#because it happened nearly at the same time

[tsuyalovebot]

make him lose his cool.

suggestive and sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos.) no sex, but caleb popping a boner like a victorian man. afab reader (that also wears bras). mc=reader.

"caleb is an ass man!" "no, he likes tits!"

personally, i think caleb would have a near panic attack upon seeing your shoulder, elbow, or ankle.

he just does a really good job of pretending he doesn't mind it. after all, the two of you grew up together. he's had to put his hands on you many times — carrying, tending to scrapes and cuts, tickling you, ruffling your hair, squeezing your face. skinship was a language that the two of you were plenty fluent in.

but the year spent apart failed to maintain this, like some half-assed video streaming subscription, and caleb's the newborn fawn learning how to walk.

so what happens when he knocks on the room to his bedroom — it belongs to you now, technically — with a plate of breakfast before coming in, and he witnesses you sitting up, all sleepy and the neckline of his shirt slightly sliding down your shoulder?

he's going to throw himself off a cliffside. maybe even off skyhaven itself.

the plate hits the bedside table on your side with a loud clatter. none of the food spilled over, luckily. he has half a mind to garble some lame excuse about being busy and a quick good morning before trying to bolt.

but, caleb nearly snaps into two when you tug at the hem of his shirt, slumber still slurred in your words as you ask where he's going. there'd been no strength in that tug. yet, he stopped in his tracks all the same. he ends up listening to your grumbles, ones reminding him that it's his day off, remember? you promised you'd spend it with me.

"i gotta take a shower first," he chuckles, hoping his voice wasn't too shaky. please don't notice. please don't notice.

"but caleb," you keen.

god, it's like when he'd take leave from the academy for a few days just to go back to you and gran. always coming home to you, thoroughly acquainted with you not being a morning person but still making the effort to cling to him and savor every second you two spent together.

he assumed it would be the same now, but clearly, that was a mistake. because the coiling tension of warmth threatening to boil over in his stomach was nothing short of treacherous.

caleb does manage to escape; albeit pained by the half-awake whines behind him and the sound of you falling back into bed. god, how badly he wanted to cave into your demands. you don't even know the half of it.

he wonders if you've ever curled into his side of that bed he once slept on, seeking his cologne, his body, his warmth the same way he looks for your silhouette in every corner of this home. a melody he knows, but a name he can't quite place in this shell of a house that transformed in your presence.

regardless, it's really difficult to let this relationship rebuild organically when he was popping a boner over the slightest sliver of skin. the shower's streams are icy on his skin, the impromptu bath having thrown a wrench into his morning routine. he refuses to even touch himself. letting the proof of his sin soften under the biting cold of the water, despite the discomfort.

because nothing was more horrific than having his body react to you like a prepubescent teen discovering porn online for the first time.

caleb thinks he's safe after spending an hour in the bathroom, fingertips pruned and mind cooler than the iciest of planets. but as he's changed back into his clothes, he discovers you beside the door, a blanket around your sitting form and those eyelids droopy.

"pipsqueak? what're you doin' here?" he's crouching down — mortifying boner forgotten as he gathers you into his arms before he realizes it.

then, you stir. a whine muffled into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, the vibration seeming to ripple down his spinal column. the blanket falls from your body in the motions, and you're so soft compared to the firmness of his body.

his arms tighten around you on instinct and you let out a pleased sound and—

he stiffens. you weren't wearing a bra.

"caleb, you're done." you yawn, like the spoiled, pampered figurehead of royalty you are. you arch up into him, and he swears he feels several of his neurons die, dropping like flies in the empty cavity of his head.

"take me back to bed." he feels the air shift as you seem to inhale his scent. your voice softer, more content when you say, "i wanna sleep some more."

he's so fucking doomed.

[noisyghost]

(I started sketching this design nearly immediately after season 2 ended but just now had some time to clean it up so. Excuse me rambling out loud here)

TLDR; I actually really liked the initial design + direction for Warwick-Vander (I <3 human faced werewolves)! But the show design kinda felt like a transitory state between Vander and Warwick to me, so I wanted to try my hand at blending his Arcane design with his in game design. Like a "what would he look like if the transformation kept going" kinda thing. There's a few things I'm not fully settled on, but Im mostly satisfied :)

(rambling under the readmore, its 3 am as i type this lol)

When season 2 first started, I sort of had it in my head that the narrative would have Vander "die" for Warwick to finish the transformation into his final form, forcing Vi and Jinx to finally say goodbye together. Well! That didn't happen lol. I mean. Vander did "die", but whatever was left behind isn't really Warwick. I'm not quite sure what they were going for, either with him or with how Jinx "dies", its all just a little messy when i feel like there was a more obvious narrative conclusion.

Visually i think the final design in the show is cool removed from context, but it doesn't really make sense to me in regards to the story. Like. Warwicks whole thing is that he curbs his violent impulses by killing "bad guys" in the undercity. League lore is a hot fucking mess and I don't even go there so I get that they (the writers) were playing fast and loose but I can see why so many Warwick fans were less than pleased with where the show leaves him, because it doesn't really feel like the same character outside of his initial experimentation.

In my own idea palace, Jinx fakes her death and leaves Warwick to be Zaun's new mascot. Having this literal monster that eats bad guys and saves innocent people in the process become a new symbol for Zaun feels like a no brainer to me. Imagine the iconography they'd make for this thing! And it brings Vanders whole schtick back around; he still "dies" but the Literal Memory of him lives on in Zaun, still protecting the people he cared about most. You get the bittersweet ending of Vi and Jinx having to move on because hes not really their dad anymore, but their memory is what keeps Warwick "human", still with Zaun even if Vi is doing Piltover shit and Jinx is off exploring the world.

Idk! I know the implication that Jinx faked her death is there, but whatever happens to Warwick seems to be like they didnt really have the time to fully explore the ideas they were going for, so a couple characters just got kinda left floating at the end there. If Ekko and Jinx werent going to run away together, I wanted to see Ekko befriending Warwick so they could fight to make Zaun a better place.

I have more coherent ideas than this but it's 3 am when im typing this so sorry if im not eloquent enough to properly explain what im thinking. Ekko and his weird dog that used to be his uncle. Imagine.

[rafesbabygirlx]

JJ having a couple years long crush on kook princess reader and gets super flustered when out of nowhere reader starts flirting with him every chance she gets

I'm talking gobsmacked JJ losing all his game and blushing super hard at reader, stammering and everything (even if all his friends were there watching) and reader just finds it adorable so she keeps finding ways to fluster him and see how much she can get away with before his brain explodes ahahah

Hiiiii omg flustered JJ 🥹🤭

𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

You always noticed the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention—like he was trying to figure out how someone like you, a Kook princess through and through, had ended up orbiting the same world as him. He always kept his cool, flashing that signature smirk and tossing out some cocky remark whenever you caught him staring. But you wanted to see what would happen if you flipped the script.

It started small. A playful touch here, a lingering glance there. A teasing remark about how good he looked with his shirt off after a long day on the water. The first time you did it, he choked on his beer so hard Pope had to slap him on the back. You’d only barely brushed your fingers against his arm and murmured, “Damn, Maybank, didn’t know you had that kind of muscle on you.”

From that moment on, it became a game.

JJ Maybank—the most confident, flirtatious, smooth-talking Pogues of them all—was utterly useless against you.

He tried to keep up at first. He really did. He’d throw out a flirt of his own, something meant to get you blushing, but the second you doubled down—tilting your head, biting your lip just enough to send his brain short-circuiting—he was done for. His usual cocky demeanor crumbled in real time, replaced by wide eyes, red cheeks, and stammered nonsense that had the rest of the Pogues howling with laughter.

“Dude, you’re embarrassing us,” John B teased after you had leaned in just a little too close, dragging a finger down JJ’s chest under the pretense of dusting off some sand.

“Shut up,” JJ muttered, glaring at John B before whipping back to face you. “You—” He pointed accusingly at you, as if trying to form a coherent thought, but whatever he was going to say died before it left his lips because you just smirked at him.

“What about me, J?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

It only got worse from there.

You brushed against him unnecessarily when squeezing past him on the boat to get off The Wreck's dock. You played with the hem of his shirt and told him how soft it was—while he was wearing it. You leaned in just a little too close whenever he was talking, acting like you could barely hear him when in reality you just liked watching him lose his train of thought every time he got a whiff of your perfume.

And the best part? He was so obvious about how much it wrecked him. His ears turned pink. His hands fidgeted. He ran a hand through his hair so much you thought he might rip it out. He couldn’t even look you in the eye half the time.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Kiara muttered to you after JJ nearly walked straight into a post at The Wreck because he’d been too distracted watching you lick salt off the rim of your margarita glass.

“I know,” you mused, barely holding back a laugh. “But it’s just so easy.”

That was the thing about JJ. He was smooth with girls—other girls. The moment it came to you, it was like his brain fried on the spot. And you weren’t about to let up anytime soon.

Not when it was this much fun.

just realized I didnt tag anyone :,)

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[comflexxed]

june let hans pull him up, his fingers fitting easily between his husband's, just as they always did. the world outside their little room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for them to step into this day that had been coming for so long. but here, just the two of them, the moment stretched, warm and unhurried, and june wanted to hold onto it for just a little longer.

hans was teasing him, his voice light, his words laced with laughter, but june could hear it — beneath it all, that quiet certainty. the love so deep it didn’t waver, no matter what happened.

he squeezed hans’s hand, letting himself smile, a little crooked, a little private, meant only for him. “if it rains, we’ll dance in it. if it hails, we’ll find shelter and say our vows anyway. and if the flowers run away, well—” he tugged hans just a little closer, just because he could, because he liked the way it felt, the way it reminded him that this was real. “i don’t know. perhaps we’ll make our own flowers. we’ve already built everything else from the ground up, haven’t we?”

it was the truth. their life, their love — it hadn’t been something pre-written, handed to them with a perfect, easy path to follow. it had been built, piece by piece, with careful hands, with stubborn hearts, with laughter and late nights and days spent learning each other in every way that mattered.

june lifted their joined hands, brushing a kiss to hans’s knuckles, just as he had before, slow and deliberate. “but you’re right,” he murmured, something softer in his tone now, something quiet and full. “nothing else matters. not the weather, not the plans, not anything — just you.” his thumb traced over hans’s ring finger, a promise in the touch.

