#anyway no matter whoever put him up to this it's still on him and i need to see him humiliated once again

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[witherby]

*raises hand* more littlest Wayne please 🥺

You got it!

The Littlest Wayne: Jason's Experience

You're a weird baby.

At least, that's what Jason thinks. You don't really cry about anything, you don't whine much except when you're maneuvered uncomfortably or rudely woken up from a nap before you're ready. But even then, it's almost a complaint for the sake of complaining, and not really a full-blown fit.

( It's great for allowing your new, vigilante family to sleep through the night. Horrible for their collective paranoia, which makes them get up to check and make sure you're still breathing through the night anyway. )

You're not deaf — Bruce had you taken in for a full examination and health screening while the ink on your adoption papers were still drying — so that's not why you're quiet, either. Aside from being a touch underweight, likely from whoever cared for you before, it seems like you just don't have much to be upset about.

Jason thinks that weird as fuck. Nobody is neglecting you or anything, but there are times where the lack of hunger cues make one of your brothers realize you haven't eaten since breakfast, or that nobody has checked your diaper in four hours and you've just been chilling in a wet nappy. This makes his monitoring of your general well-being increase ten-fold, to the point that he's the one that spends the most time with you aside from Bruce.

Dr. Leslie insists that some babies are just Like That. Alfred does, too. Their lack of concern helps him be less concerned. But it's still there. Surely there's something a baby would cry about; you're a fuckin baby, and that's, like, your primary job besides eating and sleeping.

He finds out that there is, in fact, something to cry about when he comes back from a week-long job as the Red Hood, having needed to leave the Manor to track down a criminal organization quickly gaining traction that he didn't like the looks of. When he wraps up the last of those loose ends, he steps into his apartment in Crime Alley and digs out his personal phone, switching it on to find dozens of messages from Bruce and his brothers.

Replacement: Dude, u need to get back here ASAP when ur done. The babe is straight tweakin

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Heyyy lil wing 👋 no rush no rush, but swing by when you've got a sec! Our newest member misses you 🍼

Ninja Wannabe: Todd, your presence is required. Father's newest ward is screaming incessantly without you to entertain their mindless brain. I've retreated to Bludhaven to spare my ears until your return.

B: Stay safe, Jaylad. Adjusting to you being gone is a little tough for the baby, as I'm sure your brothers already told you. I just want you to know that there's no obligation to hurry back. They're okay, and the screaming isn't as bad as everyone is making it out to be.

Alfred: Good day, Master Jason. There is an entire batch of double-fudge brownies with your name on it upon your safe return. Best wishes.

You must be screaming the manor down if Alfred is bribing Jason with junk food, let alone a whole tray of it. He hurries out of his armor with half-concern, half-amusement, showers, then speeds off. In less than an hour, he's pulling into the driveway and parking his bike, and Tim was not fucking lying when he texted him.

Turns out it was good that you weren't a huge crier, because you had pipes that put opera singers to shame. When Jason steps inside, the faint, high pitched whines he heard through the door turn into full-fledged wailing. It's just a matter of following it down a couple corridors before he reaches the day room, which was recently repurposed into one of your play areas. He locks onto the image of one very distressed Dick, face flushed and cotton stuffed in his ears as he desperately jangles a set of plastic keys over your body.

"C'mon, baby bat," he croons, sounding near tears himself, "I dunno what you need. Calm down, honey, please."

You lie on a playmat in front of Dick, paying the toy no mind. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears are running down your cheeks, your face is ruby red, and your tiny fists are clenched as tight as possible as you kick your legs and wail, and wail, and wail some more. It would be impressive if it weren't concerning.

"Whoa," Jason blurts, stepping fully into the room. Dick spots him and slumps with visible relief, like a puppet with cut strings. "They've been like this the whole time?"

"They were completely fine the first day! But next morning, we saw them looking around for you, and...well." Dick gestures helplessly to your thrashing form. Jason tuts and scoops you into his arms, wincing a bit at your shriek, and starts to gently bounce you.

"Hey, there," he mutters, "what's all this now, weirdo? You didn't have me around to spoon feed you gross baby mush or wipe your butt, and now you're making it everybody else's problem? Huh? That's rude as hell."

Your cries continue a little while longer. Jason continues to talk to you, to call your antics silly, to soothe you, until you finally crack an eye open and register just who it is that's got you in their arms. You stare at Jason kinda like he's an alien, brows furrowed and nose scrunched, but then your wails dissolve into sobs, then little hiccups, then just the occasional sniffle. One of your hands unclenches to latch onto his shirt instead, and you mush your face into his chest.

And you just. Completely stop it. Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred, and Damian had fallen all over themselves for days trying to soothe you, and a couple minutes of staring at Jason had completely eliminated the problem.

"You gotta move back to the Manor," Dick blurts from where he remained on the floor, wide-eyed and hands clasped together. "Please come back. Please. I am begging. On my hands and knees if you need it. I will do all your chores for the next year. Do not leave again."

"Not my fault I'm the favorite," Jason huffs, but the protective way he holds you, the concerned way he's checking over your face and throat to see if you hurt yourself crying for so long, the continued bouncing he does for you, all points to him moving back home. He makes the arrangements the next day.

And if Jason makes sure future missions he has to go on don't last more than two days, well, that's no one's business but his own.

You're still a weird baby, though. Even if Jason being your favorite is pretty cool.

[chaoticwriting]

Danny X Cass part 1

The tension is high in the Watchtower currently. It is bad enough that the JL get news that Darkseid plans to invade Earth a few weeks ago when suddenly the Teen Titans contacted the JL that Trigon might actually invade Earth soon too.

Currently all the heroes are discussing possible scenarios and plans to counter the attack when suddenly a shadow moves behind Batman and pocks his sides.

Batman turns and sees his daughter, Cassandra, looking at him. She starts making hand signs and confused Batman momentarily.

'Call Friend. Might help.'

"Who's your friend? Is there anyone else that can help that isn't here?"

To that question, Cass stalls for a moment. She seems fidgety like she is nervous about something.

'Old friend. Also hero.'

Batman thinks for a moment and decides to give in. He might have a way to fend of the invasion of Darkseid and Trigon at the same time but not without heavy casualties. That plan is only for the worst case scenario.

Giving a nod to her daughter, Cass immediately beamed and goes to a far corner of the meeting room. Batman looks at her daughter that looks almost giddy for once. He doesn't know who she is calling but if she trust the other person, then he is also willing to try to trust whoever she is calling.

Cass sits in a corner where there is no one else near her and pulls out an old cell phone. A green light shines from the phone as Cass turns it on and a text is received just as she about to message the person.

Danny 🥰❤️🥰

Danny: Hey Cass, would you be free for a date? I wanna show you something cool I just get.

Cass: Can't go. Trigon and Darkseid are invading Earth. Very busy. Dad is stressed. Can you help?

Danny: Sure. I can go beat up Trigon and I'm sure Dan would gladly go and beat up Darkseid. He's been complaining about not being able to have a good fight since I have become too powerful for him. 😎😎

Cass: Come in Phantom. Introduce you to everyone.

Danny: Ok now you are making me nervous. Should I bring your dad gifts? Should I wear a formal wear or casual wear? Oh no! What if your dad doesn't like me? 😱😰😨

Cass: Don't worry. Dad will like you. Dad is paranoid. But he loves me.

Danny: Maybe I should gifts him an ecto-weapon? I heard he likes to make contingency plans. Surely he would like me more if I give him stuff to fund his hobby.

Cass: Hobby?

Danny: Y'know. Making contingency plan. I think that is his hobby. Like I understand if he has 1 or 2 contingency plans for each heroes but doesn't he have like 50 for each heroes?

Cass: 😂💕. No bringing ecto-weapon. Might hurts you.

Danny: It's fine. I will give it to him if he asks. Anyway, where should I meet you?

Cass: Watchtower.

Danny:Alright. See you in a minute. Bye 👋👋

Cass: 👋👋

Cass puts down her phone and is startled when a purple hoodie peeks from above her shoulders.

"Ooooo, is that your boyfriend? No wonder you are so protective of that phone. How dare you not tell me you have a boyfriend? Does our friendship means nothing to you?"

The figure clad in purple says dramatically. Cass push her away and stares at her angrily. Even though she is in full costume the purple still knows when she is mad.

"Steph. Bad peeking."

"Sorry, Sorry. I can't help it seeing you so secretive like that. I promise I will not do it again."

Lies. Both of them knows Steph is lying.

"Anyway, who is that? You know you shouldn't tell our situation to outsiders right? B might be mad if he knows."

"B says ok."

"Oh what? I never get permission to tell people stuff. This is blatant favoritism."

Cass looks at her smugly. Of course she knows she is the favorite. That's why she knows Batman will approve of Danny no matter what.

A commotion rises suddenly from the center of the room and Cass and Steph turn towards it ready for battle. They can see the members of JLD panicking about something when suddenly a green portal opens right in the middle of the room.

From the portal, a tall figure steps out with powerful presence emitting from him. His silver white hair falls down to his neck and his black and white hazmat suit gives of the feeling of awe whenever someone looks at him.

All the heroes in the room get into a fighting stance except a select few.

"Hello everyone. I am Phantom and I am here to help."

The figure's voice is not loud but everyone can hear it like it is spoken right besides them.

Before anyone could say anything a figure bypasses everyone and sprints towards Phantom. Unfazed, Phantom spreads his arm and the figure flies into his arm. Phantom gives the figure a hug and she replies with a tighter hug.

"I miss you." Cass says silently.

"I miss you too." Danny whispers and sends the voice to her only.

While everyone is still confused and stunned on what is going on, Constantine curses and brings everyone's attention back.

"Fucking hell. Whatcha doing here kid? I never call you did I."

The figure looks up and stares at Constantine. Everyone starts to become nervous and thought the figure is going to attack them when he just smirks.

"Of course it is not you. You only call me if you need my help to deal with your ex or something. You should really stop dating all these interdimensional demons y'know. There are only so many times I can save you."

Phantom's rebuttal gets a few snickers and gasps from the crowd.

"Fuck you, kid. What are you even doing here? And why are you holding one of the bats?"

"Do you hit your head somewhere in hell, Constantine? What does this looks like? I'm going to eat her?"

That comment makes a few figures in the crowd tense for a moment before Constantine next word baffles them more.

"No fucking way. You're dating one of the bats. Fucking hell. I don't want to be part of this shit anymore. Y'all can go fuck yourself."

Constantine then picks up his flask and opens a portal to return to House of Mystery. Just as he's about to step into the portal, Superman speaks up.

"Wait, Constantine. We still need your help in dealing with Trigon and Darkseid."

John stops in his tracks and looks at Danny. He chugs down all the remaining alcohol in his flask before replying.

"If that kid can't handle this problem, then we might as well just lay down and wait for our demise."

He then steps into the portal and disappears. Everyone looks at Danny that is still holding Cass in a hug and the awkwardness can be felt in the air.

Danny releases Cass that releases a whimper that is picked up by a few figures primarily the big bat.

"So, hello. I am Phantom and as I say, I am here to help."

Part 2

[vernonverse]

📲 BF!Wonwoo forgets your birthday

ⓘ content info ⸺ paring. wonwoo x f!reader. genre | tags: drabble, fake texts, angst, fluff, oneshot. warnings: This is pure angst and fluff at the very end, random face claim again. requested: yes/no. word count. 1080.

