#because sometimes someone beats you to it :(

[niwaart]

Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

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Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

[sunsburns]

wait no because trying to compete w joaquin to look the best in sams eyes? that 100% would happen.

always showing up to work early if sam needed you there, always doing things "better" than the other to be picked to go out on missions, but in reality both of you were always gonna go, sam just likes to rile you both up!!!

you and joaquin arguing is sams entertainment, but he would always call you out on how y'all should just kiss or smthn, just so you would both get out of his hair, y'all are kiss asses 🙂‍↕️

THE biggest ass kissers the world has ever fucking seen!!!

it starts with small things.

beating joaquín torres to the debriefing room first, standing at attention just a little straighter when sam walks in. being the first to volunteer for a recon mission, making sure your reports are turned in before joaquín’s—little victories, small triumphs that keep the score tilting just slightly in your favour.

and joaquín? oh, he knows what you’re doing. he feels the competition just as strongly, meeting you beat for beat, smirk for smirk. if you show up early, he shows up earlier. if you get in a well-placed quip that makes sam chuckle, joaquín makes sure to drop a comment that gets him a full laugh, a shoulder clap.

sam catches on quickly, because of course he does. he thrives off of it, if anything, watching you and joaquín try to one-up each other over the most mundane things with the kind of patience only an older brother figure can have. half the time, he doesn’t even need to pit you against each other; you do that all on your own.

but here’s the thing—you and joaquín don’t actually hate each other. if anything, there’s an underlying respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of how damn good the other is at what they do. on the field, you’re an unstoppable duo, reading each other without a word, moving in sync in a way that only comes from deep familiarity. you know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, the little things that make the other tick—and you know exactly how to push each other’s buttons, whether it’s to provoke or distract.

and sam? oh, he knows it too.

it was why he has the two of you as his second hand. he sees how well you work together, how efficient things become when you’re not locked in some petty competition. hell, sometimes he even thinks you two are kinda cute together—just too damn stubborn to admit it.

but sometimes, sam stirs the pot just for fun. like when he lets it slip that he needs a file retrieved from the archives, and suddenly, you and joaquín are racing through the hallways, elbowing each other out of the way, nearly colliding into bucky in the process. or when he casually mentions needing someone to drive him to a meeting, and next thing he knows, both of you are already in the car, fighting over who gets to drive.

“y’all are exhausting,” sam sighs one day, watching as you and joaquín argue over who got the better shot during training with isaiah. he leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between you. “why don’t you just kiss already and get out of my face?”

that shuts both of you up real quick. joaquín’s face flushes, his lips parting like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. you, on the other hand, scoff, rolling your eyes before looking anywhere but at him.

sam just grins, kicking his feet up onto the table. “uh-huh. that’s what i thought.”

bucky, passing by with his coffee, gives sam a long look. “aren’t you being too hard on those kids?”

“nah,” sam replies easily, smirking. “they love it.”

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.1

law x traitor!reader

⤳ PART 2

words count: 2.5k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You know, you’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”

You lean against the railing of the Polar Tang, the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you. The salty breeze plays with your hair as you glance sideways at Trafalgar Law, whose arms are crossed, golden eyes watching you with something unreadable.

“And you talk too much” he mutters.

You grin “That’s a terrible thing to say to someone who just saved your life.”

Law exhales sharply through his nose, looking away. The recent battle had left him exhausted, and if it weren’t for you stepping in at the last second, things could’ve ended badly for him. You, of course, had taken full advantage of the situation, teasing him ever since.

“I didn’t need saving” he finally says, tone dry.

“Uh-huh.” You tilt your head “That’s why you looked like you were seconds away from getting skewered?”

He glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. If anything, there’s curiosity, like he’s still trying to figure you out. You’re a relatively new member of the Heart Pirates, joining just a few months ago. Skilled in combat, intelligent, and surprisingly resourceful, you had quickly earned the respect of the crew. Even Law, who rarely lets people close, had grown used to your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, something more than that.

It starts small.

Casual conversations late at night when neither of you can sleep. Accidental touches, like his hand brushing against yours when passing a scalpel in the infirmary, his shoulder knocking into yours when standing side by side on the deck. You tease him constantly, and though he pretends to be annoyed, you catch the way the corner of his lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile.

Then, one evening, everything shifts.

“You’re staring” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Law, sitting across from you in his dimly lit office, doesn’t deny it. His gaze is steady, analytical, like he’s trying to see through you. It sends a strange thrill through your chest.

“You’re… different” he finally says.

You blink, caught off guard “Different how?”

“I don’t know yet.” His fingers tap against the wooden desk “But I intend to find out.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet intensity that makes your stomach twist. For a second, you almost feel guilty. Almost.

Because if he intends to figure you out, he’s already too late.

Then the first time he kisses you, it’s unexpected.

It happens after a fight, another skirmish with the Marines, another victory for the Heart Pirates. You’re both catching your breath in an alleyway, hidden from sight, when you turn to make some sarcastic remark, only for Law to suddenly grab your wrist and pull you against him.

His lips crash against yours, heated and desperate, like he’s been holding back for too long. And maybe he has.

You don’t hesitate. You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him impossibly close. The world fades, the sounds of battle disappearing until there’s nothing but him, his warmth, his touch, the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both breathless.

“That was… unexpected” you murmur.

Law smirks, thumb brushing against your lips “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

You laugh softly, leaning into him “Yeah, well. You’re full of surprises, Captain.”

What you don’t say is that he’s making this too easy.

Time passes, and the relationship deepens. Law isn’t the type to be openly affectionate, but you learn to read between the lines. The way he always makes sure you’re patched up first after battles, the way his fingers linger a little longer when he touches you. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You spend nights tangled together, whispered conversations in the dark. Sometimes, he tells you about his past, about Flevance, about Corazon, about the scars he carries that no one else can see. And you listen, pretending you’re not keeping secrets of your own.

Because this was never supposed to happen.

You were supposed to get close, gain his trust, gather information for them.

But now, with the way he looks at you, with trust, with something dangerously close to love, you start to wonder if you’ve let him get too close.

And if, when the time comes, you’ll be able to do what you were sent here to do.

You don’t realize how deep you’ve fallen until it’s too late.

It’s in the little things, how your heart beats just a little faster when Law smirks at you, how you find yourself looking for him in a room even when there’s no reason to. How you never pull away when his touch lingers longer than necessary.

You tell yourself it’s part of the act. That getting close to him is necessary, that earning his trust is just a step toward your real goal.

But then there are nights like this.

“You should sleep.”

Law’s voice is quiet, but firm. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the Polar Tang’s infirmary, arms crossed, watching you with a look that’s somewhere between amused and concerned.

You roll your eyes but don’t stop what you’re doing, patching up one of the crew’s minor wounds “I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

“You said that three hours ago.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow “And you’re one to talk? When was the last time you slept, Captain?”

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose “That’s not the point.”

You smile, shaking your head as you finish tying off the bandage. When you straighten up, Law is still watching you. His expression has softened... just a little.

“What?” you ask.

“You take care of them.” His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. “Like you’ve been here forever.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s not true. You haven’t been here forever. You’re not one of them.

You force a grin, nudging his arm playfully “Well, someone has to. You’re a terrible doctor when it comes to yourself. So I help if it means you can rest”

Law scoffs, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist before curling around it. It’s a simple touch, but it makes your stomach flip.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he murmurs.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the dim lighting, or the way his fingers feel warm against your skin—but you don’t pull away.

“Maybe,” you admit “But you worry too much.”

Law doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb traces a slow circle against the inside of your wrist, sending a shiver up your spine.

“I can’t help it” he finally says.

The words are soft, almost like he didn’t mean to say them out loud.

And that’s when you realize, he’s not just saying it as your captain.

He’s saying it as himself. As Law.

As the man who, against all odds, has started to care for you.

It only gets worse from there.

You’re not sure when it happens, when you stop thinking of this as a mission and start thinking of it as home.

The Heart Pirates are chaotic, loud, and ridiculous. But they’re also kind. Loyal. They treat you like family. Like you belong.

And Law—

Law lets you see pieces of him that no one else does. The quiet moments, the rare, unguarded smiles. The way he lets his walls down, just enough, when it’s only the two of you.

And you know, deep down, that this is dangerous. That you shouldn’t be letting yourself feel this much.

But then there are nights when you’re lying next to him, tangled in warm sheets, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. When he lets out a soft sigh and pulls you closer, half-asleep, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And in those moments, it’s easy to forget.

To pretend this is real.

That you’re not a liar.

That you’re not here for all the wrong reasons.

But the truth is always waiting.

And one day, when he looks at you with nothing but trust in his eyes, you’ll have to tell him.

Or worse—he’ll find out on his own.

And when that day comes…

You don’t know if you’ll be able to handle the way he’ll look at you then.

Life on the Polar Tang has a rhythm. A steady, comforting chaos that you’ve come to know well.

Days are spent navigating treacherous waters, dodging Marines, and patching up injuries after yet another reckless skirmish. Nights, though, are when things slow down. When the crew unwinds, when laughter echoes through the submarine’s halls, when Law finally lets himself breathe.

It’s on one of these nights that you find yourself in the middle of a full-blown disaster.

“Bepo, put that down—”

A crash. A shout. Penguin howling with laughter as Shachi dives for cover.

The common area of the Polar Tang is in complete chaos. Empty plates and bowls are scattered across the table, remnants of what was supposed to be a peaceful dinner. Bepo is standing in the middle of it all, guilty and frozen, holding what used to be a perfectly intact chair. Now, it’s nothing but splintered wood and regret.

“I barely touched it!” Bepo insists, ears flattened against his head.

“You threw it,” Ikkaku deadpans.

“It was an accident!”

Shachi, still hiding behind the couch, snickers “I told you he doesn’t know his own strength.”

“You made him arm wrestle the table...” you point out, exasperated.

“Okay, but in my defense—”

“Room.”

The entire room freezes.

Law is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. A slow, heavy silence settles over the crew. Bepo still has the broken chair in his hands. Shachi is half-hidden, looking like he’s about to bolt.

And then there’s you, sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching the disaster unfold with barely concealed amusement.

Law’s gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the mess, the guilty faces, the sheer absurdity of whatever just happened. He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do I even want to know?” he mutters.

“No,” you answer immediately “Definitely not.”

Law looks at you, unimpressed.

Penguin clears his throat “Uh, so, funny story—”

“No stories,” Law interrupts, already done with everyone’s nonsense. “Bepo, clean this up. The rest of you—figure out how to replace that chair. And if I hear one more crash tonight, I’m throwing all of you overboard.”

A collective groan echoes through the room, but no one dares argue.

As the crew reluctantly begins cleaning up, you watch Law turn to leave, only for him to hesitate, then glance at you. His brow furrows slightly, as if debating something. Then, after a moment, he jerks his head toward the door.

“Come with me.”

You blink “Uh, am I in trouble?”

His lips twitch, just barely “Not yet.”

You follow him to his quarters, where the air is quieter, calmer. Law shuts the door behind you, then leans against the desk, arms crossed.

“You looked entertained back there,” he remarks.

You smirk “Oh, I was. That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

Law shakes his head, exhaling through his nose “They’re impossible.”

“They’re yours.”

His gaze flickers to you, something unreadable in his expression. You don’t think much of your words, you meant them as a joke, nothing more.

But for a split second, something shifts.

You see it in the way his fingers tighten slightly against his arm. In the way his golden eyes linger on you, searching.

And for the first time, you wonder... does he think of you as his, too?

The thought is dangerous.

You push it aside, grinning instead “So, what do you need me for, Captain? Because if it’s paperwork, I—”

Law rolls his eyes before you can even finish “Shut up.”

And then, quicker than you expect, he reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, tugging you forward. It’s not forceful, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, to send a rush of warmth through you.

His hands are always cold, but his touch is steady. Solid.

“Stay here” he murmurs.

You don’t answer right away. Because you know that if you stay now, it’ll only get harder to leave later.

But when he looks at you like that... like he’s choosing you, again and again.

You can’t bring yourself to say no.

You don’t pull away.

Law’s fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, his touch firm but not forceful. You’re close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, the quiet hum of the submarine around you.

He doesn’t say anything else—just watches you, waiting.

You swallow “You’re being weird.”

His brow twitches “You’re the one staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re debating something.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Because, of course, you are.

You’ve been debating it for weeks now, maybe even months. How much of this is real? How much of this is an act? And most terrifying of all... are you the one being played?

Because the way Law looks at you sometimes, with quiet intensity, with something dangerously close to trust, it makes you feel like a terrible person.

And yet, here you are, standing in his quarters, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, not moving away.

“I was just thinking,” you say finally, keeping your voice light “That you’re kind of clingy.”

Law scoffs and immediately drops your wrist “Forget it. Get out.”

You laugh, catching his hand before he can fully pull away. His eyes snap to yours, slightly surprised, but he doesn’t stop you when you lace your fingers together.

“I’m joking,” you murmur, voice softer now “I don’t mind.”