“you’ve been my husband for a long time already, hans.” the words felt natural, easy, like they had been sitting on his tongue for ages, just waiting to be spoken. “today’s just the day the rest of the world catches up.”

he could see it in hans’s eyes, the way his heart was so full it was nearly spilling over. and june felt it too, that same feeling, swelling in his chest, making it hard to breathe for just a moment. he let out a slow breath, tilting his head toward the door. “come on,” he said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “if we take any longer, i think scooter and jinx are gonna start getting impatient.”

but even as he moved, even as he stepped forward into the day waiting for them, he didn’t let go of hans’s hand. he didn’t think he ever would.

hearing june speak about what he thought of marriage, how it had not made sense from the way other people spoke of it, it made hans’ heart swell with the knowledge that for both of them, now, everything made sense. they had found each other, two pieces of the same soul, and though they did not need this ceremony to confirm it, they both knew now that their marriage would mean everything. 

because without june, nothing else made sense. it was because of june that hans felt safe, like he had been in a storm all his life and had finally found shelter. and it felt fitting, because june felt like home. “now marriage and all of it makes sense because we’re doing it together,” he whispered. it all made hans’ smile even wider, his eyes holding back tears as he looked at his husband, those lips that were laying a comforting kiss on his knuckles. 

“i don’t need an excuse to hear your voice, i always do, and i always will,” he said with a huff. “you’re stuck with me. you are going to sign a certificate that says exactly that.” and that made him break into another smile as he made an attempt to get out of bed, throwing the blankets off them but not all the way. they could still take their time, the world was slowly turning, but they did not have to rush. he allowed himself a few more moments of taking in june's presence, his smile, his eyes, and how all of him radiated love.

finally, he moved slightly, though still reluctantly, against the warmth june offered, and started to get up, extending his hand to help june up after him. “what if it rains?” he asked with no real worry behind it, his heart knowing it would not make a difference even if they had to say their vows rain-soaked.

“what if it hails? what if the flowers have run away?” and now he’s chuckling, twining his fingers together with june’s as they opened the door to their room. “whatever happens, it will only make our wedding day extra special. i probably wouldn't even notice while i'm busy fussing over you, my husband, you."

[lila-went-missing]

Hiii, saw you wanted some requests for Sevika and I've had this idea bubbling up for a while. Imagine Vika with a reader that's normally experienced, yk has fucked one or two people before and it's not a sex god, and they're growing insecure about sevika never starting intimacy even after months of dating, so they think it's because they're not as good as the girl's she's been with before. Idk just thought that'd be good

I'm kind of obsessed with this, ngl. This isn't the first smut that I've written but it is the first smut that I've posted on here so feedback is always appreciated. Y'all will never guess... it's not proofread. Again. Enjoy my lovelies! X

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mild angst but nothing too horrible, mentions of body image issues but readers body type isn't specified or described.

Fem reader, of course, with female genitalia.

At first, you didn't think anything of it. She probably just wanted to take things slow with you. You weren't as experienced as her so she probably wanted to take her time.

That made sense for a while.

But now, after eight months together, you haven't had sex once. More importantly, she hasn't initiated it.

Realistically, you know that it's fine. There's plenty of reasons as to why nothing has happened so far. But that voice in the back of your head is doing a fantastic job of convincing you otherwise.

Sevika was kind of a sex symbol before you two got together.

She'd been with countless women, she was a regular at Babbettes. Her name was uttered on the streets like a sacred prayer.

You, on the other hand, have only been with two people: your ex, and a drunken one night stand that was less than satisfactory. So you did have sexual experience, but not nearly as much as her.

Honestly, it's starting to worry you.

Did she not like you? Was she not physically attracted to you? Was there something wrong with your body? Were you not showing enough skin?

Thoughts plagued your mind night and day. You were stuck in constant turmoil. It was impossible to stop your own brain once it got going.

It was taking everything in you to focus on the stove and not burn dinner.

You flinch at the sound of the door closing. Heavy footsteps sound through the house, approaching the kitchen.

Sevikas thick arms wrap around your midsection, her face making home in the side of your neck. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. The only sounds come from the meat sizzling in your pan. Moments like this make it easier to not think about the painful lack of aw sex life between you two.

Her lips purse, pressing small kisses against your skin. She hums against your neck.

"What are you cooking doll?" Her voice is muffled against your flesh but you understand her all the same.

"Spaghetti." You feel her smile.

"My favorite.." She mumbles. You hum a small "Mhm" before focusing back on the seasoned beef and water you're waiting for to boil. Her arms tighten ever so slightly, one hand slipping under your shirt. Her thumb caresses your bare skin.

It should be sweet but it really just drives the nail into the coffin for you.

Your voice comes out before you can stop it.

"Why won't you have sex with me?" You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth.

"I- woah, what? Doll what do you mean?" She honestly sounds baffled.

"Forget I said anything, please. It doesn't matter."

Her hands gently grab your shoulders, turning you around.

"No way. What are you talking about?"

You shake your head. "It's stupid.."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you." She reassures you.

"It's just, we've been together for eight months, and we practically live together. But we haven't done anything. I know you don't have an issue having sex because half the undercity talks about how good you are and I just don't understand. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not appealing to yo-" Your rant is cut off by her lips. Her hands are holding you like glass, one on your cheek, one curled around your hip.

"There is nothing wrong with you." Her voice comes out as a soft whisper. "I'm sorry I made you feel like there was. I just knew that you don't have as much experience as I do. I didn't want you to feel rushed, or forced."

"Rushed? No, you could never.. I thought you just didn't want me that way." She immediately shakes her head. She kisses you again, more urgently this time.

Her hands grab anywhere they can, pulling you in. They're on your hips, waist, groping your ass.

"I do want you." Then they're picking you up and lifting you on the counter. "Let me show you how much I want you?" All you can do is nod as her lips trail down your neck. Her touch dances over your body, removing your top.

Her mouth follows soon after, sucking dark bruises into the skin on your neck and chest. She takes a nipple in her mouth and swirls her tongue around it. A low whimper leaves your mouth at the new, but not unpleasant, sensation.

Her right hand copies her tongue's motions on the other, pinching and pulling. Your body trembles against the counter with need.

She moves away from your breasts, kissing and licking down your stomach to your navel. Her hands unbutton your pants. She looks up at you as she lowers herself to her knees, silently asking for permission. You nod your head. You don't trust your voice. Your pants are off in seconds and thrown somewhere in the kitchen that you'll worry about later.

Her hand splays across your stomach and gently pushes you to lay against the tile. It's cold against your bare and burning skin, your back arching off of it but she keeps your hips pinned down.

You gasp as her teeth nip at the skin of your thigh. A breathy laugh leaves her.

"Shut up.." You mutter.

"Didn't say anything."

Your eyes roll in fake annoyance but you don't get the chance to reply as the cold air hits your bare cunt. Her thumbs pull your lips apart, admiring the sight before her.

"Fuck doll, you're so wet. All of this for me?" Her voice is husky between your legs and it stirs something delicious in your belly.

"Yes, all for you Sev.." She chuckles. Her teeth take the hem of your panties and drag them down your legs. She kisses your hips and navel, sucking hickies and marking you as hers.

"Please, Vika. Need you.." You whine. You can't bring yourself to care about how desperate you sound. You're sure that you look even more so from her position.

It seems, though, that your prayers have been answered because as soon as the words leave your mouth hers is back on you. This time it's between your legs.

She licks a long stripe up your pussy before stopping to suck your clit into her mouth. A loud moan reverberates from your chest as you lean your head back into the counter. Her tongue kitten licks at the bud before suckling on it like shes trying to nurse herself.

You've had people eat you out before but never this well. You don't think it could get better than this.

She moves down, opting to fuck you with her tongue instead. You definitely understand the appeal now. You've given yourself plenty of orgasms but this is the fastest one has risen before.

She feels it in the way you clench around her tongue and moves back to your clit. Her fingers fill up the now empty space, fucking into you in a gently but rough way only she could manage.

She's eating you like a woman starved and with the lack of sex the two of you have had she may as well be. If you didn't know better you might think this is her last meal.

Gasps and whimpers leave your mouth in a desperate way you can't stop.

"Fuck Sev.. ngh~ m'gonna cum, please.."

She smirks against you once more, speeding up her ministrations.

"Come on my tongue baby, make a mess on me." Her voice is muffled against you cunt, vibrations travel through your clit with her words.

You last maybe thirty seconds longer, hand tangled in her hair, before releasing over her tongue.

She laps you up, milking you for all that you're worth. She's never tasted anything more delicious. Her mouth doesn't let up until your whimpering from the overstimulation and pushing her head away.

She looks you in the eye as she sucks her fingers clean before kissing back up your body. Her lips lock onto yours and you can still taste yourself on her tongue. It makes your head spin in a way you've never felt before.

When you come back to earth, her hand is running through your hair.

"I'm sorry I made you believe that I didn't want to do that." She mumbles. "But now I may need it to be a daily thing." You giggle at her words.

"It's okay. I wouldn't mind honestly." She helps you sit up, a large hand cupping your cheek. "You didn't get to cum.." You whisper as you lean in closer.