ʚ A/N: This request was super interesting to me. I really liked it and was so excited to work on it, even though I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right 😅 In the end, it turned out more like a drabble than a smau (which is a first for this mostly smau/fake texts blog lol). Anyway, thank you to whoever requested it! I loved doing it and I hope it turned out the way you imagined 💛

You put your phone down, heart sinking in your chest. This wasn’t like Wonwoo at all—he always remembered. Always called. Always sent a dozen texts, even if he couldn’t be there in person. He’d show up with cake and his crooked smile, acting like it was nothing, even though you both knew it meant everything.

You try to brush it off, tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired from his busy schedule. 

But it does matter.

Because it’s him.

The love of your life.

And he was supposed to care.

Hours pass, and your phone stays silent. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

You won’t text him first—pride, fear, maybe both—but that doesn’t make things any easier. You keep glancing at your screen anyway, like maybe he’ll remember at the last second, like maybe it was all just a mistake.

You don’t want to cry over this. You tell yourself you’re being dramatic, that it’s not a big deal, that people forget things all the time.

But the ache in your chest is stubborn. Loud.

Why would he forget?

Of all people, why him?

You go to brunch with your female friends to celebrate, but it's very obvious to them that you're not as present as you'd like, even after spending weeks planning this moment just for them.

They notice it in the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, in how you keep glancing at your phone when you think no one’s looking. You laugh when they laugh, raise your glass when they toast, but it’s all automatic—like your body is there, but the rest of you is somewhere else entirely.

“You okay?” one of them finally asks when there’s a lull in the conversation, her voice gentle, laced with concern.

You nod too quickly, blinking. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But they know you. They know this isn’t just tired.

When you get home, the copious amounts of mimosas you’ve had finally go to your head and you do something completely reckless—something you wouldn’t do in a million years, something completely out of character: you block Wonwoo.

Your fingers hover over the screen for a long moment, heart pounding louder than the buzz in your head. Then you do it. Just like that. A tap, a swipe, and he’s done. No more texts. No more calls. No more him.

Could you talk? Maybe.

Should you? Probably.

But not today.

Not after your day has been so terrible. Not after you had to smile your way through clinking glasses and opening gifts while pretending the hurt wasn’t still lodged somewhere in your chest. Not after your mind replayed everything over and over—the silence, the doubt, the heartbreak of thinking he had forgotten a date so important to you.

When your phone finally buzzes again, you almost don’t want to look. Hope and resentment battle in your chest like storm clouds colliding. 

But it’s not Wonwoo; it’s Mingyu.

You swing open the door, fully prepared to snap at Mingyu and send him away, because you're definitely not in the mood to see people tonight. 

Only to see Wonwoo standing there. With an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. And a small, wrapped box in one hand and a bouquet of red tulips on the other. 

And the most devastated expression you’ve ever seen on his face. 

“I didn’t forget,” he says quietly. “I was trying to surprise you.”

Your breath catches, as you try to assimilate what he is saying. “What?”

“I didn’t forget, baby,” he explains, pulling something out of his back pocket. “I booked something for us. For you. Didn't you say you wanted to visit Greece?”

When he holds out his hand to you, you see: two plane tickets.

“Wonwoo, I—” you trailed off.

“And I made you something.” He looks down at the box, fingers tightening around the edges. “I just—I thought it’d be more special if I didn’t mention it until I showed up here. But I should’ve said something, because now you look so sad.”

You swallow, your brain almost going into overdrive with the amount of information being dumped on you. Wonwoo looked so nervous as he spoke that your heart sank.

“You really didn’t forget?”

“Of course not,” he breathes out, shaking head. “I could never.”

The anger in your chest deflates. Wonwoo looked so nervous as he spoke that your heart sank.

Shame creeps in you, curling into the corners of your mind as you stare at him—at the overnight bag, the slightly wrinkled bouquet of tulips, the two tickets to Greece, the soft box wrapped with uneven edges, and the look on his face that says he thought this would be enough. That he wanted this to be perfect. For you.

“I blocked your number,” you admit in a small voice. 

He huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. I know. I kind of freaked out when I noticed. Mingyu actually yelled at me for pacing around the dorm like a mad man.”

You glance at the box in his hands. “What… what is that?”

He hesitates, then lifts toward you. You take it carefully, unwrapping it with slow fingers. And your heart stops. 

It’s a scrapbook. 

Filled with pictures of you—of you and him—throughout your entire relationship. Some photos you recognize. Others, you’ve never seen before. Candid moments, stolen smiles meant just for him. A collection of memories, captured in time by him. 

Your vision blurs. 

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, pressing a hand over your mouth.

He shifts on his feet. “I know it’s not a fancy gift, but—”

“Shut up,” you choke out, flipping through the pages. “Shut up, you idiot.”

He does for a second. Then, softly he asks, “Are you still mad at me?”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. “No. I’m mad at myself.”

Wonwoo exhales, relief flooding his expression. He steps forward, curling his arm around you, pulling you against his chest.

“I know I don’t always say it the right way, but…” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you. And I remember everything about you. Always.”

You bury your face in his sweater, clutching the scrapbook between you. 

“I really hate you, you know that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because now I’m ugly crying and I have to kiss you to make up for it.”

His arms around you tighten a little bit. “Guess I planned that part right, then.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Gladly.”

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[lulunothulu]

Always Second Choice

A/N: I’ve been in such a fluffy mood omg. Please enjoy a fantasy I’ve been thinking about all day.

TW: PURE FLUFF, some alcohol use, sad boi hours, sappiness, BUT HAPPY ENDING 💗

“Why can’t I be someone that a person loves first?”

You’d had a wild night of drinking with Phoenix after running into your ex. Seeing him always made you want to go all out, mainly because you wanted to forget about him and what he did to you. It’d been a year since you caught him in bed with another woman and you still freak out whenever you run into him at the grocery store.

Tonight wasn’t an exception. You had called Natasha to come drink with you—who called Bradley and Jake—because you desperately needed to take shots of tequila after you saw your ex with the girl he cheated on you with. She was pregnant.

“Why couldn’t he have loved me?” You had cried after three shots. “Why wasn’t I the one he chose? Why am I always someone’s second choice?”

After another three and a half shots, Jake told you to call it night.

That was the thing about Jake, he was one of the best friends you could ever ask for. No matter what—or who— he was doing, he dropped everything to make sure you were okay and safe. It’s part of the reason why you fell for him, and hard. He was the first person you’d fully loved with your whole heart. But given that you both worked together and he saw you strictly as a friend, you knew it wouldn’t have worked. And then there was his man-whore ways. He wouldn’t give that up to be with someone—let alone you.

You had drunkenly told an extremely inebriated Nat and Bradley a sloppy goodbye before Jake scooped you up and over his shoulder and gentle walked and placed you in his truck.

He’s carried you up the stairs of your shared two bedroom house and gently laid you on your bed. Even helping you undress and put on an oversized t-shirt with some basketball shorts.

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he told you before kissing your forehead and smoothing your hair.

“You promise?” You asked.

“I promise, darling.”

You had woken up with a startle and began to panic before realizing you were home and in your bed. Flashes of the night popped into your mind and you groaned before remembering that Jake was on the floor of your room.

“Jake,” you whisper. You knew he’d still be there. He promised he would.

“Yeah?” He groggily whispers back. He must’ve been asleep.

“Why did you bring me home? Don’t you have people to see?”

“Kinda,” he groans as he sits up from the carpeted floor and turns to look at you with squinted eyes. “And I brought you home because you were babbling at the bar.”

“Oh, why are you still here? I thought you were on a date?” You ask.

“You remember that?” He chuckled. “You had nearly seven shots.”

“It’s all kinda popping into my mind,” you admit. “I’m sorry I kept you from her, whoever she was.”

“It’s fine. I was gonna cancel our hookup anyway.”

“Why?” You dared to ask.

“I had better things to be doing,” he says, turning those green eyes on you with so much kindness, you felt like you were melting.

You turn away abruptly and nod, feeling your hair fall around your face. You feel Jake’s fingers brush against your forehead before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a smile.

“Now what did you mean at the bar?” Jake asks. “You know, about being someone second choice?”

You hesitate. As much as you loved Jake, you damn sure were not going to be telling him this...at least not now.

"Nothing, I was drunk as hell," you say instead.

Jake lifts a brow before sighing and standing from the floor, looking down at you from the side of the bed. "Scoot over, the floor is hard as fuck."

You laugh but scoot over, allowing Jake to climb into bed with you with a loud sigh. His arm brushes next to your arm before settling on top, his hand squeezing yours.

"You're my first choice," he whispers.

Your heart flutters at the thought of being his first choice but then stops when you realize he probably means it in a platonic way.

"Thanks," you mutter. "At least I'm someone's first choice."

Jake shuffles to face you, a frown forming on his brow. "I mean it, Y/N. You're my first and only choice."

"Okay, Jake." You're not convinced but at least the heart was in the statement.

"Y/N," he starts, cupping your face. "Why do you think I cancelled my date?"

"To take care of my drunk ass," you chuckle.

"No," he smiles. "Because I'd hate to know Bradley's hands were the ones drying your tears, dressing you. I hate the thought of having anyone other than me taking care of you. You're my girl."

"Your girl?"

"My number one," he starts. "My day one. My ride or die. My love. Don't think I haven't noticed how annoyed you get when I'd pick up girls at Hard Deck."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe Jake was telling you this, that he noticed your annoyance.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask.

He caresses your cheek before whispering, "You know why."

"No, I don't," you whisper back.

"Then let me show you."

Before you can react, Jake is sitting up and pressing his lips onto your forehead. He peppers kisses down your cheeks and nose before hovering over your lips. He’s panting softly, smiling down at you before he fully leans in.

His soft lips brush against yours and tentatively peck at them. Only when you wrap an arm around his neck does he deepen the kiss, smothering you in the best way imaginable.

His lips are wander and explore yours like an archeologist would an Egyptian tomb. His tongue pushes past your lips, wrestling with your own the taste of alcohol mixed with something sweet lingering.

Jake snakes his hand to the back of your neck, cradling your head in his hand.

“Oh, Y/N.” He moans into your mouth. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you.”

See to him, you’ve been the girl he’s been dreaming about. The one he thinks of before he goes to bed. The one he needed to distract himself from because he didn’t feel like you had feelings for him. He’s loved you from the very moment you walked onto the tarmac and chewed his ass out for flying recklessly. He’s loved you every day, every minute, every second.

Only now, when he saw you crying about being chosen second, did he think to make his move.

To hell with the friendship. He wanted more.

“Jake,” you breathlessly reply when he kisses down your neck. “You can’t mean that. It’s the alcohol talking.”

He stops kissing you, looking deep into your eyes and turning serious.

“Y/N, when I tell you I’ve been waiting to kiss you, I mean it. From the moment you walked onto the tarmac two years ago, to now. Now god damnit, let me kiss you.”

So you did.

[pineconepie]

Hello! i was wondering if you could do serial killer/slasher yandere parent? Dont know if thats too dark tho 😅

Here it is!! I've gotten a few requests like this, and since a lot of people also want to see more willing readers, I added a little of that to the mix!

