putting her hands up in a playful gesture of surrender "alright, alright," she laughs, "just saying ‘cause last time..." her voice trails off into laughter as you let out a exasperated sigh.

As the night wore on, so did the consumption, making the atmosphere becomes more carefree. it was cup after cup as you soon feel that familiar warm, fuzzy feeling that signals your transition to “that type of drunk.”

Everyone knows there are distinct of drunken personas: the aggressive, rowdy, and affectionate. as for you, the affection is on full display as you shower the apples of the blonde’s cheeks with kisses, dispensing them like a sprinkler sprinkling a flowerbed.

Abby, taking on the role of the caregiver for the evening sticks by your side at arms length. seated on a couch in the far corner of the main room, you purchase a spot on her lap, head resting on her shoulder with your arm flung around her neck while your other hand gently holds a half-empty cup of tonight’s libations. one of her lean, strong arms is wrapped around your waist, acting as your anchor.

Occasionally, between conversations with manny, she checks on you. this time is no exception, a strong tingling feeling resonates down your body from the touch of her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "lemme know when you're ready to head out, alright, pretty?" pressing a kiss to your cheek which makes you whinge, burying your face into the crook of her neck, flushed.

The thought of escaping this crowded scene and snuggling into the warmth of your fluffy pajamas, ensconced in the embrace of your plush bed, was tempting. but a guilty pleasure at best. you knew that abby's presence was strictly for business, parties merely transactions for her trade.

Over the course of the past three hours, a steady flow of people approached the two of you, each one slipping her money before muttering a brief ‘thanks’ and disappearing into the masses.

When money talked, you wouldn’t dare silent it.

It’s why you haven’t confirmed your submission, maybe the booze was talking, but all you really wanted to do was be coddled by your gentle giant. it’s not anything different than what it was three minutes ago. from afar, someone shouted her name, summoning her services. abby acknowledged the call, quickly murmuring, "i’l be back." before waving manny over to keep an eye on you.

It should have taken no more than a minute, perhaps a minute and a half if the asshole was particularly awkward. but that additional thirty seconds felt like an eternity of separation from her. you shook your head, pressing your body against hers as if your proximity alone could make her stay.

“no, stay here.” you sulk, abandoning the cup within milliseconds and wrap your arms tightly around her neck.

She chuckles, enclosing your body in a warm embrace. "but, i’ll be gone for a minute, tops." she promises.

Frustrated, you give her your best puppy eyes, questioning. “why can’t they just come over here?” shortly adding the dramatic proclamation, "i’ll die in those sixty seconds." that she knows you mean. with a heavy sigh and zero hesitation, she looks up at the guy waiting for her, then shakes her head dismissively before returning her attention back to you.

“okay, okay,” she hushes you, “i’m right here, babe.” she says, kissing your forehead and shifting in more comfortable position to embrace you. resting her head on yours and utters the only good thing that has came out of her mouth tonight.

“how about that offer?”

requests are open, don’t be shy :3

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm

[!] — PERCHANCE YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO MY PERMANENT, look here for more info!

[astraystayyh]

Starry night.

in which you and hyune fall in love through paintings.

idol!hyunjin x museum guide!reader. love at first sight, kinda. both mc and hyune are romantics.. lots of art analysis and conversations. very fluffy and soft. like so soft i hurt myself with this you guys.

all the info about Vincent Van Gogh’s life and works are from the Van Gogh Museum. the interpretations are my own but im not an art critic, obvi, just a yearner 💔 please enjoy, feedback is highly appreciated 💞

thank you to the lovely reader who commissioned me!!!! the money went to our stayblr fundraiser for palestine. please consider donating if you are able too as well <3333

“You’ll be able to do it, right?” Your manager Martin looks at you expectantly, and you blink slowly in response. It, referring to leading a private tour of the Van Gogh exhibition.

You’ve been a museum guide in New York for four months now. When you’re not painting, you’re here, amidst the array of artworks nestled in a quaint street near East River. You’ve led group tours before, always under the watchful eye of Martin, a middle-aged man who never forgets to bring you a vanilla bourbon macaron every morning.

However, you’ve never handled a private tour before. You see the desperation in Martin’s eyes as he awaits your answer—he’s the one who usually handles these tours, but he has urgent family matters to suddenly attend to.

You blink again, your tongue unknotting in a split second. “I’d be happy to,” you beam. The exhibition feels like a second home to you; you’ve visited it countless times long before you started working here.

Martin heaves a sigh of relief, smiling back at you. “I believe in you,” he reassures, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Remember why I chose you.”

You grin at his words, nodding vigorously. Your love for art brought you here; your very being seems molded to breathe in paintings and live among them. It’s as sweet a life as it can get.

“You’ll find all the details about our guest in our log. He’s famous, so he’ll be a bit discreet. He’ll expect you to be too,” he explains, hurriedly packing his things. You nod, taking the keys to the art gallery from his hand.

“Don’t worry, the gallery is safe in my hands.”

“I know,” he says with a comforting smile, before finally waving goodbye. You take a deep breath and check the booking for tonight’s exhibition—Hwang Hyunjin.

The name is unfamiliar to you, and so is the face that greets you at 8 p.m. sharp—at least, what you can see of it. He’s wearing a navy cap and a face mask, with a varsity jacket sitting perfectly atop his broad shoulders. He looks young, roughly your age.

“Hi, welcome to our Van Gogh exhibition,” you greet him with a grin. He bows slightly in response.

“No one’s here, so you can remove your mask if you wish. I can take your bag as well,” you offer with a smile. He nods and hands you his black duffel bag, which you quickly pass to the security guard, who places it inside a safe cabinet.

Hyunjin removes his Versace cap, running a hand through his silky black hair. There is an aura of assurance around him, as if he’s poised before a camera in a professional photoshoot. But then, a shy smile appears on his face as he finally removes his face mask, his eyes glinting beneath the golden lighting.

You feel your breath catch in your throat; for a split second, the world around you seems to still, the paintings dimming before the beautiful face in front of you.

“Right,” you clear your throat, “shall we?”

Hyunjin nods, falling easily into step with you. You pause before the first painting, ‘Woman with a Child on her Lap’, 1883.

“This is rumored to be about Sien Hoornik, who became both Vincent’s lover and model. She was a former prostitute, pregnant at the time, and had a five-year-old daughter. Vincent was determined to help her through her hardships, and they dated for a year and a half. But then, he broke it off because he said she was too far gone to be saved.”

Hyunjin nods, his eyes fixated on the painting, his head tilted slightly to the side. “The eyes are telling,” he speaks for the first time, and his voice floods your being like dewdrops reviving flowers at dawn. It is smooth and soft, the end of his words getting lost in the air and caught by your heart.

“The way the mother and daughter look at each other, I mean.” He clarifies, stealing a fleeting glance at you. “There is disdain on the mother’s face, but more toward herself, I think. Maybe because she sees her reflection in her daughter.”

Groups usually scurry past this painting, eager to see Vincent’s more renowned works. You feel your heart soften at how much he seems to be thinking about it, lost in his own world. You’re not even sure he remembers you’re there.

“Vincent was really determined to help her, although his brother Theo disapproved. His parents did too.”

“Isn’t that what love is? To hold someone’s hand even if everyone tells you to let go,” he mutters quietly, his eyes still lost in the painting. A hue of vulnerability colors his words before he clears his throat, as if unwittingly revealing his inner thoughts.

“That’s a beautiful way to view it,” you smile, and he nods, shyly biting his lower lip. For some odd reason, his timidity stirs something unfamiliarly tender within your heart.

You walk over to the next set of paintings. “When Vincent moved to Paris, you can see how his style developed. He let go of the darker tones he used in his infamous ‘The Potato Eaters’ and began using lighter colors, like here,” you explain, pointing to ‘The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry’.

“Do you think it’s because he was happier?” he suddenly asks, and you frown slightly. “Pardon?”

“The shift to lighter colors. ‘The Potato Eaters’ is so sorrowful and shrouded in darkness. ‘The Hill’ is much more colorful, lighter, you know?” His eyes glide to yours, a twinkle of curiosity glimmering in them.

“Vincent did flourish in Paris. For once, he was in the same city as his brother Theo, whom he loved dearly. But he was mainly influenced by modern art, which uses much lighter colors than his previous works. Art critics usually attribute this change in the influence of his contemporaries, such as—”

“But what do you think?” he interrupts softly, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are penetrating, and you find yourself lost in the seas of emotion they contain.

You quiet down, licking your lips tentatively. No one has ever asked for your opinion on these tours before.

“Well,” you begin slowly, “I think it’s possible. Being around his brother and other artists who embraced brighter palettes could have uplifted his spirit. But also, maybe the light colors were his way of reaching for happiness, even if he didn’t always feel it. Art often mirrors our hopes as much as our realities.”

Hyunjin listens intently, a thoughtful look on his face. “I agree,” he finally says, smiling sincerely. You don’t know why the sight of his grin renders your brain putty, like melted ice cream under the kind sunrays.

“His use of lighter colors continued when he moved to the south of France. He was delighted with the bright colors in Arles, painting orchards in blossom and workers gathering the harvest,” you explain, pointing to the respective paintings.

“That’s when he told his brother that he wanted to open a studio for fellow painters. He wrote in a letter the following: 'you always lose when you’re isolated.' He sent out many invitations, but only one painter agreed to come.”

“Paul Gauguin,” Hyunjin swiftly replies.

“Exactly. He was the first and last painter to move in with Vincent.”

“It seemed like the more he tried to escape loneliness, the more it found him,” Hyunjin muses, his eyes fixed on ‘Portrait of Gauguin’ by Vincent. The bright colors he asked you about earlier make you wonder if, beneath the spotlight, Hyunjin too feels lonely.

“Sometimes loneliness becomes a friend. You have to make room for it to allow other things to come in,” you say softly.

“It’s sad how nothing good came out of that roommate situation, though” he frowns, and you nod in agreement.

“Paul and Vincent were very different. They had a lot of eclectic views that often led to disagreements. I assume you know their most prominent one.”

“Yes, when Vincent cut off his ear.”

“Correct, he then wrapped it in newspaper and presented it to a prostitute in the nearby red-light district.”

“A prostitute…” Hyunjin muses, his thumb swiping slightly across his lower lip. “It seems like phantoms of his first love found him again. Even in his most disoriented state, he somehow remembered her.”

“You speak of love beautifully,” you suddenly say, before biting your tongue harshly, instantly regretting your words. But Hyunjin’s eyes seem to soften as he gazes at you, the warm light dancing across his pupils.

“It is a beautiful feeling.”

“Only to those who have beautiful souls,” you speak earnestly, and your words seem to morph into brushstrokes, painting the gallery in hues of red. Intimate, soft, too intimate all of the sudden.

“Vincent’s mental health rapidly declined, and he put himself back into the mental asylum,” you quickly clear your throat, though you can still feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you, not the painting. “Still, that’s when he created some of his most famous artworks, like ‘The Starry Night’. He was inspired by the view from the asylum’s window. It’s dominated by vivid yellow and blue, and the colors and paint seem to describe a world outside the artwork itself.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Hyunjin marvels, lost in the painting, leaning in until his nose almost brushes the canvas.

You suppress a giggle, but your laughter fades as you take in the mole right by his jaw, then the one by his neck. The delicateness of his face, the plumpness of his lips, and the curve of his lashes.

He’s beautiful. The painting could seep him in and he’d fit right in with the silver stars. Outshining them too, surely.

“I really liked the tour,” he smiles, nearly two hours of lazy strolls later. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you grin back, grabbing his outstretched hand. His fingers wrap around yours slowly, deliberately, as if on a mission to ignite your nerve endings. To set your soul ablaze with his palm alone.

His hand holds yours for a few seconds longer than necessary. Your blush mirrors his when he finally lets go.

He quickly bows again, grabbing his bag from his manager, who was waiting by the door. He almost bumps into the handle on his way out, and you let out an endeared chuckle, your eyes lingering on his figure until he disappears into his black van.