"Don't worry about me, I'll get my fill later." The look on her face tells you that this isn't over. "I'm going to change out of these clothes. You just worry about dinner okay?" She slips your panties back on along with your shirt.

You nod, sliding off the counter. You wince at the mess you made but she's already wiping it up. Her lips meet your temple as she mutters a low, "I love you."

"I love you more." She shakes her head, chuckling before walking back to her room. You feel much better now, and you really can't wait for what she meant by "later".

[jd-loves-fiction]

Sorry, two requests in one go but I NEED TO GET THIS OFF MY SYSTEM OR I FORGET

Same platonic dynamic with Boothill, Welt, Jing Yuan and Blade with reader who turned into a small child all of a sudden (around 2-3 years old, so toddler)

🌑 RAAHHH FEED ME (I couldnt resist the angst sowy :)) Also am I crazy or do they all give girl dad... they all feel like girl dad's to me, expect maybe Jing Yuan 😅

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Possibly the most experienced in this field actually???

Not to remind y'all of the absolute angst of his backstory, but he adopted a little kid in the past so... he's actually pretty knowledgeable when it comes to kids

Doesnt make this smooth sailing tho

Firstly, he's super confused on how this happened and how to undo it - spends so much time stressing about it that he almost forgets he has to take care of you now until you start screaming

Now that he's looking at you, oh you're so cute it should be illegal

Cuteness aggression to the max with the most self-restraint a man could possibly have (knowing he could easily seriously hurt you)

Once he accepts that his only option is waiting it out, he's focusing on making sure you're comfy

Surprisingly very in tune with your wants and needs

Overall, you'll be well taken care of with him, though the moment you're soundly asleep, memories of the past come back to haunt him, reminding him of all he lost

Though he reasons with himself that the past has passed and all he can do is keep going without letting it drag him down

And you're helping him do just that ❤️

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

Utterly confounded

Mostly just curious

How did this happen? Do you still have your memories? Did your brain also revert back?

But he also cant deny how freaking cute you are🥺

Very gentle, holding you close, whispering softly even if you're screaming - makes you sleepy immediately

If you start screaming incoherently he's gonna have a hard time figuring out what you need but will try his best and remain calm the whole time

Does anything you want him to, literally

Want to play dolls? He's making a cute voice and everything. Want him to read to you? Putting on the softest tone known to man and putting you to sleep before you're through the first page

This also applies to food - whatever you want to eat, he's letting you, since he knows this situation must be pretty stressful and he doesnt want you start screaming at him :(

Once it's over he probably wont mention it again to you in case you think it's embarrassing, but will keep the sweet memory close to his heart - it makes him feel fuzzy to think he could take care of you when you're so vulnerable

Also you're just so damn cute, he cant get over it 😭

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Give him a second he's gonna have to laugh about this for a while

Decent experience with teens and older children because of Yanqing and other students he's trained, but toddlers?

No clue, he's so lost

Genuinely tries to apply lion cub logic

It's the closest experience he's had to raising a kid ok?! He's trying 🥺

Probably ends up getting yelled at by Yanqing because no, human children do not work in any way similarly to lion cubs >:(

After that he's trying a little harder

He's surrounded by people who know more than him on this so he's putting you on his hip and carrying you around while he asks them what to do

Comes back to his office after and puts you down, not realizing that you're crawling over to Mimi

Nearly has a heart attack once he does realize but it's all good, Mimi's a good boy and just naps while you play with his mane

He was honestly ready to use you as an excuse to not do this work and seeing you napping with Mimi just solidifies it for him

The next time Yanqing comes by to make sure you're ok, he finds you all cuddled up on Mimi, so he leaves with a fond sigh

Jing yuan was totally awake btw

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Oh sweet god he is not equipped for this AT ALL

Immediatly running to Kafka or Firefly for help (Silver Wolf is suddenly not so mysteriously absent) and they are somehow even less helpful than he is

Grumbling the whole time but does try his best to care for you

Does NOT know why you're screaming pls stop 😭

Has a surprising among of patience - he knows what children are like, so he's not blaming you for anything you do or losing it on you

He's good at keeping himself calm when the situation doesnt require him to lose his shit

Excels at... napping :)

Honest to god cant think of much else to do with you besides putting a sword in your hand, which both Kafka and Firefly scold for even thinking about

Cant really blame him, that's what his parents did and he turned out just fine :) (Note the sarcasm)

Something in his cold (literally) dead heart warms at the sight of you fumbling about and smiling sweetly at him

He never thought himself particularly inviting but he sure doesnt mind that you think so

The whole situation has him pondering his past but most of all, his humanity - what he lost of it and what he still has

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy II

an art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU...

II.

-It takes about three classes for you to finally relax around Professor Wick. You still feel his eyes upon you when you pose, but he does not make you feel uncomfortable. In fact…he is painfully proper with you. As he should be, of course, but sometimes, late at night when you are kept awake by your thoughts of him…you wish he would be just a tad forward. It's unseemly, what you would let that sweet man get away with. Therein lies the conundrum, you suppose. If he made a pass at you…he wouldn't be so sweet. 

-One day you are making your rounds during the break, when you happen to notice Professor Wick was drawing at his desk along with the students. You were in a reclining pose, feigning sleep. The way he drew you…you know better than to think you could possibly look so alluring in real life, but there is something in the varied weight of his lines, the soft shading. Somehow he configured the shadows of the background to suggest wings folded over your supine nude form. 

You've never really liked your body. Well…who does like themselves, truly? But modeling in the classroom, seeing your flesh turned into art, has helped you find a confidence, or at least an acceptance, you didn't have before. Wick’s rendition goes beyond all that, though. You can't let this go to your head. It’s too much. “I hope…you don't mind.”

Again, he's crept up on you without a sound, and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

Clutching your heart, you look back at him. 

“No…I…it’s beautiful.”

You don't know where you get the courage to meet his high-polished onyx gaze, but you feel something inside you implode…then melt. 

“You're beautiful, y/n.”

You have no idea that this is the first time he's drawn anyone besides his wife, since she passed. 

You stand like this in agonizing stasis, close, but not touching, for you don't know how long. You're not sure what might have happened, given enough time, but some of the students return to class, and the moment is broken. You don’t know if you're disappointed, or relieved. 

-You don't know why it's taken you this long, but you finally look up “John Wick+artist”. What you find takes your breath away. Yes, he's a skilled draughtsman. And a painter. And sometimes he combines all these things with bookbinding. 

He's incredible. 

His paintings are dark, with a touch of fantasy, evoking grisly folktales and the old masters in his play of light and shadows. He uses perspective and foreshortening to explore the human body in exciting new ways. He made his name with a series of ethereal ballet dancers in precarious situations. Later, he only painted his wife, Helen. She was a photographer, and in a snap of them with cheeks pressed together they seem impossibly happy. You see that she succumbed to a terminal illness two years ago.

The art world has not heard from John Wick since. 

You do not know this man, really, but you cry for him all the same. 

-You have no idea, how you move him. It's not just that he's seeing you naked on a regular basis, though that does not help. It's the flash of your eyes across the room, your smile and your laughter as you joke around with the students while they draw you as God made you. There is a light in you that he cannot turn away from, perhaps because he has lived in darkness for so long. He craves you– and he knows he shouldn't.  He traces your form with charcoal on paper, and he tells himself that that will have to do. 

He looks you up too. 

He finds your little miniature paintings on your social media, your digital portfolio for all to see. You make tiny eclectic diorama scenes you cook up with a 5/0 brush, sometimes you add moving parts and teeny dolls with teenier twee companions. Polly Pocket never had a pet opossum…poor girl. Your diminutive pieces hint at a longing for the enchantment of childhood lost, and maybe a cozy home that feels whole, if not strange to an outsider’s eye.

He notices you have not created anything you feel like sharing lately. He wonders if you are ok. The answer amongst the creatively inclined is usually not. But if you are not happy…you hide it well. 

He senses there is a well of strength in you that he wishes he could drown himself in. 

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map

pinterest board/ photo credits

[svnriseblvdd]

AND FOR ONCE, YOU LET GO OF YOUR FEARS AND YOUR GHOSTS — dick grayson

hurt/comfort, slight angst (he's okay in the end), love confession, big steps in a relationship. when dick grayson stumbles through his girlfriend's window in the early hours of the morning, she's there to patch him up and listen to all that troubles him.

It’s some time after four in the morning when Dick Grayson finally steps through the window into your apartment. He shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair on you. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help himself. 

He’s silent as he moves across your living room floor, still silent as he opens your bedroom door. He hates that he has to be here. He hates even more the fact that you left your living room window open a crack so he could come in. He’s closed it now, locked it and made sure all the security measures he’d installed for you were in place how they should be. 

He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t want to disturb you as you look so peaceful in the comfort of sleep. He doesn’t even need to touch you. Well, he does. But he won’t. Not if it’ll wake you up. 

He just needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe, alive, breathing, content. He needs to sit in the comfort of the sound of your breathing, the smell of everything that’s so unequivocally you. The detergent on fresh sheets, your shampoo, shower gel, the remnants of your perfume lingering. Even the underlying scent of your worn shoes that just barely creeps through everything else. 

He knows where not to step. Where floor creaks and where there’s little things hellbent on stabbing him in the foot. Not that they’d do a good job through the suit, but he won’t risk it. 

But through all his manoeuvring, he bends just slightly too far the wrong way, and he’s hissing in pain. 

You stir, and hum. He thinks for a moment that maybe it’s okay. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he hasn’t woken you up and ruined your sleep because he’s an idiot. 

But he’s wrong. “Dick?” You mumble. “You there?” 

He winces. Not at the annoying pain in his side, but because now you’re awake. It’s nearly 5:00 AM and you’re awake because he didn’t think. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, honey, go back to sleep.” 