TW: Implied/attempted murder, loss of child, implied assault/creeps toward reader (not the yandad), parental yandere, light forced infantilization, violence, reader implied to kind of has issues of their own

You know it wasn't a good idea to walk home alone, especially in this hour of the night, and double-especially when there had already been six murders around the same general area you live in, all clearly by the same person.

But, your phone had died, you couldn't get an Uber, and there wasn't really anybody you could call to come pick you up, even if your phone was working properly.

So, you decide that walking home will have to work tonight.

That probably wasn't the best choice you've ever made.

When you're halfway to your house, you hear a slight rustling around behind you. You spin around, hoping to catch whatever (or whoever) was following you in the act of making the sound. There's nothing there.

Shaking your head, you continue to walk down the street, subconsciously walking faster.

It must be that murder case that's been hanging over everyone's heads lately that's getting you nervous like this, right?

Wrong.

When you start speed-walking, the same noise as before starts up again, but it sounds closer than last time. You don't have much time before someone tries tackling you.

In the corner of your eye, you see a gun pulled out from under their trench coat. Quickly reaching out for the murderer's arm, you grab it, and try to stop them from aiming at you.

You shove them away and run in the only direction you can without getting tackled; the alleyway.

Seeing there's no time to hide, and all the hiding spots are obvious anyway, you succumb to a panic attack and crouch down onto the ground with your head in your knees.

You take out what money you have and chuck it in his direction. "Please, just take my money and leave me alone! That's all I have! If you want my phone too, just take it!"

The man almost cackles. "I don't need any money," he states matter-of-factly. You can hear the grin in his voice. He walks slowly towards you as if to intimidate you more, though it does little to affect your mindset more than it already has. He's still holding the gun. "Don't take it personally. It's nothing against you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

At this point, you've fully come to terms with your demise, which is clear to the other party.

You look up at him with puffy eyes from sobbing, and tears and snot running down your face. Most of his face is covered, but you can see his eyes.

And much to your surprise, you see them widen.

A few seconds go by, and now you're afraid to break eye contact. You watch as the man before you put his gun back in its holster inside of his trench coat and curse under his breath while looking away.

He clears his throat after a few more dramatic seconds go by. "Go home, kid." You stand up on shaky legs. "Grab your stuff first, then get outta here. I won't chase ya."

Hesitant, you do so anyway, because who would refuse such an offer?

Grabbing your money, you stuff it in your pockets and wipe your face. As soon as you're ready to go, you dash past the stranger, not wanting to spend another minute around the killer.

...

After that incident, you feel as if you're being watched.

Well, obviously you'd think so; you were just almost murdered.

But, when you're going to anywhere, you can feel eyes staring at you wherever you go.

A car with tinted windows follows each time. It isn't unique by any means, just a black Mitsubishi.

But still, it's there. Every time you leave your house, the same vehicle parks near you until you return to your home. Sometimes you try going on wild goose chases to catch the bastard following you off guard, but when you make your way back, it'll be parked somewhere near your driveway.

For almost two months this becomes a cycle, and it especially starts becoming concerning whenever you get sick, or have a bad day, there's always a basket of goodies on your porch steps the next day.

You don't eat them, and instead just throw them away, but it's clear none of them have been tampered with. The most disturbing part about it all is they have your favorites—your favorite animals now into plushies, your favorite snacks and candies, and other such things.

Is this his way of just messing with you until he inevitably comes to finish the job?

One night, when you're walking home from work, you notice the same vehicle tailing you from your workplace to your house. You walk with speed and reach your porch step, where the driver can see you enter your house, and they pull out, as if reassured you're safe.

Maybe they're trying to make sure you aren't hurt in any way?

Another night, one late, you stay out longer than you should, and much like any other time, you're followed once again.

Unlike normal though, there are three men whistling at you, taunting you. You ignore them as best as you can, walking faster and keeping your head down in hopes you won't seem interesting. Your wishes are not fulfilled.

Your arm is tugged harshly backward, pulling you onto the sidewalk with brute force.

The three guys look at you hungrily. "Where are you going this late at night?" the obvious leader speaks up, a greasy, slimy grin on his face, only worsening when he sees how fearful you've become.

"I...I'm going home."

One of them tries grabbing you, and against your better judgment, you take off in an attempt to escape, though you aren't fast enough to avoid your jacket being grabbed.

In your panic, you somehow end up wriggling yourself away and onto the ground. You try to get up, but one of them holds their foot on your back, pushing you back onto the asphalt.

But, oh-so-conveniently, you can hear a vehicle door open and slam shut, and then the pounding of boots against concrete.

The foot on your back lets up, because the guy goes tumbling backwards onto his back.

Now free, you sit yourself up quickly, rubbing the back of your head, which had hit the sidewalk. You blink the blurriness away, to see the man—the same one who nearly killed you and has been following you—hovering over the main creep.

"Hey, what the hell is your problem?!" said creep yells. He tries standing up, but the killer stomps on his ankle.

A crunch resounds through the air, accompanied by a sharp scream. The other two guys stand frozen, watching in horror.

"Get your little buddy and get outta here," he warns the other two, finally backing away. He has a gun pointed at them threateningly, as to tell them not to try anything else.

They quickly help their leader up and hobble away in fear.

You want to yell at this man, to demand answers or run, but you can't. "Thank you, sir..." you whisper.

Now you can get a good look at him. He looks to be somewhere in his forties, maybe even fifties, and has graying brown hair, along with gray eyes.

There's a scar along his cheekbone that adds a rugged charm to him. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee beans. If he didn't try killing you not too long ago, you might've really put your trust into him, he seems like just a grumpy dad.

"Are you alright?" His voice sounds oddly soft, as if genuinely concerned for your health. He reaches toward you, and you close your eyes, readying yourself to be hurt, but he only examines a bruise forming on your forehead. "Thought you learnt your lesson last time about stayin' out late at night."

"I don't think it'd matter either way. You know where I live, I've seen your car," you mutter. You don't look him in the eyes, hoping to avoid seeing any possible rage held within them. He doesn't say anything after that, so you continue. "Why are you doing this?"

A rough hand grabs yours, lifting you to your feet. "Do what? Save ya from gettin' jumped?"

"No! That's part of it, sure, but the gifts, and protecting me, and—and...you were just gonna kill me all those months ago!"

He sighs. "Yeah, 'were'. Not 'are'. I decided I ain't gonna anymore."

"But why?" you repeat, glaring daggers at the older man.

"I usually go after bad people. I mistook you for someone else, and then when you looked up at me like you did," he says while shifting his stance to a more firm position, "'all scared and hopeless and pathetic and—" he pauses suddenly, shaking his head to recollect himself. "Look, I saw my kid in you."

"You have a kid?"

"Had. Had a kid."

You almost want to apologize for the loss of his kid, when you remember the fact he's literally a serial killer. "And that's why you decided to stalk me for the past two months and give me baskets full of stuff?"

"We both know for a fact you hardly take care of yourself well enough. You're clumsy as shit, always irresponsible, you eat terribly..."

"I'm not being scolded how I live my life by a serial killer!" you interject. "Who even are you, anyway?"

"Dante," he answers.

"And I figure you already know everything about me?" It's less of a question and more of a statement at this point.

He chuckles. "If I didn't, would you still introduce yourself to me?" When he gets no answer from you, he smiles lopsidedly. "Get in the car, I'll drive ya home."

You narrow your eyes at him. "So you can kidnap me, or something?"

Dante puts a hand on your shoulder, his expression becoming cold again. "If I wanted to do that, I could have already done it plenty of times before, kiddo. I'm a lot of things; a liar ain't one of them."

"Fine, okay. I'll let you drive me home." You roll your eyes when you hear him laugh victoriously under his breath and follow him into his car. "How do you have the time all day to stalk me like this?" you ask aloud, climbing into the passenger's seat. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"You call it stalking, I call it watchin' over you like a father should his child. So far, we've seen just how helpful it is having me keep an eye on you," Dante replies. He pauses. "And I'm retired, but I used to be a private investigator."

"Oh joy. My own personal PI." You buckle your seat belt. You're still in disbelief. Someone actually gives enough of a damn about your safety, and it's your local neighborhood serial killer? "You said you only kill bad people." He hums in confirmation. "Does that mean 'petty thief' bad? Or, like, actual bad people?"

"The latter, kid. Not 'cause it makes me feel like a good person, just makes me feel like less of a bad person."

"So you can admit you aren't a good person?" you quip sarcastically, arms folded.

"Course not. But I don't think there really are any inherently good people in the world," he says.

"What about me, then? Why protect me if you think there's nobody who's actually 'good'?"

Dante glances at you. "I don't expect you to be a saint. In my eyes, you're amazing, perfect even. And sure, you got flaws—a lot of 'em—but so does your old man."

You cringe at the statement. "You mentioned me reminding you of your kid. What happened?" you pry further. "All I know is they died, right?" You rub the bruise on your forehead.

"They were out with some friends one night. And a few hours later I'm gettin' phone calls about how my baby's in critical condition. I get there, but there wasn't anything I could've done to save 'em. All I could do was sit beside them 'til..." He trails off. "They died holding my hand. But," he adds, looking at you sternly, "that shit ain't happenin' to you. That's why I'm keeping you safe."

After he stops at a red light, you stare up at him, deep in thought. "Is that why you kill...?"

"Because someone killed my kid?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Dante nods his head after a moment of hesitation. "It started with that, yeah. I killed the bastards that put them in that hospital bed. But that wasn't enough. I guess with monsters like that, I get a little trigger-happy."

It's quiet for a while.

"...how do you know I won't come forward about this information?" you question once your home is in sight. "Or try leaving, for that matter?"

Dante laughs. "You wouldn't get far without me knowing."

That shuts you up quick. Your house pulls up soon afterwards.

"Well, uh, thanks for driving me home," you mumble, opening the car door.

"No problem. Oh, wait—" he takes your wrist gently to keep you from getting out yet. He digs in the compartment below your armrest. Eventually he finds a pen and pad. He writes something down, ripping it off and handing it to you. "—call me whenever you need it. Even if ya just need help studying, or whatever." Dante shrugs nonchalantly.

"Or I'll just knock on the window of the car outside my place?" You weakly smile. Despite the oddity of the situation, this whole scenario is strangely hilarious.

At least, it feels that way because you might've hit your head a little too hard.

...

Those people who were harassing you went missing. You know for a fact it was Dante, and while you don't wish for their deaths, it still leaves a sour taste in your mouth when you see them on the news, with their parents crying about how sweet and kind they were.

You don't even know how to feel about Dante anymore. Maybe he is a good person, who really is doing the world a favor, but it's just not worth the risk to associate with him.

Except he isn't going to leave you alone.

Still though, you decide that ignoring him until he just leaves you alone.

Which proves difficult because sometimes he comes around and knocks on your door every so often, to drop off food, and just check in on you and how you're doing.

Some days you wonder what might happen if you answer, or send a text. He did give you his phone number after all.

You fight the curious urge, until one day, when tiredly trudging home after a particularly awful day.

For some reason, you look around the streets for a black car following you, but find nothing of the sort.

You decide to go against your better judgment and decide to call Dante. You don't know why you're doing this, every instinct in your body is telling you to not do it.