Law exhales slowly, like he’s trying to decide whether or not you’re messing with him again.

“…You’re exhausting,” he mutters.

“You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

You smirk “Same thing.”

His lips twitch, just barely, before he tugs on your hand, pulling you toward the bed. You go without resistance, letting him sit on the edge while you stand between his knees, still holding his hand.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, quietly, he says, “You don’t have to keep proving yourself, you know.”

The words hit you harder than they should.

You blink “What?”

“You act like you have something to prove,” he says, tilting his head slightly “Like you need to earn your place here. But you already have.”

Your stomach twists.

Because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that this entire thing is a lie, that you shouldn’t have a place here, that—

“Hey.” His voice is softer now. His free hand reaches up, fingertips barely brushing your hip “Did I say something wrong?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head “No, no. Just surprised you’re saying something nice for once.”

Law rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance there.

“I say nice things,” he mutters.

You smirk “Name three.”

He pauses.

Then, after a moment, he says, “You’re competent.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“You’re reliable.”

“Still sounds like a job review.”

He sighs, giving you a dry look “You’re annoying, but I don’t hate it.”

Your smirk widens “Aww, Captain. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He huffs, but his hand tightens slightly around yours, thumb brushing against your knuckles.

You don’t know what you’re doing anymore.

You don’t know if this is still part of the plan, or if you’re just falling into something you can’t escape from.

But for now, in this quiet space, with his fingers laced with yours and his golden eyes watching you like you matter...

You let yourself pretend.

Just a little longer.

[coralaura]

Primadonna

"You say that I'm kinda difficult”

Your father was never a present figure; sometimes, he would see you, give you a pat on the head, and disappear into the darkness of the mansion.

In reality, he vanished for the entire day, especially when the sun set, and the moon greeted the sky. Like all the other inhabitants of the mansion, nighttime was when you were left alone and could wander without anyone noticing or caring.

Every now and then, you’d see Alfred, but he, too, would soon disappear. It didn’t bother you; in fact, it gave you free time, allowing you to take late modeling jobs without anyone asking the typical questions: “Why are you coming home so late?” or “What were you doing outside so late?”

Sometimes, you went out with friends (if you could call them that people you used and who defended you when someone doubted your innocence). Rarely, you stayed in the enormous mansion, but honestly, you didn’t care where you were.

And it wasn’t like they cared about what you did or where you were, so maybe that’s why you didn’t care when Dick left the mansion. When Jason arrived—his unwanted presence and lack of manners—it was annoying, especially when he dared to compare his mother to yours. How dare he compare the two?! Despite that insult, spoken right to your face, you simply smiled. But inside, you were about to beat him senseless, to put that fool in his place for comparing your beloved mother to his and when he died, you cried at the funeral, pretending to be in pain, mourning the loss of a life.

But deep down, you felt nothing for him. Sure, his death was gruesome and ruthless, but it wasn’t like you felt anything beyond antipathy for the poor devil in the coffin. When Tim arrived at the mansion, you couldn’t have cared less. After all, you would only see him for a few weeks before heading off to university, so your interactions were minimal, barely enough to count on one hand.

Alfred saw you off with a smile, though there was a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t try to stop you or convince you not to move out; in fact, he encouraged you to pursue your career, as long as you sent some sign of life a letter or a text message. But let’s be honest, student life was expensive, and as a model, you made little money for just a few hours of work. So, when you had to choose between your studies and a full-time modeling career, the choice was obvious you went with the long-term option and pursued your modeling career. No one was supposed to know. You’d write to Alfred, telling him you were still studying, just to keep him from worrying.

In reality, you could have been in Metropolis, about to step into a photoshoot. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. Some idiot spotted you and then compared you to Bruce Wayne. And for the first time in years, people seemed to have more than two brain cells because the question immediately popped up all over the internet:

"Is it just me, or do Bruce Wayne and Y/N look alike?"

And unfortunately, they attached your image right next to that billionaire’s. To say that the media explosion and the interview requests for both you and Bruce were the worst possible thing that could happen was an understatement. As headlines and news reports flooded in, you bit your nails in frustration, enraged by your inability to control the situation.

So, when they asked about your parents or if you were a poor orphan, you responded with a warm smile—though deep inside, you were disgusted that you couldn’t just avoid answering or shut those nosy reporters down.

"I have no parents."

Most people, moved by your kind smile and the false tears welling in your eyes, dropped the subject and moved on with their lives. But the press always loved fresh, juicy gossip, especially when it involved Bruce Wayne.

Since your father didn’t comment or give an interview, part of you assumed he either didn’t care or considered it a minor issue his PR team could handle. For a moment, you thought you had dodged this problem. Until you saw him in the middle of a photoshoot—waiting for you to finish so he could talk to you. And, of course, right behind him was his family… or rather, his walking orphanage.

Alfred believed in you. He loved you like a father loves his child. You were practically the normal kid he had always wished Bruce could be so sweet, so innocent. But when he saw your face in the morning paper, next to your father’s, with the full story laid out, for the first time… he felt disappointed in you.

Why would you hide something like this?

Did you not trust him?...

It hurt him, but deep down, he knew you must have had a reason for keeping your modeling career a secret. Maybe his thoughts consumed him for too long because Damian’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“What are you reading, Pennyworth?"

“It seems the press has discovered the connection between Master Bruce and Master Y/N.”

Damian frowned in confusion. He had never heard of you. Taking the newspaper from Alfred’s hands, he scanned the headline and the full story, noting your features and how similar you looked to his father. The picture they used of you was… bold, striking. He wondered if you were really family, but Alfred had called you "Master Y/N," so you must have been. Damian didn’t waste time.

He stormed to his father, slamming the newspaper onto his desk, demanding answers. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his behavior until he read the headline and saw your picture. The only thing Bruce thought in that moment was how much you had grown.

How tall were you now?

He picked up the paper, reading the article, noticing how you denied any connection to him or his family. He didn’t understand.

Had he done something to make you reject him?

Thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The more he read, the more that bitterness spread.

“Who are them, Father?”

Finally, Damian asked. The answer was simple yet so complicated. You were his child, his firstborn, and yet he had no idea how to be a proper father. He had never seen you in the mansion, maybe because he never had time, maybe because he felt guilty, knowing he could never raise a normal child. He could only raise someone to become a vigilante.

"They are your siblings."

And that was the beginning of the end of your modeling career. Because, in the end, it was only natural for your father to crave control, both as Bruce and as Batman. It was something you had inherited from him.

When you saw your father there, standing in the middle of your shoot, clearly annoyed that you had noticed him and yet continued with your session, you knew he would eventually step in. Still, you wanted to push his patience, to see how long he could endure before leaving. But you hadn’t counted on your manager asking you to stop the session to talk to him instead. You sighed. He was just doing his job, though a part of you couldn’t help but glare at him, hating that he was wasting your time.

"What is it, Ethan?"

You didn’t even acknowledge Bruce. Instead, you spoke to your manager, Ethan, who forced a tense smile, silently begging you to be respectful.

"Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

He emphasized the last name, almost as if reminding you of your place beneath the great Wayne name. Not that he knew the truth, that Bruce’s blood ran through your veins and that your striking resemblance was nothing but shared genetics.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and company, what brings you here?"

You didn’t bother greeting them. You recognized a few faces, but most were either forgotten or simply unknown to you. And honestly, you didn’t care.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

Your father's deep voice and condescending gaze turned to you, hating that he spoke to you that way, as if you were a child, when in reality you were more than him, more than any of them, you were Y/N, the person that everyone would pay for because at some point you would look at them or simply greet them, there were people who would kill for a simple touch from you.You hid your displeasure in the mask that you always wore on your face that was difficult to remove, the one that had buried itself in your face and had taken root until you simply couldn't get it off, at least not until you were alone and no one could see your true and unpleasant personality that eclipsed your cute face and false golden boy personality.

You thought about the possibility of being rude to them, after all it's not like they could prove that you were something of theirs, you still had your mother's last name and they had never seen you with the Waynes until now, besides, who could blame you? Being rude was your privilege for being a model and also being attractive, it would be your first time being rude to someone, besides, everyone knew you, you were so kind that the ones who would end up being reproached for things would be the Waynes, so you decided.

“I don’t want to and if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

For the first time, your father stopped looking at you with that condescending look and in its place there was something you couldn’t identify. Anger? Indignation? Frustration? Surprise? You didn’t know and honestly you didn’t care, you were surely the first or at least one of the few people who says no to your father’s face and in front of so many people, that thought made you smile to yourself, it was the satisfaction and pride of making that cold expression of your father go away.

“But it's always someone else's fault”

[kings-highway]

Is there a particular dynamic between two captains in the captain squad that you like most?

shoutout to Daichi/Kuroo, and, of course, my beloved Daichi/Oikawa. Honestly Daichi/Oikawa probably win for the literal answer to your question, but thats not who I feel like talking about today...

the single best and most underrated captains' dynamic is (platonic) Ushijima and Bokuto

now anyone who's been following me for a while will know this, but I am obssessed with the idea that these two are natural friends. We *know* Ushijima's preferred friend category is "loud and excitable and crazy" and I feel like he's most comfortable when someone else is taking the lead. Plus, he's a perfect sounding board for all of Bokuto's most insane thoughts because he's judgement free. Plus, we know Bokuto leans towards mean people (Akaashi is SO mean be for real) and would probably get a riot out of Ushijima saying true things to people

combined with the fact that they probably met at nationals at least once, I love the idea that they faced off in their first year (Shiratorizawa beat Fukurodani, but they were both sub players at the time) and Bokuto has simply NEVER let the grudge go even tho their teams never faced off again at nationals. Which is why he gets up in Hinata's business about taking Ushiwaka down and not wanting people to be intimidated by him. the way you don't want your friends to have super cool nicknames and be super indimidating. gotta knock em down a peg.

I think these two cause the absolute most chaos because despite his serious nature Ushijima is incredibly directable and easily coerced into things and Bokuto would just say something like "well *obviously* we have to do this insane thing because [insert technically literally correct but terrible justification]" and Ushijima would just nod because it's technically literally correct and go along with it. Bokuto would, like, convince him some stupid kids toy is actually incredibly cool and important and good and they'd spend 4 days traveling the country looking for it and Ushijima would enjoy every goddamn second of Bokuto badly singing at the top of his lungs.

Bokuto and Ushijima would also give Akaashi twelve different ulcers every time they went out together because Ushiwaka sometimes just comes home without Bo and is like "he told me to leave him in the pit I did as told" and Aksaashi is like "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'PIT????'"

Also post timeskip they have that wonderful Msby V Adlers rivalry. they can workout together and talk about their mutual love of athletics and really encourage each other's worse tendencies.

[theislandoflosttoys]

Best for last, now onto our boy Vio! 💖

I'll be working on answering asks after this as well as working towards posting some sketches and drawings for this au, I'll probably create a masterlist as well to make it easier to find stuff and to be organized. I'm so happy some people are enjoying this silly AU of mine, every comment, interaction, etc means the world. Thank you guys!! ^^

Now onto the HCs/Trivia~!

6'1" tall, tallest of the gang. Secretly loves it, especially being taller than Shadow.

This man is hard to read, sort of stoic and has the best poker face of the bunch. Is a pro at lying and for verbal sparring. Zelda sometimes asks him to sit in on meetings or diplomatic conferences because he often is able to notice things nobody would, and is able to verbal beat back any attempts made at him or the princess.

Introvert, he would rather not interact with other people outside of his small social circle. People find him intimidating, and though it's gotten better over the years, some people are still wary of him because of his participation in the destruction of Hyrule. Vio doesn't let that bother him, their opinions don't really matter to him, at least that's what he says.

Has the longest ears of the group, more thin too, like most elves in media. He has incredible hearing too.

Can sense vibrations in the earth/ground, kind of like echolocation, he finds it the most useful when he stays up late and has to navigate in the dark. He doesn't bother turning on the lights when doing so, which has led to him accidentally scaring the hell out of the others if they happen to run into him in the dark.

Vio is also very strong, especially for how tall and deceivingly thin he appears to be. He could pick up the whole gang and hold them above his head with minimal effort.

I saw someone mentioned Shadow's earth sign earing in his post, I'm glad you caught that! ^^ Ngl it's my favourite thing to see if someone will catch onto certain things, for example I wondered if anyone noticed that I made Green birthday deliberately so that he could be an Aquarius, which is a wind sign but is commonly mistaken as a water sign, which is just another thing I threw in to tie Green and Blue together. ^^

So the earing, that was deliberate on multiple accounts, both Shadow and Vio are earth signs according to their chosen birthdays, then there's their relationship, but functionally it is actually a communication device that sort of functions like Wind's pirate charm in the Linked Universe world. Vio has one too, it's not pictured in the drawing above but it is tied to the end of his braid, the one behind his ear. ^^ Vio actually was the one to invent it, the normal version of this sort of charm is actually a mirror but with Shadow and Vio's mirror related trauma Vio ended up coming up with something a bit different!