“What time is it?” 

He looks at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers on it glow faintly, almost accusatory. Oh, he knows. 

“4:47,” he replies. “I’m sorry for waking you, baby.” 

You push yourself up, eyes opening properly and taking in the sight of him. Your eyes are soft as you evaluate him, the redness of his cheek as a bruise begins to form, the cut above his eyebrow, the faint glow of the lenses of his mask, which he has yet to take off. “Dick-” 

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m okay.” 

You shake your head. “Come here.” 

“’m dirty. You just washed your sheets.” 

“I don’t care.” You stand from the bed, patting it. “Sit. Wait while I get the first aid kit.” 

He gives in, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for your return. It’s not a long wait, but every second without you feels like agony. It’s worse than anything that happened tonight. 

When you return, you sink onto the bed next to him, setting the kit down next to you. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” you whisper, lifting the mask from him. His beautiful blue eyes meet yours, and it hurts to see the sadness in them. 

You dab at the cut above his eyebrow with an alcohol-dipped cotton pad. You know that nights like these, he needs time before he can open up about it. So you treat the cut on his brow, the bruise on his cheek. Then you begin pushing his suit down his shoulders and torso. 

“If you wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all you had to do was ask,” he jokes, but it lacks the same tone he usually has. Dick flirts with you all the time. Even now that you’ve been together for almost a year. And he still holds the same charm that he did when you first met, when he first realised his feelings and decided he was going to ‘make a move’. But tonight, he doesn’t hold the same charm or humour in his voice. 

“Dick…” you murmur. He’d spent far too long being valued by Gotham’s social elite and their tabloids only for his looks. He was gorgeous, there was no denying that, he was the most wonderful person you’d ever laid eyes upon. But he was far too used to being a performer, even through his worst times, laying on the charm thick as possible when he had to attend a gala that fell during some of the bad days. 

You get the suit down to his waist, where you let it rest as you evaluate the bruises, cuts and scrapes on his chest and abdomen. 

You begin cleaning a cut on his chest, wondering whether or not it’ll need stitches. “What happened?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” At your expression, he sighs. “I just- my head wasn’t in it.” 

“Then where was your head?” You ask, threading the needle. “Hm? Tell me what’s going on, Dick.” 

“I just… don’t know if I’m enough,” he whispers. 

Your expression turns softer still. “What? Dick, of course you are. You’re more than enough. If you ask me, you’re more than most of this city deserves.” He sniffs, still trying to hold in the tears. “Do you want me to numb it before I start the stitches?” 

He shakes his head. “No. No, I can take it. It’s okay.” 

You begin to sew the cut shut, back and forth, back and forth. It’s muscle memory by now, the number of times you’d stitched him up after a rough night. Never like this, though. Usually, even when he’d taken worse beatings, he could still crack jokes easily and he’d still lay on that Dick Grayson charm. Not tonight. 

When you’re done, you lean down, placing soft kisses along the edge. You cover over a graze on his side, the one he’d irritated earlier that had led to you waking up. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he says, voice heavy with regret and despair. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay. It’s not. You have work.” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t. I’m taking the day off. Want to spend time with you.” 

“You don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.” 

“You’re more than worth it, honey. Besides, I’ve had it booked since last week, so I can’t just take it back.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes are filled with tears. “Oh, Dick, sweetheart.” 

He breaks then. The tears spill over, and he collapses into your hold, your arms wrapping around him. He smells of blood, sweat, dirt, and smoke, but you don’t care one bit. You’ll hold him forever if that’s what he needs. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He lets out a sob. “I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, my love,” you assure him. “I promise you, that you’re more than enough. Do you trust me?” He nods. “Then trust that I’m telling you the truth.” 

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m falling and I won’t ever stop.” 

“I know, honey. But I’m here to catch you. I’ll always be here. You do so much for this city, for your team, your family, me. You work so hard, honey, and I know that it’s difficult. And I know you don’t feel like it’s enough sometimes but it is. You’re so good, Dick. You bring hope, safety, happiness. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but you shoulder it so well. I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to take on everything. Sometimes you need a break, and that’s okay.” 

“But who else protects Bludhaven?” 

“That’s the problem, Dick. You take care of this all by yourself.” 

“Bruce protected Gotham by himself.” 

“Bruce hadn’t been Batman for nearly as long before you came along. Besides, he’s had help for years now. You handle Bludhaven, you still help in Gotham, you run the Titans. Hell, you help the Justice League from time to time. Even Bruce has bad times too. Even Batman struggles with his responsibilities. Both of you have yourselves convinced that you have to take on all this responsibility and pressure because if you don’t, you’re not worthy of love. But even with all that, neither of you think you’re enough. And I love you for your heroism and your courage and your goodness. I really do, but you need days off. You need time to just be Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing, not the Wayne heir, not the socialite the tabloids love. Just Dick. The same one who I fell for.” 

He stops sniffling for a few seconds, just breathing irregularly. “You love me?” He whispers then, breaking the silence. He pulls back, your arms falling loosely to his sides. You hadn’t realised you’d said it. 

“Yes,” you whisper back. “Yeah, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he says, hands cupping your face. “So much.” 

You smile, and it’s the first time tonight that he’s smiled and it’s felt genuine. He kisses you, softly, lovingly, every inch of his soul poured into you. It’s such a simple kiss. Neither of you dare deepen it - you both know it’s not the time. It’s just ordinary, small, wet with his tears, but it’s the most wonderful, caring action. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, pulling away from him. 

“No.” 

“How about a bath? Or a shower?” 

“No, I just want to hold you.” 

You smile softly, nodding. “Let me find something for you to wear. It’s colder tonight.” You stand, moving around your room to find any of his clothes that he’s left behind. You think you might’ve run out of clean things of his in his allocated drawer. “It’s getting really difficult, working with only one drawer of your clothes.” 

“Especially when you use my shirts to sleep in,” he comments. 

“True.” You hum as you find a pair of his sweatpants, folding them over your arm. 

“Maybe it would be easier if we just lived together,” he says. 

You turn to him, now holding one of your baby tees, mistaken for a shirt of his. The words “I’m too sexy for this shirt” stare at him, standing out against the white cotton. “Do you mean it?” You ask. 

“I do. I want us to live together. I love seeing our shoes next to each other when we stay together. I love seeing your things at my place. I love cooking together. I want to stay up late talking to you. I want to dance in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I want to come home to you.” 

You smile, practically attacking him with the way you hug him. “I want all of that too.” You kiss his cheeks, then his forehead, then peck him on the lips before you roll off the bed to look for a t-shirt. You throw the items at him when you’ve found them. 

When he’s changed, the two of you lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. And you look up at him while the first hints of the sunrise filter through the crack in the curtains. 

You look up at him, and he meets your eyes, a loving smile on his face. “I love you, Dick Grayson. And I can’t stand to see you destroy yourself.” 

“I love you too. I’ll stay together for you.” 

[midnight-mourning]

Jelly Hearts

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 7💘💘

I FORGOT TO POST THIS AHHHHHHH, my bad all, please enjoy some self-indulgent jealousy hehe

Prompt: also I think that I'd put in a request for some really jealous dca time. maybe they see reader getting some other valentines or hears that they have plans the day of after they're off work and assume that they've got a date (rightfully or incorrectly idk) and they just can't let this happen. y/n is Theirs™️

Word Count: 1750

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

The flowers on the desk were a surprise, about a week before the middle of February, roughly. You weren't sure where they'd come from or what they were doing there, and found yourself very surprised to find it was in fact, a gift for you. The card stuck inside the bouquet had neat script, and was to the point. 

'Happy Valentine's day! From, Your Secret Admirer'

You'd asked the security guard if they knew anything about who had gifted it, but they had no clue either. It had been a common theme over the past few days, the kids had been gifting you early cards and treats, but this seemed to be a bit more than that. 

"What've you got there, Sunshine?"

You turn, confused smile on your face. "Looks like a gift! From a uh, secret admirer? You know anything about that?" You tease. 

Sun tilts his head sharply, rays and faceplate spinning from the force. 

"Hm, no. Don't think so!"

Your smile falls a bit, mainly because you'd been hoping it was him, and based on his tone he wasn't lying about it to mess with you either. "Oh, gotcha."

"But! I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled just for you, Starlight." He bends down quickly, coming eye to eye with you and booping your nose. "And if I do find out, I'll be sure to let you know."

He stands straight and walks off then, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You probably just imagined the edge to his tone. You shake your head, and glance back down to the vase. 

Huh. The card's missing. It must have dropped somewhere. 

But after a quick search you never did end up finding it. 

Not that it mattered much, as a day or so later you were sent another gift, this time jelly candy hearts and heart-shaped chocolates. Same message as last time, 'Happy Valentine's! Love, Your Secret Admirer'. You sat and enjoyed the sweets during nap time, just to keep from any little hands or pleading eyes from trying to snatch one for themselves. 

As you were snacking, Moon suddenly sat down beside you, hands folding into his lap and head almost snapping to look at you. 

You raise a hand to greet him. "Hey, Moon-man."

"Star."

You cock your head to the side, popping another candy in your mouth. "Need something? Or just come over to hang out?"

"Where did you get that?" He points to the half-opened box in your lap. 

You shrug, lifting the little slip of paper for him to read. "Secret admirer strikes again I guess."

"Seems so." He snarls out.

It surprises you, brows raised as you look at him again. "You alright?"

"Fine." He turns away from you and the card, facing forward to observe the Daycare. 

You don't speak again for the rest of the time. 

Similarly 'issues' arise throughout the rest of the week. Little gifts from that same person being sent your way, not to mention the growing number of cards and the likes from the Daycare kids. 