The phone rings a few times, until an annoyed voice picks up. "What? I'm busy," he snaps.

"Oh, uh, sorry," you stutter. "I shouldn't have called, that was stupid of me—"

"Wait, no, I didn't—" Silence hangs in the air. "Sorry," Dante says softer this time. "Didn't know it was you at first. Is everything alright?"

Your fingers tap against the wood of the table nervously, trying to make up some sort of excuse to cover for the real reason you're calling him.

"Nothing, just... didn't have a good day." You feel so pathetic right now, too caught up in your own emotions to hear the muffled cries in the background on Dante's side of the call. "But that doesn't concern you, does it? Why am I saying this?"

"It's alright, kiddie. Whatever happened to make you upset is important to me." Dante is definitely smiling right now. "Well, listen. I was busy right now, but it can wait, so how's about I swing by wherever you are and you and I can spend some time together? Get somethin' to eat, maybe? Your choice."

You find it hard to decline him. "...okay. I'm not home right now though. Can I just call an Uber and meet you somewhere?" you suggest.

He snorts. "My driving so bad that you'd rather waste money than spend thirty minutes in the same vehicle as me?"

"No, it's not that. I just feel like I'll be intruding since you're busy, or something."

"Don't be silly. Just tell me where you are and I'll be there soon. Alright? Don't get into any suspicious vans or anything like that while I'm not there." He ends the call with that.

The next ten minutes or so you stand around awkwardly, watching as pedestrians pass by. Eventually though, Dante arrives, driving up beside you. He gestures for you to open the passenger door, which you oblige.

You climb inside, buckle your seatbelt, and turn toward Dante. "So...where are we going?"

He stares back at you for a brief second. "Depends. Where would you like to go?"

After some hesitation, you give your favorite restaurant, which he nods in acknowledgement to and begins to drive.

"Why was your day bad?" he asks. "Did something happen? Someone hurt you?" At the red light, he turns to give you a quick glance-over, searching for any bruises or cuts, most likely. You're not injured, though the concerned look on his face stays.

"No, I just haven't slept much lately," you mutter.

"Have you eaten today?" You look away from Dante as an answer, making him curse under his breath. "The biggest hazard to you is yourself, it seems." He shakes his head disapprovingly. "I'm glad you finally called me, by the way. Why'd you decide to do it now?"

You hesitate. "I was feeling lonely, I guess."

"Really? Is that all?" The light flicks to green again, and Dante continues to drive.

"...I didn't see you stalking me today. Normally I see your car following me everywhere."

His breath hitches. "And...that worried you?" Dante looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

You don't reply.

Soon the conversation dies out, and neither of you bother to start another one up.

He focuses on driving, while you distract yourself with counting the amount of trees along the sidewalk on the way to the destination.

When you two pull up in the parking lot, you expect there to be tension, but surprisingly enough, the silence between you two feels comfortable, safe almost. It's a nice change from the usual uneasiness.

Dante gets out first, and you follow. The bell of the restaurant dings when you both enter.

"How many?" the hostess asks politely.

"Two. Thank you," Dante says with a charming smile. To you, it's an obvious fake persona, but she buys it hook, line, and sinker. You roll your eyes discreetly as she leads you two to the booth. You sit on opposite ends, taking your menus from her before she heads off to take care of other customers.

You think about it, then settle for the cheapest thing on the menu, trying to avoid taking advantage of Dante's kindness.

He notices anyway. "I know I don't dress fancy, or anything, but I've got the cash, kiddo. If you want to order the whole menu, you could, and I'd still be able to afford it tenfold. Nothin' is too expensive for you."

"I..." Your face burns out of embarrassment. You flip through the menu once more. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am." Dante scans through his own menu, although half-heartedly, considering his focus is still mostly on you.

Once your orders are made, you both try making small-talk, which proves ineffective. Then your orders arrive, and that too, becomes awkward when he insists on helping you cut up your meal into smaller pieces.

You make a show out of being mad, though truthfully it isn't bothersome as you try letting on it is.

After dinner (which he pays for completely) he looks like he's contemplating on something in the car. "Would you like to come to my place, kiddo?"

"Like, your house?" you clarify.

Dante nods. "It's only fair. I know where you live, I figure it'd be polite showing you the same courtesy."

"Sure, but it depends if I'll leave alive," you joke, but part of you is still concerned about that.

"With the way you take care of yourself, I think staying with me might actually help increase your lifespan a little bit."

A few moments pass by, the two of you basking in the company of one another. It's...nice.

The drive to Dante's home is around thirty minutes long, and barely in the city, surprisingly enough. His house isn't anything super impressive, but it doesn't look bad either.

A very average, middle-class home. It's comforting to see Dante likes simple things, makes it easier to think of him as a normal person than the murderer you know he is.

He steps outside of the car and opens your door for you. You give him a questioning glance, but decide to ignore it for now, unbuckling and heading over to the porch with Dante trailing behind you.

"This is it," he states, pulling his keys out to unlock the door, beckoning you to go in before him.

The interior of his home isn't anything special either, which you enjoy seeing. It makes Dante seem more human. On top of that, it feels safe here, even if this is the last place it should feel this way. It does have a slightly annoying (and worrying) scent of bleach permeating throughout the house.

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Can I ask something? It might be a little weird or triggering, so..."

"You can ask me anything. Doesn't bother me," Dante says.

"Okay... are you so interested in me because I simply look like or act like your kid? I'm worried you expect me to act like them or something similar..."

Dante sighs heavily, sitting down on his couch, and motioning for you to join him. Hesitantly, you do so, staying silent while you wait for him to gather his thoughts.

"I know you're not them. Sure, you remind me a bit of them, but you're your own person, too. It's fine if you don't want to pretend you're anyone but yourself, y'know? That ain't what I'm looking for, and forcing someone to do that wouldn't make anyone happy." He mulls over his words for a moment. "I guess I just want to be a dad again. I felt useless after my kid died, so you gave me that opportunity again."

You look at the ground awkwardly. "Why couldn't you just adopt a kid?"

"A lot of money," Dante answers. "Not to mention not working anymore and not being married anymore makes adoption agencies wary. Plus, you looked like you needed protecting, so I wanted to do so. Now, my turn. Why'd you invite me out? Wanted to spend some time with your old man?" Dante laughs lightly, but his eyes show clear hopefulness.

"If you insist on acting like my father," you pause, taking in a breath, "then yes. I suppose that means I wanted to spend time with you. Is that okay?"

Dante looks almost ready to cry. His hands twitch at his sides. "'course it is," he mutters softly, barely containing himself from getting overly emotional.

You scoot closer to Dante, hesitating for only a few moments before wrapping your arms around him. "Thank you for inviting me into your home."

He reciprocates quickly, holding onto you like a lifeline, face buried in your hair. "I missed this so much..." His voice is choked-up as he holds you tighter to him. "My baby," Dante whispers.

You don't know why you're letting this happen, but you don't want to dwell on that. His embrace is more comforting than it should be, especially considering what he is. But if he wants to play pretend, to imagine he has a child again, you may as well let him.

Even if that means ignoring the faint noises from the basement, and pretending it's just someone next-door.

"I love you so much," he mutters. He almost sounds hysterical, even if his tone is quiet, almost a whisper. "Never leave me. I can't take that, kid. I can't."

You pretend to be asleep, just so you won't have to answer that. He sighs and only holds you tighter.

[brain--drop]

Creepypasta First Kiss Headcanons (PT 1)

It's been 84 years oml-// Includes: Jeff The Killer | Eyeless Jack | Ben Drowned

Jeff:

Although he'd never admit it, Jeff was beyond nervous for your first kiss as the two of you were lying down on the roof of a shed you'd spend the night at during your journey of getting back to the mansion.

It seemed to be set up perfectly. The chilly air of the night bringing the two of you closer for warmth, the sky clear to view the stars and the full moon. Ambience of crickets and no other distractions.

All it took was for Jeff to glance at you, seeing the moonlight cast lights and shadows to your face, and for you catch him staring that he leans in and plants a short and quick kiss on your lips.

"That...that was stupid. Stupid and gross. Forget it-"

As he sits up to get off the roof and leave, he stops when he feels your hand grab onto his hoodie sleeve. Your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out as you grow flustered from the moment. Jeff raises an eyebrow and lifts your chin up to look at him, unable to hide a laugh from seeing your face.

"So I wasn't reading the signs wrong. You're just as stupid as me."

He laughs more at your offended reaction, cutting you off mid annoyed ramble as he kisses you again, longer and more sternly. Both of you definitely complain in sync once you get inside the shed to sleep on why you stayed outside kissing in the cold for so long afterwards.

EJ:

Not as romantic as the two of you hoped as it was when Jack was bandaging up your arm, having been slashed during training. Or really just a full on brawl as nearly everyone woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning and choose to vent their frustrations.

Much to Jack's efforts in getting you out of the crossfire of violence, you still ended up getting hurt after getting a cut from Toby's axe swinging. Now, much to your efforts of reassuring him, Jack still had an irritated but worried look on his face judging from his knitted eyebrows.

"I don't like using unnecessary force, but I should've moved you out the way faster. Thank whoever's out there that it wasn't serious but it could've been worse and-"

Next thing he knows, his mouth is being silenced by warmth and he realizes it was your lips against his. When you pull back, the shocked silence between the two of you is enough to fluster you both completely.

More silence follows as he finishes patching you up and you end up leaving the makeshift med bay of the mansion with a quiet thanks.

You spend the rest of the day in fear you took it too far until it was the dead of night when a knock at your door disrupts your thoughts. Opening it, you see Jack make his way inside and cups your face in his hands as he closes the door with his foot.

"Let's try that one more time, my brain is working again."

Ben:

It's as cute and awkward as you can imagine it to be. Ben spends days, weeks even, to work up the courage to make the first move and kiss you. By this point, every creep in the mansion is annoyed at his nervous rants to them as he looks for advice and tells him to get on with it.

It took Jeff to half jokingly tell him "he'd do it if he doesn't" for him to get it together and follow through that night, mood and timing be damned.

Fortunately for his racing heart, you wanted nothing more than to have a simple movie night which involved Chicken Little.

While you were seemingly engrossed in the film, Ben's mind was running a mile a minute as he did every trick in the book. Scooting closer to you, wrapping a blanket around you two, yawning and putting his arm around your shoulder. Even he has to admit it was cringe.

His nerves got the best of him when he was trying to find a decent moment in the movie when it didn't matter if it was watched or not as he turns his head and sees you looking right at him because of his anxious behavior.

"...fuck it, I'm dead anyways."

He wastes no time presses his lips against yours, any tension in your bodies flooding away with the warmth as it becomes more comfortable. That is until you both hear the loud sound from the movie of the pig hitting the vending machine to which you pull away laughing. Grabbing the remote, Ben lowers the volume before leaning in again.

"Eh, we've already seen it. This is better though."

[ink-perfect]

short n sweet ⋆. @chibinasuu

you weren’t nosy. 

not usually, anyway.

but as you passed the galley of the thousand sunny on your way to grab a drink, the sound of sanji’s voice brought your steps to a halt. something about his tone—eerily calm, stripped of its usual flirtatious cadence—became a mystery so intriguing you just had to put your ear to the door.