His birthday is December 28th! Surprise he's actually the youngest lol. I mean they're all 25 years old but still. Shadow likes to tease that he's older than him, Vio finds this funny.

Vio is a Capricorn! Earth sign of course, he's a very grounded person. A logical and practical man. He's always thinking ahead and trying to prepare himself for anything. He's a hard worker and doesn't like to leave things unfinished. He comes across as reserved and somewhat emotionless but he's really just thoughtful and quiet, he likes to think before speaking. He really is a sweet man though, he can predict what someone needs before they even need/ask for it. He feels fulfilled being able to help his loved ones in this way, he's definitely an acts of service kind of guy when it comes to love languages.

Also worth noting that Capricorns' most compatible soulmates are other earth signs, Taurus and Virgo. Shadow is a taurus, also worth noting it is the same for Taurus' too. ^^

Vio really drove himself into the ground trying to find a way to bring Shadow back. During this time, he isolated himself from the others, but after sometime and persistence from the others he began to open up again.

Due to this bad habit of neglecting his needs during this period of time, it became a bad habit that has been hard to shake, it often takes the others (mainly Shadow) for him to pull him away from his work.

It's only later on in the AU that it's revealed that Shadow's crystalized heart is actually Vio's. Bro literally gave his heart to him in multiple ways TT^TT.

Because of this, they are linked. Vio has a seal on his chest over his heart because of this. It's a "If I die, you die" sort of situation. Except they didn't realize right away that Shadow is essentially immortal, him being a living shadow and not a hylian. Vio will likely never age and/or die naturally unless he or Shadow are killed. This somewhat horrified them all minus Vio himself because he couldn't imagine being without Shadow, he's already experienced what it was like to live without him and he was not a fan to put it simply.

This man is such a simp, no one outside the group can tell but he is whipped for Shadow. All he wants to do is be around him, even if no talking is involved.

The seal on his chest is usually kept hidden, and like Shadow it isn't something he lets others touch, with exception to Shadow. It doesn't hurt when it is touched by him and vice-versa, it is the link between their souls. It's still sensitive, but doesn't hurt when it's either of them.

Didn't say it but was devastation when Shadow didn't want to be around him at first after his resurrection, he understood but he was still so depressed about it. He worked hard to make up for what happened in the past.

The act that really started to let him back into Shadow's heart was when he made and hand painted Shadow's very first false eye. It took a few tries and he did go to Red for help eventually, face beat red in embarrassment. Red thought it was so sweet.

Man has very beautiful handwriting, until you realize you can't read any of it, lol.

When he realized Shadow couldn't read or write, he jumped on teaching him. It's become a great bonding activity for them. Granted, when Shadow starts to get bored he starts to tease Vio. This stone wall of a man struggles not to crack under the pressure lol.

The type to bite at the ends of his pencils, pens, and brushes. He's a biter, surprisingly.

Vio works as a consult for the princess but mainly spends his time in his own private study which has a library. Zelda has him working with scholars and the castle librarians often enough to keep him busy. He holes himself up in his study often though.

I went for more of a pale sort of coloration for contrast with everyone else's designs, also because it tickles a part in my brain when the eyes are the darkest/brightest in a character's color palette and with me choosing to go with a more pale violet/lilac shade, I think it gives him somewhat of an angelic appearance. ^^

He's hair is more of a angel blonde almost white shade of blonde, and it's quite long because long haired Vios are my favourite lol. It's about waist length and he usually has it down, with the exception of the two smaller braids in his hair. The one behind his ear in particular actually has Shadow's hair braided with his, he tends to fiddle with that braid for comfort.

He has a deep voice, usually takes people off guard because he doesn't talk often much less to people he doesn't know. Shadow likes to ask him to read him to his often just to hear the sound of his voice, is somewhat too shy to admit to it though.

He is a totally hopeless romantic at heart, all those ooey gooey feelings and what they entail included. Yearning, longing, you name it, he's done it. The some from the Epic Musical "Would you fall in love with me again" comes to mind heavily. Ngl I do have like a playlist just for Vidow so TT^TT

Green💚

Blue💙

Red❤️

Shadow🖤

[hl-obsessed]

fic rec: january-february | links to the original manip

💎✨ The Green Room by @jasthelarrie

(M, 112k) “For the last time, go away! This is fucking harassment, you know that? I’m well within my rights to call the cops.” Louis wished he could have hidden the tremor in his voice. He knew that it was thick with emotion. He was frustrated, angry, and beyond devastated.

“Uh…”

That was definitely not his ex's voice. Louis froze. Who had he just sworn at?

AKA

Louis has just been through a bad break-up and accidentally verbally assaults unsuspecting flower delivery man Harry.

scent holding me ransom by @the-larry-way

(E, 18k) Louis is obsessed with the scent of an omega he's never seen. Harry knows his dirty secret.

✨ all the sins you didn't have by @twopoppies

(E, 99k) It’s 1880, and premier danseur Harry Styles is running out of time. At twenty-five, he’s fast becoming too old for the lecherous benefactors who frequent The Paris Opera Ballet’s infamous backstage, and the only way to ensure he isn’t left penniless or rotting away in a brothel is to secure a permanent patron.

Enter Lord Louis Tomlinson: wealthy, young, handsome. And, unfortunately, a notorious rake. Harry strikes him and his gigantic ego off the list immediately… At least until they realize they have a common set of enemies and a common goal: revenge.

Though their ruse starts smoothly enough, the decadent freedom of Belle Époque Paris gives way to the rigid social rules of aristocratic Victorian London. Can a relationship that started as a calculated deception withstand the harsh realities of societal expectations and family duty to become a love more honest and profound than either has ever known?

✨ Things I Want, Things I Need by @canonlarry

(E, 14k) Most people don't find out whether they're an alpha, beta, or omega until somewhere around their eighteenth year, which means Louis finds out he's an omega long before his best friend and sometimes lover Harry will get a clue. Zayn is the loyal alpha friend who takes care of Louis during his heats. Liam is Zayn's beta mate, Niall tries to keep the peace, and Harry just wants to know what he is already.

✨ To find home (is wherever you are) by CrOminona

(E, 46k) Harry will wake up tomorrow and life will go on as always. They will go out with their friends, they will catch up and have fun. And then one day too soon Louis will pack his bag again, will find a flight to wherever he hasn’t seen yet and he will leave the city.

Harry will stay behind, waiting for the texts he barely receives sometimes, some of them sent at weird hours because of time zones. Days will become weeks, life will carry on in London with little to tell and a lot to do. And one day Harry will stop counting the hours that has passed since he last saw him and just expect Louis to appear whenever he pleases. Could be three weeks. Two months. One and a half. They never know, but Louis always comes back.

Go With It by embro

(NR, 4,4k) Prompt: "You thought I was someone else and started making out with me in a club and you're really hot so I just kinda went with it and now we're heading back to your place and I don't know how to break it to you"

don't let it break your (arm) by @the-larry-way

(G, 816) Louis seems to have forgotten his husband thanks to the wonders of anesthesia. Doesn't mean he's forgotten his attraction though.

Tattoos and Temptations by

(E, 67k) “Love,” he drawled, the word dripping with sinful allure, “I’ve got tattoos that are older than you,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper, his breath warm against Harry’s lips.

Harry tilted his head, a teasing smirk of his own tugging at his mouth despite the rapid beat of his heart. “What can I say, I like experienced men.”

Louis chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent heat rushing through Harry’s veins. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, his hand sliding up Harry’s back to tangle in his curls. He tugged lightly, just enough to tip Harry’s head back and expose more of his neck.

“You’re the one winding me up.”

don't call me baby by @vintageumbroshirt

(G, 2k) A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

The Only One (when it's said and done) by @londonfoginacup

(T, 6,1k) Louis Tomlinson, alpha, twenty nine years old, is head of the Tomlinson pack.

He's unbonded, and happily so. A trip to the neighbouring Arthur pack certainly isn't going to change that.

Sweet Baby by @jishlerfics

(E, 5,3k) “Haz,” he said, “do you like being held down?”

Taking a shaky breath, Harry finally looked Louis in the eyes. “I think so.”

💎✨ And That Was That by @lightwoodsmagic

(E, 22k) “Okay. When Zayn and I were working on the set yesterday, Liam dropped by and mentioned he had a date. I asked Zayn about it, and he said that they’re ah - poly?”

Harry blinked.

“Oh yeah, I knew that. Li mentioned it when we were playing tennis once.” He ran his hand through Louis’ hair, smiling softly when he nuzzled into the touch. “Is that what’s making you act strange? Because it seems like something that works for them, and I —.”

“Zayn has feelings for me.” A deep breath, and then blue eyes locked on green. “He said he needs distance because he has to get over them.”

Harry hadn’t realised his hand had fallen from Louis’ face until his fingers were being tangled and gripped tightly.

Or, Zayn and Liam have been polyamorous for years, but Harry and Louis are monogamous. When Zayn meets Louis and starts to fall for him, it opens them all up for something they've never experienced before.

.💐💐💐

(okay so i didn't read much and these are some amazing fics that i mostly barely remember reading 🙄 seems like i have to do reread of them all 🙈🙈🙈)

.💐💐💐

all my fic recs

[yyumehh]

I DID IT! I POSTED EVERYDAY OF FEBRUARY!!!

in celebration that i finished an art challenge for once in my life, here’s an art dump of some wips i didn’t finish during this month of (fun) exhaustion.

i’m gonna take a breather now 🫠

lessons i learned throughout my 28 days of dailies,,,

post bad art!

you can’t WAIT to become the artist you want to be— you’ll never achieve anything like that. you will always grow and find ways to improve and, in turn, never feel like you’re ready. you just need to start. you can’t move forward without taking your first step, so just post “bad” art! you’ll grow along the way and BECOME the artist you want to be.

art does not need to be fully rendered to be deemed “complete”!

i’m, admittedly, still struggling with this one. i have this block in my brain that thinks nothing is done or good enough until i render it. and as someone that very much enjoys the composition of a shot/pose/expression/etc over colouring…. that should be easy! it’s not even the part i enjoy! but i feel like it has to look a certain way to be “acceptable.” over the last 28 days i had several days of just wips and project updates because i had nothing “done” and it 100% helped break that mentality. this post is enough evidence of that. i would NEVER dream to post these wips before now. especially that dandadan one. it’s so yucky and messy but it’s been sitting on the back burner for months now because i’m afraid to finish it and mess it up aaaand that’s a whole tangent in itself 🫠

posting casually is healthy and good and fun!

kinda similar the previous one, but as scary and unfamiliar and (let’s be real) how BAD i am at social media, it’s meant to be fun! it’s not meant to be stressful or scary, and having fun and being casual invites yourself and others into a space of open-ness and leisure. go have fun dude.

remember, you’re an untrained buffoon!

you don’t know what you’re doing, so stop beating yourself about every little thing! you’re bad at social media— we know this! you’ve gotten better (kinda) so shut up and keep growing your skills. you don’t like colouring— we KNOW this! you’re taking forever because your adhd brain gets no dopamine from coloring and it takes you forever to get yourself to do it, so shut uP and keep at your pace. you do not know how to animate— we KNOW THIS!! you’re taking forever because you’re inexperienced and struggling like a mf to even envision what you want sometimes,,, but shut up. you’re an untrained buffoon. take it step by step. you’ll grow along the way. you’ll get better and faster and…

you will become the artist you want to be

[paranoiddreams]

Satosugu NSFW headcannons bc I’m working on the most insane angst rn (Sunshine lovers rise there will be a chapter soon)

- if you’re having both of them at the same time (which is most of the time), be careful not to get into the loop of making each other cum endlessly. It starts off with Satoru saying “hey, I only came once and you both came twice!” So then you suck his dick. But naturally, that makes you horny again. And seeing you sucking Satoru’s cock, AND getting horny about it, makes Suguru horny too. So then you’re all just stuck in a loop of making each other cum to “make sure everything is even”.

- I’ve seen this a lot in the fandom, but Satoru is bigger than Suguru. But that does not mean Suguru is small!!!! It’s actually concerning when you see Suguru’s cock for the first time—you’re like “how tf am I gonna fit that in my mouth?! Much less my pussy??”. And then you see Satoru’s and nearly crash out.

- Suguru is very service dom coded, while Satoru is just the meanest, but cutest, little whore ever. He’ll tell you that you’re a pathetic slut and you only serve to be their fuck toy while Suguru whispers in your ear that he’s just pussy drunk because you make them feel so good.

- with that being said, Suguru is the hardest on punishments. When you cum without permission (from him mostly) or you’re being a little short with them, he’s quick to send you a look or grab your wrist in a way that will subtly tell you to behave. On the other hand, Satoru cannot control himself as soon as any part of him enters your holes. He’ll talk all this crap about edging you until you sob and spanking you until you’re bruised, but then turns to putty once he touches you.