During all of this, the attendant pulled back from you, you weren't entirely sure why. They were shorter, blunter, not nearly as talkative or teasing with you. You wonder if it was because of all the attention you were getting compared to them, which made you feel awful. They deserved some appreciation too. 

It's not until the day of Valentine's that you realize who your 'Secret Admirer' is after all. Specifically, it was your best friend, who you'd been helping out with getting set up on a date the past couple of weeks. You'd laughed about it once you'd found out, getting on to them for 'leading you on' even though regardless of who your admirer was, your heart belonged to someone else. 

Specifically the two someone's who'd been avoiding you all week long. 

You planned to talk to them about it tomorrow, tonight you had to focus on holding to your promises and make sure your friend's date actually went well. You were going to shadow with another friend of yours to see to it the date proceeded smoothly. 

You sling your jacket over your shoulders, taking one last glance around the Daycare before you head to leave. Just as you turn to head to the door, your face knocks gently against something metal. You jump, stepping back to find that Sun is standing before you. 

"Going so soon, Sunshine?" He tilts his head, eyes uplifted crescents. 

You nod, smiling. "Yup! I have a date tonight—"

"A. Date?" 

You bite your tongue. You hadn't meant to say that at all. "Oh no, I just meant that—"

"You know, I think there's some cleaning up still left to do, friend." Sun takes you by the shoulders, and leads you back into the Daycare, you lose your jacket at some point in the process. 

You try to protest. "I, Sun I really should go—"

"Stay." He states, speech a bit garbled for a moment before uplifting into his usual cheer. "I really must insist! We can't have this place looking less than perfect when the kiddos come in tomorrow now, can we?"

You scan the play area, nothing seems out of place to you, so you say as much. "No offense, Sunny, but everything seems just fine—"

There's a crash to your left, over by the arts and crafts tables. Turning you're bewildered to see Sun lying amongst a disaster of spilled craft supplies, some of which leaks quickly onto the padded floor. You don't even know how he got over there, he was just right next to you moment's before.

You're not able to question it much before Sun's speaking up. "Whoops! I don't know what got into me! Could you lend me a hand with this, pretty please, Sunshine?"

"Of course but are you okay?" You ask, slightly hurrying as you walk over to him. "Don't need to go to Parts and Services or anything?"

Sun makes a noise similar to grinding gears, next words blunt. "No. It was just a simple mistake."

"I, right, right." You offer him your hand, which he takes and uses to help get to his feet. He doesn't let go once he is standing, however. Leaving you no choice but to hold his hand, lest you make this awkward. 

You think for a moment. You should stay and help clean this up, you know how neurotic he—and moon—can be when it came to messes. You did feel bad about not being able to make it up to them regarding their lack of gifts, this could be a good chance. Especially when the opportunity presents itself to you.

"And I'll tell you what, Starshine. If we clean up quick I'll make sure to it'll be worth your while. How's that?" His hand squeezes yours just a little tighter. 

Something about the way he phrases it makes your cheeks heat up. You cough into your hand with a nod. "Yeah, that um, sounds good."

"Perfect."

The next hour or two is a blur. After you cleaned up, the attendant had one activity then the next for you to do together.

Making a last couple of Valentine's crafts before putting the supplies away for the year, making puzzles, reading stories, acting out scenes, dancing to music. From one moment to the next it was something, something, something. You would have expected this out of Sun for sure, but the fact that Moon was just as active a participant was more than surprising. 

In a brief moment of a break, while sitting down to watch a movie, do you think to check the time. 

Twenty minutes before your friend's date. Shoot, you'd lost a lot more time than you'd thought. You peek up to Moon, who's focused on the screen in front of you both. He's got his arms wrapped around you as you sit—practically—in his lap. You think if you try to move you'll get trapped further, so you attempt with words first. 

"Hey, this has been, a lot of fun, but I really need to get going now, alright?" You put your hand on his. 

Moon's faceplate snaps down, hold on you instantly tightening. Not what you wanted in the slightest. "Why? Are they that much more important?"

"I, wait. Moon-man, are you jealous?"

He freezes, then looks away, hold on you slipping as he starts to shrink in on himself. "Yes. No. We both are." His next words are muttered, a mixture of static and, maybe another voice? "It's not fair. We've loved you for so long, but someone else gets to have you instead."

"You, you guys, like me?" You ask in the quiet.

Moon grips the edge of his hat, pulling it down over his eyes. You swear you almost see some of Sun's rays poking out behind his faceplate in the low light. "Not like, love. Too scared to say it until now."

"Even if I told you I cared about you both too?" You twist to face him fully, hands cupping his cheeks. 

He melts into your touch. "Even what?"

You giggle. "Would you still be scared to say it? If I said I loved you too?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." One eye peeks out from the hat. "But, you're taken." And again, that harsh tone comes back, resentment, you realize.

At this you can't take anymore and start to laugh. "No, I'm not. I've been, well not trying super hard, but I've been trying to tell you that since early."

You finally are given the chance to fully explain the situation, including the 'Secret Admirer' part of the whole deal. You watch the tension melt in the bot in front of you, quickly becoming embarrassed and flustered that they'd been jealous over nothing at all. 

Despite that, however, you end up having to text your friends that you can't help out tonight. As you've been told you have a lot of 'making up' to do for your 'awful' behavior. By both attendants, for that matter. 

You're still sitting in their lap, movie long forgotten and lights now raised just slightly. Yellow and blue hands trace patterns into your waist as they hold you tight, seeming afraid to let go despite your whispered assurances. Their rays flutter and faceplate clicks at every sound you make, intentional or not.

As you kiss and are kissed—over and over and over again—there's only one word they murmur back, consistently, without fail. 

"Ours."

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you @juukai for the request! I enjoy making jealous dca a lot hehe, just feels very fitting to me >:)c

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

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[waiting-foratrain]

> do you ever think about how scary remembering being alecto must have been for nona? because i think about that a lot.

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS) (this is mostly a post inspired by my personal experience and feelings so feel free to disagree. but also i Am correct)

dissociative amnesia is terrifying. just. full stop, point blank- as a concept, to experience, however- its terrifying. the idea that there’s something missing and half the time you don’t even know it’s gone? and then to remember? to slowly start remembering every horrible thing that happened to you? to be nona, remembering, and suddenly realise that you’re doing what everyone around you seems to have wanted you to do since you first opened your eyes, you’re remembering- only it isn’t helping, and instead, you’re realising that everything you thought you were was built on a fault line that only seems to keep growing with everything more you remember?

and then it’s nona, the girl who’s anger has only ever been treated gently and peacefully by the people who love her, who is determined to be good, to be helpful, suddenly having to remember so much unrestrained anger, so much pain? and the more she remembers, the more she becomes sure that all of that is what she is going to be left as when her time, and her life is up. of course that scared her. how could it not scare her?

i don’t think it was just the realisation of who she had been that was terrifying - it was the understanding that she was a makeshift person walking around in a world where (nearly) everyone else got to be wholly themselves for as long as their bodies lived- but she’d been on borrowed time her whole life, and suddenly she has a rapidly running out countdown.

further - dissociative amnesia isn’t just about the loss, it’s about the shape of the loss. it’s about the gaps in the narrative of your own life, gaps you can’t see because your mind has plastered over them, smoothed them out so seamlessly that you don’t even think to ask what’s missing. It’s about waking up one day and realising the foundation you’ve been standing on isn’t real, and worse, that the truth waiting underneath it might be so much worse than the not-knowing… and when those memories do start to surface, you don’t quite know what it is, but it feels like a betrayal- and you aren’t quite the same as you were before anymore (which happens on such a bigger scale with nona!!!! it’s so important to me, that in ntn, nona’s remembering is not celebrated. so often in media, i see people remembering memories lost to trauma related amnesia portrayed as a good thing, and every time i’m just sat there thinking ‘is it worth it? really?’)

like. just imagine you’re nona, for me. your mind kept those lost memories from you for a reason- it buried them because it thought you wouldn’t survive them, and maybe you won’t, but now, whether you’re ready or not, they’re coming back. they’re clawing their way up from a grave you didn’t even know was there, and you have to look them in the eye and reconcile the person they tell you you were with the person you fought to be.

for nona, remembering meant losing herself. she didn’t just gain alecto’s memories, she became alecto again. the life she had built, the life she had clung to, the love she had felt, all of it just unraveled beneath the weight of who she had been before. how could it not be terrifying?

to remember. to finally give in and remember what she’d been so determined to not, to finally know what you were missing - and have to realise that your fears weren’t unfounded. it is scary - because remembering doesn’t make you whole. sometimes, remembering just erases you instead.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhead from BNHA but an AU where he's a villain? Can be concepts or a short, I'm happy with either! Darling could be a hero or a civilian but either way they have a powerful quirk, I think it would be cool to see what happens when Darling is faced with a yandere they can't rely on their quirk to defend against c: Of course, if you wanna keep Aizawa as a hero and feeling slightly guilty over his actions(but rationalizing them, of course), that could also be fun. Heroes are trustworthy, right? ;)

Honestly... Could go for some Villain AU, sure. I made you a hero in this :)

Yandere! Villain! Aizawa with Darling who has a strong Quirk

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Stalking, Restraints, Kidnapping, Sadism, Forced relationship.

Honestly, this idea is pretty neat if we make it a Villain/Hero story.

You're no doubt a pro hero who learned how to utilize your strong quirk for good.

Although, since you have such a strong quirk, you've most likely been utilizing it more than you should.

Since you've trained you've used it as a crutch.

You just haven't realized it... until it was taken.

Many pro heroes have a tendency to rely on their quirks.

Aizawa no doubt knows this weakness heroes have.

He may be lazy but he's observant.

He's actually learned how to fight with not just his quirk due to this.