You think you'll never see him again, two lines crossing serendipitously at one point, never to cross paths once more. The thought sends a pang of sorrow latching onto your heart, before you quickly brush it away.

But then you do see him again, the very following night, at that.

It is near nine p.m. when Martin exclaims suddenly, “Mr. Hwang!” and you freeze in your place, book guide in hand.

It has been exactly twenty-four hours since you last saw Hyunjin, but when his voice softly echoes through the art gallery, it feels like a lifelong ache finally soothed.

“Please, call me Hyunjin,” he says, shaking Martin’s hand, though his eyes quickly find yours. They stay on you, unmoving yet tender, like a cotton blanket draped over your being.

“How was the tour with Miss Yn?”

“Ah—“ his gaze finally drifts away from yours. “Yes, it was really nice. That's why I came again,” he explains, a touch sheepishly, and your quizzical eyes meet Martin’s.

“Hyunjin booked another private tour. He specifically requested you to be his guide,” Martin explains, and your eyes widen in shock. You don’t have time to reply because your manager quickly scurries away. “I’ll leave you two then. Have fun!”

You wait until Martin disappears into his office before turning to Hyunjin, who avoids your gaze, one hand deep in his pocket, moving side to side. You remain silent for a few moments, simply admiring the side of his face. You’ve always had a deep appreciation for art running through your veins, after all.

“Hi,” he finally says, his eyes quickly meeting yours. You can’t stop the smile that floods your face, coating every nook and cranny of your features.

“You came back,” you say with a breathy giggle.

“Mm,” he instantly grins. “I don’t know when I’ll be back in New York, so I wanted to truly memorize the art here.”

“When are you going home?” you ask as you take his bag again, your eyes taking in his outfit—a green cap this time, a knit vest over a white shirt, and a silver teddy bear necklace nestled perfectly against it. Pretty.

“Tomorrow. We had a tour stop here, and we’ll go back to Seoul now.”

“And you’ll be spending your final night in the city here?” you chuckle slightly, and he shrugs as if it’s the most obvious decision he ever had to make.

“Why not? I think it’s beautiful here.” though his eyes never move to look onto the paintings, gliding across your face instead.

“And I forgot to take pictures yesterday,” he quickly adds, pointing to the camera in his hands.

“I’ll help you then,” you offer, and he smiles so brightly that it renders you speechless, suddenly wondering if the first person who ever drew a portrait had a similar thought—that they saw a smile so beautiful they just needed to immortalize it.

Hyunjin is at ease before the camera. You can tell by the way he almost pretends the device isn’t there, his eyes fixed on the paintings, mere centimeters away from the canvas. He’s whisked away into another world. You see your love for art mirrored in his soul as well.

“Do you paint, by any chance?” you ask between pictures, and he nods.

“Whenever I have free time. And you?”

“I do. I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, pointing his finger at you, before looking directly into the camera this time. “I’ve been painting magnolias lately.”

“Really? Why magnolias specifically?”

“I read a poem about them. It said that when magnolias wither, they aren’t considered beautiful anymore. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t at one point. It really moved me.”

“You have to be very optimistic to view it that way,” you say as you finally hand him the camera, satisfied with your pictures. You are both standing in front of ‘Almond Blossom,’ the pastel colors drawing you in.

“Withering flowers mean that at one point they were in full bloom. Grief means that at one point you did love,” you muse. “It takes a lot of gentleness to find beauty in endings, to celebrate them as proof of what once was. Don’t you think so?”

You turn to look at him when the flash of a camera catches you off guard.

Hyunjin looks at your picture, a soft smile on his face. “You fit right in with the flowers,” he compliments, though it does not feel superfluous or bearing a hidden intent. It’s a simple observation he wished to share.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, a blush sprouting from your very veins. You quickly fix your posture, pointing to the painting. “I told you yesterday that Vincent painted this for his brother Theo, to celebrate his newborn, whom he named after Vincent.”

“Yes, I remember,” he nods, slinging the camera over his neck and taking a picture of the painting up close. “It seemed to bring Vincent a lot of solace in his final days.”

“I’ve been thinking about your question, whether Vincent was happy. I think he was hopeful more than anything. He had hoped his works would be recognized, he had hoped he wouldn’t be as lonely anymore. Sometimes hope keeps you going much more than happiness.”

“Because happiness will eventually wear off?”

“Right, it’s only natural. But hope… it’s like a flame that never goes out. It might flicker and dim, but it will still be there on your darkest nights.” You bite your lip slightly, your thumb digging into your palm.

“I hope you’ll always have hope in your life, Hyunjin. You’ve been my favorite person to talk about Vincent with,” you say sincerely, your eyes unwavering from his.

You imprint the way his gaze softens into your mind, the slight blush that powders his cheeks, the way his teeth peek behind his smile. You memorize his velvety voice in your mind, the way he accentuates certain letters and how it pulls at the strings of your heart when he says—“I’m very happy I met you, Yn.”

May is gone, and with it Hyunjin, and you think you are a fool for thinking of him as often as you do after only five hours in his presence. You don’t know why your mind is permeated with his essence. But why wouldn’t it be? is the better question. When he’s beautiful, truly, body and soul.

You feel slightly less foolish when a postcard is delivered to your exhibition on a sunny Saturday, one month later. It depicts the front entrance of the Museum of Modern Art in Seoul.

June 13.

“yn,

i saw Vincent’s works once again in this month’s exhibition. somehow they seem less beautiful without our conversations.

i hope you’re surrounded by art, too.

hyunjin.”

June 23.

“hyunjin,

i visited claude monet’s immersive exhibition, you have to visit it as well, once you’re back in new york.

i am still surrounded by art, as always. i don’t think i could ever part from it.

did you finish your magnolias? i hope you’re seeing beauty in them even after they wither.

yn.”

July 5.

“yn,

claude’s works are so different from vincent’s... don’t you think it's beautiful that they lived at the same time yet depicted their world so differently?

my magnolias are finished. i’ve been drawing scenes from your exhibition lately, the picture i took of you is particularly inspiring. i hope you don’t mind.

hyunjin.”

september 26.

“hyunjin,

leaves are falling all over new york. new beginnings are upon us. i hope this view of my window inspires you too.

i wish you happiness no matter the season.

yn.”

october 7.

“yn,

i just saw the first snow at dawn, it was such a pretty view! i’m happy i’m alive today.

i hope snow reaches you fast enough, too.

stay warm.

with love,

hyunjin.”

october 23.

“hyunjin,

i’ve always preferred spring, but snow brought me such a happy opportunity. i’m invited to an exhibition in seoul, next month!

i’ll enjoy it well and think of our conversations.

with love,

yn.”

october 5.

“yn,

the weather is beautiful in seoul lately. i’m happy you’ll be here to see it.

it is late at night, and the moon is shining brightly. i hope it’ll shine as brightly for you too, in new york.

with love,

yours.”

The click of your black heels against the marble floors echoes through the museum, a comforting sound as you stroll through the immersive Vincent exhibition; now gracing Seoul. The colors wash over you, reflecting off your skin, swirling around you until you feel as though you’re being drawn into the very heart of the paintings.

“Enjoying the art, Yn?” a voice like honey drips across your being. Your heart skips a beat, plummets to your knees and races back to its place once again. You feel an ache inside you unfold. memories of Hyunjin’s voice rewriting themselves, perfecting your recollection of his accent and the tender way in which he spoke your name.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, though you refuse to turn around and meet his eyes. Not yet. The scent of his rose perfume is enough to have your heart rattling against your ribcage— a bird wishing to escape its cage and deliver your love letter to its rightful owner.

“Isn’t it an amazing coincidence we met here? In Seoul, no less,” he says, his voice airy as he inches closer.

“I know you’re the one who invited me,” you giggle, finally turning to meet his gaze. His eyes widen slightly before morphing into crescents, as if lifted from Vincent’s Starry Night.

“How did you know? I thought I kept it a secret in our postcards,” he grins sheepishly.

“I kept pestering Mr. Martin about why the museum invited me specifically until he finally told me you were behind it.”

“Well,” he licks his lips, his eyes roaming over your face. “I admit, I missed you. I wanted to see you again. And I happen to be a major contributor to the museum.”

“Fancy,” you beam, before your grin morphs to something much softer, as you realize that you are away from your work, and that the Hyunjin of your postcards is finally before you.

“I missed you too. Show me around?”

“Am I your guide now?”

“Mm. I expect you to be an expert.”

“Oh, I am.”

Hyunjin speaks of the paintings as if it’s his first time seeing them, finding new things to admire, new details to point out to you. You find it hard to keep up, only because your eyes seem more interested in observing him. You’ll tell him later that you were right in thinking he’d make every painting more mesmerizing.

But for now, you stroll together, his hand brushing against yours every now and then. Before long, you’re far from the museum, walking into the chilly Seoul night, his jacket draped over your shoulders.

And you talk, you talk about every painting you’ve seen since his departure, the flowers you’ve picked, and the strawberry field you visited at the end of June. He shares stories of his favorite painters and his beloved dog, Kkami, whom he misses dearly. He speaks of the moon and how your postcards lessened his loneliness. You tell him you’ve kept every card by your bedside, the first and last thing you see each day.

Suddenly your pinky is entwined with his, your cheeks ache from how much you’ve spoken and laughed, your heart lighter than it had ever been.

“Thank you for walking me to my hotel,” you smile softly.

He nods, his thumb swiping across your palm tenderly. It’s only after a while that he speaks again. “I know you said that happiness wears off eventually. But right now, the happiness i feel… I think it will last me for the next four months, at least.”

“Just four months?” you tease, and he giggles, tipping his head back. You wish you had your paintbrushes, your camera, a simple pen, anything to commit his laugh into something tangible.

“For a long time,” he finally says, quietly, resigned. Tomorrow’s flight ticket makes your heart ache, all of the sudden.

“I… I’ll get going. Thank you for inviting me,” you smile, dropping his hand. You know it’ll hurt the more you hold it, the easier it’d be for you to remember the softness of his hand.

So you walk back, you’re near the hotel door, a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, the security guards both discreetly look away.

“Yn,” Hyunjin turns you around, his eyes are as wide as the full moon hanging close to earth, listening in to your conversation.

“You didn’t- you didn’t show me your paintings.” he says a bit too quickly, desperately.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“Back in New York, you promised to show me your paintings. You didn’t.”

“You remember?”

Hyunjin's chest heaves in response, his warm palms cradle your cheeks, his eyes speak of a yearning you haven’t thought existed. When his lips crash upon yours, fervently, passionately, like the collision of all stars in Starry Night, you have your answer.

He remembered. He remembered as much as you.

Epilogue— seven months later.

“Now… next question,” Hyunjin grins as he takes out a folded paper from a glass jar, five sets of camera’s all pointed at him in the shooting set of Elle Korea.

“If you could feel only one emotion for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

Hyunjin puts the paper down, adjusts the sleeves of his Versace blue silk shirt. He doesn’t need to think too much to answer— he already has his reply.

“Someone told me, a long time ago, that hope keeps you going longer than happiness. Because happiness wears off eventually. But hope doesn’t. hope is like a flickering flame, it surges and it dims, but it doesn’t go out, so I choose hope.” he smiles suddenly, eyes looking into those of the staff behind the camera.

“That got deep all of the sudden, right? Done worry, Stay, I have hope, happiness and love, all at once.”

He chuckles quietly, picking up the last piece of paper.

“Finally… who’s your favorite painter? Ah, easy, it’s Vincent Van Gogh.”

“What's your favorite painting by him?” the shooting director asks behind the camera, his eyes fixate on the lens. He knows his love will be watching.

“A woman with a child on her lap. It’s not very known, but… if you look into it closely, beautiful things might come into your life and change it forever.”

from left to right, Woman with a Child on her Lap, 1883 — Portrait of Gauguin, 1888— The Potato Eaters, 1885—The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry, 1886— Almond Blossom, 1890— The Starry Night, 1889.

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Bill Dickey - Comic & Ego Extraordinaire

Welcome to the club, why not meet the president?