- also, you’re not always the sub. Sometimes when Suguru goes out he’ll tell both of you not to touch yourselves or each other until he’s back, knowing that he’s going to be gone until well after dark. But then you’ll catch Satoru grinding against Suguru’s pillow or something, and you’ll punish him yourself. But by the time you’re both nearly passed out from cumming so much Suguru is back home and ready to punish BOTH of you.

- Suguru wears the pants in the relationship, I’m sorry😭 Satoru is too needy and whiny, while you could melt into a puddle from the slightest suggestive word from them.

- the possessiveness is crazy in here yall. Suguru is literally…well, Suguru, so you already know how he will kill anyone who looks at you and Satoru wrong. Satoru on the other hand, will literally endlessly bully someone while beating the shit out of them if you or Suguru say the word. And you…well, you have both Suguru geto and Satoru Gojo, so ofc no one is even getting a chance to take your baby girls🫡

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 17

I'm a Lover, but I still Fight

Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Steve looks too damn good to be in here. He seems totally unaware of the attention, pausing on the dance floor to gather compliments like a beauty queen.

Billy’s dying for it on the other hand, every inch of his body buzzing with awareness when Steve glances his way, mid-dance, bopping his head and grinning like a maniac.

Billy’s a pro at acting like he’s not in love with Steve. In fact sometimes he feels like that’s what he really goes to college for. But tonight is his toughest test yet.

He stays close on the dance floor, always just friendly, keeping himself and Carver and Buckley around Steve so it isn’t too obvious when he shoots an admirer a harsh look.

Carver’s little friend from the gay straight alliance is lurking around too, possibly the only person besides Carver who seems to pick up on what Billy’s doing. But he’s just skulking with his friends, ignoring them.

Some asshole reaches for Steve’s hips and Billy pulls Steve into a goofy spin.

Steve’s all giggles, bopping to the beat, his brown eyes closed in bliss. The plan, so far that Billy’s brain can form one, is just to keep them dancing. It’s easier to keep Steve spinning so he can’t pay too much attention to Billy.

Because after that it's not too different from any other frat party: running Steve interference to keep him from going home with someone.

He doesn’t do it all the time, can’t for obvious reasons. He doesn’t own Steve. But he’s redirected sometimes. Pulled Steve into a game of beer pong or a keg stand to keep him stuck to Billy’s side.

Guilt sears him like a steak, but he justifies it to himself by promising that he’s showing Steve a good, and most importantly safe first time out at a gay bar. He’s just doing his due diligence as a member of the LGBTQIA+ community.

Buckley tugs at Billy’s sleeve, miming sipping a drink. She lost her cup a while ago by trying to pull a complex “get low” maneuver and she agreed to be a DD, so Billy will happily buy her all the Shirley Temples she wants.

Steve bounces on his heels, eyes glowing with excitement. “Yes!”

“Water,” Billy says sternly at the same time as Buckley, who points at Steve knowingly.

Steve spins and throws a heavy arm around both their shoulders. “Boo, you whore.”

“Jason?” Billy tips his chin at the bar.

Jason smiles softly, disentangling from the tattooed guy who’s wrapped around him like an octopus. Somehow he’s much more loose and free than Billy’s ever seen him at frat parties.

It makes Billy want to find this so-called boyfriend of Carver’s and give him a talking to.

Steve tows them toward the bar where the music is slightly lower and they crowd around the only open corner of the bar. Steve pulls out his dad’s credit card and squeezes between two people, waving off everyone’s protests and ordering shots.

“Do you guys come here often?” Buckley asks it generally as they make their way to a free spot a little ways away from where Steve has shoved in, but her eyes are glued to Billy.

“Why, Buckley,” Billy giggles and turns to fully face her, batting his eyelashes coyly, “buy me a drink before you throw me a line.”

She tosses her head and laughs. “No, but seriously.”

Billy looks at Carver, who seems totally checked out, staring at his phone like it owes him money, and then shoving it back in his pocket only to pull it out a millisecond later.

“We just went out once, a while ago. Carver’s the big Cottonmouth cowboy, not me.” Billy says with a shrug.

“You know any other places?” She asks.

“I’ve been to the sugar skull out in Muncie a few times, but I’m not like… into clubs.” Billy can hear how obvious he sounds, and he can only hope Buckley doesn’t pick up on it. He doesn’t like clubs so much as parties with his friends. Parties with Steve. And he doesn’t go out, he stays in, because the one he loves is at home.

Buckley’s eyes narrow the slightest bit and Billy can feel a cold sweat breaking out under what he worked up dancing. But luckily the spell is broken by Steve’s hearty laugh. Billy glances back over his shoulder helplessly, just to watch the way Steve’s head tips back as he hoots to the ceiling.

Billy turns a little more so he can see who makes his Steve laugh so hard.

He knows with his head to doubt what he sees. He knows that it’s not his dad, because that’s impossible.

But for a horrible second, the bar drops out from under his elbow and Billy’s pitching forward.

It’s partially the haircut and mustache, and the eyes, those icy blue eyes. They’re not quite what Billy sees in the mirror but it’s close enough that it has his breath tightening up to double time. And Steve is laughing, laying his hand on the guy’s chest, and the guy is old with blue eyes and a normy haircut and Billy knows this is fine but his heart… his heart…

His heart is gonna explode.

Buckley says something but it can’t get past the ringing in his ears and he can’t see any more because his eyes are swimming in something. She puts a hand on his arm and it feels awful, it feels like his heart is going to wrench out of his chest and fall to the floor with a wet splat.

Somehow he’s able to force his frozen muscles to move and make it, with slow staggering steps, to the bathroom. He closes himself into a stall so that he can die in peace.

Because that’s all he can think, all he can feel. He’s too locked in his dying body, stall swimming before his eyes, hands locked around the side of his head. His heart is pounding so hard that the stall is rattling and it’s all he can do to hold himself in one place.

He forces breath through his lungs by instinct more than anything, but the stall won’t stop rattling. There’s something at the edge of his vision, by the floor, and he shuts his eyes, too overwhelmed to know. He’s dying, he knows he’s dying. His dad is going to come. He’s going to see Billy, and that may as well be dying. If his life is about to flash before Billy’s eyes, he really wishes that it wouldn’t.

Slowly he becomes aware of something squeezing him from all around. It anchors him back in his body, bringing him back online to reality. He’s not dying, he’s just breathing really fast and sobbing, a combination that’s leaving him lightheaded.

He sucks in several breaths, gradually coming online to the strong arms around him and the scent of that $30 an ounce shampoo he knows all too well. Soft brown curls are tickling his nose and he breathes deeply to have a little more of Steve’s air inside him.

“I’m… I’m… how did you get in here?” He gasps.

“Crawled under the stall,” Steve murmurs, but it’s just soothing rumbles really. Billy melts into him, not even caring to hold back.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there until Billy’s sobs totally even out and he’s able to pull away.

“You ok?” Steve asks. He’s lost the cowboy hat somewhere so there’s nothing shading those big brown eyes from the bright overhead lights.

“I… yeah…” Billy says.

“What happened? I thought you were going to puke or something.”

“I wish.” Billy’s totally given up on making sense, he guesses. He suddenly feels far too tired for this conversation, entirely exhausted. He just wants to go home.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Billy doesn’t want to repeat himself again, and he really doesn’t have anything prepared but the truth. “I saw… it’s my dad.”

“Your dad?” Steve blinks a few times, his head twitching in that adorable way it does when he’s trying to compute. “He’s here? He’s… gay?”

“No… I… that guy you were talking to. He looked like my dad.” God, that’s so pathetic. That’s nothing. And what’s more he really needs to wipe the snot off his face but he doesn’t know if he can do it with Steve watching.

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t remove his hands from Billy’s arms.

“I had just… a…” Billy shakes his head. “It was just a stupid moment of panic, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid.” Steve tugs him forward into another full-bodied hug and it makes Billy’s worn-out eyes prickle. “Man, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

No. “Yes, I… I don’t wanna ruin your night though.”

“Who the fuck cares about that?” Steve speaks the words and they shake loose something in Billy’s chest that has the tears free flowing again.

“It’s just… obviously a worst nightmare. I mean he wouldn’t be… obviously he wouldn’t be caught dead in a p-place like this but I just saw that guy and I… I locked up, you know?”

“Your dad,” Steve holds him tighter, squeezing gently. “He’s really homophobic?”

And Billy can’t blame Steve, because it’s not as if he’s ever talked about his dad beyond a comment here or there. Billy knows instinctively that Steve assumes Billy hates his dad the same way Steve hates his dad. With like snipes about politics and the occasional strained conversation. Steve’s dad hates that Steve is a film major, and sends slightly out of touch texts about his high school basketball team.

Billy’s dad wants Billy scorched off the face of the planet. But it’s easier to pretend, for everyone’s sake, that he’s just kind of an asshole who never calls.

And Billy was and is very cool with Steve assuming that, because it makes him feel almost like a real person.

Not what Billy is, which is broken and desperate. The kind of person who cries in bathroom stalls.

Billy has to suck in a few more breaths before he can go on. “My dad… when I was sixteen he found a guy’s p-picture on my phone. He… he hurt me so bad I woke up a day later in the hospital. It was a miracle I didn’t suffer more permanent brain damage, because it was almost a coma.”

Steve says nothing, and Billy was grateful Steve doesn’t immediately stop holding him, because Steve is the only thing holding him up right now.

“He wanted to move us out of state because the nurses were asking questions, I guess a cop was sniffing around.” Billy sniffles again.

“What happened?” Steve prompts when Billy takes a beat too long to continue.

“Argyle. His mom’s a lawyer, family law. She took me on pro bono after Argyle snuck a picture of me in the hospital. She helped me get out, get emancipated. And my step-mother, she was able to use it in court too. B-because it was on record,” Billy sniffs again, and Steve pulls back from the hug. Billy’s about to panic again that he said something finally so wretchedly pathetic that Steve would leave. But instead Steve just wipes sloppily and Billy’s face with his hand, and then leans down to get some toilet paper to clean up.

“What… was it the first time he’d hit you?”

Billy laughs just a little too hard, because that question hurts, and it’s either going to be a laugh or a sob.

“Not by a long shot.”

Steve’s open face shutters for a second, all the light gone from his pretty boy eyes, and with it something vital in Billy’s chest begins to fail. This is why he never told Steve. He couldn’t stand to see that pity and derision.

But just as quick as it came, the look was replaced with something else, something much craftier.

“Want me to pick a bar fight with Dale?” Steve says.

Billy sputters, “who the fuck is Dale?”

“The guy who looks like your dad. He’s a total sweetheart.”

Billy laughs, a lot less painful this time. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s the closest I’ll get to punching your dad. For now, at least.” Steve smiles, and rubs Billy’s shoulders. “You wanna go home?”

Billy’s shoulders relax just a little, and he feels marginally less wound up. “Fuck yeah. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

“Then let's go home.” Steve smiles just a little brighter, and Billy was too damn tired to analyze it. He’s too tired to do anything but rest on his best friend’s shoulders as they stumble out of the bathroom. Carver and Buckley are waiting for them, but one look at the two of them and they clam up. Billy does his best to avoid everyone’s eye but unfortunately he can’t ignore Buckley is giving him mad side eye.

She accepts Steve’s keys without much comment and Carver doesn’t kick up a fuss either, waving off his GSA friends and scowling at his phone as they make their way out of the bar.

Billy can see the night’s stars and neon signs reflected in the parking lot puddles, feeling breathless for no reason. Steve all but shoves him into the backseat and joins him there. Billy can see Buckley glance back several times as they back out of the lot. But Billy ignores it in favor of closing his eyes and resting on Steve’s shoulder, and letting the rest of the night drift away.

[lunajay33]

Target

•🩵🪽•

Summary: You’ve always been the quiet girl of the friend group between you Bonnie, Caroline and Elena, they convince you to go to the ball but when things go wrong Jeremy becomes your night in shinning armour

Pairing: Jeremy Gilbert x f!reader

Warning: Bullying

•Masterlist•

I grew up with my best friends, Elena, Caroline and Bonnie, they were all so outgoing and had no problem getting guys I mean Elena has two brothers in love with her and Matt still love her

But I was always the quiet one that no body seemed to take a second look at

“Come on y/n you have to go to the ball” Caroline whined as they all came and sat with me around the lunch table

“Oh I don’t know I don’t have a date”

“Who cares you can still have fun with us” Bonnie smiled

I shrugged with a little smile and they knew that was my way of saying yes

“Great you better be there tonight or we’re dragging you out of the house” Elena said as she ran off to Stefan

•

I tied up the back of my dress and did the final touches to my hair and makeup, breathing out a sigh of anxiety I got in my car and headed to the town ball, my dress a pale shimmer blue with a corset left over from my family as I was part of a founding family of this town

Parking my car I got out and walked towards the entranced where music was already started and people dancing around or sipping on champagne

Before I got inside I was stopped by a hand on my waist

“Well don’t you look beautiful” my heart skips a beat and I turn to see Jeremy Gilbert, the guy I’ve loved since we were kids but I know Caroline and Elena would judge me

“You look quite dashing yourself Jeremy” he smiles as he hooks his arm with mine leading me inside

“And where is your date tonight?” I ask surprised the hottest guys I town doesn’t have one

“Don’t have one, the girl I want to ask is forbidden” he says as he gives me a longing look as he leads me onto the dance floor taking my waist in one hand and my hand in the other and swaying to the music

“Do I know this mystery girl?”