After all, it's easy to bind a hero if they can't rely on their power.

Pathetic.

Aizawa no doubt observes his targets.

He knows you're a pro hero, he knows your quirk, and he knows your standing on the ladder.

Aizawa actually knows a lot more about you than you think.

He's always been observant of those he deems as targets.

Honestly, him being your yandere in this scenario is humbling.

When you first encountered Aizawa, that's when you realized just how vulnerable you are.

He knows that too.

You knew Aizawa was an infamous villain.

You knew of his quirk, you knew he went by Erasure.

Despite that... You weren't prepared.

You had first met him when you were called to detain him from a scene.

Unfortunately, you became reckless.

During your fight against him, Aizawa managed to make eye contact with you through his goggles.

It's nearly instant that your quirk stops and he manages to restrain you.

By the time the binding cloth wrapped around you... you expected him to seriously hurt you.

If not kill you.

Yet, instead, the villain grinned at you with a look of sadism.

Honestly, he was having fun with this.

You're cute when you realize your efforts are hopeless.

When you squirm it's amusing.

"Did you just realize you're out of your league? You seriously call yourself a pro when you can't even fight without your silly quirk?"

By the time the fight concludes and Aizawa spares you, you're left feeling weak.

This is also the start of you two seeing one another frequently.

Aizawa becomes the reason you train harder.

You're humiliated and anxious after your recent loss to him.

So after that... you work hard on training without your quirk.

Aizawa, on the other hand, is keeping track of your every move.

He likes how much he's affected you.

It's funny how him simply putting you on your rear is enough to make you rethink your whole routine.

If only all heroes thought about that.

Aizawa likes you because he's manipulative.

He likes to toy with you, to see how much he can push you before you're vulnerable.

In a twisted way... He's fallen for you.

He loves to make his hero hopeless.

It's a satisfying feeling to see someone so powerful fall.

Aizawa craves it when it comes to you.

You're driven with the urge to best Aizawa, to convince yourself and others that you can be strong as a pro.

Aizawa, however, meets with you because he enjoys seeing and toying with you.

He wants to see you break.

Each fight you two have gets closer and closer...

Yet you haven't studied Aizawa as much as he has with you.

Each fight ends the same.

You try to fight him quirkless, he's much faster than you, and you end up restrained.

It's not like you can avoid him either.

Even when you try to focus on other threats in the area, Aizawa always seems to be there.

Aizawa could easily control his obsession.

It's easy for him to kidnap you.

Well... with some planning.

Aizawa would have to snag some quirk canceling cuffs if he plans to keep you in one place.

Yet once he does... All he needs to do is find you again.

Your final fight is actually closer than expected.

You had been training your skills in physical combat just to face him again.

You aren't as fast but you've managed to learn some decent defense.

Unfortunately... Aizawa is once again determined to break you.

You manage to break out of his cloth a few times, you even manage to get him to blink.

Although... eventually Aizawa catches you off guard, once again making you feel weak despite your reputation.

You expect this to go as the last few times... only for you to feel the metallic click of cuffs on your wrists.

"Sorry, sweetheart... This time you're coming with me."

Once at this stage, things are easy for him.

Aizawa likes to keep you in his secret hideout, cuffed in his room where you get to look all pitiful for him.

Despite being such an intimidating villain... you notice he certainly naps a lot...

Most of the time near you.

Aizawa originally takes you so he can break you into his little doll.

You soon learn that... isn't entirely true.

Aizawa wants to break you not only for his own sadistic joy...

But because he adores you.

To him, this is his form of courtship.

He wants to keep you here as his entertainment, all for his pleasure.

You may not understand how he feels... but breaking you mentally is euphoric.

Poor you, supposedly a big strong hero meant to protect the innocent...

Now you're just like a civilian, captured and helpless, all at his mercy.

You may not love him yet, or even understand his motives...

But he'll break you... then train you to be his...

How's it feel to be weak, hero?

[just-cofffee]

—Satoruuu, your beloveeed!

Geto came with his usual smug grin, and Satoru felt exasperation crawl up his body like an infernal fire. No way. Not again. And definitely not with that idiot’s voice echoing through the halls.

To make things worse, Shoko’s laughter behind him wasn’t helping at all. That damn woman enjoyed his suffering way too much. Only those two knew about his tiny, insignificant, almost nonexistent crush on the nerd of the school.

—She’s looking for you, the little nerd is looking for you —Suguru sang, pretending to be out of breath—. She said that… that… wait, let me catch my breath… god, I run so fast…

Satoru didn’t wait for him to finish his ridiculous performance and kicked him in the ass.

—Talk.

He had never been this desperate to hear something in his life.

—Your future wife, or whatever you call her, wants to see you in the library, in the ancient books section, in twenty minutes. Don’t ask me why, I’m not her personal messenger… although I should start charging you for these favors.

Suguru wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

—Sooo… —he dragged out the word with a smirk— you should get your ass moving now.

And with another kick in the butt, Geto sent him on his way.

Satoru was in full crisis mode. Why did you want to see him? Did you know about his crush? Were you going to tell him to stop deluding himself because nothing would ever happen? Every step towards the library brought a new catastrophic scenario into his mind. He had to seem cultured, mature, intelligent. Like you. And not some damn hormonal teenager with sweaty hands. Speaking of which, his pants were probably ruined from how many times he had wiped his hands on them.

When he arrived and saw you, his brain shut down.

You were frowning.

Shit.

Did he have something on his face? A booger? Did he look like a terminally ill patient? He wanted to vanish.

—Are you feeling okay, Gojo-san? —Your sweet voice pulled him back to reality.

—You look a little pale…

He just nodded, completely unable to form words. God, this was humiliating.

Still confused, you led him to a more private spot. If he was nervous, you were too. That was unusual. But you had to say it.

—I…

—I wa-

You both spoke at the same time, making things even more awkward.

—Yeah, I need to tell you something —you finally said.

Satoru felt his heart stop. No heartbeat, no breathing. He wasn’t ready for this.

—Go ahead —his voice came out strained with nerves.

—It’s about a kinda dumb question…

You hesitated, playing with your fingers.

He didn’t need more information. No thinking required. He knew what was coming. His crush hadn’t been that subtle after all.

—Whatever it is, my answer is yes.

Silence.

You frowned, confused.

—Would you really let me study the color of your pubic hair?

Time froze.

Satoru felt his soul leave his body.

—…What?

—What?

Silence.

Satoru blinked.

You blinked.

Suguru, hiding behind a bookshelf, choked on his laughter so hard he nearly died.

[moodymelanist]

too good to deny it

happy @sjmromanceweek 2025 everyone! I'm so excited for this event to be back and we're kicking things off with some Nemerie 🫶🏽

Summary: Nesta has never kissed anyone before, and when she gets asked on her first date, Emerie takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count:

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Emerie

Emerie was suffering through her statistics reading when her roommate barged through the door in what looked like a state of panic. “Emerie. Em.”

“Yeah?” Emerie asked, looking up from her textbook at the sound of Nesta’s voice. She hadn’t known Nesta very long — they’d only been living together since the start of the semester, and this weekend was her last chance to get some decent studying in before midterms started in earnest — but judging by the look on her roommate’s face, this was something serious. “What happened?”

Nesta shrugged out of her backpack and sat down hard on the edge of her  bed. “I think I have a date this weekend?”

“What?” Emerie asked, fully sitting up at her desk now. “What do you mean you think?”

“Well…” Nesta trailed off with a sigh. She kicked off her white sneakers before shifting back onto her bed in an attempt to make herself more comfortable, and Emerie turned around fully in her desk chair, statistics studying be damned. This was way more important. “You know that guy who’s been driving me crazy?”

“Which one?” Emerie questioned. She’d heard Nesta complaining about a guy in her bio lecture, but there was also the guy in her political science lecture that drove her nuts, too. “Bio lecture or poli sci?”

“Bio lecture,” Nesta confirmed. Emerie wracked her brain for the guy’s name — it was something that reminded her of Narnia. Caspian? Casper? Something like that. “Apparently he was flirting with me the entire time.”

“What an effective method,” Emerie replied dryly, pulling a soft laugh out of Nesta. It made something go a little warm and fuzzy in her chest, but she pushed it aside the same way she’d been doing these last few weeks. “So he’s been pulling your pigtails all semester and now he wants to get serious?”

“I guess so?” Nesta answered hesitantly. She seemed uncertain, which was rare for her; in the short time Emerie had known Nesta, she didn’t tend to show anything other than a very healthy dose of self-confidence. “I mean, I don’t know. He asked me to go to dinner with him on Saturday and I said yes and now I’m kind of… panicking.”

“You? Panicking?” Emerie responded, raising both of her eyebrows. Nesta didn’t do panic, which was generally pretty helpful, but now that she was actually showing something like human weakness, Emerie didn’t totally know what to do with it. “Why? He’s just some guy.”

“Okay, but I don’t do just some guy,” Nesta said. She curled into herself a little bit and Emerie frowned, not sure what to do with that, either. “I haven’t done… any guys, actually.”

Emerie just blinked; she actually had no idea what Nesta was going with this. “What do you mean? Guys must ask you out all the time.”

“Not really,” Nesta told her, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Okay, now Emerie was really intrigued. She closed her textbook and got up to come sit on the bed next to Nesta, their thighs nearly pressed together because of how little room existed on their twin XL mattresses. “Nesta. What are you talking about?”

“You’ve met my mom,” Nesta said, and boy, had Emerie ever. She’d thought her family was bad, but watching the way Mrs. Archeron bossed every member of Nesta’s family around had managed to put even her uncle to shame. Emerie had been a little worried that Nesta would be just as bitchy as her mom, but thankfully that hadn’t been the case, and they’d turned into fast friends instead. “Everyone back home already knows how insane she is. Even if I’d been allowed to date, nobody wanted to deal with her.”