William “Bill” Alan Dickey [04/13/80] | [5'11.5 (that .5 is real Important*)] Secretary of Comics | President of the Eltingville Club AOL / Online Users: [greedo318] | [DarkxKnightx] Theme Songs: What’s My Age Again? - blink-182 | My Own Worst Enemy - Lit | Brutal - Negative 25 Favorite Shit: Stan Lee, The X-Men, Complete Runs, Signed Editions, The Joker, Emma Frost, The Batman, Alternate Earths, Variant Covers, Crossovers, Torrent Sites, Action Figures, Statues/Busts, Alex Ross, Bondage Covers, First Printings, Continuity, Cosplay Chicks, “Headlights”.

In the ripe year of 1999, Bill Dickey couldn't be any more... Tired? Annoyed? A lonely piece o' sh-- But that's fine, everything is fine, right guys? .... Guys? The fact he's managed to keep the club together is baffling at best (and all thanks to Jerry, and May.. er.. Mr. Osewai, actually), and completely unbelievable at worst, but he's still got his friends (kind of) and they still like him (eh..) He's a nice guy, honest, just.. don't turn on your brain.

Variants Under the Cut--

Oh Captain, My Captain

His @ greedo318 account got banned essentially in the first two weeks of him getting it on Messenger about a year back, as May and Pete helped Josh essentially spam report it when he started to harass Josh there too. Hence the new name that he actually uses.

Mrs. Dickey is still trying to force him to get a job, and while he has applied, he flops any and every interview he lands with his stupid need to be the loudest asshole in the room.

This man's ego is absolutely the size of the sun, it's almost immeasurable I assure you, HOWEVER--

Show him some ⋆｡°✩spunk~✮⋆˙ show him you bark back just as harsh as him and he *might* just keep you around.

Someone please just get him a better acne face wash and a steady form of income that isn't his mother's paychecks bro please for the love of god--

He was actually one of the first in the group to get a car, but he never has money for gas so he like never drives it. It was a "gift from dad" according to his mom, but he doesn't believe her for a minute. (He's convinced she bought it for him to get him to move out.)

His mom watches Titanic every year on his birthday after 1997 and he HATES it to the point he has threatened to disconnect the breaker if she kept playing it at full volume.

He is still convinced that he has a shot with May (Despite her telling him repeatedly no) and is INSISTENT about it like a possessive little weirdo (news flash, he doesn't but he's delusional so it's fine)

^^ This absolutely pisses Pete off but he can't say shit cause he's a baby that won't ask her out so--

The night of the Destruction of Joe's Fantasy World, Mr. Osewai had tried to stop in and pick something up for May when he walked in on.. well, Dickey on fire. His paternal instincts kicked in and managed to help the kids and smooth some things over with the families (and.. may or may not have threatened to rip out Joe's tongue but like it's fine).

Dickey has a strong sense of gratitude for the guy, even if he expresses it in the WEIRDEST ways, 'cause at the end of the day the guy kind of saved his only group of friends from his own bullshit.

When he does eventually land a job, it's essentially a generic gas station attendant, but they let him read his comics on the job when he has to work nights so that's a plus?

Guh guys I hate this man so much can someone please explain why I have so much fun drawing him please please please--

also... this somethin' y'all want?

[lvrhughes]

Underage | L. Hughes

word count: 1.79k

pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

warnings: underage drinking? (it's legal in Canada though??)

summary: Luke meets a pretty girl at the bar

requested: no

notes: i don’t understand drinking age in the US i’ll be so real i’m canadian it’s legal at 18 or 19 here

not my gif!

“Are you even legal?” The question slipped out before you could think, quickly hiding the embarrassment with a sip of your drink while you watched the boys cheeks turn a dark pink.

“I- um.” He barely could speak, his voice shaky and his hands just as bad. Who you had to assume to be his brother, stood beside his, leaned up to rest his arm around the taller ones shoulder. 

“He’s not but we just needed him for some team bonding so we thought it’d be fine, he won’t drink or anything.” The older one assured, his tone was calm and collected, ignoring the odd idea that some random girl who just happened to be walking past the group would ask such an absurd question.

“Oh man, I don’t care if he does. I don’t work here. I just clearly have had too much and no filter.” The words slipped out again, the realization of how stupid you might have sounded hitting you after. 

A look of relief flashed over the younger one's face though, his posture relaxing a little more while his brother’s, as you assumed, arm slid off his shoulder, bending over in laughter.

“Holy shit! Luke, you looked horrified!” the shorter one spoke, words interrupted by laughter, while you tried not to laugh with him.

The taller one, Luke, rolled his eyes, smacking his brother before speaking again.

“I thought I was about to be kicked out, I think being a little scared is fair.” He grumbled, staring his brother down while he simply laughed. 

“I’m sorry I scared you, if it makes you feel better I’m not supposed to be here either.” Your hand shot to your mouth quickly, immediately knowing that saying that aloud would lead to you being kicked out.

“What?” The shorter one spoke again, you really needed to learn his name, with a look of shock among his features.

“I shouldn't have said that.”

“How did you get in?” It was Luke this time, his voice filled with curiosity. 

“My best friend works here, she gets me in.”

He nodded his head, the brunette beside him staring in awe while you shyly mixed the drink you held, damn near empty now. 

“Can I get your number?” Luke spoke quickly and quietly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he asked. 

You nodded, a small smile on your face at the awkward yet cute movements of the boy, allowing him to pass you his phone. Typing your number quickly before snapping a quick selfie, creating a perfect contact for the cute boy you’d just met at the bar. You watched him look over the contact as he held the phone in his hands, a soft smile and blush covering his cheeks. 

“Why don’t you sit with us?” The shorter of the brothers spoke again, his arm wrapping around your waist for a second, pulling you off guard, as he moved you from passing strangers. 

“I thought you had some team bonding thing happening here?”

“Oh we do, they just definitely won’t care. This is just an excuse for the team to get drunk together once more before the season starts.” He explained, Luke standing uncomfortably behind him.

You simply nodded, not having any words to answer. If you said no you’d be missing out on a really cute boy, but if you said yes you're subject to meeting more strangers tonight. It seemed like a loose-loose scenario, so fuck it.

“Yeah I’ll sit with y’all, just let me get another drink.” 

The boys nodded, Luke offering to come with you while the other deemed he’d be at the table with the team.

“So is that your brother?” The question came quick, the moment it was just you and Luke walking towards the counter.

“Yeah, he’s one of my older brothers.” 

You nodded, asking more short questions to get to know the tall, curly haired boy more. Allowing his short and simple answers to gather more about him, listening to the tone of his voice while he spoke. He only silenced when you’d reached the bar, glancing for your friend before calling her over.

“Another one? Already?” The bartender smiled, shaking her head while you shone a shy smile towards your best friend. “I see you got company though.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows while you reached over the counter, smacking her arm lightly while she laughed. She continued mixing the drink, unphased by your previous actions as Luke stood and stared in awe, simple thoughts running through his mind of how pretty you looked. 

“Hey, be nice to the bartender, I could just not make you drinks!” She spoke after, pouring the finished drink into another glass before sliding it to you. 

“You’d never, you love me too much.” You grinded, sending a kiss in the air to her, watching her pretend to catch it while you walked away with Luke.

“So, what’s your team like?”

The question came from your lips quickly, taking a small sip of the drink you had just gained after while Luke scratched at the back of his neck. 

“They’re… a lot sometimes but they’re the best I could even ask for.” His words had a sense of pride in them, proving how much his team meant to him.

“What is your team for?” 

A blush quickly covered his face, leaving him a soft, mumbling mess. His hand running through his curls rapidly while he tried to figure out how to answer the question. 

“I- Uh-” He interrupted himself with a sigh, deeming lying held no hope, “You ever watch the NHL?”

Confusion struck your features, stopping in your tracks to stare down the tall boy for a moment, seeing the concern that struck his features. You shook your head slightly, seeing his shoulders drop in relief at the admission that you don’t watch hockey. 

“Well I- uh, play for the New Jersey Devils?” The sentence came out more of a question than anything else, his hand still anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s cool.” You smiled at him, seeing the shock that covered his face when you seemingly did not care that he was a household name. 

“Thank God you didn’t freak out.” He mumbled, a small smile appearing across his features again, taking your hand in his tentatively.

Leading you to the table, seeing his group of rowdy teammates taking up an entire corner in the bar, leading you to the end of the table, pulling out a chair for you while you glanced through the roster. 

A few faces seemed familiar, probably from the few times you had watched a hockey game with your best friend, who was a hockey fanatic, but not of the Devils. No, her heart was set on the Canucks, having come from Vancouver. 

“Lukey! You got a girl now?” One cheered, his voice loud over the noise, clear he’d already had a few too many drinks. 

“Fuck off Daws.” Luke groaned, his arm wrapping around the top of your chair, pulling it right beside his. 

“She scared the shit out of him when we were walking in!” Luke’s brother cheered back, going into detail of how you met the brothers. 

“Lu,” You whispered, leaning into him to gain his attention, “What’s your brother’s name?” 

A pink flushed over his face when he turned, leaving barely three inches between your faces, before he answered. 

“Jack,” He paused, leaning back and pointing out his teammates one by one, “That’s Dougie, Nico, Timo, Šimon..” 

His list continued, watching certain players acknowledge his introductions and wave towards you while others continued their own conversations, laughing with each other. You smiled at a few of the players, letting your gaze wander back onto Luke after, watching the way his eyes lit up as he heard his teammates talking about something that piqued his interest, quickly shoving his way into the conversation. 

“Luke, pay some attention to your girl before she leaves you.” One man spoke up, shoving Luke back towards you from where he’d been leaning, if you remembered right, it was Dougie. 

A darker shade covered his cheeks, his attention turning to you, where you had been sitting, admiring the boy talking to his friends. His eyes caught your quickly, holding until you broke, glancing down at his lips before you could stop and think. 

A small smile covered his face, his attention fully on you as he maneuvered your body, pulling your legs over his, pulling you as close as possible. A look beyond normal flooded his eyes, his brother could see it from miles away, the look of admiration, of love and lust that threatened to take over. 

“Would you go on a date with me?” His voice held a note of fear, yet the question slipped out before he could think, his teammates silencing their conversations to listen quickly. 

“I’d love to.” 

The smile that broke out on his face was enough to elicit one from you, matching grins painting your faces while his brother shared a similar one. A sense of pride flowing from Jack, watching his little brother find a girl. 

Your eyes flashed down to Luke’s lips once more, more confident than the last look. His eyes followed yours, watching your gaze drop while he did the same to you before reaching out.

His arm wrapping around your waist, sliding you forwards, gently as if to give you the choice to pull away. Like you ever would.

He dropped his head, his face barely apart from yours, your breaths mingling together while he waited, seeing if you’d pull back. He watched you carefully, watching you lean forward slightly, lessening the distance between, before he made his move. 

Pressing his lips against yours, feeling your body melt into his, his hands holding your waist while your legs stayed over his lap, sitting sideways in the uncomfortable bar chair while your hands moved to his hair. Running a soft hand through his curls, feeling the way he leaned in for more, feeling how much he liked having your hands in his hair. Feeling him pull way for air, pressing his forehead against yours to keep you close, making sure your hands stayed where they were. 

A smile covered your lips, seeing one cover his lips too. His cheeks flushed pink while cheers from his teammates filled the bar, earning your move to hide your face in his chest, having his arms wrap around you tightly, protectively. 

“So how about that date?” 

You laughed at his words, leaning back to stare up at him, seeing the sly smile on his face before you leaned forward to press another soft kiss to his lips, silencing his horrible jokes.

[witherby]

Oooo would Little Wayne be homeschooled to begin with? At least for the first few years of school until everyone is comfortable with them spending hours away- how do you think their first time having a sleepover at a friends would go?

Also I suggest some nicknames!! Maybe Alfred would call them Flittermouse (old English slang for bats because of the noise their wings makes) and that could be shortened to Mouse cause of how quiet they can be sometimes

Or maybe Dick calls them Pup cause baby bats are pups

Or or Sun/Light related nicknames cause that’s very cute

I very much love little Wayne au omg

-🪼

Hi! All excellent questions, thank you so much!!