“Oh you know her very well, she’s gorgeous, quiet, shy, oh and my sisters friend”

“Bonnie I assume” I sigh a bit upset

“No not Bonnie, she’s here tonight wearing a blue dress that makes me want to drool” my cheeks flush and I’m at a loss for words

As I open to say something back I’m interrupted

“Y/n what are you doing dancing with Jeremy, don’t tell me you were desperate enough for a date you ask your best friends little brother” Caroline mocks

“I….he was being nice he wanted to dance Caroline” I stutter, she could be really harsh sometimes

“That’s kind of pathetic using my brother” Elena chimes in, I look back up at Jeremy and he looks angry, he was always sweet to me that’s why I love him

“I’m sorry I just wanted to have fun” I said as I felt Jeremy’s warm hand on my lower back rubbing up and down

They took their glasses of champagne and doused me in it getting everyone’s attention completely embarrassing me

I turn and run outside as I hear them laughing, letting the tears fall when I get to the bench that over looks the lake

What did I do to make them hate me I thought we were best friends, would it be so wrong for me to love someone as nice as Jeremy

“Hey are you okay?” Jeremy asks as he sits next to me

“I guess, probably my fault anyways I know they like to pick on anything I do” his hand comes to pull me close to his chest

“It’s not your fault they’re just cruel and they’re not your friends if they treat you like that, you deserve someone who treats you like the princess you are”

“You’re just saying that because I’m soaked in champagne and my makeup is ruined”

“No im saying this because I love you” he says tipping my head up so I look at him

“You do?”

“Of course I do I’ve loved you from the moment Elena brought you over when we were young”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to make you chose”

“I love you too Jeremy, and after what just happened I don’t think I have to chose anymore” he leans down as he pulls me into a kiss deep and passionate, having been craving this forever

“I’ve wanted that for so long Angel”

“Me too now how about we get out of here and get some food and milkshakes”

“It would be my pleasure”

[gamesetattach]

Lost in Translation

Jannik Sinner x Reader Little blurb that takes place on set for a Gucci campaign shoot, reader is surrounded by Italian speakers and at a loss. She tries to make do, but she ends up needing a little help. ... If you do speak Italian, then this simply does not apply to you and for that I'm sorry.

You could handle any campaign pitch, concept presentations, and last-minute creative changes from your intimidating, perfectionist artistic director without breaking a sweat. But what you weren’t quite prepared for was being the only non-Italian speaker on set at this Gucci shoot in a rural town just a little ways away from Milan.

The team had assured you it wouldn't be an issue—“Oh, no need to worry, everyone speaks English too!”—and that was true in theory. But in practice? Those on set were happy to be surrounded by fellow, Italian speakers, and so they understandably defaulted to their native tongue. Every instruction, every casual joke, every offhand comment went flying past you in rapid, expressive Italian. And you weren't about to ask everyone to slow down their flow just to translate for you every time.

So you got by. Mostly.

Context clues were your best friend. A raised camera? Time to shoot. Someone gesturing toward the wardrobe rack? Time to fix a styling detail. But sometimes, just sometimes, you’d catch yourself nodding along to something you absolutely did not understand.

Jannik had noticed early on. At first, it wasn’t even the language barrier that caught his attention—there was just something about you. The way you carried yourself, focused and diligent, though maybe a little uncertain, always scanning the room like you were piecing together a puzzle. He found himself drawn to the way you worked. How you tilted your head just slightly when concentrating, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your clipboard in between takes, the way you absentmindedly chewed your lip when listening to directions.

He saw the small ways you interacted with the crew—polite, professional, but also warm. The way you laughed lightly at a joke you only seemed to half-understand, the way your eyes flickered with quiet determination when you were trying to follow along with a conversation.

And maybe that's why he caught on to the hesitations.

It wasn’t anything obvious—you weren’t flailing or visibly panicking—but his eyes were on you enough to notice the moments where you lingered too long before answering, the slightly delayed nods when someone was expecting a quicker response. He noticed the slight pauses, the way your eyes flicked from person to person before responding, how you were just a little slow to nod. He saw how, when the director rattled off something in quick Italian towards you and some others, you'd wait a beat before agreeing and making your way to the general direction she was gesturing, subtly glancing at the others to gather whether you had assumed the task correctly.

At first, he just found it entertaining. It became something to track in the midst of the long hours, watching you manage to keep up with the already chaotic energy of the set. He was impressed, really. You were able to make do fairly well.

Until the moment when the photographer rattled off a question directly at you, and only you, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the monitor. You hesitated—too long, apparently—because Jannik Sinner, the set's main talent, leaned in just slightly from where he was adjusting the cuffs of his deep brown Gucci suit.

"She’s asking if you think the last set of photos should be in color or in black and white," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

You blinked up at him. His expression was neutral, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he’d been waiting to see how long you’d last before someone caught on.

“Oh—black and white, please,” you answered quickly, turning back to the photographer with what you hoped was confidence.

The photographer nodded and moved on, leaving you standing there, more than a little mortified.

Jannik, meanwhile, went back to buttoning his sleeve, his mouth twitching. “You’re managing well, though,” he said, and you weren’t sure if he meant it sincerely or if he was just being nice.

Either way, you exhaled a laugh. “Have you been watching me struggle this whole time?”

His lips parted, like he was considering denying it, but then he just shrugged. “A little.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help but smile. “And you waited until now to help? There was at least a few times when I didn't have a single clue.”

“You seemed to be handling it,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Then, after a pause, “But yeah… a couple times, I could really tell.”

You groaned, covering your face for a second. “God. How bad?”

“Not too bad. But, uh—” He tilted his head, an almost grin tugging at his lips. “You did agree to move the entire couch earlier.”

Your eyes widened. “I—what? When?”

“Antonio asked if you thought the position was a off. You nodded. So they moved it all the way over there.”

You stared at him, horrified. “That's why? But—No, I thought it was perfectly fine where it was!”

He chuckled, actually chuckled at that, a light, low sound that made the whole thing feel more funny than anything. “Yeah. I figured you didn’t mean to.”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Okay. Well if you're going to be in on this, you might as well to be in on this. So new, amended plan of action. If you catch me about to agree to something ridiculous, just… like, cough or something.”

Jannik, still amused, nodded solemnly. “Got it.”

And he did.

A little while later, the stylist came over, speaking animatedly as she waved a pair of statement sunglasses in front of you. You caught a few words—something about the view and visual impact—but when she paused expectantly, you hesitated again.

Jannik was already there before you could search for him, standing with his shoulder's squared to yours, and casually dipped his head to whisper to you. “She’s asking if you think they match the mood or if they’re too much.”

You grab his arm, grateful, but keep your eyes on the stylist. “Uh—yeah, they’re great. They fit the theme perfect.”

The stylist grinned, nodding in approval, and walked off. You turned back to Jannik, narrowing your eyes playfully. “How did you know that was coming?”

He gave a small smirk. “I’ve overheard the same question three times already. Then I saw her making her way towards you.”

For the rest of the day, whenever something was asked too quickly or an instruction wasn’t clear, he’d either subtly repeat it to you in English or give you a tiny shake of the head if he knew you were about to make another ‘couch situation’ mistake. Jannik found himself stepping in more often than he intended. It was almost subconscious—repeating phrases, offering translations under his breath, giving you a quick glance to confirm if you really meant to agree to something. And before long, you two found you had to stick close together for the plan to serve you properly.

It started as him lingering nearby, but soon enough, you found yourself instinctively shifting toward him, keeping within earshot. If someone spoke too fast, you’d glance over at him, and he’d either subtly nod or shake his head, giving you your answer before you even had to ask. When the director was calling for changes, Jannik would lean in just slightly, his voice low and amused as he murmured quick translations under his breath. It was almost seamless, a silent understanding between you both.

At one point, while you were adjusting his mic, someone called out from across the room, speaking fast and urgent. You went to turn towards the voice before Jannik, not even missing a beat, muttered, “No need to turn around. They're talking to someone else.”

Sure enough, someone was getting a stern lecture that had nothing to do with you. You exhaled in relief. “What would I do without you.”

He shrugged, eyes shining down at you. “Just doing my part.”

No one else seemed to notice the little partnership you’d formed. It wasn’t much, just tiny, whispered moments, but it the world of a difference to you. Everything was just a little bit easier, all your contributions just a little less delayed.

At the end of the shoot, as everyone started packing up, Jannik walked past where you were checking over final selects.

“You know” he said, pausing just long enough to smirk, “One of the questions earlier was if you wanted to give a statement for the local, Italian paper about the shoot."

You nearly dropped your tablet. “If I—what?”

“Don’t worry.” He started walking again, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “I coughed.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the dressing room, leaving you standing there, both grateful and so painfully embarrassed.

You owed him. Big time.

---

Don't super know where I was going with this one except that it's very much based off this past week for me but also not because I did not have a translator that doubled as a hot piece of ass face so boo

Hope it was fun, quick read tho xx

[quanruionechancepls]

Happiness is a Butterfly - Chapter 2: Blood is Rare (and Sweet as Cherry Wine)

Salesman x Reader

Content Warning: Substance Abuse, Child Abuse, Bullying, Dubious Consent, NSFW (This chapter is very graphic overall)

For more information, check Masterlist

---------------

Gongyoo was a strange man.

He expected you to cook for him, yet everything you made, he made better. Did he place that responsibility on you solely because you were a woman? In fact, it seemed he didn’t need you at all, as you would sometimes wake up to him ironing and folding his clothes, and other times, mopping the floors. He was fully self-sufficient.

The only area you had him beat was baking, but you weren’t going to pour your heart out into pastries for a man like him. Everytime you baked, you purposely switched out the sugar with salt, as it would be indistinguishable until someone took a bite out of it. You always prepped the night before, placing a fresh dollop of buttercream frosting on the salty cupcake the next morning, packing it neatly into his lunchbox.

For the first month, you assumed nothing was wrong. He always came home with the cupcake gone, either thrown away or eaten. You didn’t bother asking. He never thanked you for your labour, but he never complained about the food either.

Until one night, he stood guard in the kitchen, his eyes glued to you as your baking ingredients were spread across the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You asked as you measured the flour.

“Do you not know how to read labels?” The rude question aside, his tone was dripping with accusation.

“What?” You shot him a glare.

“Do you know how much salt I had to buy this month?” When you stayed silent, he scoffed. “You think I don’t know what you’re plotting? Bake properly, or don’t do it at all. No one wants to eat those disgusting salty cupcakes.”

You expected him to walk away, but he kept his mouth shut as he watched you measure and mix the ingredients together. The entire time, the quiet rage emanating from his body enveloped the entire apartment, and while you wanted to open a window to clear out the stuffiness, you also didn’t want to walk past him. He blocked you from leaving, so the only thing you could do was silently admit defeat and pour in the correct amount of sugar.

Gongyoo finally left when you popped the cupcakes into the oven after carefully inspecting your every move for nearly an hour, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he shut the door to his room. Perhaps it was a bad idea to rebel against him— just because he treated you kindly now doesn’t mean he’ll maintain this persona when you do something that he deems to be too far. The last thing you want is to be beaten black and blue because you caused him to snap.

And just like that, your feeble attempt to exert some power over him was destroyed with a mere warning— one you ought to take seriously.

With all your fight quelled, you quickly fell in line with the kind of wife he wanted. You woke up at 10am, and you spent your time around the house either cleaning, doing laundry, or cooking. At first, he was quite territorial about his room, but he eventually allowed you to enter on the condition that you don’t touch anything. It was a vague request, and you weren’t sure if you were allowed to clean it.

You also noticed how methodical of a man he was. When you looked in his closet, you were surprised to find dozens of the same suit, all perfectly ironed and ready to wear. His idea of a casual outfit was ditching the blazer and tie. In addition, you found more folded papers intended for ddakji, and when you took a closer look, they were folded so neatly you could’ve mistaken it as the work of a robot. There were no wrinkles or crinkles that showed a need for correction, only four sharp edges and the paper neatly tucked inside itself to give it an appearance similar to an envelope.

How did such a perfectionist put up with your salty cupcakes for so long? You were really lucky he didn’t grab you by your hair and throw you against the wall, rolling up his sleeves in preparation to beat you until you were bruised and swollen.

Despite Gongyoo being gone for most of the day, you didn’t allow yourself to relax until both of you had eaten dinner because you knew that only then, he wouldn’t demand anything of you. Your favourite part of the arrangement was your separate bedrooms and bathrooms. This was wishful thinking for sure, but when you snuggled under your covers, it almost seemed as if no one in the world could touch you, not even him.