“Oh my God,” Emerie said back. She privately thought it was dumb to pass up on the chance to call Nesta Archeron your girlfriend just because her mom sucked, but maybe she had more brain cells than the guys in Nesta’s hometown. “So you’ve never—?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, no.” Nesta looked away, her cheeks going even pinker. “I’ve never even touched a guy other than dance classes, and that definitely doesn’t count.”

Emerie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could someone as gorgeous as Nesta be freaking out about something as simple as this? Emerie didn’t have that much experience with guys — she’d figured out what that strange swooping feeling in her stomach when Jade from Victorious came on her television screen meant early, thank you very much — but from the little she did know, it wasn’t really that hard dealing with them. She imagined it would be even easier when you looked like Nesta, with her icy eyes, bronze hair, and general air like she knew exactly what she was doing and you’d be dumb not to go along with it. 

“It’s not that hard, really,” Emerie replied after a second, still reeling. Her first date with a guy on the lacrosse team had been pretty mediocre, but she hadn’t realized the reason she’d been so bored was because she’d wanted to catch the captain of the girls volleyball team’s attention instead. “You just have to laugh at their jokes and put your hand on their arm a little.”

At Nesta’s dubious look, Emerie added, “I’ve seen your Story Graph, Nesta. I know you know how to at least do that.”

“Okay, okay,” Nesta responded with a sheepish smile. “But what if he wants to kiss me?”

“It’s not as hard as it seems,” Emerie answered. “I mean, you’ve seen movies.”

“Of course I’ve seen movies, Em.” Nesta rolled her eyes and Emerie laughed. “But it’s not like I’ve actually done it myself.”

Emerie scrambled to find a response that seemed normal enough. “You can just practice on the back of your hand. Or maybe your arm?”

“Wouldn’t he be able to tell?” Nesta asked, biting her lip. Emerie tried her hardest not to notice how pink they were. “I don’t want to look like I don’t know what I’m doing. Or worse, kiss like a golden retriever. My sister says her boyfriend does that and she hates it.”

“Okay,” Emerie said slowly. She wasn’t completely sure how to respond to that, but she’d do her best. “We don’t have time to unpack the golden retriever thing, but I promise you won’t kiss like that.”

“Okay, but how do you know?” Nesta said back. “You can’t promise that.”

“Just kiss me and I’ll tell you,” Emerie blurted out before she could stop herself. She had to physically shove her hands under her thighs to stop herself from clapping her hand over her own mouth and make the situation even more embarrassing; she’d already done the worst, so now she just had to shut up until Nesta laughed it off.

Nesta didn’t laugh it off, though. She just narrowed her eyes like she was actually considering it, and Emerie nearly bit off her own tongue when Nesta said, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, only if you want,” Emerie replied, hoping it didn’t come off as desperate as she thought it did. Her heart was pounding so loud in her chest it was a miracle Nesta couldn’t hear it with how close they were sitting. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nesta responded. She looked at Emerie expectantly and added, “Well?”

Emerie quickly shifted so she was facing Nesta properly, leaning on their cinder block wall for some more support while Nesta did the same. This close to her, Emerie could see Nesta had the faintest dusting of freckles across her skin that looked like they trailed down under her shirt, and Emerie hoped Nesta didn’t hear how thickly she swallowed.

“Okay, so…” Emerie trailed off before summoning her courage. She wasn’t going to squander this opportunity, and if Nesta decided to use this knowledge to her date’s advantage, at least Emerie would have the memory. “Pick a side to tilt your head so you don’t bump your nose.”

“Like this?” Nesta asked, tilting her head to the right so far it was a miracle she didn’t strain her neck.

“No, no,” Emerie answered with a little laugh. She reached out to touch Nesta’s face without thinking about it, her cheeks going warm as she tilted Nesta to a better angle. “Like this.”

“Okay,” Nesta breathed. Her eyes looked incredibly blue this close up. “Now what?”

“Just lean in,” Emerie told her. She thanked whatever god was listening that she’d happened to brush her teeth when she’d come back from her discussion section earlier this afternoon. “And close your eyes.”

Nesta didn’t so much as lean in as she aggressively pushed her mouth in Emerie’s direction, but Emerie certainly wasn’t complaining. Nesta’s lips were soft and full against hers, and she could faintly taste the spearmint lip balm that Nesta liked to use. Emerie was fully expecting this to just be a peck, but to her surprise, Nesta’s lips parted and suddenly her tongue was licking at Emerie’s lips.

Emerie gasped a little, surprised, and that was all it took for Nesta’s tongue to slip inside her mouth. She tried to show Nesta how good it felt to slide their tongues together, how to move their lips to form a semblance of a good rhythm, but who was Emerie kidding. Nesta was clearly a natural, and Emerie was one hundred percent benefitting from that right now.

“Um,” Emerie said once she realized just how long they’d been kissing and pulled away. She didn’t know what to say but she didn’t totally know what to do with the strange silence between them. “So. Um. That’s how you kiss.”

Nesta studied her for a few moments before her look turned knowing. Emerie wasn’t sure whether she should be afraid of that look or not, but wow, was it doing things for her. “Right.”

“Right,” Emerie repeated, still at a loss for words. Her lips were still tingling from where Nesta’s had been pressed against them a minute ago, and she had to fight the urge to bring her hand up to touch them. “So. Yeah.”

“I’m canceling my date,” Nesta announced suddenly. Her lips were an even darker shade of pink now from all the kissing, and it was really distracting. “We’re doing more of that.”

Emerie had to mentally rewind the last few seconds to make sure she hadn’t misheard. “What?”

“I said we’re doing more of that,” Nesta repeated firmly. She leaned forward so their lips were just barely touching, and even that was enough to make Emerie a little crazy. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No,” Emerie said quickly, and then immediately realized how Nesta might interpret that. “I mean, yes. I want to.” 

“Good,” Nesta said back, leaning in to press her lips firmly to Emerie’s.

This time when they kissed, they were both smiling too hard for it to really count, but Emerie didn’t mind.

tag list: @c-e-d-dreamer | @jsmelodies | @queercontrarian | @nativeswfl | @that-little-red-head | @dustjacketmusings | @fieldofdaisiies | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @kale-theteaqueen | @goddess-aelin | @livinforthetea | @valkyrie-archeron | @agents-assemble | @sweet-pea1 | @lilah-asteria | @brieq | @mydnights | @jmoonjones | @readskk | @fwiggle | @bookstantrash | @climbthemountain2020 | @underneath-the-sidras | @illyrianshadowhunter | @sublimecoffeefestival | @superspiritfestival | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @burningsnowleopard | @bri-loves-sunflowers | @itsinherited

[sfotiegiuls]

Rafe Cameron

- chapter two -

summary: Rafe Cameron is your best friendor rather he was. He was until you started hanging out with his sister, Sarah and her friends, pogues. Now it’s been some time since you’ve been with him and those rare times you meet him, when you’re with Sarah, he ignores you.

warnings: nothing !

words count: 1.5 k

Rafe cameron X ex- best friend fem!reader

It had been nearly two weeks since the party at the Cameron house, and Rafe hadn’t spoken to you since.

Not that you were surprised.

That night had changed something—shifted the ground beneath your feet in a way you couldn’t quite put into words—but you weren’t sure if it had been for better or worse. It felt like standing on the edge of something uncertain, something dangerous, something you couldn’t turn away from even if you wanted to.

You could still hear his voice, low and rough, a challenge wrapped in something that felt almost like a plea. Prove it.

You could still feel the weight of his stare, burning through you like fire, like he was searching for something in you that he wasn’t sure he’d find. And then there was the way his fingers had brushed against your wrist, hesitant and unsure, like he was caught between pulling you closer and letting you slip away. In the end, he had chosen the latter.

And now?

Now, it was back to silence.

It was like the night had never happened. Like he had never whispered those words to you, never looked at you like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he didn’t know how to deal with.

If you saw him around Figure Eight, he barely looked your way. If your paths crossed at a party, he ignored you completely. His eyes would skim past you like you were a stranger, like you hadn’t stood in front of him two weeks ago with your heart on the line, waiting—hoping—for him to meet you halfway.

It was almost worse than before.

Because before, you could convince yourself he didn’t care. Before, you could tell yourself that whatever you felt, whatever this was, it was one-sided.

But now?

Now, you knew.

You had seen it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched when you got too close, in the way his hands curled into fists like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you. You had felt it in the way he had hesitated that night, the way his touch had lingered longer than it should have, like he had been fighting some invisible battle with himself.

And still, he pushed you away.

So, you did the same.

You threw yourself into other things—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You spent more time with Sarah, with JJ, John B, and Kie. You let yourself laugh at JJ’s stupid jokes, let Sarah pull you into plans you normally would have said no to. You went out on the boat more, let the salty air tangle your hair, let the sun warm your skin until you felt like you could breathe again.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you could convince yourself that you were fine, that you didn’t miss him, that the space he had carved out inside of you wasn’t still aching with the absence of him.

But then there were moments—quiet ones—where your mind betrayed you.

Like now.

You sat on the dock behind Sarah’s house, your legs dangling over the edge as the water lapped gently against the wooden posts. The sun was beginning to set, casting shades of gold and pink across the horizon. The air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and summer, the kind of night that made everything feel a little softer, a little slower.

It should have been peaceful.

But your mind was anywhere but here.

It was back at the Cameron house, back to that night, to the way Rafe had looked at you, the way his voice had wrapped around you like a dare. Prove it.

You had wanted to.

God, you had wanted to.

But he had walked away before you even had the chance.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sarah’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her concern laced in the soft lilt of her words.