“i’ve been wanting to say this for a while…” his voice was low, a murmur wrapped in something you couldn’t quite identify, yet it slipped under your skin with ease. an involuntary shiver made its way down your spine, as though he were right behind you, leaning in to breathe them directly into your ear.

but of course, he wasn’t. and what you were doing right now was wrong, on so many levels.

you made the move to walk away as his muffled words went on, but you soon realised you just couldn’t. you almost felt magnetised, your questions pulling you in despite every other rational thought running through your head.

cause after all, what was the saying? curiosity only killed that one cat?

something like that, yeah.

so, you slowly cracked the door open just enough to sneak a peek. the view wasn’t perfect—sanji’s back was to you, his lean frame managing to block whoever he might be talking to. still, the scene in front of you told its own story. one hand gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. his shoulders were slightly hunched, carrying that telltale tension you’d come to recognise as his overthinking posture. 

man, what could possibly have him so worked up?

“you just…mean so much to me,” he spoke, voice clearer and softer than you’d ever heard it. slowly, he raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a measured breath. “and i can’t hold this in any longer.”

oh shit.

was sanji confessing?

the thought sent a shooting pain right through your chest. you threw away all subtleties, craning your neck in every angle to get a better vantage point as your mind raced at a mile a minute. who could he possibly be talking to that meant “so much” to him…

not that you were jealous or anything.

“i think about you all the time.” he continued, each word coated with a sweetness that could very well make sugar seem bitter in comparison. “the way you bring people together, the way you laugh at all my jokes. i…i feel as if the whole world slows down when you’re around.”

i mean, it was sanji. he flirted with everyone, right? it was his thing. surely this was just one of those times, and it really wasn’t that deep. surely.

“and honestly? i think i might…” he trailed off. your eyes darted back and forth in the sliver of view you had, heart pounding as if it was silently urging, no begging, him to continue.

“...i think i might love you.”

scratch that. 

it was that deep. 

sanji was in love.

the idea hit harder than it should have. you’d spent so long brushing off his antics, telling yourself his charm was everyone’s to share. but now that he wasn’t performing, the vulnerable edge to his voice made it clear: whoever he was talking to truly mattered to him like no other. and the fact that it wasn’t you upset you a lot more than you’d thought.

the ache in your chest twisted into something unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, you fully pushed the door open, stepping into the room. sanji whipped around, startled, his golden hair slightly falling into his eyes as he made way for you to see who he had been speaking to. and as you followed your line of sight, your gaze fell to…

a steaming pot of soup?

you blinked. “sanji, are you…confessing to soup?”

the colour drained from his face before rushing back tenfold. “uh, love...just how long have you been listening?!”

“long enough,” you replied, stepping into the room as your shoulders lightened with something close to relief. you then crossed your arms, trying not to grin too big. “so… is it a mutual thing, or do you think soup prefers to keep it professional?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his cheeks blazing. “i wasn’t confessing to the soup, okay? i was just…practicing.”

you blinked, the tension in your chest loosening just enough to let out a shaky laugh. “practicing?” you repeated, your lips curling into a teasing smile despite the confusion still muddling your thoughts. “for what, exactly?”

sanji shifted, his posture tense but uncertain, vulnerability radiating from him in waves. his hand moved to the back of his neck, ruffling his golden locks in yet another rare gesture of nervousness you recognised. the confident chef, always so suave, now looked almost fragile under the weight of his own words.

“for you,” he admitted at last, the words barely above a whisper.

time seemed to stop, the weight of his confession crashing into you like a tidal wave. “me?” you managed to get out, voice trembling.

“yes, you,” he repeated, stronger this time, his gaze locking into yours. his blue eyes were raw, unguarded, brimming with emotion that made it impossible to look away. “i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, you don’t even know.”

his words hung in the air between you, your chest tightening as you thought about his confession over and over.

sanji had been practicing. for you.

slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer, making sanji's eyes widen with a mix of nerves and intrigue. before he could speak, however, you brought your hands to his face, fingers softly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath hitched as you tilted his head, shifting his gaze from the soup up close to you.

“now,” you murmured, voice low and steady, your smirk curling into something softer, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

© 𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓; est 2024.

[bomber-grl]

Rock Lee Relationship hc —✩𓏲⋆.🍵✮˚

Pairing(s): Rock Lee x Gn!Reader

Bro is down bad for you, I don’t make the rules

Yknow how he was automatically smitten with Sakura and sent her those weird kisses?

Yea well it’s you, not her

I have two ways I imagine rock Lee being when trying to get with you

He’s either bold and unapologetic about his feelings, he wants you to know how you make him feel!

Or he’s still unapologetic, just shy and more giddy if anything, just at the thought of you

Honestly I’d like to think hes a combination of both

Like at first he’s terribly direct to the point where Tenten is seriously considering giving some advice

Which she does end up doing

He ends up confessing his more than obvious feelings for you with an over dramatic blush and is honestly so sweet

He even has some flowers

You end up accepting and so commences your relationship

If you have some sort of friendship with Naruto he’d ask you if you were seriously dating “bushy brows”

💀 blud can’t even be saying anything when Sakura won’t even give him the time of day (in the anime)

The only people are aren’t really shocked at your relationship is everyone

Yea, everyone

I mean lees devotion to you before you even got together was enough.

Anyway, if you’re more of bold person whose affectionate then Lee is more than delighted

He relishes in the hugs and any sort of affection that you give him.

Honestly I can imagine him trying to be like the gigga chads and stuff 💀

Man just loves you Alr?

In front of you he’s pretty outright giddy but when you’re not looking? Down bad

He’s literally giggling about what you do and say- not exactly to anyone in particular but his teammates and guy are there to witness it anyway

Guy is supportive, tenten lowkey regrets giving him advice and Neji just wants Lee to shut up

Rock lee is lowkey always open with his affections with you

He’s always determined just in general

Which is where you come in

Honestly another possibility of how you two got together

Lee is strong, don’t get me wrong

But the “power of youth” and some flimsy leg warmers aren’t always going to keep him safe

If you’re a ninja and you’re worried about him then he just argues that you can protect him, and him you

Him protecting you is so true no matter who you are- civilian, ninja, whatnot

Literally the only way anyone could ever get to you would be over his dead cold body

Not that he’d let whoever is coming at you to even kill him in the first place

If you’re a ninja he likes to train with you

I was honestly torn between him not wanting to spar with you or him really wanting to and going all out

I’m certain he’d do the latter

You’re a ninja and you’re both trying to improve, so ofc he’d put his all into it

And if you’re not one and you’re a civilian then he’d more than happy to incorporate you into his training

He’d probably have you sit on his back while he does pushups or something similar 😭

Love wise, lee is so passionate

The moment you get together he’s legit never letting go and is seriously devoted to you

I wouldn’t even be surprised if Lee bought an engagement ring before you started even dating

He’s always bringing you gifts, food and making sure you take care of yourself

He’s very serious and determined to take care of you even if you’re fully capable

And if you try to do the same?

Flustered to the max

He gets really flustered when you kiss him too 😭

I wouldn’t be surprised if his soul almost detached the first time you did.

[leighsartworks216]

Guard Dog

Sylus x hybrid!Reader

I got this idea and then struggled to write it for two weeks, as one does. As much as I like this au, I don't think I'll write another part to this unless I get like really inspired. Takes place with Raven!Reader in mind, but it can really be whoever

Warnings: hybrid au, intense, swearing, auction, violence, blood, non-sexual bondage, muzzles, torture, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced abuse, guns, ambiguous/open ending, collar, hair-pulling, Sylus is cold and a bit mean (think first time we meet him in-game)

Word Count: 2,323 (oh fuck yeah)

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A dark sea of people stares at you, even though you can’t see so much as the light in their eyes. Their appraising looks burn into you. Melt into your skin. The auctioneer’s own nervous glances fuel your fighting spirit as two handlers drag you into the limelight.

You writhe and wriggle and squirm like a worm on a hook, with your hands securely cuffed behind your back and a muzzle strapped to your face. The collar around your throat chokes you as they pull on both of the chained leashes, tugging in opposite directions in order to settle you down. It doesn’t work. Unless they hope to drain you of oxygen for long enough to knock you out, it never will. And they won’t; they need these potential buyers to see you awake and alert, no matter how much of a hardship it is on them.

A gloved hand grabs your hair. Tangles deep into the strands, gripping by the roots tightly. With a kick to your back, you’re forced to your knees. And with a harsh backward tug on your hair, you’re made compliant, contorted with your throat exposed, unable to flee.

“Now this is a rare find you’ll never see anywhere else,” the auctioneer announces. “A Hybrid, a perfect blend of human and animal. This species here is none other than a Belgian Malinois. If you need a guard dog, this is just the thing for you! Now, bidding starts at 1 million.”

White paddles that shine in the darkness flicker out in the expanse. They’re hesitant to start, unnerved by the difficulty with which you were presented, but they quickly pick up. In mere minutes, you’re worth more than the crown jewels that came before, and still the numbers rise higher and higher. The auctioneer is flushed with energy. He barks numbers, calls out bids, as though it brings him to a high no drug ever could.

As the number passes 100 million, the bids slow down. Your fate is determined by two last relentless, rich assholes. A paddle goes up on the left, then on the right - back and forth. A war to see who gets to own you. To them, it’s nothing more than a game. You’re just a prize to be won. A pet to be kept in a pretty, gilded cage for guests to ogle at. A Hybrid, can you believe it? You’ll never guess how much it cost.

You struggle again, fighting against the fist in your hair even as your scalp burns with the pull. You refuse to let yourself be led to your destiny like this. Docile. Tame.

“One-fifty! Do I hear one-seventy-five?”

You jolt one way, then another. Your head jerks oddly. Air becomes a luxury as they pull at your collar much harder than before.

“One-seventy-five? One-seventy-five! Can we reach two hundred?”

Heavy boots thud as they run up the stage-steps. You can’t turn enough to see who it is. An enhanced cattle prod digs into your spine. Your body tenses as the electricity courses through your nerves. Steals your breath. Puts spots in your vision.

“... hundred… to the highest bidder… 109! Congratulations, Mr. Sylus!”

As though emerging from underwater, sound rushes in all at once. Polite applause becomes nothing more than white noise, grating on your ears. Three sets of hands raise you from your knees as you fight to shake off the lingering voltage in your system.

Even though you fought, destiny found you anyway.

Your feet stumble as they drag you along. Back to the kennel waiting for you just behind the stage, out of view of the crowd. They shove you inside. Cold metal bars stop your momentum, your shoulder hitting them hard enough to bruise. The door shuts with the click of a lock. As the wheels begin carrying you away, you sink to sit at the bottom of your cage.

You’re exhausted. You fought so hard - so hard - and for what? The outcome remained just the same. Reduced to being little more than property. A conversation piece. Every atom in your body screams for you to give up. Give in. Become the tame beast they wish you were. Follow every command without question, without hesitation. Do as you’re told, obey, and survive.

But you can’t.

As they wheel you to the parking lot, you get back up. You glare at the imposing man waiting there, leaning against his car. He’s entirely unfazed. He looks bored, even. You want to tear his throat out.