As you made yourself more comfortable in the penthouse, which came a lot easier after you decorated everything to your taste, you noticed even more singularities about Gongyoo. At least twice a week, he wouldn’t come home at all. At first, he made sure to be back by 7pm sharp, but eventually, he pushed the time back further and further until it resulted in a text message informing you to not make dinner for him. It always occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

The cheating didn’t bother you, as you didn’t desire him in the first place. His money and his handsome face wasn’t enough to make up for the way your skin crawled every time he entered the room, especially if he stared at you for too long. No amount of acting could conceal how empty of a man he truly was, his life relying on routines and strict structures without room for indulgence. Even if he cooked and cleaned better than you, there was no emotion behind his actions, only duty.

In fact, you preferred the nights he was away, because the nights he stayed home were more frightening. The first time you heard it, you stayed up later than usual after binging a Kdrama in the darkness of your room underneath your covers. You were in the middle of a heartwarming scene between the two main characters when a blood curdling scream reverberated through the walls of the entire apartment. The usual huskiness of his voice was drowned out by an unsettling shrill, akin to nails on a chalkboard.

It nearly sent your heart flying out of your chest with how fast and hard it pounded, calming yourself with deep breaths as his screams continued for a few more minutes— you couldn’t be sure of the exact time. By the time he fell silent, you felt like you were more of a mess than he was, your entire body breaking out in a cold sweat, trembling in your bed as your throat dried up.

What troubled you the most was how ordinary he acted the next morning, as if he hadn’t destroyed his vocal cords with all his screaming as well as your eardrums. His hair would be slicked back and his suit was buttoned up as he silently munched on whatever you decided you wanted to eat for breakfast. Curiously, he never requested a certain type of meal either, he just let you choose what you wanted to make and went along with it.

At first, you heard it once a week. Then twice. Then it was every night he spent at home.

You weren’t always awake when it happened, and sometimes you’d wake up with a start, your body entering fight or flight as if you were in a horror movie, only to realize you were in the safety of your room. You debated staying up later so you could fall asleep after he got all the screaming out of his system, but you quickly realized it was futile because it happened randomly. Sometimes, it was 1am, and other times, it could be 6am.

While Gongyoo’s screams sucked the life out of you, your skin dull and dry with prominent bags under your eyes, he remained as radiant as ever. It was frustrating to find his natural skin glowing in the sun, the light hitting him from all the right angles, as you struggled to keep yourself afloat with your lack of sleep.

One night, when his screams weren’t letting up, you gritted your teeth and gathered all your remaining courage, uncovering your ears and lifting your blanket off you as you walked towards his room. The door to his room creaked, and he momentarily quieted down to a hum, but the calm didn’t last as his eyebrows scrunched, his hands gripping the sheets as he opened his mouth to shriek again.

You stood by the doorframe, trembling, wondering how you could possibly awaken him without getting hurt. Not only was he much larger than you, he also frequently went to the gym, always patching up his calloused hands when a new blister formed. A random swing in your direction could cause significant damage, intentional or not.

Still, you couldn’t leave him like this. It was mainly for your own sake, as you were losing your mind without sleep, but you didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that he was deeply tormented by something. It was mentally damaging enough to be haunting him every night in his dreams, an open secret you tried to wish away, but could no longer run away from.

You tiptoed towards the bed, your touch as light as a feather as you brushed your fingertip against the back of his hand, which was white from how hard he gripped the sheets. Gulping, you slowly peeled his fingers off, only to instantly regret it as he grabbed ahold of your hand and squeezed hard. Biting your inner cheek to stop yourself from screaming and startling him awake, you directed your focus to his upper body, sighing as his grip loosened slightly.

Brushing his bangs aside, you placed your hand on his forehead, surprised at how moist it was to the touch. “Gongyoo, hurry up and wake up,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. You pressed your finger in between his scrunched eyebrows, smoothing them out. “I don’t know what you’re dreaming about, but you’re safe. You’re at home, in your bed. There’s no one who can hurt you, in fact, you’re probably the one who can hurt me.”

You continued speaking to him softly, alternating between affirmations and shushes when he clenched his jaw in his sleep, grinding his teeth. After what felt like ages he finally opened his eyes, gasping for air as his vision struggled to adapt to the darkness. “You’re finally awake,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

“Fuck, I feel like shit,” he groaned, forcing himself to sit upright, pushing his damp hair back with his hand. It was the first time you heard such foul language leave his mouth, especially since he tried so hard to appear prim and proper.

“I think you should talk to someone about this. Your nightmares are keeping me awake too,” you suggested, and he glared at you.

“Mind your business.”

You huffed. “Well, I’ll continue waking you up then. I think I’ve endured them for long enough,” you replied, slipping your hand out of his grasp and walking out the door, shutting it behind you. ‘Suit yourself.’

-

Gongyoo didn’t expect you to stay true to that promise, but you did. Every night, when he inevitably drifted off when he couldn’t resist the sweet allure of sleep any longer, he’d be haunted by the same nightmare. He got them more often as he grew older. It was like clockwork— he’d wake up at 8am sharp in the morning on weekdays, waiting for you to cook his breakfast before he packed his lunch and spent the day monitoring previous winners. At night, he’d shower, brush his teeth, and stare at the ceiling for as long as humanly possible until he physically couldn’t open his eyes anymore.

He wished he could keep himself on autopilot with ecstasy, but he was forced to quit when the Host found out about his addiction. He recalled how horrible the first two weeks of his withdrawal symptoms were. At home, he could barely keep any food down, essentially living in his washroom as he kneeled in front of his toilet, his stomach churning as he gagged and choked on the bile creeping up his throat. He had to take an entire week off work because he physically couldn’t function— he didn’t eat, sleep, or even have the energy to walk around his apartment, yet he suddenly gained an abnormally strong craving for sweets, binging enough candy to cause 3 cavities if he wasn’t hygienic enough.

Everything was for the sake of avoiding those nightmares.

Truthfully, he didn’t want you to help him. You were the stunning bird he locked up in his cage, free for him to show off, use, and get rid of as he pleased. The Host told him to be your husband, she never explicitly said he couldn’t kill you. You were no better than the vermin he spent all day and night playing games with every year when the Squid Games rolled around, you just happened to be the one chosen to be a pet.

His little birdie.

And pets shouldn’t stick their nose in the business of their masters.

But nothing kept you away. No amount of glaring, passive aggressive insults, or even throwing his ddakji in your face deterred you from entering his room every night, holding his hand and slowly stirring him awake with your soft spoken voice. He always woke up feeling like he ran a marathon and just came out of a coma at the same time, his limbs weak and heavy, his body sticky with sweat. You never stayed once he was fully awake, undoing your interlocked fingers and yawning as you walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you.

Eventually, he just accepted it. He allowed you to wake him before he naturally jolted awake, gasping for air, covered in sweat from head to toe, his eyes moving erratically as if he was still on drugs. You were too stubborn for any sort of antics to change your mind, and he was too tired to continue resisting your kind gesture.

Sometimes he’d doze off again, other times he pushed himself out of bed and into the shower, washing off all the grime on his body left by the nightmare. He avoided his own reflection as much as he could, his eyes remaining on the marble wall or the tiles on the floor. He’d grown up with women fawning over his handsome face, but he couldn’t see what they saw. He didn’t see himself when he looked in the mirror, he saw his dad. If he grew out his stubble and stopped styling his hair, the resemblance would be so uncanny it’d send a shiver down his spine.

The most difficult part of his day was when nightfall came, the ghosts of his past trailing him as if he didn’t work his ass off to leave it all behind. Gongyoo felt the most at ease when the sun peeked through the clouds at dawn, signaling a start of a new day, giving him another chance to reinvent himself— to be anyone but himself.

Ever since you entered his life, mornings gave him a chance for normalcy. He’d open his eyes to the ceiling staring back at him, the scent of your cooking wafting through the entire apartment. None of your meals were anything special, but he imagined they were what a true homecooked meal tasted like, not his methodical step-by-step cooking that followed recipes to absolute perfection. Baking aside, he never saw you pick up a measuring tool, choosing to eyeball everything you made.

You, as a person, intrigued him. Why did you never ask him what his nightmares were about? Why haven’t you already started begging for him to love you? Other than the Host herself, who already had every detail of his life on file, you were the only woman who never pried. The women he previously had relations with were all so quick to throw away their dignity and beg him for the world. You were in a different position than those women, but you were still a woman nonetheless, and he assumed you would behave like his previous partners.

And just like that, a year flew by. He never asked you any questions about yourself— not that he needed to— and you never spoke to him more than necessary.

Other than his nightly terrors, his life was peaceful. Your methods of waking him up continued to improve, and his nightmares became shorter and shorter as you adjusted, although the nightmares themselves never got easier.

Every night, his life flashed before his eyes, from the very beginning to the present day. It was akin to an out-of-body experience, the film replaying over and over again but he could never step in and change the prophecy. It forced him to watch the most terrifying moments of his life while knowing all he wanted was to close his eyes and forget.

-

Gongyoo’s earliest memory was his younger self, barely the age of 4, reaching for the fridge on uncoordinated limbs. His dad drowned his sorrows in the form of fermented barley, the type of melancholy that seeped into every corner of their home, one that Gongyoo’s childhood innocence had no idea of. There were times his dad sobered up enough to cook up a meal for him, or even buy something at the convenience store if he was lucky, but most days, Gongyoo was left to his own devices. So, he learned to push a stool in front of the fridge, using his hands to grab anything deemed as edible. Even raw onion and garlic didn’t taste bad if he was hungry enough.

His mom? Well, he didn’t have a clue. He learned the hard way to never mention her in front of his dad after he was rushed to the hospital after a beating that resulted in a broken arm. His dad sobbed and begged him for forgiveness, but he never changed, and his curiosity stayed even as he sewed his lips shut. Was she dead? Or did she leave him and his dad behind for another man?

School was fun up until middle school. It was the only place he’d be guaranteed a meal, so he always made an effort to attend, even if he had to walk there on his own. There were days he couldn’t show up no matter how much he wanted to. The beatings that left his entire face swollen and purple happened three times a year, although he didn’t know the significance of those days except one: Mother’s Day.

Middle school changed everything. Grades started to matter, and he was the target of bullying because his dad barely made ends meet, so he was always behind in clothing trends and had no access to the shiniest new toy. He studied as hard as he could, but everyday on his way to school, a few kids would pull him into the alleyway and steal his homework. It was always at least a group of three, two holding him back while one dumped everything out of his backpack. They’d throw a few punches at him until he was too winded to fight back and run away with his papers.

When his grades slipped because his assignments were stolen, his dad expressed his disappointment in the only way he knew how: whipping him with his belt until his skin blistered. At first, he tried reporting the bullying to his teachers, but when it worsened and he realized no one would help, something snapped within him.

Gongyoo stopped attending school. His way of learning was borrowing books from the library, but it became less and less frequent as he fell down the wrong path.

He first realized his fighting potential when he single-handedly knocked out his bullies when they tried harassing him even as he stopped attending school— like father, like son. It escalated into him picking fights with anyone who irritated him until finally, a group of delinquents confronted him and demanded for him to join.

Pain and cigarettes became his life. After being beaten around his whole life, he didn’t let people think they could swing at him and get away with it anymore, quickly countering with his bandaged fist, the skin on his knuckles always raw and sore. The stench of blood and smoke was stained on his skin and clothes, the metallic iron pooling on his fists and inside his mouth. He’d swallow his own blood with a twisted smile, imagining it was sweet liquor running down his throat.

His blood tasted sweet.

At his speed of crashing and burning through life, Gongyoo genuinely believed he wouldn’t make it past age 28, but everything changed the day he turned 18. As he smoked in an alleyway, a man in a fancy suit approached him. Inhaling a puff of his cigarette, he held it in his mouth and blew it in his face, expecting the usual reaction of coughing or flinching, but the man remained still, giving him a polite smile. He was handed the same beige business card he gave out to people in the present day, a circle, triangle, and square on the front and a phone number on the back.

“This is a chance for you to turn your life around,” the man said to him.

If he wasn’t desperately trying to save enough money to move out of his dad’s apartment, he would’ve regarded it as trash, but something possessed him to run to the nearest telephone booth and call the number. The next day, a truck parked outside of his door, and a person in a pink jumpsuit approached him, telling him to go inside.

So he did.

He allowed them to take him to the middle of nowhere, huddled in a cramped space with dozens of other people. Some were equally as confused as him, and others sat calmly as they waited for the truck to slow to a halt.

They were escorted out of the truck and brought into a mysterious dormitory, each given a pink jumpsuit, a ski mask, and a black mask with a large circle where the face was supposed to be. He was trained to do menial tasks his dad never bothered teaching him, such as cooking, cleaning, and laundry. ‘This is strange,’ is what he thought at the time, not understanding why he needed his identity to remain anonymous for such everyday tasks.