You blinked, dragging yourself back to the present, back to the dock and the water and the fading sun. Turning your head, you found her watching you, her brows knit together, worry shining in her eyes.

You forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Sarah didn’t buy it. You could tell by the way she tilted her head, studying you like she was picking apart every unspoken thought you didn’t want to say out loud.

“About Rafe?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in lying.

“…Yeah.”

She sighed, shifting beside you so that her shoulder bumped against yours. “I know my brother, and I know he’s an asshole. But I also know he doesn’t just… let people go. Not if they mean something to him.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why does it feel like he already has?”

Sarah was quiet for a beat, staring out at the horizon like the answer might be hidden somewhere in the rolling waves.

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to prove him wrong,” she said finally, her voice softer now.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what he said to me that night.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped back to you. “Seriously?”

You nodded, tugging at a loose thread on your shorts, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep yourself grounded in the conversation and not in the past. “Yeah. He told me to prove it. Like I needed to prove to him that he still mattered.” You shook your head, frustration curling in your stomach. “But it’s not that simple. He wants me to choose, Sarah. And I can’t.”

Sarah was silent for a long moment, mulling over your words like she was trying to piece something together.

Then, she said, “You don’t have to.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

She nudged you again, gentler this time. “Then maybe it’s time to show him.”

You exhaled, long and slow, your gaze drifting back toward the water.

Because maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing. Maybe it wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it was about reminding Rafe that he had never really lost you in the first place.

But that meant stepping into the storm of who he was, into the chaos that came with loving him. It meant risking your own heart, trusting that he wouldn’t shatter it in the palm of his hands.

The question was… did he even want to be found?

And if he did—would he finally let you stay?

—

You weren’t planning on looking for him. Not really.

But later that night, when the air cooled and the sky deepened to a dark shade of navy, you found yourself walking.

Your feet carried you without thinking, moving through Figure Eight like they had a purpose, like they already knew where they needed to go. Past the quiet streets lined with towering houses, past the beach where the sound of laughter and crashing waves still hummed in the distance, past the edges of where you should have stopped.

And then, you saw him.

Rafe was sitting on the hood of his truck, parked just off the road near the marsh, a half-empty bottle in his hand. The glow of a streetlight flickered above him, casting sharp shadows across his face. His head was tilted back slightly, his gaze fixed on the sky, like he was searching for something in the stars.

You hesitated.

Turn around, a voice in your head whispered. Leave before he sees you.

But it was too late.

His head lowered, and his eyes locked onto yours in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the sight of you standing there.

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I don’t know.”

Rafe huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He set the bottle down on the truck’s hood, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

He shook his head, gaze flicking over you like he was trying to figure you out. “Show up when I’m trying to forget you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a second before muttering, “Not that it ever works.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged.

You could walk away. Let him keep pretending. Let yourself do the same.

Or…

You took a slow step forward, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Then stop trying.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled into fists on his knees.

You took another step, and this time, he didn’t look away.

And when you finally stopped in front of him, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating off of him, you realized something.

Maybe this wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing.

Maybe it was just about not running anymore.

And for the first time in two weeks, neither of you did.

———

taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

[angelsdean]

Mary is 28. The year is 2016. Her whole life has been stolen from her. Some cosmic being plucked her from Heaven, took her away from her home, her husband, her babies, and placed her in this strange new world.

Her babies are gone, replaced with strangers a foot taller than her and nearly a decade older. They call her mom in gruff voices. They are hunters, something she never wanted for them. She has to hold back tears just looking at them. She sees glimmers of herself in Dean. His hair has darkened since he was a little boy, but she sees herself in other parts. The shape of his face, his cheekbones, his smile. She sees herself in Sam too, though he feels stranger. She can't quite match her pudgy little baby to this man.

At night, she moves through the bunker like a ghost. Nothing feels quite real. She takes scissors to her hair, thinks a drastic change will make this all feel more real. Throws herself into hunting. The adrenaline helps. Her racing heart reminding her she's alive, alive, alive. This isn't a dream.

This isn't a dream.

She sobs into her pillow, as the reality of it hits once more. She will never see her babies again.

These strange men look at her like she's a wonder. She understands what they lost. Understands they never had a mother. She imagines she'd look at her babies the same way, if she could see them again.

But she doesn't know how interact with this Sam and this Dean. All she knows is rocking babies to sleep to the tune of "Hey, Jude" and cutting the crusts off PB&J's and warming up store-bought pies for her sweet little toddler. She feels like she's failing at something she never really felt she succeeded at in the first place. So she focuses on the one thing she was ever good at: hunting.

When the British Men of Letters approach her, she goes in with good intentions. She's doing this for her boys. It's the one thing she can do right, she thinks.

Except things go wrong. They always go wrong.

"Cas almost died," Dean says, a hard edge to his voice and his eyes swimming with emotion.

She feels terrible, tries to explain. "I'm doing this for you. I'm playing three decades of catch up here." She wants to say, I'm trying to fix things. If I can rid the world of monsters, if I can make it safe then you won't have to fight anymore. You can have normal lives. You can be free. But she doesn't know how to talk to them.

Mary watches Dean's expression cloud with his own grief. "And we're not? How do you think this has been for us? We're your sons, and you've been gone. Our whole lives, you've been gone," he says. And she understands. She's been gone. And her babies are gone. And it's all so unfair.

"You said that you needed time. No, you said you need space," Dean continues, and she can feel herself losing him. Them. Sam won't even look at her. "So we gave you your space. But you didn't need just space. No, you needed space from us."

He's not wrong. She told them when she left, how hard it was to be around them.

"That's not true," she lies. "Dean, I'm trying –"

"How 'bout for once, you just try to be a mom?" Dean cuts in, hurt, angry.

And it hits her harder than she expected. Because she wishes, wishes she could be a mom again. To her babies. But that's never going to happen. And if she's stuck here, then she needs to figure out some other way to be.

"I am your mother," she says, sternly, "but I am not 'just a mom.' And you are not a child." It's not fair. Part of her knows that's not what Dean was asking. Not how he meant it. She's the one wishing he were a child. Wishing she could be "just" a mom. But she can't be a mother to them. Not this Dean. Not this Sam.

Dean looks her in the eyes, his expression vacant, haunted, and says, "I never was." His lip trembles for just a moment before he regains his composure.

She was a hunter's kid once. She knows what it's like. There's little room for childhood innocence. But she also doesn't know. She had a stable home. She had two parents. She had no siblings to look after.

"So between us and them –" Dean continues, the question hanging in the chasm that has opened up between them.

"It's not like that." Can't you see I'm choosing you. This is the only way I know how to keep you safe.

"Yeah, Mary, it is." She hates how it doesn't exactly break her heart, hearing her name come from his mouth instead of "mom." It feels more normal. Because these are not her children. "You made your choice. So there's the door."

Dean walks out of the room without a second look. Sam rises from the table, averting his eyes. She understands this too. Struggling to look. To see.

But this isn't how she wanted things to go. She didn't mean to upset them. And she doesn't want to lose them completely. She just--needs more time. "Sam," she tries. Maybe it would be easier to get through to him. He never really knew her, has no memories of her.

But he tells her to go too.

And maybe part of her is glad for the easy out. This will give her more time. She just needs to focus on hunting. Save the world. Put her babies to rest. Then she can come back and they can...be a family. However that might look for them.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Writing advice #?: When it comes to characterization, obligation > love.

What I mean by this: love is basically universal. It offers little variability. Almost everyone has a friend, sibling, etc for whom they'd do anything. Allegedly even Hitler loved his apocryphal dog, John Wilkes Booth was a good brother, yadda yadda so forth.

So if you want to have a story that makes us like your character Liv, and establishes interesting tension that will draw out who Liv is as a person... don't write about her rescuing her beloved mother. Write about what happens when someone she dislikes is in danger.

Two great examples I've read recently:

In The Drift by C.J. Tudor, Meg is trapped in a broken-down cable car with five other people and no way to call for help. She risks her life, performing a heroic physical feat that causes herself serious injury - to save a woman who accused her of murder, suggested leaving her to die, and generally treated her like dirt all week. Meg is heroic as hell.

In Dungeon Crawler Carl, the eponymous Carl ends up in the adventure because he ran outside in boxers in -10°F weather to save his ex-girlfriend's obnoxious, misanthropic cat. Carl might be a shlub, but he's a rock solid dude.

I could go on - would Shiloh saving Jeb be nearly as powerful if Jeb wasn't such an asshole? - but the point remains. Meg sacrificing so much to save her partner would be just what's expected. Carl rescuing a cat he chose to adopt is a non-event. Obligation is where the rubber hits the road. Where the ordinary people get sorted from the awesome ones. Where the character-defining moments occur. Over 99.9% of humans ever researched would sacrifice a stranger to save a loved one; a rare form of brain damage that causes people to value strangers and family the same is considered extremely aberrant.

I mention all of this because fan fiction is chock full of examples of characters dying (or killing, or walking through fire, or...) to save their best friends and their sisters and their fiancés. And if you want to write a story about Dean Winchester killing orphans or going to hell or destroying his car to save Sam Winchester, awesome. But there's not a ton of room for characterization in there.

If you want us to learn something about who this person Liv really is, show her forced to choose between rescuing a dog who just bit her and making it to a job interview on time. Let her see her loud neighbor with the bass-boosted music about to get a ticket for an expired meter. Give her a choice between saving 10 strangers or saving her wife. Have her walk by her sexist coworker and realize the guy is quietly sobbing. Literally anything she does next will be interesting, and say a lot about her as a person. If she's just choosing between her wife's life and her own, or her wife's life and the sexist coworker, then the scene might be poignant or sad - but it won't be surprising or tense or revelatory about Liv as a person. The big moments of heroism aren't driven by love, but by obligation.