“Here you are, Mr. Sylus. Your Hybrid.” One guard steps forward with a little black case. They open it up to show the man. Four syringes, all too familiar, sit neatly lined up inside. “Complimentary of the House. These sedatives are the only thing able to calm it down.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The guard falters. “Sir, I’m afraid I must insist. This creature is very dangerous and-”

“I’m aware.”

The silence is tense. The man quirks a brow, daring the guard to insist once more. Hesitantly, they close the case and step back. Does this man really think he can control you that easily?

“I… hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Sylus.”

The guards step away from your cage, uneasy. Their boots skim the floor of the lot, devoid of anyone else, as they turn and head back to the venue.

The man, Mr. Sylus, meets your eyes. You can’t find a drop of fear in them, but you swear the right one glows slightly. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

He shoves off from the car and steps forward until he’s face to face with you, separated only by steel bars. A smirk slowly curves his lips. “Do you want to kill them?”

You blink at him. He owns you now - shouldn’t he be expounding on all the ground rules and plans he has for you? Shouldn’t he be idly looking you over like a new centerpiece for the table?

He chuckles. “Yes? No? Maybe so?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before his attention is drawn to the keypad keeping you locked away. With a few easy presses, it beeps. He pulls the door open wide. With a lazy wave of his hand, the cuffs fall from your wrist, clanging against the metal flooring. The collar joins it soon after, chains jingling against each other loudly.

You look down at your hands. Free from their containment. Free to move and reach and claw. Red rings of torn skin still decorate your wrists, but it’s a minor inconvenience at best.

“H-Hey!” The footsteps stop sharply, then pick up once more, heading back in your direction. “What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!”

The man leans in conspiratorially. He’s enjoying this. Why?

“Do whatever you want with them,” he says. A glimmer of chaos dances in his eyes. He straightens back out, looking over your shoulder at the approaching danger. Yet he seems fully at ease. Even with you unchained and able to freely move. You could claw his eyes out. You could tear open his throat. But… he freed you, didn’t he?

As the steps get closer, your body reacts on pure instinct.

You shove yourself from the cage. He doesn’t so much as flinch when you nearly run into him while rounding the corner to face the threat head-on. You rush to meet them. Something feral within you takes over. Something that craves violence. Something strong enough to block out everything else around you and hone in on these four bastards.

Your claws tear into flesh. Blood pours onto the ground in wet splashes. Your nails rend muscle asunder, destroying the fragile networks of tendons and sinews. The first guard to die holds the cattle prod. It falls in a clatter and the others rush to pick it up. It bounces off your muzzle, deflected before it can hit your skin. The last guard pulls a gun on you. The bullet goes clean through your ear. They die a breath later.

You don’t feel the pain. Don’t feel the blood that drips from your ear to your hair. All you feel is the intense, visceral satisfaction of killing these fuckers. Standing over their corpses, covered in the gore, alive and free.

Well… Almost free.

You turn slowly back to Mr. Sylus. He’s unmoved by the display. Unperturbed by it all. You can’t understand him. Why would he go through all the trouble of buying you just to sic you on your own captors?

He nods toward the auction house. “You can keep going, if you’d like,” he says. “I won’t stop you.”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. You scowl at the man from behind your muzzle. You reach around your head, searching for the clasp or any sort of mechanism that unlocks it. The more you search, the more your frustration grows. It reaches such a fever pitch, you don’t hear him approach. The only thing you know is that his hand is suddenly in your peripheral. And the second his hand comes back from behind your head, muzzle dropping with it, you turn and bite him.

Your teeth dig in deep. Blood gushes into your mouth, filling your senses with copper and heat.

He rips his hand away with a hiss, but he just frowns at the damage that’s been done. You expect some retaliation; a flick, a smack, even just a few scolding words. But they never come. Instead, you watch with a distinct sinking feeling as the skin closes up, until no sign of the bite remains. The blood flakes away, drifting in the air like embers on the wind.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stare in growing horror as that blood, too, flakes away. You can taste it in your mouth, acrid and bitter, slipping from your mouth as you try to lick the feeling off your tongue, until no trace remains.

“Feel better now?” he asks, unimpressed.

Your face scrunches up, baring your teeth. It’s an empty threat, now that you know he can’t be injured, but the desire to lunge forward and crush his jugular remains just the same. You wonder how much damage you’d have to do before he can’t recover. You’re careful not to turn your back to him again as you step around the bodies, picking up the gun from the one and a knife from another. You’ve never used them before, never been given a chance to, but you hope the sight of them will be enough to keep the man from getting so close to you again.

“You’re not the only Hybrid on the market,” he starts. He’s frowning, serious. You’d sure like to try out this gun on his forehead, at the crease between his brows. “Someone is breeding more and selling them in secret, just like you. You’re the only person who has any knowledge on where it could be happening.”

You glare at him. “And if I refuse?” Your voice is rough from disuse. You haven’t spoken in years. One of your limited forms of protest against your oppressors. This man - Mr. Sylus? He’s lucky to hear it.

He shrugs. “You’re free to go. But the second they realize one of their pets is on the loose, they’ll come back for you.”

He’s right, the bastard. Even back at the lab, if you managed to get loose for even a second, they were right on top of you. You’d never get far out in the real world. Not to mention, you have no way of surviving on your own; no money, no familiar faces, nowhere to go.

“If you work with me, I can give you shelter, food, clothes. Any resources you need.”

“Blackmail.”

“Incentive.”

“It’s just another cage.”

“If that was the case, why would I free you?” He nods back to the cage, still sitting open in the lot. His car is just behind it, black and sleek and ill-suited for the transport of a kennel like that. “As soon as I’ve found them,” he speaks again, voice low, “you can pick anywhere in the world to go and I’ll personally ensure your safe arrival and keep any interested parties off your back.”

You have two options: run away and get caught, or stick with Mr. Sylus on the off-chance he is telling the truth. Neither is ideal. Your life is on the line, after all. It’s a heavy bargaining chip, but it’s the only thing you’ve got to deal with.

Dread pools in your stomach, inky and thick. You’re freer than you've ever been. But now it sounds like you’re as free as you’ll ever be.

What choice do you really have?

You slowly step forward. Your head is bowed as you stare at the ground. Docile. Truly docile. For the first time in your life.

Does he understand the weight of this? you wonder. Does he know how long you’ve fought? How relentlessly you struggled and snapped and refused to give in, only to be off-leash and still choose to follow him?

You can only hope he does as he turns and leads you to the car. He holds open the passenger door for you. You stare at the luxury leather seat for a moment. You get blood all over it as you slip inside. He shuts the door behind you.

He rounds the car in no time and ducks into the driver’s seat. The car hums to life, startling you for a brief moment as you hear the engine purr and see all the little lights come on on the dash. He gestures loosely to the gun in your lap. “I’ll show you how to use that, so long as you don’t pull the trigger in here.” He flashes you a devil-may-care smirk in response to your confused frown. “You didn’t turn the safety on, sweetie.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[nonushu]

hugs in secret - yoon jeonghan

genre: fluff, secret relationship | wc: 670 | warnings: mentions of being drunk? | secret bf!jeonghan x reader a/n: i love long-haired jeonghan BUT short-haired jeonghan... oh my lord... this is also a bit rushed, hopefully, it's not too noticeable!

whoever gave soonyoung the mic, he sure as hell isn't singing. instead, he's shouting at seungkwan through the booming speakers for whatever reason that there may be—most likely about something petty.

if you were drunk too, you'd be just as indulged as they were. but someone is making it hard to even care what's going on in the karaoke room. and if anyone else in the room was sober, they'd be able to see the literal hearts in his eyes.

jeonghan sits across from you, grinning as the lively scene of the two other men unfolds. no matter how much you motion for him to stop looking at you like he is, his stare somehow makes you feel more shy.

of course, jeonghan knows exactly what he's doing. he doesn't miss the subtle nervousness you try to hide from the others—if anything, he's enjoying the thrill of anyone who could become suspecting of the two of you.

you can feel his eyes on you as you get up when you decide it's time to leave. you take a breath before walking over to the food bar where you pack some leftovers for the next day.

jeonghan raises his brow at your sudden leave, rising from his seat to follow from behind.

"leaving so soon?" his voice soft, almost teasing.

you glance over your shoulder, snapping the lid on the container. "well, i have to go in early tomorrow. can't be too exhausted."

"but you're gonna miss the most memorable part of this," he chuckles, referring to soonyoung and seungkwan dispute.

you scoff, shaking your head. "and then, i'll miss my hearing if i stay any longer,"

jeonghan's lips crack a smile as he leans in closer to you. his hands find their way to the small of your back. he pulls you gently towards him in a comforting manner but enough to make your breath hitch.

"jeonghan," you whisper, eyes darting around the room but doing nothing to stop him. "someone might see..."

but you know no one's paying attention to what you and jeonghan are doing, yet the thought of confrontation at the moment did not sound fun while everyone was wasted.

"you're really gonna leave me?" he pouts, putting his chin on your shoulder. "leave me here with our drunk friends?"

your eyes sided at jeonghan. "you can leave too, hannie,"

"well, someone has to drive them home," he whines, nuzzling closer.

you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. "well, aren't you such a good friend?"

"yeah..." he mumbles, arms now fully wrapped around you. "am i able to see you after work, though?"

you tilt your head to look up at jeonghan, returning the hug. "could you come over to my place as well?"

jeonghan's grin is boyish, his eyes lighting up. "it'd be my pleasure, angel,"

you sort of cringed at the nickname, but regardless, you loved it when he called you such. removing yourself from his arms, you head to the exit while giving him a playful smile. "see you then, jeonghan,"

before stepping out of the room, you feel a grip on your arm, slightly pulling you back. jeonghan stops you from exiting completely, still wanting you to stay with him longer.

with a low voice, he bends down to your level. "just one more hug before you leave?" his eyes are begging. "please?"

now you grin at jeonghan. "clingy, much?" but you embrace him anyway, hugging him closely.

his tone becomes sassy, yet he gives in. "yeah, well, you make it impossible to not be,"

the moment couldn't feel more perfect, but soonyoung's voice cuts through the air—through the very loud speakers, startling the both of you. "group hug!"

before you know it, soonyoung has his arms wrapped around the two of you, squeezing your bodies tight. you couldn't help but laugh while being squashed between the two men. jeonghan groans at him, but his grip on you doesn't loosen.

jeonghan must really love hugging you, you figured.

[lotusarchon]

you should know better than to ask a lady her age (nezha x reader)

content warnings: female reader, second pov (you/your), reader is a goddess and has tamayo vibes, nezha is nezha just more feral, mild age gap (both are adults on their first meeting + reader appears in her late twenties and nezha between 24-25 > author has no idea what counts as early/late twenties), all fluff and wholesome stuff, swooning nezha, nezha bullies mk once and wukong multiple times (biggest nezha opp), li jing is his own warning tbh

author's notes: demon slayer x lmk crossover when?

Meeting you was a dream Nezha could never want to forget. It was one of his life's greatest mistakes, and yet for once in his life, it was one he held no regrets for. Not one bit, when the feelings he held for you were so pure and filled with nothing but the utmost passion. To him, you meant the world, and perhaps more.

“Nezha, is it?” Soft hands run through his hair, undoing the messy braids he'd struggled to tie just this morning. “An interesting name for a god like him.”

“Does it matter?” Above him, his father crosses his arm. “Can you heal him, or not?”