When he first saw players being slaughtered without remorse, it was a bit of a shock to the system, but when a more experienced guard informed him of their paycheck, he quickly bit his tongue and turned his head the other way. After growing up with the scent of iron always lingering nearby, it didn’t repulse him anymore, rather, he found it comforting. The cleaning was relatively easy, with the tractors rolling away the bodies as he carried the coffin with another worker. At the time, there were only 200 participants in the games, so there wasn’t much to clean up as well.

He bawled when the money hit his bank account, having never seen such a huge sum in his life. He didn’t earn the money by beating up unsuspecting teenagers and stealing whatever they had in their wallets— no, he earned it without having to get hurt. It allowed him to immediately move out, and although he had to be frugal and rent a shabbier apartment, it was the first time he tasted freedom.

Other than a brief pause due to his military enlistment, Gongyoo returned to the games every year, becoming a soldier at the age of 22. His military training was fresh in his mind as he handled the rifle with expertise, pulling the trigger and enduring the recoil on his shoulder, shooting his victims directly on the forehead as his triangle mask concealed his sadistic grin. It was the first time he had a taste of power, and the way his brain lit up with dopamine everytime he exerted it was addicting. Even better, being a soldier paid better than a worker.

Two years later, he was on the same island, a rifle in his hand when a manager ordered him to eliminate Player 056 from his earpiece. He approached the player, his arms heavy and sore from carrying the gun all day, when Player 056 turned around, and he was faced with a familiar face.

It was his dad.

He recalled hesitating, watching as his dad collapsed to his knees, tears springing in his eyes as he begged to be spared. “Please, I need this money for my son! I need to clear my debts for him!”

At the time, it sounded like bullshit. When did his dad ever give him money? He had to beat his way into scraping enough together for a few packets of ramen at the convenience store, otherwise he’d starve.

So, he stepped closer, his body stiff as his dad crumpled further, the fear evident in his eyes. Gongyoo tapped the muzzle of his rifle against his dad’s forehead, his finger pressing down on the trigger, watching as blood and brain sprayed out of his dad’s head as his body collapsed. Taking a deep breath, he peeled his eyes away from the crimson flowing out of his dad’s head and walked back to his station.

In the privacy of his room, barely larger than a capsule hotel, hot tears poured down his cheeks as he gasped for breath in between sniffles. It was uncontrollable— everytime he tried to convince himself to stop, it seemed his body rebelled harder against him.

Gongyoo stared at his younger self who was wracked with guilt, knowing exactly why he couldn’t stop crying. If he dug deep enough, he found happy memories with his dad as well. The annual birthday cakes, swinging at the park together, taking him to the amusement park and laughing when he threw up after a roller coaster ride. In darkness, there were always cracks of light.

After that day, he couldn’t stand to fall asleep, the moment of his dad’s death replaying again and again. At times, he wondered if his dad cursed him in the afterlife once he found out the person who killed him was his own son.

Around the same time, one of his delinquent friends, who was now in a gang, introduced him to ecstasy. Ecstasy, molly, MDMA— whatever you want to call it, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that it kept him awake, and bringing him to a new level of euphoria was only a side effect. With the help of the drug, the only way he fell asleep was by passing out after days of pumping the substance into his veins through his consumption of pills. It didn’t take long for him to develop an unhealthy obsession with it, frequenting clubs and buying them in bulk. He didn’t need the measly effects of cigarettes when ecstasy offered something much stronger.

His life alternated between drugs and the Squid Games, partying, fucking, and killing his way through life. Was this what that man meant when he told him he could turn his life around? Ironically, he only felt more like a bum, despite having the money to live in a comfortable apartment and plenty of disposable income to spend on drugs and women as he pleased.

At 27, shortly after being promoted to the position of manager, Gongyoo began begging the Host— Oh Ilnam, at the time— for more work. He was willing to do anything he wanted, nothing was off the table.

His first job was being a waiter for the VIPs for an afterparty to celebrate the games, the mask tight on his face, making it difficult for him to breathe. He ran around the room for hours, constantly refilling empty cups, making sure the music was played to perfection, and generally being as accommodating as he could. Towards the end of the party, the waiters were given a 30 minute break with a drink on the house, an offer that Gongyoo took up gratefully as he gulped it down all at once.

His drink had been spiked.

There was no way for him to find out who did it, but the effect was instantaneous, his body burning with heat as his legs wobbled and shook. It was an aphrodisiac. Even behind the masks, Gongyoo could feel the predatory gaze of the VIPs. He could practically feel their eyes wandering his body as the drug overwhelmed his senses, and he forced himself to stand his feet and stumbled out of the room, accidentally knocking over a few glasses and flinching as they shattered on the floor.

Bursting into the nearest men’s washroom, he nearly collapsed as he fumbled to close the door to his stall, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat, and he winced every time the fabric of his clothing rubbed against his skin, his sensitivity dialed up to 100. Unable to take it anymore, he clumsily unzipped the fly of his pants and pushed down his underwear, gasping as the cold air hit his cock and thrusting into nothing.

He was so wet, his cock dripping with precum before he’d even touched himself. Gulping, he struggled to comprehend how mindboggling it would feel if he began stroking himself, almost scared of the electrifying pleasure. At the same time, he couldn’t leave himself like this— he needed to return to work, and the amount of blood rushing to his cock made it so hard it was painful.

Biting his lip, he ran his finger on his cock, his body stiffening as it twitched violently. After a few more seconds, he decided he couldn’t procrastinate anymore, enveloping his entire cock in the heat of his hand, almost doubling over as he groaned. His entire body was convulsing, and he hadn’t even finished yet.

The door creaked, and Gongyoo froze as the sound of footsteps entered the room, someone turning the tap on as he heard the water running in the sink. Blushing at the idea of being caught, he began pumping his hand on his cock, biting the thick fabric of his sleeve in an attempt to muffle his noises. He sped up when the person left the bathroom, falling to his knees as his cum spurted directly onto the door of his stall.

Gasping, shaking, and shuddering, when his vision finally cleared, he was horrified to find that he was still erect, the heat pooling where he desperately needed relief. Gongyoo recalled the enormous knot of shame and humiliation that formed in his stomach, fighting back tears as his hand reached for his cock once again.

Ilnam was understandably pissed, as Gongyoo’s actions offended many VIPs and ruined the mood of the party, with some of them even pulling their investments. Gongyoo had to beg him to check the security cameras, averting his eyes as the footage of him desperately jerking off in the washroom appeared on screen, his face burning red.

“I see, it wasn’t your fault. Okay, I’ll let you go by simply firing you.”

“Please, sir, don’t fire me! I’ll do anything to make it up to you!”

He couldn’t allow Ilnam to let him go like this. Gongyoo didn’t know how to be an adult, he never even had a job outside of the Squid Games. After being swept up at 18, being part of the games was a key part of his identity.

Ilnam, a playful man and a lenient master, brought out two folded papers intended for ddakji, and told him to flip it a hundred times in a row. It took him hours to complete the task, his arm feeling like putty attached to the rest of the body once he was finally done. Frustratingly, he kept reaching the mid-90s, only to fail and having to restart again.

When he finally reached 100, Ilnam allowed him to become a recruiter— to work in the outside world.

Gongyoo had to completely reinvent himself to become a recruiter. It wasn’t a requirement from Ilnam, it was simply his own self-loathing that drove him to change. He had to become like the refined man that recruited him all those years ago, otherwise, he couldn’t represent the games.

It started with him doing a deep clean of his apartment, scrubbing every inch down to the corners of the walls, ridding it of all stains. He cut off all his friends who he deemed to be bad for his image, like gang members, although he kept the contact of his supplier. Then, it escalated to him getting rid of all his old clothes, replacing them with a dozen of the same suit, some in different colours. The sales associate looked at him as if he was crazy, but neatly wrapped them all for him as he walked home with the bags. Most importantly, he needed to perfect ddakji, practicing day and night until he could barely lift his arms, but it made him unbeatable.

He kept his drug addiction under wraps, having his supplier secretly ship it to his apartment instead of going to the club and picking it up himself.

Then, Ilnam became incapable of managing the games by himself, and he introduced Gongyoo to the woman who would succeed him— an illegitimate daughter who recently turned 21. Gongyoo was the first to be made aware of her existence and have the opportunity to see her face, a privilege few had because she guarded her identity fiercely. He personally introduced her to all the ins-and-outs of the games after all his years of experience.

Only a year later, a new position was made: the Frontman, filled by Player 132 from the 2015 Squid Games. After years of labour, Player 132 overtook his position overnight due to favouritism from Ilnam’s daughter. To make matters worse, the Frontman was unrefined, constantly causing messes that needed to be cleaned up, and often used the favouritism he received to his advantage. Gongyoo had completely cleaned up his image for a scum of a human to shatter his world in an instant.

The relationship between the Frontman and the new Host was an open secret, a necessary one to protect him against the hungry VIPs. With the Frontman glued to her hip 24/7, Gongyoo could only pray for the brief moments when the Frontman was away, allowing him to have a taste of her, running his hands through her hair and her soft skin.

Unlike the Frontman, Gongyoo never overstepped his boundaries. He never ordered the Host around, waiting for her to come to him of her own volition. She was the closest thing he knew to a goddess, being the daughter of the very man who changed his life for the better. It was ridiculous for mortals to order around gods and goddesses.

Then, in 2019, he overdosed. All the molly he’d secretly been taking caught up with him all at once, the euphoric high he desperately chased was long gone, and the drug only functioned to make him a working member of society. His tolerance was so high that he fell asleep even after taking the drug, and it drove him to take more and more and more until it bubbled over and left him unconscious in his room, barely breathing, when a manager discovered him.

When he opened his eyes again, he laid in a hospital bed, staring up at a grey ceiling as the Host sat by his bed, the Frontman standing beside her.

“Gongyoo, you need to quit. You seriously almost died. You can’t take them anymore.”

And that was that.

He quit, enduring all the pains of withdrawal.

And he succeeded, like he always did.

-

Gongyoo awoke. There were none of his usual dramatics, like gasping for air, his intense sweating, or trembling. He simply opened his eyes to find himself unable to comprehend visual information, as if a veil covered him.

“Are you awake?” It was a woman’s voice, but she sounded far away, as if she was speaking to him from across the apartment. It couldn’t be the case though, because he could clearly feel her soft touch in the palm of his hand. His eyes drifted in what he assumed to be her direction, but they remained unfocused, and he could only make out her figure, not her face. “You seem conscious to me.”

Before she fully pulled away, Gongyoo tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her closer to him, and after a brief moment of the sound of slippers shuffling, her body weight weighed down his chest. Using his sense of touch to guide him, he moved his hand up, stopping when he reached her scalp, running his hands through her hair as he buried his head somewhere on her body, possibly her neck, and inhaled deeply. She smelled of L’eau Papier by Diptyque.

Was she the Host? The Host always smelled like L’eau Papier right before bed, a clean, slightly sweet rice scent in a starchy way.

Flipping her over, Gongyoo pinned her down in his bed, his hand holding both her arms above her head. Though his vision wasn’t fully working, he could still vaguely make out the important parts of her body, from the valley of her breasts to her hips. “What are you doing?!” She yelled, squirming beneath him, but Gongyoo had her exactly where he wanted, and he tightened his grip a little more.

“Just comfort me…” he trailed off, his hand slipping underneath her shirt, pinching her nipple as he felt his way to her neck, kissing, licking, and nipping at the skin. Her body stiffened, tiny squeaks occasionally escaping her lips as she attempted to hold back her voice.

Gongyoo removed his hand from her nipple and moved downwards, his fingertips grazing against her soft skin as he fumbled with her pants, trying to slip his hand into her panties. He didn’t recall the Host ever dressing this conservatively in front of him, but he didn’t think much of it as he traced his finger around her clit, eliciting soft whines from her until he pressed down and heard her gasp, feeling her arching into him.

Pressing his lips against her jaw, he worked his way up until his lips found hers, continuing to rub circles on her clit to force her mouth open for him to explore. Gongyoo didn’t know what time it was, but she tasted oddly sweet for what he presumed to be the middle of the night. Did she eat a piece of candy right before he kissed her? He found himself subconsciously smiling into the kiss, picking up the pace as she ground her hips into his hand and came with a loud squeak.

Gongyoo waited for her to stop trembling to feel his way back to her pants, sliding everything off until her bottom half was completely bare. Releasing her arms, he held her thigh open as he traced the entrance of her pussy, soaking his hand in her slick as she quietly whined. Smirking, he inserted two fingers at once, causing her to jolt and let out a long moan as he pumped in and out of her, occasionally bending his fingers to brush against her g-spot, only to straighten them again when she tightened around him.

Once he felt he’d sufficiently loosened her up, he pushed down his boxers and lined his tip to her entrance, groaning as he pressed into her. Without giving her time to adjust, he slammed his hips against hers, moving at a steady pace, aiming at the spot he deliberately avoided earlier to tease her. She gasped and trembled beneath him, her hands firmly gripping the sheets, tightening every time he hit her g-spot. With one of his hands palming her breasts through her shirt and the other pressing on her clit, she came with a loud gasp— the kind that only happens when all the air leaves your lungs.