I think Damian's overprotectiveness would lead to him convincing Bruce to do homeschooling for at least pre-school and kindergarten age. Eventually Bruce would win Damian over by insisting that you deserved to socialize with children in your age group and learn to make friends and develop interests outside of the manor.

Now, you are a Wayne, so you will be sent off to first grade with a bodyguard — perhaps one dressed as a TA if the school insists on exercising a little subtlety — but Bruce isn't stupid not to understand the risks Damian brought up, which is why he allowed preliminary homeschooling to begin with.

I think your first sleepover would be just fine! Your brothers would conduct a very thorough background check on your friend's parents and then patrol the area several nights beforehand, but after assuring your safety, you'd be free to go hang out and play games and do all the normal sleepover things you'd want! They'd try their best not to hover — you deserve to live as normal of a life as possible.

I LOVE THOSE NICKNAMES! FLITTERMOUSE IS SO CUTE AHHHH

I personally like it a lot, but I'm gonna put your options up to another vote! If there are other nickname ideas, my inbox is always open, so don't hesitate to tell me!

[luvvyouforever]

headcanons : med student!abby anderson x liberal arts student!reader ᥫ᭡

content: wlw relationship. modern college au. ramblings of fluff, maybe a touch of angst but nothing heavy. enjoy <3

a/n: my authority for writing this you ask? i'm an english major who gets asked regularly what i am going to do with my degree! also this is my first time writing about abby i just had to get this idea out of my head and on to the screen.

-abby decided at a young age to follow in her father's footsteps and become a doctor as well. she committed herself to studying science and math as a kid and occasionally disregarded her other studies like music, art, and english. she did enough to keep a 4.0 GPA but her heart was in science tournaments, young medical professional groups, and ap bio.

-she got into one of the best schools in the states for medicine and was a stellar student in organic chemistry, anatomy, and neurology. she knew she was going to do great on her MCAT, but unfortunately, she wasn't doing so great in some of her gen ed classes and it was impacting her gpa.

-that was how she found herself in a tutoring center in one of the older buildings on campus that was shockingly different from the science buildings she spent all of her time in. she had an appointment with you, but was so nervous to go and admit that she was having trouble in something as simple as art history or literature or communication.

-when she sat down to have her appointment with you, you immediately calmed her nerves and assured her that there was nothing wrong with needing some help in classes she wasn't comfortable in. you helped her ace her quiz and then she just kept coming in to see you. over and over. until she eventually passed the class with an A and no longer needed your assistance.

-and then, as luck would have it, abby got her own job as a tutor for science courses and who happened to walk in but you! the tutor who helped her pass her own difficult course.

-it was history from there.

-despite abby's commitment to her education, she was always able to carve time out of her schedule to be with you. she loves studying with you and filling up a room in the library with your stuff to prepare for exams together. she takes a whiteboard and writes all of her notes on it while you're rereading historical texts or revising your final paper about a painting abby doesn't really quite understand.

-she never makes you feel less than for not studying something "more difficult" as people have before. she loves hearing about your passions for history or writing stories or creating art. she'll come with you to art galleries and try to input her own thoughts from time to time about what she thinks certain pieces mean.

-she understands that graduate school applications are just as important to you as medical school applications are for her. you'll do practice interviews with each other and try on outfits for each other.

-abby will not stand for someone making fun of you for your choice of studies. you two once went to a family gathering on abby's side and when some of her family members began interrogating you on how you're going to get a job and even imply that you'll be living off of abby for your whole life, she gets all up in their face and comforts you later! you will not be sending birthday wishes to those family members anymore and she can guarantee that.

-if you guys get accepted in to schools that are long-distance from each other, you'll absolutely make it work. abby is so methodical that she'll never forget to text you and plans out times that either of you can visit.

-if you ever dedicate a piece that you've created in school to her, she'll positively swoon. like if you wrote a poem about her, she would print it out and pin it up on the fridge. if you painted her, she would hang it up on the wall. and she's the best model for those things too

-i imagine that dinners with your colleagues or friends are very random. abby has but a few friends in her residency and they're each as professional as her. you, however, come with a group of lively people who are discussing philosophical ideas or debating about a piece of art history and how its influenced modern culture. it would be an interesting combination to say the least.

-abby would just be so interested in anything you have to do and would never be critical of your choices. she sees the passion you have for things that lie far outside her field and appreciates it. your future apartment that you build years after meeting when you are each established in your dream careers is a mesh of medical textbooks and flashcards and models but also messy journals and thrifted antiques and poems written on sticky notes for her to find.

[astonmartinii]

the age of no regret [mamma mia part four] | formula one scoial media au

drivers: sebastian vettel, jenson button & fernando alonso part one | part two | part three masterlist | tips

a due date nears, a god father is revealed and new cravings are discovered

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,209,851 others

tagged: jensonbutton

yourusername: f1 drivers are too generous, i don't know how we got all of the stuff back from montreal let alone how we're going to store it.

view all comments

user1: i'm NOT jealous of an unborn child's helmet collection

user2: this bro got a senna helmet, can i have it until they know who he is?

sebastianvettel: i'm seeing a 'we' in this caption when it was me, myself and i putting together this display case

yourusername: erm i was supervising?

sebastianvettel: that was more aimed at jenson, love. i wouldn't want you anywhere near a glass display case right now

jensonbutton: one day it's "i'm the wood work king, let me do this" and then it's "why did no one help me?" PICK A STRUGGLE SEB

sebastianvettel: well i was waiting for you to take all the credit ... so this is awkward now

jensonbutton: well i'll take the credit for getting most of the helmets

charles_leclerc: ummmm no i gave seb at least two of these

jensonbutton: @sebastianvettel tell your grid kid to back off this is adult conversation

charles_leclerc: i'm 25?

fernandoalo_oficial: beckett better be sleeping in his dog bed because i am not fighting a dog for my space in the bed

jensonbutton: of course he is !!!!!!!!!

yourusername: the exclamation marks are really making you look guilty

jensonbutton: IT'S NOT JUST ME YOU GUYS BRING HIM TO BED AS WELL

yourusername: i have hormones i see one puppy dog look AND I CAN'T LEAVE HIM THERE

fernandoalo_oficial: if i have to fight the dog, you guys have to let me sleep in the middle

yourusername: fine. beckett sleeps at the foot of the bed anyway you just want to be in the middle of the cuddle pile

fernandoalo_oficial: sue me

user3: cuddle pile? i'm so soft

user4: beckett? who named this dog and why was it definitely jenson?

yourusername: it was but i was assured it has nothing to do with f1

user4: babes i hate to tell you but he's defo named after the corner at silverstone

yourusername: how am i so easy to trick ffs

sebastianvettel

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton and 1,093,455 others

tagged: yourusername

sebastianvettel: crochet club in full swing for zandvoort. good luck nando!!

view all comments

user5: they really are old people at heart it's so cute

maxverstappen1: can i get a good luck for my home race?

sebastianvettel: good luck?

yourusername: good luck super max! (not that you need it)

maxverstappen1: thank you y/n i knew there was a reason why you're my favourite :)

charles_leclerc: can i get a good luck too please?

sebastianvettel: you weren't this clingy even when we were teammates

yourusername: seb !! be kind, good luck charlie

landonorris: can i also get a good luck?

yourusername: good luck lando (stop being so hard on yourself)

sebastianvettel: is everyone gonna ask for a good luck?

yourusername: how many more grid kids do you have? i feel like you underestimated the number on your cv

jensonbutton: how is my jumper coming along?

sebastianvettel: we're both working on a sleeve right now!

yourusername: sorry if one is shorter than the other i can't stop going to the bathroom

fernandoalo_oficial: thank you guys, can't wait to see you when i get home x

jensonbutton: looking fast this weekend, podium defo on the cards

yourusername: be fast but be safe x

sebastianvettel: looking forward to a new celebration

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 702,340 others

tagged: sebastianvettel, jensonbutton & yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial: getting attachment issues already @f1 can we just race in switzerland from now on?

view all comments

user8: they do group facetimes while nando is away?!?!?!?!?! shoot me.

yourusername: i second this @f1

jensonbutton: i third it

sebastianvettel: i fourth it

fernandoalo_oficial: i miss you guys :(

user9: i'm so excited/nervous about the naming situation i know these men will just have stupid suggestions

yourusername: we compromised with a name book i do not trust them after beckett

jensonbutton: beckett is a cute name and you agreed!!!!!

mickschumacher: do you guys need the extra camp beds or not?

sebastianvettel: yes please! could you bring them when you get back?

charles_leclerc: we're sleeping on camp beds? does my back mean nothing to you?

fernandoalo_oficial: do we look like a hotel to you?

yourusername: there are beds but it's first come first served, so don't be late xoxo

user10: are the grid going to stay at seb's?

user11: might be for a baby shower?

user12: HOLY SHIT

maxverstappen1: am i allowed to bring the cats? is beckett trained?

yourusername: omg yes please bring jimmy and sassy

jensonbutton: yes he's trained what do you think i've been doing with my retirement?

maxverstappen1: no comment

sebastianvettel: i guess you can bagsy a room for you and the cats

maxverstappen1: HA thank you seb

fernandoalo_oficial: more and more i realise why people call you my grid kid

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,340,566 others

yourusername: who knew i'd end up with a family this big? i love you all.

view all comments

user13: i am unwell this is so fucking cute

sebastianvettel: i love our weird little family

yourusername: little? we hosted like 25 grown men ...

jensonbutton: and you loved every single second

yourusername: yeah i love you guys and all your little stray cats with attachment issues

fernanodalo_oficial: yeah but that means they also give good gifts

user14: wait? 25? who else do we think went?

user15: so mick was definitely there, i think i saw mark in the back of one pic, kimi was there along with nico rosberg (LOL) and i think rubens barrichello

user16: no way first out of paddock brocedes reunion was at the mamma mia baby shower...

jensonbutton: those people are meant to be athletes how come there were NO CUPCAKES LEFT I KNOW THAT'S NOT IN YOUR DIETS

maxverstappen1: idk i feel like you're projecting

charles_leclerc: yeah you sound mad guilty jenson

yourusername: now i can see the grid kid resemblance

sebastianvettel: i will not take any responsibility for their shenanigans

fernandoalo_oficial: i do

danielricciardo: soz i finally got that brocedes scoop over a late night cupcake

yourusername: i won't be angry if you spill to me

lewishamilton: daniel?

fernandoalo_oficial: this is why you're my favourite daniel

user17: i need them to SPILL NOW

jensonbutton

liked by sebastianvettel, yourusername and 702,334 others

tagged: kimiraikkonen

jensonbutton: it's official!! after careful consideration, we decided that kimi was the best choice for god father, but we still consider you all a weird mix of god uncles and god everything else. y/n is due any day now so we'll see you all some time soon x

view all comments

user18: LETS GOOOOOO I WAS ALWAYS TEAM KIMI THAT'S MY GOAT 🐐

maxverstappen1: rigged

yourusername: maxy if it helps seb was seriously stumped after the baby beekeeping suit

maxverstappen1: doesn't help but i guess it's healthy to take a loss every now and again

danielricciardo: i. am. shocked.

sebastianvettel: you insulted all of us in your application

danielricciardo: ummmmm yes to prove to chickie that i'm a fun, goofy guy DUH

jensonbutton: we are NOT boring farts

danielricciardo: depriving your child of a fun god father is a boring fart move

kimiraikkonen: i am fun daniel.

charles_leclerc: i may have lost god father but i won being a bear, you win some you lose some

lewishamilton: you're being much more gracious than expected

charles_leclerc: oh i screamed into my pillow when i got this notification (and max also lost)

fernandoalo_oficial: you're taking it well lewis

lewishamilton: I KNOW YOU VOTED AGAINST ME FERNANDO BUT JOKES ON YOU I SEE THE HAMILTON BEAR YOU FRAUD

yourusername: there were no votes against people... also roscoe is not a reference we can actually verify i don't think dogs can speak english (or german, spanish or italian)

lewishamilton: he can skateboard? how am i not a good dad?