The soft voice sighs melancholy. It reminds him of a lullaby, sung to him by a distant voice during a thunderstorm. The hands that thread through his hair still, and the warmth spreads through his body. Gentle fingers press into his scalp, massaging the tender skin.

Then, there is silence.

“That's it?” Li Jing's bitter voice breaks the silence. “That's all?”

“I must remind you, my lord, that this humble servant is not as powerful as her elders.” The hands in his hair gently rub a pattern. “And she has done her best for this lotus prince. All that remains now is for him to rest and allow his body to heal on its own.”

He feels fine, though. Whatever this stranger had done, his body has never felt more alive. It was opposite feeling he had felt before, when Taiyi had restored him.

His father ‘tsks’ angrily. “He'll be fine. He's not some child to rest at every interval.”

He anticipates whoever the stranger is to agree with him.

“Li Jing. You are correct that this is no child, but he is, theoretically, your son. And unless you imply your wife has made you wear a green hat, there is nothing in this world that can change the shared blood you two will have even until death. Have some sympathy, won't you?”

Ah. This was a strange feeling, having someone stand up to that prick of a father he had. Something warm fills his chest at the thought.

It's only when a door slams shut that Nezha dares to open his eyes. A kind woman is looking down at him, with nothing but a smile on her lips.

“Hello, Nezha.” You spoke his name so kindly, filled nothing but gentleness. “I'm glad you're awake. How are you feeling?”

A goddess. No, something else indeed.

Nezha had zero qualms dedicating his life's purpose to you. It's not like he had much to do anyway, and the Jade Emperor did not seem to mind his attachment to you so long as he did his duties. Li Jing complained often, and for all Nezha knew, most definitely still did, about this vulnerability he showed the goddess that healed him, but the Lotus Prince found that he did not give one fuck. Why should he care if his father had a stick up his ass about his relationship with the goddess that healed him? Lady (Name) held no complaints towards his presence, and thus, any other complaints from outsiders were ignored.

And you truly had nothing against Nezha's presence at your side. Since the day he had found himself lying on your lap, he seemed to hold some form of attachment and loyalty towards you. You put it off as his attempt at being grateful, even though you really didn't mind. Helping people was always one of the joys you held ever so dearly in your immortal life. Nezha really didn't need to express his gratefulness…

Though his company was nothing short of welcoming. The Lotus Prince, for all his grumpy attitude and sulky expressions, was a dear to be around, and you quite liked how his expression would always turn so adorably pink when you compliment his feats. One of your favorite pastimes with him was styling his hair, and tying colorful ribbons in them for the funs of it.

A few gods and immortals were surprised at the sight, but soon enough they learnt it was best not to ask. Less questions meant less injuries, since a certain prince did not like it when people swooned over your kindness.

You were pretty sure that was why so many patients senses a cold aura every visit, come to think of it. But maybe it was just your imagination and not the lotus prince glaring from the window.

Speaking of which, how did he managed to climb so high??

“Sun Wukong, is it?” You thanked Nezha for the tray that he offered you, your favorite blend of tea―a gift from Nezha's older brother, Jinzha―already made and poured into the fancy porcelain cups you favored so much. The tray was set down on the small table between yourself and your guests, and you offered a cup to each. “And your loyal protege, MK?”

The boy wearing the red bandanna nodded quickly, a noticeable blush on his cheeks. You put it off as excitement, since the moment he'd entered the celestial realm, he'd been gushing about the beauty of the place, top to bottom and back again. His mentor wasn't half as excited, grabbing him by the collar to stop him from running off to who knows where while he sipped on a cup. 

“I'm surprised you haven't heard of me,” Sun Wukong remarked, raising a brow at you. “You a new god or something?” When you nodded in confirmation, he blinked. “Ah, that explains it. Pretty sure I would've recognized a pretty face like yours.”

Next to you, Nezha's aura radiated annoyance. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you swore you could feel the god and monkey exchanging heated glares.

Weird.

“You flatter this servant too much,” you answered humbly and smiled. “But it is true that this is the first time I've even heard of you, Sun Wukong.”

“Ah? How old even are you?” MK questioned curiously.

“25 when she first achieved enlightenment. 457 years in mortal terms.” This time, Nezha was the one who spoke. You flashed him a grateful smile―because sadly, you truly kept no track of these things, not when it felt so pointless―but Wukong exchanged a weird look with his protege, especially when Nezha gave him a stink eye. “And you should know better than to ask a lady her age. It's disrespectful.”

“Don't be mean, he meant no harm―” You chided Nezha, gently patting his face. He leaned into your touch with a pleasant smile, and you shook your head at the sweet gesture. “And yes, I've lived long, but not as long as the Prince or Sun Wukong has. I'm afraid there are still many things I am duly unaware of.”

Sun Wukong snickered. “Some more than others, aye, Nezha?”

In response, a golden brick was thrown at the monkey's face. It hit him square on the face, and you gasped as Sun Wukong fell over, holding his face painfully. 

“Nezha!” You scolded the lotus prince and gather your robes to stand and examine the fallen Sage. Aside from the red spot on his forehead, he seemed fine, but still whined about the pain he was in. You glanced at Nezha's pouting expression. “That was not very polite! Don't do that again, understood?”

Nezha relented. “Yes, Lady (Name).” Even when angry she's still as beautiful as the morning sun.

Sun Wukong peeked an eye open. He caught the Lotus Prince's gaze from his position on your lap, and while you focused on soothing his pain, he winked.

Let's just say all hell broke loose after that, and Nezha and Sun Wukong owed you a new palace.

“Nyahaha.”

“Fuck you you stupid fucking cock slobbing whore!”

“Nezha!”

“Sorry, Lady (Name).”

“:3”

@lotusarchon , 23.09.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Ghosted

Jazz had been pacing back and forth in her apartment, managing to stop herself from ripping out her hair through sheer willpower. He was meant to have arrived nearly four hours ago and he still wasn’t answering his phone.

“It’s fine,” she told herself, “maybe his phone battery is just dead. Or it could be broken? His brothers can be rowdy.”

Jazz took a deep breath through the mouth, and out through the nose. She smoothed put the wrinkles in her clothes as best she could before sitting herself down on the edge of the couch. And just as she sat down her phone buzzed to life in her hand.

Quicker than her dad could say ‘GHOST’ Jazz whipped out her phone and answered.

“Hello? Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve be-”

“Woah! Jazz! Slow down!” Danny’s voice suddenly came through the speaker. “Uh, I’m at home and I don’t know why you’d be worried. I haven’t done anything worthy of your concern. Revelry.” He added that last part quietly.

Jazz sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “Sorry Danny, I thought you were-” she sighed again, “doesn’t matter. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Are you alright Jazz?”

“I’m okay. Just…” she slumped back in her seat, playing with a lose threat on the arm rest before she continued, “got stood up.” She admitted. They told each other everything, Jazz and Danny did. They didn’t keep secrets from one another anymore, which was why she felt so comfortable sharing the troubles in her live life with him.

Jazz and Danny had become so close during their teen years when Danny was still figuring everything out with himself. And Jazz? Jazz had tired to be there for him as best she could. Somewhere between helping Danny and studying and taking care of the house when their parents were too absorbed in their work, Jazz had completely forgotten about herself. What else was there besides school, and Danny? Jazz hadn’t allowed herself to go in dates, not after the incident with Johnny and the chaos with the GIW. She couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk her brother’s secret. Couldn’t risk whoever it was she was seeing. Couldn’t risk herself.

And when Jazz had first moved to Gotham it had been Danny who had encouraged her to make actual friends, friend who weren’t her teachers. He had even encouraged her to try dating. Put herself out there and find Mr Right. She’d been sceptical at first, but after a while she’d relented. Because she couldn’t keep putting her own wants last.

And she wanted a partner. Someone who would care for her just as she would care for them. So she’d done it. She’d gone out on dates and met new people.

And then she met him.

He was handsome, charming, and witty. Jazz wouldn’t describe herself as the swooning type, but when she had looked into his eyes she had felt her knees buckle. And they evidentially had buckled, sending her tumbling forward. But he’d caught her and laughed out, “Falling for me already I see?”

After that, they’d just clicked. They’d gone out several times already, and Jazz had thought they’d always had a good time. But recently he’d been cancelling their dates, usually with an excuse about work or family commitments. At first she’d brushed it off, she understood that people’s lives could be hectic and unpredictable. But he’d been cancelling so often now, and a few times he wouldn’t answer his phone. But never for this long. Not without ringing her back to let her know he was alright.

Jazz had almost forgotten about Danny on the other end of the phone until he’s said, “Ghosted? In October? How festive.” That had gotten a chocked laugh from Jazz who was shaking her head with a feeling of fond amusement. Trust Danny to make a joke like that.

[morallygreyyn]

Can i pls get some clingy ass illumi x reader who hasn’t seen them in days because of his missions?

Have a nice day!! Make sure to drink water💓

miss me? (illumi zoldyck x reader)

description: illumi has been gone for a week and when he returns, he seems slightly off. it didn't take you long to realise that he wanted attention, namely yours...

authors note: another super old ask but i love this one with all my heart and soul. illumi? stunning. clingy illumi? immaculate. seriously there is nothing i love more than illumi so this is how i think he would be when he's clingy and wants attention! have a lovely day anon and i really hope you drink lots of water! (seriously i've just found out how important this is so pls everyone drink lots of water to flush out that bacteria) 💗

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

requests are open! please read my rules!

You hadn’t seen Illumi Zoldyck for the better part of a week. While you were used to the assassin leaving often for work, usually you were in a position to follow him. This time, however, was one of the rare occasions where you had to stay home at your apartment, all for that blasted electrician who kept cancelling on you. If he called you one more time to cancel, while you stayed home when you could have followed your boyfriend to a sunny location that you would have treated like a holiday, you swore you would hire the Zoldyck yourself to track him down. 

As though he had heard your silent threat, the electrician came and went, and your kitchen appliances were once again fully operational. Happy that you could finally restock the fridge, you left to get groceries. You couldn’t admit this out loud, but your apartment often felt too empty without the assassin occupying it too. While he didn’t own the space where you lived, he stayed there often enough that he may as well share it with you. 

It had surprised you when you brought up the offer of living together and he didn’t reject the idea immediately. Illumi actually seemed contemplative, as though it was almost a pleasant thought. That was what you assumed anyway, you could never truly tell what he was thinking most of the time. 

By the time you returned home, you knew something was different immediately. For one, you were certain that you had locked the door. Cautiously stepping into the apartment, you coiled and prepared to strike whatever or whoever was lurking. Despite not being an assassin, you were still a qualified Hunter, and those licences did not come easy.

It turns out that you needn't have bothered as, when you approached the living area, Illumi was sitting calmly at your kitchen island watching you. 

“Oh, Illumi!” Setting down your bags, you ran to him, throwing your arms around your boyfriend as you held him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

“No signal.” He said simply as he let you hug him, hands gingerly settling around you. You had to fight tooth and nail for him to learn how to hug properly, and even now he still hadn’t quite managed to perfect the act. Despite this, he still tried, and that was good enough for you. 

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile. “How was it?”

He shrugged, a clear sign he was disinterested in the topic. “Simple.”