Turning her over on her knees, her ass facing him, he continued on his pursuit for his own climax, throwing his head back in pleasure when she clamped down on him every time he thrusted back into her. Was she always this tight? Perhaps she finally stopped letting the Frontman climb all over her at night.

He wanted to be rougher— to have her begging him for release as he spanked her, but he knew she’d kick him out of the room the moment he acted on those thoughts, so he simply grabbed her arm and held her steady as he thrusted into her, gritting his teeth and swallowing his desire. As her walls clenched onto his cock again, he rode out his orgasm with a last few hard thrusts, groaning her name until he went soft, slipping out of her as she whined from overstimulation.

Collapsing beside her, breathing heavily, he reached for her face, brushing her cheek and pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.

[baestruly]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ dating ━━ bellamy blake

⋆˙⟡ SO protective but not jaring

⋆˙⟡ he’s always asking how you are

⋆˙⟡ ❝good, princess?❞ 

⋆˙⟡ if you ever get hurt, he will never leave your side and will always be touching you in some way whether thats your hand or your head, he’s softly running his thumb up and down to comfort you

⋆˙⟡ ❝i’m so sorry this happened to you.❞

⋆˙⟡ ❝if i could i would do anything to make your pain stop, princess, i’m sorry.” 

⋆˙⟡ he’s so jsjfjffdjfjgjf

⋆˙⟡ the biceps guys. 

⋆˙⟡ so ofc he’s gonna catch you staring whether thats if he’s doing absolutely nothing or training

⋆˙⟡ ❝like what you see, princess?❞ 

⋆˙⟡ he loves to see you get flustered so he’ll either keep asking you what you like so much or he’ll walk up slowly to you to kiss you (if you’re in private things will def escalate) 

⋆˙⟡ okay, he will literally watch you so closely all the time, especially when you’re in a hostile situation. yeah he looks around the area to make sure it’s safe first but after that his eyes burn into you to make sure you’re always okay or safe

⋆˙⟡ he just admires you so much 

⋆˙⟡ for example, if you were reading or drawing he will stare at you with the smallest softest smile ever 

⋆˙⟡ because he just loves you so much and can’t imagine ever loosing you

⋆˙⟡ ❝i can feel your stare, bell.❞

⋆˙⟡ ❝too pretty to not look at.❞ 

⋆˙⟡ or he’ll just laugh and tuck strands of hair behind your ear 

⋆˙⟡ if you ask to train with him he will gladly agree 

⋆˙⟡ only because he knows he could always get the upper hand—but he never doubts you, he knows you could probably beat his ass but he knows all your weaknesses (he just knows you so well) 

⋆˙⟡ ❝bell, you don’t have to go easy on me.❞ 

⋆˙⟡ ❝is that right?❞ 

⋆˙⟡ he smirks when he beats you, pinning you to the ground gentle enough to not hurt you 

⋆˙⟡ sometimes he gets carried away that you get the upper hand 

⋆˙⟡ ❝i could get used to seeing you on top of m—❞

⋆˙⟡ you slap him lightly as you laugh 

⋆˙⟡ he doesn’t get CRAZY jealous — he knows you would never do anything to hurt him. but he does just get annoyed and becomes to you, adorably angry

⋆˙⟡ he’ll prob also be side eying who ever he’s jealous of

⋆˙⟡ ❝why are you pouting oh my god—❞

⋆˙⟡ ❝i’m not pouting.❞ 

⋆˙⟡ ❝is this because i was talking to the really handsome, lovely—❞

⋆˙⟡ ❝okay, enough.❞ 

⋆˙⟡ after s2 and the events at mount weather, you guys help each other through dark times

⋆˙⟡ at night, he's always the big spoon, wrapping his arms around you

⋆˙⟡ his way of trying to let you know you're safe, even if you get any nightmares, he will be there by your side in an instant

⋆˙⟡ will whisper sweet things into your ear and run his hand softly down your arm and hair until you can go back to sleep

⋆˙⟡ ofc he comes across as arrogant and scary to everyone but with you he just softens up sm

⋆˙⟡ he's super goal oriented and determined so if there's a way he can do something on his own (outside of camp) without you being at risk, 100% he's gonna do it

⋆˙⟡ he will not tolerate you ever talking bad about yourself he absolutely hates it because you're the most amazing person in the world to him

⋆˙⟡ will literally sit you down and start having this deep conversation about how much he values you and all the ways you shouldn't think that about yourself. he will always be there to support you

⋆˙⟡ knows how badass you are but swoops in when you need him

⋆˙⟡ he would be watching you in training beating someones ass and he's just off to the side, his arms crossed as he smirks at you

⋆˙⟡ he's just a proud bf !!

masterlist / bellamy blake masterlist

[summerofspock]

Tagged by @shichidikai and @bageltopia to answer 20 writerly questions. Thanks so much for the tag! Some of these answers are embarrassing lmao

How many works do you have on ao3?

194 (in my defense I have been on there for over 10 years)

What's your total ao3 word count?

2,392,769 😩

What are your top five fics by kudos

Just One More (It Couldn't Hurt) - Star Trek

Car Trouble - Good Omens

mad or well-advised - Good Omens

South Downs - Good Omens

Under Construction - Good Omens

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently? One Piece and I'm fiddling with Arcane behind the scenes without posting. But I have written for Avatar The last Airbender, Game of Thrones, Star Trek, The Magnus Archives, Silmarillion, My Hero Academia, and MXTX works.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

OK so my inbox is a fucking mess. I do try to respond to comments but once I fall behind I fall so behind. And once I start getting mean comments or concrit, it's hard for me to go back and respond to comments on a fic. Usually, I'll respond in a big wave to comments on the last chapter before posting the next but sometimes I forget.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really write unhappy endings. 🤔 I currently have an abandoned wip that ends at an unhappy spot and I have a few dead dove oneshots that are pretty angsty but no multichaps. Maybe feather of lead.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They are genuinely all so happily ever after fluffy that it's hard to choose. Maybe Car Trouble. Or after all the angst, you might consider the ending of such small words super happy. Idk.

Do you get hate on fics?

Depends on how you define hate. I get comments telling me I made incorrect choices or that my fics are wrong in some way for doing xyz. I get character hate. I've been told I'm a bad person for writing certain kinks or tropes on pwps or that I'm perpetuating stereotypes and that's damaging. Annoying shit like that.

Do you write smut?

Lmao yes

Do you write crossovers?

I've done it once! Star Trek/Good Omens for shits and giggles.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

One time. It got taken down fairly quickly though.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! A handful of times. It's always so cool when people ask.

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes. With my beloved collaborater naromoreau. I think we have like eight fics we wrote together? Probably about 200k collaborated words at this point. I've learned so much from her and nothing is as fun as writing with her.

What's your all time favorite ship?

I will probably never get over spirk.

What's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hot Sugar. I'm so sorry but I lost the will.

What are your writing strengths?

I am a fast writer. My methods of getting through writers block almost never fail. But those aren't strengths that translate to the page.

On the page, I think I'm good with character psychology and motivations which I think shows up well in dialogue, pacing and plot beats. My writing is concise mostly because if I don't have a reason for including something, I will cut it. I'm a brutal editor and will kill my darlings without remorse.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I am a fast writer lmao which sometimes means I write too much and quality dips massively because the mental reservoir will empty and I end up tapping an empty well. While I like to think I am concise and efficient at conveying things, I sometimes think I "underwrite" or perhaps "overtell."

Thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages?

As a younger writer, I did it but only because I spoke that language. I think there might be value. Here we come back to, if you can make a compelling argument for *why* it serves the story then I'm open to it but also you better check with someone who is fluent.

First fandom you wrote for

Star Trek. Unless you count my notebook scribbling of inuyasha fic when I was 14.

Favorite fic you've written

God ok. I've written nearly 200 fics across a gazillion fandoms so there's a few. Most recently life in your shape for One Piece because I challenged myself to write something low conflict and loved how it came out. Watermark from Good Omens. And Grossly Undeserved from Star Trek.

I just love writing about what love means to different people!!!

If you read this whole ass thing then have a kiss on the forehead and know i love you.

I'll tag @naromoreau @softzosan if you'd like! Most other folks I know have gotten tagged already!

[grumfield]

i'm humbly begging for tips on how to plot/structure a long-fic 🙏😔

ok please do not take this as law whatever, because I have been told time and time again that my process is insane and very antithetical to a lot of creatives but that’s how I work on literally all of my long projects SO. neuroses be upon ye below the read more.

I’m a hardcore planner and don’t like to start things without clear direction. If I’m planning something long that isn’t a self contained story, this is how I visualize it. It’s sort of the way that weekly serialized TV works, probably because I went to film school and used to want to be a showrunner, so I approach it with the mindset that I am the showrunner of my own weekly serialized one man show

And then each “story” is broken down like this:

(Keep in mind the beats above are very metaphorical. Funhouse just means the key facets of their character are on full display, like evasiveness or whatever, and seeing how they interact with the overall physical events of the world. Bad guys isn’t always bad guys, it’s just the looming threat, like a deadline)

Now onto the actual process. This is through the lens of shippy fics so it’ll usually be using terms/goals within that context!

“The thesis” is the first thing I decide and with and when it comes to fic it’s often a ship. It’s just the overall goal or point of what you’re writing. If you’re writing a shippy fic, your thesis is “X and Y Character get together” and everything that happens within that thesis is ultimately in pursuit of them getting together and then their happily ever after. The complexity of what happens for that to come into fruition is up to you.

“Thing I want to have happen” is usually a progression of a romance beat or the development of the relationship. Awareness of feelings, kissing, sex, etc.

“The story” that happens is the set of circumstances that lead to those beats, and for longfic pacing, I find it best to have each of these be thematically self-contained narratives to push things along.

Here’s an example:

Joe is in love with Brad, and they are in high school. “Story 1” they are paired together for a school project, and by the end Joe realizes that he enjoys Brad’s company, and invites him to his party. “Story 2” is Brad getting ready for the party, working up the courage to go, and then they play spin the bottle. By the end, Brad realizes that he likes kissing Joe. “Story 3” Joe has been avoiding Brad because kissing made him feel weird, but then he finds out they’re rooming together on a school trip. After they spend time together, they mutually realize they like each other and want to date; and screw. Then they go to prom, happily ever after”.

You have 3 separate situations with 3 different developments in Joe and Brad’s relationship. This sort of idea can be expanded to galactic scale, because ultimately when it comes to anything about people, human drama is all relatively the same. I think the important thing for longfics, both for keeping yourself interested and others, is providing some closure for some threads while opening up new doors, and this is conducive to that.

As for the individual story structure, that’s just how I plot everything self contained, it’s Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat Beat Sheet. I like compared to other plotting structures specifically because of “Theme stated, Fun and Games/promise of the premise, midpoint, and dark night of the soul.” I find that each of these are really conducive to understanding how to propel a story forward when you’re stuck, which can happen often when working on big projects.

Theme stated is usually what the characters need to learn, stated by someone else. It’s less a motif present and more of an emotional goal that the protagonist isn’t emotionally aware of and is resistant to. In romance it’s usually “you need to open yourself up more” said by a friend. This is usually a good thing to keep in mind in each scene, because sometimes if you write yourself into a corner; you can fall back on this and try and work out what your character can do next. Is Joe antisocial and needs to learn to trust others? and you’re not sure where to take it? Have him try being avoidant to Brad during their partnership, and Brad push back against that. Additionally, a great way to add drama is to have characters fall back on their old ways/not ingest the lesson of the theme.

Fun and Games/Promise of the Premise: basically just shennanigans that happen based on what you’re setting out to do. If Brad and Joe are working together, it’s the moments that arise from that. Moments where they clash, or go to the library, or one of them skips out on doing the project. Anything that they could experience while working together, as well as the romance implications of that. Bad guys close in is an extension of this—usually a deadline is approaching.

Midpoint: when everything seems great. For example, say you don’t know where to take Brad from the Fun and Games, have them create a really good project! They’re finished working, and realize they enjoy each other.

Dark Night of the Soul: they lose the project, they fight, Brad doesnt show up for the final practice and Joe feels betrayed. Anything that sets them emotionally back to square one, and then something happens to rally them once again to finish their school project.

In a big project, the big emotional issues may not be fully resolved from this, but from a plot basis, it gives you an idea of how to keep plot-based emotional momentum that all works through the ultimate development of the the thesis.

The theme of each arc should be different as they start to learn new things, because rehashing the same material doesn’t keep that momentum you need. So, if Joe learns to open up in arc one, maybe arc 2 is about him examining what he actually wants out of relationships with others.

Fic is a great place to do this because there’s so much shit you can mine for each story arc, and is really rewarding to readers when you bring it into play. And if you run out of that, eventually you can mine older arcs you write and bring their content back into play too. When you do this it basically allows you to have infinite arcs and shit if you want which is fun, and how TV shows go on for ages, for better or for worse

Anyways hope this is as in any way helpful! This is just how I do it haha