fernandoalo_oficial: see this aggression is why you aren't god father

lewishamilton: i'm letting roscoe at your ankles old man

sebastianvettel: OKAY LETS STOP THERE

markwebber: who got kimi jack daniels? that's a bold (and uniformed)choice

yourusername: it's the aesthetic mark, i don't like your tone

jensonbutton: kimi will drink anything don't worry love

markwebber: all i said was it is an interesting choice

yourusername: this is why you got destroyed by a twink btw

jensonbutton: well this all escalated fast

astonmartinf1

liked by lancestroll, estebanocon and 1,094,561 others

astonmartinf1: fernando alonso will not be racing this weekend due to family matters. felipe drugovich will race in the second aston martin seat. we wish y/n, fernando, jenson and seb luck for their new addition.

view all comments

user21: EVERYONE STAY FUCKING CALM

user22: i am so so so so so so so so so chill about this

lancestroll: good luck y/n! can't wait to meet the little one

user23: god i miss the squabbles in the comment sections

user24: literally and i can imagine it's going to increase ten fold when they all have an actual kid to fight over

charles_leclerc: why does it have to be a race so far from europe :(((( i wanna meet chickie ASAP

maxverstappen1: don't make me race your ass to the hospital

charles_leclerc: we can use air max this once seb won't know

danielricciardo: 📸 GOT YOUR ASS

charles_leclerc: daniel???

danielricciardo: 'm sorrry i'm stressed

user23: okay that didn't take long

user25: i need a lobotomy asap cause why am i so excited about four complete strangers having a baby

user26: I AM SO NERVOUS ABOUT THE NAME IF THIS CHILD IS NAMED AFTER A RACE, DRIVER OR A CORNER I WILL ACTUALLY LOSE MY MIND

user27: seb will never see the light of day if that child ends up with a bond girl name

lewishamilton: good luck guys !!! can't wait to meet the full family

user28: completely normal that the whole family is not online during potential labour but I NEED UPDATES

user29: okay put your bets on guys - which one of them is passing out

user30: jenson 100%

user31: idk i think seb has been way too chill this entire pregnancy and it's all going to come out during the birth

danielricciardo: yeah seb's ass is grass

maxverstappen1: DANIEL STOP (it's gonna be jenson)

danielricciardo: i'm sorry i'm so stressed i'm literally going to bite off my fingers

f1

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,402,455 others

f1: with y/n's due date this week, we send our love and well wishes to the alonso-vettel-button family and can't wait to meet the new addition (and soon to be champion) 🏎️

view all comments

user32: it's just dawning on me that this kid might need a jumbo birth certificate with all these last names

user33: is anyone curious if they'll ever do a paternity test to see who the biological dad is

user34: let's not ask horribly personal questions about situations that are nothing to do with us

user35: also the kid is going to have four loving parents and about 25 grown men who will fight for them so i really don't think who the biological father is is really a big deal

estebanocon: gosh i am so excited

user36: as much as i am excited i hope it won't become a whole family influencer type beat

user37: i don't think they will tbf, i think they'll post about chickie but it'll be reserved

georgerussell63: so excited for the guys! they'll all rock as parents and y/n has already put up with them so will be an amazing mother

alexalbon: good luck guys, all of our love x

user38: f1 cruel as hell for putting this race all the way qatar so that there's no way they can go back to europe between races :(

charles_leclerc: real, depriving us from meeting chickie asap

user39: do we think kimi went with them?

user40: and maybe mick? he's not with mercedes this weekend?

mickschumacher: kimi and i are with them! not allowed in the delivery room when chickie comes but we're here for moral support <3

user41: oh i am so soft

lewishamilton: i guess it makes sense kimi is the god father... good luck guys!

note: OKAY PEOPLE THAT'S PART FOUR HOLY MOLY i am hashtag stumped on a baby name and the sex IDK ANY OF IT but this was FUN! hopefully yall enjoy and hopefully i tagged everyone who asked (blame my phone if not) also thanks to @deviltsunoda for listening to me SCREAM about this the whole time i've been writing it xoxo

taglist: @boiohboii @vellicora @faithm120601 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @luv4kani @eugene-emt-roe @magical-spit @ironmaiden1313 @jaydaaasworld @whoreks @rainerax @nonsensical-nonsence @laneyspaulding19 @chelseyyouraverageluigi @lxclerc @gemofthenight @woweewoowa @tagteamedbitch@imagandom@mypage-myfandoms@mehrmonga@asparklysoul @unstableplant @motorsp0rt@multilovebot@lili-flower03 @its-elias-world @jolixtreesunn@nothingfuninthislife@rileynicol3@kodzuvk@mochimommy2002@fluffyspaceprincess@roseseraj@black-swan-blog27@nyrasslut@justdreamersdream@asfaraslifegets@why4anne@ineffableperson@leilanixx@lunyyx @pupbistro @gaypoetsblog@rafaaoli@champomiel@sadsierra2 @rainerax @lokietro @thecubanator2 @nzygftoji @rockyhayzkid @nmw-am @slytherheign @erikasurfer @turn-around-look-at-what-you-see @greigreyhiyyih

[lipglossanon]

Day 28

Kink: Blood

Pairing: Ghostface!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, killer!Leon, stalking, noncon, humiliation, dirty talk, blood, violence, bodily harm (Leon takes a knife to readers body in a very unsexy way), unprotected sex, creampie; Leon is not a nice guy in this 👌

not proofread

Your mom calls you up and talks you into taking your cousin out trick or treating.

It’d be so nice and little Lucy would be over the moon to see you! No one’s able due to other commitments, and wouldn’t it be nice to come home and visit for a while? 

Rolling your eyes, you pull into the driveway of your childhood home and out of your own reverie. There’s only a few plastic pumpkins sitting on the porch near the front door. 

“Way to get into the spirit,” you mutter, boot nudging a grinning gourd until it nearly tips over. 

“Oh, you’re here!”

The front door swings open and your mom pulls you into a hug. 

“Told you I would be,” you pat her back before stepping away. 

“I know,” she wrings her hands, eyes darting around nervously. “Let’s get inside.”

She tugs your bicep and once you’ve stepped over the threshold, she locks the door. 

“Can’t be too careful,” she gives you a wan smile. “Let’s talk in the living room.”

Her nervous energy carries over with her, leg bouncing after she sits on the couch with the tv playing low in the background. She points at the screen with the remote as you sit down, the volume blaring to life. 

“As reported by RCLN, the police have confirmed the death of four citizens. Sources say this could be the work of a killer much like authorities saw in Woodbridge years prior. Local county officials have issued a city wide curfew beginning at 10:00 PM—“

The blonde news reporter goes mute as your mom silences the TV. 

“There’s been a lot of worry, so if you don’t feel comfortable taking Lucy out, we would all understand,” she says, eyes serious. 

“She has to be dropped off by eight tonight, right? That’s plenty of time for me to take her and then be back home before curfew,” you assure her. “Besides, I’ll stick to the streets closest to the police station.”

Relief and worry flitter over her features, “If you’re sure.”

“I am. And I’ll turn my phone tracking on as well as share my location,” you wiggle your phone at her. “And I’ll text you as soon as I’m home.”

Sighing, she looks like she ages ten years before wiping her face and reverting back to her usual self. 

“Right, okay,” she claps her hands. “Well, I need to head off, got the late shift tonight.”

As she stands, she glances down at her watch, “You should probably head over and pick up Lucy. Get an early start.”

“Alright, mom,” you follow her back outside, parting ways once you climb into your car. 

You guys wave goodbye to each other and you back out of the drive, heading to your aunt’s house. It’s pleasant and extremely nostalgic, being able to see all the usual faces out and about—although, when you look closer, you can tell everyone seems to be on edge. 

You’re going to keep your head on a swivel, especially when out later with Lucy, but you feel fairly confident you’ll be safe. You’ll stick to heavily populated areas near the sheriffs office and make sure to lock up once you’re back home. Honestly, it should be a pretty chill night. 

Tapping your phone to double check the time, you park on the last street of the night—the one right across from the RPD. There’s dozens of people out with their families, all dressed up for the holiday. A group of kids rush past you as you open your door, shrieking and laughing, costumes streaming behind them. Smiling, you open your backseat and help Lucy out. 

“This is our last call, little miss,” you take her hand in yours. “But this street has the full sized candy bars, so I don’t think you’ll be too disappointed.”

She smiles up at you, a couple of baby teeth missing, “Okay!”

“Okay!” You parrot back, smile breaking out a cross your face. 

She swings your clasped hands together until you reach the first house; she then drops it in favor of skipping up to the door and pressing the doorbell. 

Rinse and repeat. 

By the time you’ve circled the block and started heading back up to your car, you’re carrying her little pumpkin bucket filled to the brim with sweets. Your attention is on her, listening as your cousin tells you why she hates circus peanuts (which she’s completely correct about) when you bump into someone in front of you. 

Her plastic jack-o-lantern spills out a few pieces of candy as you rock back on your heels. 

“Oh, shi—I mean, shoot,” you cringe at the near slip up. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

“It’s okay,” the policeman you ran into smiles. 

Your first thought is he’s a walking cliche: a blonde hair, blue eyed cop. Even if he is cute. The blue of his uniform looks so bright in the waning twilight, you kinda feel like a dumbass for running into him. He adjusts his walkie where it’s clasped onto his belt. 

“And where are you two lovely ladies headed to this evening?”

Your cousin giggles, “Home. We went trick or treating!” 

“You did?” He crouches down to be more at eye level with her. “And you’re dressed up like a princess?”

Lucy shakes her head no, “Uh uh.”

She points to the tiara on her head, “I’m the queen of hearts. See? Oh! And this too!”

She brings up her plastic scepter with a little pink heart on the end. 

“Ahh, of course!” He smiles and it makes your chest flutter.

“Are you a real police officer?” She frowns at him. 

“Yep, I’m Officer Kennedy, but you can call me Leon,” he stands back up, hand fishing out a couple of caramels from his pocket. “Sorry I don’t have any of the good stuff.”

“Thank you!” Lucy chirps, holding out her palm face up. 

Officer Kennedy drops the candy into her hand then offers the second out to you. 

“Oh,” you feel flustered, “uh, sure. Thanks, Officer.”

“Leon,” he affirms, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You must be new in town?”

You laugh awkwardly, “Um, not really. I mean, I grew up here but moved away. I’m back to help take her trick or treating.” You face Lucy and gently squeeze her hand with a smile, “Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“Yep!” She smiles back. 

“Okay, well I’ll let you two get back to it,” he steps away to let you both pass on the sidewalk. “There’s a curfew so don’t be out too late.”

“Thanks, but we’re just going straight home,” you nod. “Goodnight, officer—Leon.”

He grins at your slip, “Goodnight.” He nods his head at Lucy, “Your majesty.”

She giggles and tugs your hand forward, shouting goodnight back to him. You let her lead you back to your car, helping her buckle in and placing her candy in the floorboard. She pouts and tries to grab for it. 

“But—“

“This way, if something happens, we don’t spill it everywhere.”

“Oh, okay,” she sighs.

Smiling to yourself, you raise up and make your way over into the driver’s seat. Pulling away from the curb, you head back to your aunt’s house to drop Lucy off. Being occupied with making sure she’s comfortable, you miss the police car tailing your vehicle. 

It follows you as you drop off Lucy with your Uncle, who just got off work. He tries to convince you to stay, but you beg off, telling him you promised your mom you’d stay home. Waving goodbye to them, you drive back to your mom’s place, still totally oblivious to the cruiser following you. You park in the same spot you did earlier in the evening, humming when you get out of the car. 

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your keys, chapstick, and a caramel candy. You stick the key in the lock and pocket the chapstick, but grin down at the candy in your hand. Unwrapping it, you pop the treat into your mouth and finish unlocking the door. 