Nodding, you stepped back to put the groceries away, not wanting them to rot on the floor. Illumi sat back down, fathomless eyes locked on you while you completed the task you had set for yourself. You liked to think that you knew the Zoldyck rather well, and that included when something was bothering him.

Turning around, you raised an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “What?”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Why are you pointing that out?”

“Because I’m wondering why.”

“I stare at you a lot.” He stated, tone very matter of factly.

“I know, but now it seems different.”

“It isn’t.”

“If you say so, darling.” You rolled your eyes and finished putting the food away. Once you had, you turned to face your boyfriend once more, looking for an explanation.

“You forgot something.” Illumi said, and while his voice was the usual light and expressionless one, his eyes still bore into yours.

Looking around, you couldn’t see anything out of place, and you had certainly left nothing on the counters. “What did I forget?”

Illumi didn’t answer, only continued to look at you expectedly. Now you were really confused, and slightly unnerved by his odd behaviour. Illumi rarely acted like this.

With no answer to give you clarity, you grinned in feigned annoyance, kissed his cheek and whispered you were happy to have him back before you left to head into the room you used as an at home office. 

Sitting down at your desk and opening your files, you stared blankly at the screen while you mentally observed Illumi’s behaviour. There was something amiss, and you couldn’t put your finger on what. He wasn’t usually the expressive one; well, he was never the expressive one. All physical, verbal, and emotional affection fell on your shoulders to deliver. While this may seem one sided to most, you didn’t mind as you knew Illumi was not able to express much by way of love. Despite this, you knew he loved you, in his own way. He had threatened to kill the electrician for you when you complained about the situation to him, and that spoke millions. Not only that, but he also allowed you to be as affectionate as you are with him, and he accepted it whereas anyone else wouldn’t have a chance in hell of even approaching him, let alone the things you did together.

What was bothering him?

Just then, you saw a shadow move in your peripheral vision, and your heart dropped to your ass. “Fucking hell, Illumi! At least knock!”

He ignored your outburst. “What are you doing?”

“Working.” You said as you willed your heart to calm down.

“Oh.” Illumi stayed standing behind you, hovering ominously. 

Then it clicked, Illumi was being clingy. This was how he acted when he wanted attention. Unable to control yourself, you laughed loudly at the realisation.

“What?” He asked, watching you stand from your seat to face him.

Your smile was incredibly smug as you approached, wrapping your hands around his waist. “Did somebody miss me?”

Naturally, he didn’t respond and it might’ve been your imagination, but he seemed to relax under your touch. 

“I think I know what I’ve forgotten.” You captured your lips with his own, smiling as you did so. It was moments like this that made you realise that Illumi did in fact love you, and that he was quite attached to you. Even if he didn’t show it much, his hands resting on you, the slide of his lips against your own, the way he seemed unwilling to let you go spoke for him.You pulled away for a moment, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. You had the Illumi Zoldyck as your lover, and no matter what anyone said, he loved you. “Miss me?”

[da2supremacy]

I think what truly makes DA2, in my opinion, the strongest narrative in the franchise is because Dragon Age is a franchise that is fundamentally contending with very real social ills that we don't *have* solutions for. These issues exist within the reality we live in and while the bias or opinions of the authors can be surmised from the shit they wrote in the games (and by god I do not always agree with them) the games have, for the most part anyway, always portrayed a variety of characters with differing perspectives on the world that they live in. It made the world feel real and it provided a lot of fodder for conflict outside of fantastical fantasy elements.

Dragon Age 2 was a tragedy narrative that made the point that one single guy is not ever going to be able to solve these problems. Even if they're great, important, a hero. They are still one guy against the world that they live in. It did not have *any* of the fantastical fantasy shit that the other three had in it and I think it's narrative was the starkest exploration of what the team was trying to do with Thedas because of this.

Dragon Age Origins was successful because it the true enemy of this game was not the Archdemon it was Loghain and the Landsmeet. It was *just* the nation of Ferelden, a nation that in general seemed pretty resistant to Chantry hegemony. Even then the boon given to any elven Warden is literally stripped from them in the epilogue slide anyway because, unfortunately, one elven hero will not cure the racism inherent even in Ferelden.

In Inquisition you are given power but the strongest parts of that game's narrative are explorations of how much the Inquisitor is actually stripped of their agency by the very title that gives them power. People were missing the point so much they put the exact words into Harding's mouth. The fact that Josephine advises an Inquisitor Lavellan to discredit and shut up the Dalish clan that actually had blood relation to Ameridan so that you can uplift some some Orlesian family that claims to be descended from him--That you KNOW is full of shit because he died childless with his partner--really highlights how whoever the Inquisitor was before the conclave explosion ceased to matter the second they picked up the orb.

You can see attempts to get back to this in VG. There has been criticism about "the Power of Friendship" but I actually don't think that trying to make a grassroots coalition was where this narrative failed. Solas' narrative was one that could have exemplified the idea that one guy can only do so much about the evils of the world. If they were truly dedicated to keeping the Veil up despite making three games about how it was falling apart then it would have been a great time to show that Solas could, in fact, NOT defeat the inequality and damage that was done to this world by his actions alone. But that isn't what they did. In fact they seemed to be pretending Solas had no real conscientious objections to the world of Thedas at all and that it was all about rebuilding an empire that he hated enough to rebel against for centuries. Baffling.

Shifting the antagonist to Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan and stuffing Solas in a box for the whole game is the weakest part of the game's narrative because it shifted the conflict in the world of Thedas from these very real and grounded problems to this fantastical, existential threat. It took Solas, this divisive and multi-faceted character that could have been a case study in how good intentions do not actually save anyone, and shoved him to the side in favor of the most milquetoast versions of Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. It flattened the body horror of the Blight that, despite being a fantastical element of the world building, was also actually pretty grounded.

I understand that a bunch of middle aged white people in the imperial core working on fumes and stubbornness were probably not the group of people to take this nesting doll narrative about the abuses of empires and make all that they could out of it but man, what we could have had if we had treated this a bit more like we'd treated Dragon Age 2 in the narrative development process.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

oml hiiii, i rushed here immediately when i saw your requests are open ive been in love with the idea of maybe ghost having a teenage niece (his older brothers daughter) who he basically raised when he wasn't on duty but like none of the 141 knows about it because he keeps her a secret. He's basically her father at this point cause the rest of the family was murdered when she was only a baby. Anyways, you can do whatever you want with this prompt or not if you don't want to. But like I can totally just imagine Soap just seeing them in a Tescos and absolutely losing his shit when seeing a teenager swinging from his Lieutenants arm.

if you choose not to do this prompt that's completely fine!!! thank you!!!

—Sole Survivor

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

When you were the only one to live, the sole survivor of that massacre, Simon knew he was in trouble. 

He’d found you under the bed. The blood was still congealing over the wooden floors—whoever put you there, Tommy, his mother, Beth, or even his nephew, was all a mystery that no one would ever know the answer to. Yet, the larger question was how you, a baby, had managed to stay silent through it all. 

Simon had picked you up with panicked breath and tears in his eyes as the sirens of the police had gotten closer, holding you to him as you blinked awake and yawned. The bodies of his family were strewn around the floor, broken and bent; murdered. But you. Little you. 

Alive.

It would be best to leave you to be found by the authorities. To go somewhere far away from him and the future that was now stained into his soul—the pact of revenge and horror that would live through him like a brand. It was the right thing to do; the correct thing.

And then he remembers his mother’s eyes, and he’s already rushing to the back window while cradling your squirming body. The rest, of course, passed as the flow of time always did. 

“I’m thinking we should have steak,” your voice pipes up as Simon grabs a bag of crisps from the shelf. Brown eyes blink down at you, balaclava tight to this face. 

“You have steak money?” You were a teenager now, older and figuring life out one day at a time. He hadn’t told you the whole story, and he won’t until much later, but you know enough to a point that you were comfortable with. 

You know your family loved you. 

“You’re the one with the job,” he huffs at you as you utter under your breath. 

“Exactly,” Simon grunts. “Eatin’ me out of house and home like I never feed you.” 

“I,” you point a finger into the air, “am growing. Soon I’ll be just as tall as you, y’know that? I’ll be towering over everyone and giving them that same dead-eyed look that—” brown orbs level with you, unimpressed. You beam, punching his shoulder. “See! That one!” 

“Fuckin’ piss off, would you?” Simon grumbles, moving down to the next aisle in his large and darkly-clothed glory. Your laugh trails after him, feet heavy on his heels. “Givin’ me a headache.” 

You both walk around the Tesco, Simon getting strange looks while a beaming teenager walks beside him talking about supper, class, and anything in between. He offered short responses, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes serious—it depended, but the point was that he did answer you, no matter how pointless the conversation. 

“I think I’m going to join a club this year,” you speak as you gaze at the items your Uncle puts in his basket. A gaze side-eyes you slowly. 

“What, then?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, shoulder bumping into his arm and tilting your head. “Were you in any clubs?”

He grunts, shaking his head before a hand descends to your hair, ruffling it as you hiss in annoyance. “Never had time.” Simon hadn’t told you about his father or what he had done, and God help him if he ever uttered a word about it. That wasn’t something that mattered in your story, just his…he’d never place that weight on you willingly.

You frown as your uncle's arm loops your shoulders casually, keeping you to him as other people walk past you. Brown filters over posture and facial expressions—looking for the barest hint of ill-intent. When there’s nothing, and the forms move around you as easily as they had come, Simon’s attention leaves, and he continues on as if nothing had happened. 

“Try Debate.” Your face turns to him, curious. 

“Debate?” His eyes twinkle, and behind his face covering you immediately find the tell-tale twitch of a smirk. 

“Argue so bloody well you could convince a rookie that a P890 can hold 10 rounds.”

You fight the shocked smile that pulls at your lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Eyes swirl, and a hand squeezes your arm; jostling you slightly. 

“It’s a compliment.”

“You’ve always been shit at those.” You get a firm glare and a grunt from above.

“Fuckin’ language.” Your lips mock his response, making fun of him before he sends a flick of his thumb and forefinger into your temple.

“Hey!” Simon chuckles lowly, walking closer to the front of the store to get ready to pay as you mutter. “Jerk.”

It was a surprise though, that when you had barreled onto your Uncle’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride as payback—which the man didn’t even flinch at, already used to your antics—that the wide eyes of a man with a mohawk met yours. Your head is atop your Uncles, resting there as the lady at the front gives you strange looks from behind the register as Simon places the items in front of her. 

He was gobsmacked, this stranger with his hair all done up like that, and your eyes blink at the display of tags around his neck that mirror your guardians. Broad, yet not so like Simon, and muscled, also, not as much as Simon. 

“Unc?” You ask, and the man below you hums in question, pulling out notes from his wallet absentmindedly. “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.

“With the what?” It wasn’t really shocking that no one knew about you besides Price—and the only reason he knew was that in the event something happened to him, Simon had made the Captain swear that you would be taken care of. 

Imagine his horror when his brown eyes darted up only to find them meeting the cobalt blues of his Sergeant, the Scot's hand outstretched to a box of pancake mix with a pack of Irn Bru in the other. 

There’s an immediate sinking feeling in Simon’s chest when Johnny awkwardly tips his fingers in a shocked greeting—eyes flashing up to your curious face before he thins his lips and blinks. 

You wave enthusiastically back. 

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”