Stepping into the house, you shut and lock the door behind you. Pulling up your phone, you shoot your mom a quick text to let her know you’ve made it back safe and sound. The police car sits idling across the street before pulling away, slowly driving down the rest of the block before turning onto a separate lane. 

You’ve changed into a comfy shirt three times too big and opted out of pajama pants, so you can curl up and watch horror movies. Finishing off your drink, you climb out of bed and head downstairs to get more. 

As you’re passing through the dark living room, you hear the front door rattle. Freezing in place, you stay stock still, ears straining for any other sound. You hear the door knob rattle again and creep closer to peer around the wall. Watching the handle, you see it jiggle but it doesn’t turn. You curse under your breath, having forgotten your phone upstairs. 

A heavy tread walks across your porch, steps creaking as whoever it is walks away from the front door. You stay in place—having seen enough movies that you know better than to go to the door. Your legs are stiff when you finally pull yourself away from the wall, slowly walking to the kitchen. Maybe it was some trick or treaters? Although it’s way too late. 

Could be the killer…

That intrusive thought buzzes in your ears like an annoying gnat, even as you try to squish it down. Grabbing a water and a soda, you begin to make your way back upstairs to your room. As soon as your foot touches the bottom step, the doorbell rings loud as hell in the quiet. 

“Fucking shit,” you gasp, nearly dropping everything in your hands. 

Copying your earlier steps, you peek around the wall to check the door. You catch the top of a police cap through the small window and breathe a sigh of relief. Hurrying over, you unlock your door and pull it open. 

“Apologies for the—oh, hello, again,” Officer Kennedy shifts on his feet, hand coming up to push his cap back. 

“Hi,” you grip your drinks a little tighter, surprised to see him again. 

“Do you always answer the door in such undress?” He cocks his head at you, lips pulling up into a grin. 

Glancing down to see your shirt just reaches your thighs, your blood rushes hot, embarrassment making your heart race, “Oh, no! I-I didn’t mean to—look, some weirdo was testing my door earlier and I was headed upstairs when you came by and—“

He holds his hands up placatingly, “Whoa, whoa there. I was only teasing. You said someone tried to get in?”

Nodding, you continue, “I think. I mean the door handle jiggled a little before they walked off. It could just be a late trick or treater?”

“Maybe,” he looks off the porch to the side of the house. “I’ll take a quick look around.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that so much, Leon,” you effuse.

Giving you a little salute, he ducks off the porch and pulls out his flashlight, carefully checking the area. You watch him disappear around the side of the house and anxiety makes your scalp prickle. It feels like forever before his flashlight bobs back into view. He comes back to stand in front of you. 

“I didn’t see anything, so maybe it was just some kids,” his eyes glance down at your bare legs before flicking back up to your face. “I’ll let you get back to your mom.”

“Oh, she’s not home,” the words spill from your mouth before you can think better of it. “And thanks for checking.”

“Not a problem,” he smiles slowly and it gives you an odd feeling of nerves. “Have a good night now, ma’am.”

He walks off down the block, presumably to the next house, as you step back inside to re-lock your door. It’s not until you’re in your room, sitting the drinks down onto your dresser when you realize he never said why he stopped by in the first place. 

Well, it’s not like there isn’t some maniac on the loose. Probably just out checking on people, keeping the town secure. You push it from your mind and pick up your phone, texting your mom to let her know everything. Can never be too safe. Since she’s working, you don’t expect to hear from her so put your phone on charge and crawl back into bed. 

Hours pass and you finish up a couple of movies before deciding on actually going to sleep. Not able to shake off the feeling, you decide to double check the door locks before passing out. Grabbing your phone this time, you creep downstairs and check on the front door. Passing the lock check, you then head into the kitchen to the backdoor. 

Luckily, you didn’t cut on the light, but it doesn’t help the fear crawling up your throat like bile. The backdoor’s open. Not thrown open—just a sliver, just enough to have you pulling your phone up to dial 911. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a strangely robotic voice yanks the phone from your hand from behind your shoulder. 

Crying out, you nearly trip over your feet trying to move towards the open door and away from the psycho in your house. However, a strong grip around your neck stops you in your tracks. 

“Ah ah ah,” the weird intonation chides. “You’ve been such a good girl so far, let’s not ruin it now.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whisper, tears clogging your throat. 

Your hands hesitate at your sides, fists clenching, nails biting your palms. The person behind you shifts until they’re standing in front of you. A black robe and hood cover their body while a white screaming ghost mask hides their face. They bring a knife up to tap against your sternum. 

“If you’re really good,” their odd voice sounds amused. “You’ll get to live.”

Nodding, tears drip down your cheeks, “O-okay.”

“Good girl,” they purr, trailing the knife down to your shirt hem. Lifting the material with the blade, they laugh when they see your plain cotton panties. 

“So good, aren’t you? Bet this cunt is just ripe for the taking,” they reach their gloved hand out to smack your mound. 

Flinching, you bite your lip to keep from crying out. Everything inside you clenches, body breaking out in a cold sweat as nausea roils in your gut. Your legs shake so hard, you think you’re gonna collapse. 

“I n-need to sit d-down, pl-please,” you stutter out.

“Poor thing,” the robotic reply instills no comfort. “Let’s go to your room, shall we?”

The psycho grabs your arm and forcibly leads you through your house and up the stairs; they shove you out in front of them and gesture forward with a wave of their knife. 

“Your room. Now.”

You move forward, stumbling into your bedroom with the masked killer right behind you. Sitting heavily down on the edge of your mattress, they move in front of you to zip tie your wrists together. You feel yourself going numb—there’s no more room for fear. 

“I think I can trust you,” the voice distorts as they start to adjust the mask. “So I’m going to leave your legs alone.”

You nod and they shake the knife at you playfully, “But, if you do anything stupid, I’ll gut you like fish and leave your pretty insides on the outside for mommy to find.”

Fresh tears spill from your eyes, “O-kuh-kay.”

They hum happily, “Good. Let’s see what we’re working with then.”

Grabbing your thighs, they shove them up and open, making you fall back against your bed. Using the knife, they slice through your panties and toss them onto the floor. 

“Oh, what a pretty girl,” they laugh. “Damn. Just knew this pussy was gonna be good.”

Shivering, you twitch and squeak as they run their gloved fingers across your slit to tap the hood of your clit.  Kneeling in front of you, they undo the bottom half of their mask and set it on the floor. Glancing down at it, you can see the hinged jaw holds a small voice changer over the mouth.

“Let’s have a taste of that sweet cunt,” his voice sounds familiar, but you’re unable to place it and your mind skitters away from thinking any thoughts. 

He hungrily licks at your pussy lips, tongue parting your folds to lap at your hole. 

You try to fight against the rising tide of arousal, but it’s a losing battle. With every press of his disgusting tongue, more slick drips from your pussy into his smug mouth. You grit your teeth, swallowing down every sound that he wrenches from you. It shouldn’t feel so good. 

He moves his mouth up to your swollen clit, suckling the bud between his lips to slowly circle his tongue around it. Your hips jump up, pressing your pelvis against his mouth and he chuckles. The vibration makes you whine and the dam bursts for him—he eats you out voraciously. Holding your hips down to the bed, he sucks and lathes your sensitive bundle of nerves until he pulls an orgasm from you. 

Moving his head back, slick glistens across his lips and chin. 

“Taste so good, can’t wait to stuff this pussy with my cock,” he grins and you hiccup a sob. 

“Please, don’t,” you sniffle, hips squirming under his palms. 

Grabbing his knife from where he placed it, he uses it to push your shirt up to pool underneath your breasts. 

“Time to give you something to cry about,” he murmurs before his lips tick up into a mean smile. “This will hurt.”

The tip of his blade dips down to your stomach and he makes a firm cut into your skin. When you yell in pain, he clicks his tongue and slaps his palm down over your parted lips. He continues to carve words into your stomach as you scream, sound muffled by his hand over your mouth. 

By the time he finishes, you feel faint from the pain and having your mouth and nose obstructed.  

“There’s my good girl,” he coos condescendingly. “Keep quiet for me, we’re almost through.”

Your head lolls to the side, silently crying as the killer ducks down to run his tongue through the cuts he made. When he raises his head, blood’s smeared across his entire lower face. 

“Almost as good as that soft juicy cunt,” he makes a show of licking it off his lips. “Think I’m ready for the main course.”

You can’t see, but you can hear as he undoes his pants, the zipper extra loud amidst your harsh gasping. He shifts between your thighs and the head of his dick parts your slick pussy lips. With one snap of his hips, he’s burying his cock halfway into your cunt, walls gripping and squeezing him tightly. 

“Oh, fuck,” he drops his head to watch as his cock spears you open. “Fat wet pussy’s swallowing me up. Good girl, good fucking girl.”

The breath rushes from your body with every thrust into your clenching heat. The skin of your stomach burns with the movement, blood sluggishly seeping from the cuts into your flesh. His fingers slip down to rub and pinch your clit. Writhing in place and despite the pain, you can’t stop from feeling full and so, so good. 

“Nooo,” you whimper. 

“Yes,” he pants, humping your pussy even faster. “God, gonna cream this chubby pussy—shoot it nice and deep.”

You hate that his words make you wet, clit throbbing under his rough fingers as he pounds away at your hole. He adjusts his angle and you nearly scream, the head of his dick knocking against your cervix. Your brain blanks out, the pain between your legs meshing with the pain of your tummy until it’s all white noise.

The only thing you can do is cling onto the feeble pleasure he’s giving you.  

“That’s it, want you to feel it tomorrow, feel how deep I fucked this pretty pussy,” he grunts, sweat beading in his upper lip.

“Please,” you whimper, “oh, please, please, please.”

“Shhh, I’ll make you cum again, don’t worry,” he laughs and you notice flecks of blood on his teeth.

He reaches up to the blood pooling in your belly button and brings his fingers back down to your clit, rubbing it into your pudgy bud. You whine continuously, sickeningly grateful for the reprieve of pain when your arousal pushes through that fog of misery. 

Snapping his hips harder into you, he growls and moans, cock pistoning in and out of your cunt at a dizzying pace. His fingers continue to circle and rub your clit until you’re clenching and whimpering, pussy walls milking his cock, as he stays true to his word, bringing you to climax once more. 

“Good girl, fuck, gonna nut in this soft pussy, leave you with a Halloween treat,” he snarls down at you. “Say thank you.”

“T-thank you,” you weep, sinuses clogged. 

“God damn,” he hisses under his breath and slams his hips into you one last time. 

Disgust fills you just like his seed, warm and potent, settling deep in your body in a way that you’ll never forget. Your body feels like a limp dish rag when he pulls out, cum leaking from your pussy to stain your sheets. 

“This shit is so hot sometimes,” his mouth twists in a grimace and right before your eyes, he slips off the hood before taking off the rest of his mask. 

You’re too weak for anything more than a wounded sound from your throat as the officer from earlier in the night sits before you. 

“Surprise,” he grins at you, blonde fringe ruffled and sweaty. “Or should I say Happy Halloween.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

Seph is good with kids and I will die on that hill

I will perish on that hill: Sephiroth being awkward around kids, hesitant to engage because his memories of that age are painful.

Sephiroth treating children with respect and genuine care, wishing someone had treated him like that when he was young.

Sephiroth answering every child's question no matter how absurd with earnest interest and thoughtful replies.

Sephiroth noticing a school group on a Shinra HQ field trip and coming across a lost little kid who wandered off from the group.

Sephiroth gently taking the child's tiny hand, mother-henning them and calmly assuring it's all okay as he tries to reunite them with their class.

Little kid: Why do you have such long hair?

Sephiroth: My hair grows exceptionally fast due to mako infusion and other biological anomalies! Keeping it long is simply more convenient than constant maintenance.

Little kid: Do you ever get tired of holding that big sword?

Sephiroth: Masamune's weight is distributed for precision, and I've trained to wield it without strain. Much like your arms when you lift your favorite toy!

Little kid: I can eat twelve whole pancakes in one sitting!

Sephiroth: Fascinating! That's—TWELVE?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Finer Things 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, age gap, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your mom surprises you with a visit but has a lot more in store than you could ever imagine.

Characters: Tony Stark

Note: Another sexy silverfox.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Thor loves thunder. Take care. 💖

“It will be so good to see you, honey,” you mom’s buoyant voice rings in your ear drum and you move the cell away from your ear. You make a face and catch the eyes of passerby, cringing at yourself as you veer away from the coed and continue towards your residence. 

“You too, mom,” you reply as you keep to the edge of the walk, sure to keep out of the way of students and faculty alike. 

“I have a surprise too!” She rings out. 

“Mm, you do?” You frown. The last time she had a surprise, it wasn’t really for you. Her trip to the Caribbean had you alone for your sixteenth but that was like five years ago. 

Your eyes skim the rustic colours of the curling leaves as wind whips around the collar of your coat. You plug your other hear so you can hear her voice. 

“Oh yes! It’s all really exciting. Just make sure you wear something fancy. I looked up a few local spots and this one looks very upscale,” she trills. 

That’s your mom. She spends more than she should, or has. If she had access to your trust, you wouldn’t have tuition. It’s just another part of your life that makes you feel helpless. 

“Alright, I’m sure I have something...” 

“What about all those clothes I gave you when I cleaned out my closet?” She preens. 

“Mom, I couldn’t fit them in my suitcase.” You don’t mention that you didn’t fit into them either. Your short and rounder than her. 

“Do you need money? I could send you my credit card number... one of them.” 

“It’s fine. I’ll find something,” you assure her and dodge out of the way of a group of frats. You feel so invisible. It’s like no matter what you do, no one sees you, even standing right in front of them. “I should go. It’s windy.” 

“Okay, I guess you can go,” she whines. “But I’ll see you tonight. Oh, I’ll send you the address too. Should I send an uber?” 

“Mom, please, my tuition includes a bus pass--” 

“The bus? Oh, at night?” 

“Mom,” you grit again. “Please. I’ll get there. See ya then.” 

“Alright, alright. I love you. Buh-bye.”  

You hang up and tuck your phone away, keeping your hands in your pockets as the tails of your coat flap with another chilly gust. You slope your shoulders against the autumnal temperate and hide your cheeks against your scarf. You love this time of year for the apple cider and pumpkin everything but the weather isn’t always so pleasant. 

As you get to your building, you look up at the windows. There are signs decrying the latest political frenzy and flags with varying shades of rainbow, and some stickers stuck on the panes. Your own window is barren. Just like you, your living quarters are plain. 

You let yourself in through the front door with a flash of your fob and drag your feet up the stairs. Gabourey is in the kitchen on speaker phone. You often fall asleep listening to her conversations, though you try hard not to. Racquel would be working down at the bookstore, and most times you wonder where Virgie is, she’s in her room napping. 

Your entry goes unnoticed. You hide in your dorm and put your bag on the chair by the desk. You untie your boots and carry them back to the mat. Too late, you already soaked the small patch of carpet between your bed and the desk. 

You toss your coat on your bed and go to the wooden armoire next to the sink in the corner. It isn’t much space but it’s yours. You open the doors and stare down the garments hanging inside. You favour plaid, tweed, and muted colours. The plum turtleneck would go nice with your circle skirt but it feels so stuffy. Your mom said fancy, not uptight. 

Hm. A classic black dress. Everyone has one. Even you. It’s simple. A wrap with a bow at the hip. It emphasizes your curves but doesn’t make you look bigger. You can put a necklace on with it and fight your hair for some semblance of presentability. 

It doesn’t matter much anyway, it’s just your mom. You don’t really care what other people think. She’s the one so hung up on appearances. You’ll just enjoy the free meal, if her card isn’t declined. 

💎

Your mom texts as you shove your wallet in your purse. You put your glasses on over your fresh coat of mascara and read her message. ‘Uber on it’s way for you.’ 

You huff and key in your message, ‘mom, I told you not to worry.’ 

She sees it but doesn’t answer. She never listens to anyone. Ever. It’s why you haven’t seen your own grandparents since your graduation. What a lovely day that was. 

You shrug and grab your coat. Oh well. No use in arguing now. With how quick the app is, the driver’s probably right outside. Besides, you weren’t exactly looking forward to waiting for the bus in the bitter cold. 

As you come downstairs, you get another text. In the chat, you find a screenshot of your mom’s phone, but that’s not her phone number on the confirmation screen. Or yours. Hm. 

You match the license play before you approach the car. You get in and greet the driver. He doesn’t answer you. Wow, you’re in his back seat and you still can’t get a hello. Or maybe the music’s too loud. 

You clutch your bag in your lap and watch out the window. The tension rises to an awkward strangle and when at last you reach the restaurant, you thank him. He turns down the music before you can get the door open. 

“Thanks for the tip, lady,” he says brightly. “Awesome!” 

You smile and bid him ‘you’re welcome’, rather than correcting him. Even if it’s undeserved, you’ll take it. Your mom must already have ordered some wine. Her statement must be close to its limit. 

You get out and look up at the curvy cursive of the restaurant sign. It’s fancy for sure. You cross the pavement and enter warily. You might just convince her to go somewhere else. Somewhere affordable. 

You stand around in the lobby and stare at the hostess as her eyes cling to the tablet on her podium. She taps around on the screen and ignores you. Is she? Or does she just not know you’re there? You clear your throat and step up. 

“Um, hi, I’m meeting someone here. I think they’ve arrived but, er, yeah,” you grip your phone tight, “Joyce.” 

“Joyce,” she squints and checks her screen. You give your last name but she still can’t find it. 

“One second,” you back up as a couple enters and you pull up the chat. 

You frantically text your mom; ‘I’m here but they don’t have your name.’ 

The checkmark goes blue but she doesn’t answer. The bubble doesn’t even pop up to show she’s typing. Your stomach swirls and you look around. The couple is shown into the dining room by a server as the hostess looks at you. You can feel her judgement. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” a man appears in a suit, “I think my guest is here. Young thing--” 

The man pauses and you look up. Your heart picks up in recognition. It’s him. Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. Billionaire, engineer, generous donour to the university. He smirks at you. 

“There she is,” he heads for you and you shake your head. 

“Oh no, not me--” 

He says your name and you choke on your tongue. You touch your collar and shake your head. He chuckles. 

“Sorry, did I scare ya?” He beams at you. “Your mom’s holding the table.” 

“My mom--” you stammer. 

“Come on.” He beckons you with his hand, the flash of his expensive  

“Mr. Stark, did you need anything for the table?” The hostess asks. 

“I’m good, sweetheart,” he winks and keeps his arm extended to you. 

“Alright, well if you do, ask for Chelsea.” 

He laughs again and waves you close. You walk to him in shock. 

“Actually, Chelsea, her coat,” he says. 

He surprises you as he unbuttons your jacket himself. You just stand there. He pushes it back on your shoulders and you squeak. You turn to let him free your arms and he hands the wool over to the hostess. 

“There we go,” he purrs. 

You step away and cross your arms defensively. He bends his elbow and looks at you expectantly, “come on.” 

You hesitate but step forward. He grabs your wrist before you can react and hooks your arm through his. You still can’t believe it’s him. Or that he’s there with your mom. This is her surprise? How the hell does she wander into these things? 

You let him lead you into the dining room. Despite the lingering nip of the fall in your cheek, sweat forms on the back of your neck and speckles your scalp. You look around and find at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you in turn. 

Stark leads you to a booth where your mom wiggles on the bench. She shimmies out from behind it and throws her arms up. Your escort releases you, brushing between your hand and your skirt, and your mom wraps you up in a hug. She rocks you with a squeal. 

“Honey! I missed you.” 

“Mom,” you groan. 

“Joyce, please, give the girl a moment,” Stark chuckles, “come on, let’s settle in. I’m getting a bit peckish.” 

You eagerly take his lead. You nod as your mom lets you go and you keep your eyes on the table. You slide in next to your mom as she sits. 

“Wine?” Stark offers as he lifts the bottle already on the table. 

“Erm, I don’t--” 

“She’d love some,” your mom answers, “don’t let me have all of that or I might regret it in the morning.” 

You force a smile at her joke. The undertone gives you an ick but you ignore it. Stark pours the glass. 

“We haven’t formally been introduced,” he says as he plunks the bottle down, “Tony Stark.” 

“Mr. Stark,” you take his hand as he offers it and shake it, “nice to meet you.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he slithers the cliche and squeezes your hand before letting go. 

You retract and cradle your fingers in your lap. You’re burning with surprise and confusion still. You glance at your mom. 

“Your mom says you came straight from school, smartie pants,” he grins. “I’m honoured you came all this way.” 

“Um, not that far.” 

“You go to Keating,” he prompts. 

“Yes, er, you spoke there--” 

“I did,” he agrees quickly. “Back in the fall. You were there?” 

“Um, ha, yeah,” you twist your fist around your finger. “I-- It was busy, you probably don’t remember but me and my roommate came to the meet and greet. She got your signature.” 

“Oh, she did? But you didn’t?” 

“Erm, no, I didn’t have VIP,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves off your apology. “You get a whole night with me.” 

Your mother giggles and puts her hand on his arm, “so, you like your surprise?” 

“Uh, surprise?” You echo thinly. “Sure, uh... I... feel like I’m crashing.” 

“Not at all.” Stark insists. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark, er--” 

“Please, it’s Tony,” he says. “My father’s Mr. Stark and he’s a jackass at that.” 

You laugh, more nervous than amused. Your mom rubs his arm and leans into him, “you’re so funny, Ton.” 

“So I’ve been told,” he agrees but his eyes don’t leave you. 

You shift and peer around the restaurant. You already feel out of place here but with him, you’re even more uncertain. A clink brings your attention back to the table. 

“Come on, let’s loosen up,” he taps his glass against yours, “cheers.” 

“Cheers!” Your mother quickly scoops up her glass and knocks it against his. 

His smirk stays etched in his lips as he sips and you pick up your glass. You drink cautiously and squirm under his intense gaze. You wish he’d look away. Look at her! She’s the one you’re here for. 

[axelsagewrites]

Felix Catton*Best Gift Ever

Pairing: felix x working class!reader

Word count: 1241

Warnings: money struggles, insecurity, rich people

Masterlist Here

You and Felix had been going out for around few months now and it had been amazing. You could tell his friends were defiantly shocked. You were from a different background to put it politely.  Aka he was absolutely filthy rich, and you were your average broke uni student.

This was your first Valentine’s day together and Felix had been going on for the past week about how much you were going to love what he had planned. All you knew was that it involved dinner and likely some kind of gift that was way nicer than anything else you owned.

Being surrounded by so many rich people though had a tendency to make you doubt yourself especially since one of Felix’s ex flings told you that she had bought him a gold necklace for valentines last year. Felix had assured you he’d gotten rid of it ages ago and thought it looked tacky as hell, but you couldn’t help the pit in your stomach.

You were essentially just waiting for your student loan to come in to get him something but by the time it came in and you paid for all your essentials, you were left with 100 quid for the month. Which considering Felix and his friends liked to go eat and drink out all the time and he always wanted you to come meant it wouldn’t last very long. it didn’t help that whenever Felix would buy you a drink you’d inevitably get comments from one of the jealous rich girls in the group about it.

After writing down your months budget you felt like you were going to cry. You only had a spare tenner to get him something. How the hell does money go away so fast? You tried looking around the local shops for something but there was another issue about going to oxford; everything nearby was designer or name brand.

Your options were essentially a sample size of cologne or one tenth of a bracelet. Eventually you decided to suck it up and just try make something.

There you were on valentines waiting for Felix to arrive at your dorm while you finished wrapping up his present. You had bought a blank CD and spend hours curating the perfect playlist and illegally burning it onto the disc. You’d also diy’d a bunch of kiss notes by writing a small note, kissing the back of it, cutting it out and sealing the whole note in sticky tape so it didn’t smudge.

It had actually turned out pretty cute however when you opened the door and saw Felix holding a huge bouquet of flowers and 2 wrapped presents you felt your heart sink but you tried not to show it, “Roses for my flower,” he grinned, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before pressing the bouquet into your hand, “Happy valentines baby,”

“Happy valentines,” you said, opening the door so he could come in without a care in the world while you internally freaked out.

Felix instantly went to sit on the bed, sitting one of the gifts down and holding the other one out to you, “Cmon open it. I cannot wait to see your reaction,” he said, bouncing up and down like a kid on Christmas.

“Okay okay,” you laughed, taking the gift and starting to carefully unwrap it. Felix reached a hand out, pulling you by your hip to sit on his leg while you opened it. “Wow Felix I can’t accept this,” you gasped as you opened the jewellery box revealing a gorgeous pink pearl necklace.

“Don’t be silly of course you can,” he said, taking the box from your hand, “You deserve it. can you?” he said, nodding at your hair. You moved it out the way while he clasped the necklace around your neck, “and done. Almost as beautiful as you,”

You found yourself melting into his smile. Before you could say anything else however his eyes landed on the gifts you’d just finished wrapping. “Oh, are these for me?” he asked, grinning even wider as you nodded and he reached for the gifts.

You bit your lip as he tore into the first present. The CD. Suddenly it looked so cheap, and you felt your heart break as he flipped it over. you closed your eyes, expecting him to get annoyed but instead you felt him wrap his arm around you as he read the back, “This is so wicked thanks babe,” he said as he laughed at some of the songs you had listed on the back, “We should listen to it tonight. I’ve never had someone make me a CD,”

“Theres the envelope too,” you mumbled, and he lit up all over again as he gently sit the CD down and picked up the envelope.

As he pulled out the kisses his eyebrows knitted in confusion but when he flipped them over, you’d never seen as big a smile on his face, “Did you make these? These are so fucking cute oh my god you’re amazing,” he said, sitting them down so he could wrap his arms so tightly around you, you wondered if you may snap.

“I didn’t expect you to like them so much,” you laughed as Felix finally let you go enough to breathe again, “Sorry it’s not much,” you said, smile dropping slightly when you saw your gifts laid side by side.

“Hey,” Felix said, reaching up a finger to your chin, turning your head to face him, “I love them. Why do you look so sad?” he said, his smile dropping.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m some cheap skate. I wanted to get you something good and- “

Felix practically picked you up and turned you to face him while straddling his lap, “No. don’t feel bad about any of this. I love them. You have no idea how much this means to me. I mean the time and effort you put into this,” he said, looking down at the gifts. “The money doesn’t matter to me. It never has. But you,” he said, moving to hold your hands, “you mean way more than any dumb bit of jewellery,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t you apologise,” he said, wrapping his arms around you for a tight hug which you quickly reciprocated. You stayed like that for a solid minute before Felix pulled away, “Now, you need to get ready or we’re going to be late,” he said with that dopey smile back on his face. He was never one to linger on the sadness after all, “Speaking of open it,” he said pulling the last gift over.

You laughed as you tore into the present, Felix getting a kick out how you didn’t try save the wrapping paper like last time. you gasped, yet again at the sight. “And don’t even think of trying to refuse it. seeing you in that is a gift for me too you know,” he joked making you slap his chest before you went to pull the gorgeous red dress out the box. “Now c’mon,” he said, pushing you out his lap before slapping your ass.

“Hey!”

“Cmon get dressed,” he said, leaning back in the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna leave?” you teased, holding the dress up to yourself.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p, “I think I’ll stay right where I am,”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,”

“No. I’m lucky I have you,”

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[mokulule]

Dead on MAYn Day 1 - still untitled.

Prompts used: Dinner interrupted by a rogue/gang fight, courting rituals.

This thing keeps growing so I figured I should just post the first part. It will be continued eventually it’s kinda going places I didn’t expect. I am also using the flickering prompt, but it doesn’t appear in this first part.

Danny dug into his burger with gusto. It was not Nasty Burger, but it was greasy and cheesy and juicy and definitely hit the spot after a whole day walking about Gotham taking in the supernatural sights.

Sam was entirely less impressed with the vegetarian option and had set it down with a grimace and was now just picking at her fries. Tucker had taken it as a personal win for the Meat Team™ and was lording it over her with his eyebrows - thankfully he was too busy eating to actually say anything, which Danny was very glad of. You could only hear the same arguments so many times. At least age and maturity had assured they didn’t end their friendship over it.

“So,” Sam said, “What’s next after this?”

Danny finished chewing his mouthful, before speaking. “I’m not sure, I figured just go back to the hotel for a bit, chill until nightfall? Gotham’s court won’t be in session until then.”

“Seconded. My feet hurt,” Tucker chimed in.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all your day sitting in front of a screen all day-”

And they were at it again… Danny tuned them out with the practice of years of being on the sideline, humming in agreement when prompted. He loved his friends dearly, but arguing was a part of their love language that he didn’t feel like participating in.

He let his eyes wander around the small diner, and found himself frowning as a group of men hurried inside.

If Danny had been less used to his ghost sense warning him of trouble, maybe he would have reacted in time - or at all. As it was he found himself frozen in shock when he saw the guns - regular human guns, not ecto-guns, ecto-guns he knew how to react to.

It was strange to realize that nobody had ever pointed a normal gun at him before and someone was pointing a gun at him right now - of course it would be in Gotham he got that experience.

“Hey you, stand up slowly and get over here. Hands where I can see them.”

Oh.

Danny’s brain suddenly caught up to the events.

A group of five armed men had entered the diner waving guns. Three kept their eyes on the door and windows as if they expected someone to follow them. One was moving behind the counter towards the back, maybe looking for the waitress who had skedaddled as soon as the armed men entered and the last one had his gun trained on Danny, who of all people in the diner he’d figured was the best option for a hostage.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh.

Slowly he did as bidden, raising his hands and standing up.

On the surface he wasn’t an unreasonable choice. He was short and lean, if he was completely honest he looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. Sam in contrast looked like trouble and Tucker had grown up annoyingly tall, and if Gotham police was like most places it was probably wiser to pick a white boy as hostage anyways. The rest of the people in the diner were two heavy set construction workers and a lady with arms broader than Danny’s thighs, like damn. 

So yeah, Danny was apparently the best choice. 

Regretfully, he left his dinner to cool on its plate as he took carefully measured steps towards the… what? Mobster? Gang person? 

A part of him was wondering how much a gunshot could hurt him. Would it hurt him? In human form probably, as long as he was tangible. Would it kill him the rest of the way? He wasn’t particularly keen to find out.

His eyes flickered to the other armed men when one of them hissed at the guy at the door. “Do you see him?”

Danny considered doing something for about three steps, but he wasn’t experienced enough with real guns and fighting humans that he thought he could risk it. He’d also prefer to fly under the radar while he was here. He was on vacation, not here to mess with anyone.

There was a familiar feeling in his throat, wanting to be let go. His head snapped towards the kitchen. What! That couldn’t be right?

The man grabbed him and put the gun to his head just as a crash sounded from the kitchen and the wisp of cold breath escaped his mouth. Everyone turned towards the noise. The man who held him tightened his hold and pushed the gun so hard against his head he had to tilt it. 

Something black came flying out the door and the jumpy gunmen shot at it, but with their attention on the object (a pan, it was just a pan) they didn’t notice the man who followed behind. He was fast, not much more than a red brown blur, shooting the furthest man in the arm so he dropped the gun and then coming in close, punching the first man and kicked the next in the belly. He moved so smoothly, effortlessly. 

Danny forgot to breathe. Because that there was the source of his ghost sense. Because that there was also a human.

Another halfa.

Here in Gotham of all places! 

His heart gave a hard thump in his chest and he gasped, remembered breathing was a thing he sorta needed as a human. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the other halfa. Now there was someone who knew how to fight. His core hummed pleasurably in his chest. The other halfa had taken care of those goons in less than ten seconds. The fourth one was probably dealt with in the kitchen. And the fifth-

Danny was abruptly reminded of how the fifth had a gun to his head, as he annoyingly poked him with that barrel and pulled him backwards towards the door.

“Not another step or he gets it!”

Danny grimaced. He finds another halfa and he’s a fucking hostage? Stellar first impression, right there! Someone please shoot him- or wait, considering the situation that was probably not the wisest turn of phrase. 

“How about you let the civilian go, and I won’t break your kneecaps.” The voice was menacing though clearly modulated and there was a delightful, almost cheerful undertone.

Now that he was standing still, Danny could better appreciate him. He was a big man, probably near a head taller than Danny and so much wider. Death had clearly not stopped him from putting on muscle. Normally Danny might have been jealous, but honestly he was too busy appreciating the other halfa. 

He was wearing a red helmet, faceless except for a pair of glaring eyes and he had a large bat symbol across his chest. This last bit should put Danny off. There were very good reasons Danny didn’t want to catch any attention here. He couldn’t think of them right now. But there were… reasons… yes… and thighs walking towards him-

“I swear I will shoot!”

Oh for fuck’s sake! There were too many people involved. Danny promptly stepped down on his captor’s instep, ducked and twisted out of his hold. 

Red Hood, because that was his name, Danny suddenly remembered, promptly shot the gun out of the man’s hold and took him down with a punch and a crunching kick to the right knee. 

Shit, Danny was jealous, not of the broken kneecap of course, but he also wanted to throw down. He could show the other halfa what he could do, make friends, or more? Would it be too forward to gift him one of his moon rocks?

It probably was too forward? This was the first halfa he met who wasn’t a fruit loop or related to him. At least he hoped he wasn’t a fruit loop.

“Are you alright?”

Danny shook himself out of his thoughts to find that he’d been approached.

Now that he was up close Danny could really appreciate how those arms looked strong enough to bend him in half and- Danny’s gaze stopped at his waist. Was he actually wearing a leather corset? It did great things for his-

“That was either brave or stupid.”

The words had Danny’s eyes snapping back up to the glaring helmet. Danny was frozen. How was he supposed to talk to him? His mind reeled. Do something! Anything!

“How’s this for stupid?” Danny blurted and promptly punched him in the gut with a good deal of ghostly strength. Red Hood bent over with a pained oof.

Fuck! Danny’s brain screamed at him in despair. He could not believe he’d done that! Glancing around he couldn’t find Sam or Tucker so he quickly ran out the diner. 

He was grabbing for his phone in his pocket while running, when he was pulled into an alley. He was so wound up he nearly threw another punch, but then he realized it was just Sam and Tucker.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Danny!” They spoke in eerie unison. Tucker snorted, but Sam continued, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Danny shook his head, realizing he must look a little dazed. He felt a little dazed. He didn’t even feel like taking the obvious bait.

“I punched Red Hood,” he admitted.

“What!” There they went again I unison, almost as if they practiced it.

“Do you think he’d like a moon rock?”

The looks they sent him then, they were indescribable. Absently he padded his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t grown a second head.

“Are you sick, Danny? Was there something in the food?” Sam put her hand on his forehead checking his temperature, even as she looked at Tucker, “What are the chances there’d be blood blossoms in a random burger?”

“Extremely unlikely, more likely something new, never seen Danny react like this.”

Danny grumpily pushed Sam’s hand away. “The food was fine. I’m fine.”

They gave him twin dubious looks.

“Look, let’s just go back to the hotel room. I just need a little rest and I’ll be fine.”

-

Jason gasped in pain to the sound of laughter in his comms. What the Hell was in that guy’s food that he could throw such a punch?

“What did he did the little guy do, Hood? Kick you in the jewels?” Dick managed to ask through laughter.

They didn’t have visuals, small mercies, but Oracle the traitor had let on to the former hostage’s scrappy stature in the run down of the situation.

“He did not.” Jason growled and turned off the comms, done listening to those idiots. Shit, fuck. Definitely a meta, that had been super strength. Keeping one hand over his pained abdomen he walked over to kick the goon who had decided to crawl for his gun in Red Hood’s apparent distraction.

“Don’t even think about it, I am not in the mood for it,” he growled and the goon whimpered.

When he finished securing the goons, of course the meta was long gone. Jason sighed in annoyance. Just his luck.