#before it really makes anything in my brain I think

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[chiscaralight]

nsfw kinich x reader i have a request for this but i cant find it in my inbox😭

kinich isn’t one to get jealous easily. honestly it pisses you off a little bit. not that there’s anything wrong with being secure in your relationship.. it’s just a little weird. but nothing that with bother either of you too much. or so think.

because it ends up being the littlest things that creep through his calm demeanor, making his eye twitch just the slightest bit as you converse with an adventurer from another nation. and he manages to calm himself for the most part, pushing how easily the conversation flows between the two of you to behind his mind while he stands off the the side, waiting for whatever stupid exchange you were talking about to end so you guys can finally leave. but when ajaw materializes beside him, purposefully saying something about how you look happy talking to that damn adventurer. he decides enough is enough and grips your wrist to drag you away. of course you protest, but his mind is made up and his steps are heavy and direct back to his house.

hes almost throwing you through the door, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang as you finally find your balance. what is his problem today? but the only answer you’re met with is his lips hard on yours. the gasp of surprise you let out is just enough for him to shove his tongue into the warmth, claiming your tongue as his, just like he’s going to do with the rest of your body today.

and you’re so sore, covered in teeth marks and hickeys as he rams into you from behind. you stopped counting orgasms long ago, brain inflated with overstimulation as the only thing you can hear him mumble is mine, mine, mine over at and over again. you’re whining into the sheets, cunt leaking with a mixture of your essence and his cum that he’s been pumping you full of since the first time he came.

you’re almost sure your head is full of mush now, because when you raise your head up, the only thing you can get out is-

“m’ all yours.. all yours kinich,”

and he whines, pressing his chest flat onto your back as he comes for the nth time. he’s the one shaking now, arm wrapped around as he fucks the rest of his orgasm into you. it’s a split second before he’s falling off to the side, barely missing the opportunity to fully lay down on you with all of his weight. not like you would have cared, you’re entirely spent anyways you make sure to turn to face him though, cupping his warm face in your hand as you close your eyes.

“he really was just asking for directions. who would’ve thought you’d get this worked up, hm?”

the only response you get is a huff and a hand over yours, his body moving closer to you as you start to lose yourself to the exhaustion.

[backinmyphase]

Not alone

Synopsis: After your horrible introduction to each other, Satoru and you have finally time to get to know each other on your honeymoon now. That's everything that is happening - surely right?

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 2800 words

Series Masterlist

I want to thank all of you for the support and the comments, I'm so happy other people like my writing <33 Anyway I hope you like it!

"I can't believe I really listened to you. What am I doing?"

Gojo grinned to himself and went on as if he didn't hear you.

"To the trainstation, please." He handed the cab driver the destination and sat next to you in the back instead of the front.

And suddenly his body was so close, his presence became impossible to not notice.

"I'm so happy to be able to convince you." He looked out of the window.

He sat so relaxed, legs stretched apart and his body lying comfortably in the seat. How could he be so relaxed?

"They'll freak out. Kill me. And then wipe out my clan. In that order."

Gojo laughed. "Sure they will."

"They really could." You shook your head and looked out the window on your side.

"No, they couldn't. They don't dare do anything to you." His voice was full of confidence.

'If only you knew what they dare to do.' You thought about the letters. 'If only you knew.

"Just forget about them, okay?" You felt his body turn towards you. "It's always just higher ups this, clan that. Just try to relax."

"Yeah, yeah." you whispered and look outside. You could see the pitiful look of the driver from the side mirror outside the car.

What were you thinking? This morning you somehow thought that it wouldn't be so bad to just leave. And Gojo looked at you so full of expectation that you didn't want to disappoint him.

But now?

The only thing you could see as you closed your eyes was the disapproving face of your mother. She wouldn't have done anything that would damage the clan's reputation.

And on top of that the panic began to settle.

You were on your honeymoon. Alone. With your husband. It the higher ups don't kill you, well, they will at least expect a child. Or expect you to expect a child. Doesn't matter.

You couldn't even breath near Gojo out of panic, how could you sleep with him?

He yawned loudly, breaking you away from your thoughts. His eyes half lidded open, he stretched his arms.

Maybe it wasn't just the panic.

You looked outside again to hide the on creeping redness on your face. It just wasn't fair. You weren't made for this, weren't made to be Gojo's wife. He just was so… Gojo and you were… Well you.

The two of you just don't make a good pair.

And surely not a good heir, which will be your doom.

"You look tired." his voice was since yesterday really soothing somehow. "When we are in the train you can sleep."

"Are you sure?" you looked at him as he smiled.

"Yeah, I will wake you up."

You smiled hesitantly back. "Thank you."

~

"What were you thinking? I mean-" your mother paced through the room of the arrangement. "Have I taught you nothing?"

Her voice was loud, piercing, ready to hurt you. As she stood before you, you made yourself ready. "You have to inform the higher ups! Is that to much for you stupid brain?"

"I know mother." your voice trying it's best to be steady as you looked at the ground. "But Gojo…"

She shook her head. "Don't come me with that, it is ridiculous! As if he would be soooo passionate about going with you to the honeymoon! Do you think I'm dumb?"

She looked you in the eyes. "You two are not that close. You prove that every time you talk about him."

"But he was really excited to see…"

"God, stop with your excuses! We are not mad you are on your honeymoon and you know that!" she raised a hand to shut you down. "We are mad because you didn't provide us with information like promised."

You hung your head a bit lower, the guilt pushing you down. You didn't feel guilty because messing up, you felt guilty because you seem to have disappoint her yet again. After she gave you all these chances.

"Yes, mother."

She sighed. Her voice becoming unsteady for a second. Suddenly you felt a cold hand creeping up your back making you shiver.

"You have to get yourself together."

The hand caressing your cheek while wind blew inside your ear. Was there someone beside you?

"All of Jujutsu Society is counting on you right now. A new heir is needed to keep the world balance right. And you are the one needed right now."

The cold fingers went down to your throat. First careful, then more forceful. You wanted to stand up and scream, kick around yourself, but you didn't want to seem that crazy in front of your mother.

"Do you understand?"

Carefully slow your head rose. The hand now pressing down and chocking you slowly.

"Yes, mother."

She smiled. But it wasn't sincere. No, it was her mask smile, the one she kept on when the arrangements occurred. Steady and stern, not revealing anything.

"Well then you can say it to them directly."

The room around you began to spin and transform. Dizziness flooded you, but you were unsure if it came from the sudden change or the deficit of air. Or both.

When you could see through the spinning, a room full of nothingness became clear. The only thing you could decipher was-

"Mrs. Gojo. We thought we were on the same page."

The presence of the higher ups.

You couldn't speak, no everything was blurry and dark and just… Just unbearable. Your body seemed like a prison that kept you there, your mind trying to push out of it.

"Didn't we make ourselves clear?"

You didn't get any air anymore, tears started to dwell up in your eyes. When was the last time you let yourself cry like that?

"Mrs. Gojo. We THOUGHT you knew now of what your importance your marriage to Gojo Satoru is. Why we have to know your decisions."

You hiccuped and almost choked on your tears.

"So WHY did you just LEA-"

A sudden push and pull of your body made you jump. Your eyes now blinking wide open, while the world seemed to keep spinning.

"Hey… Hey! What's wrong??"

You kept your eyes open and the only thing that didn't spin were the eyes in front of you. The sunglasses pulled down, Gojo's blue eyes were wide open. The world around you seemed to stop spinning and you started to feel his close presence.

"Nothing, I'm okay." you looked down and noticed his hands on your shoulders. His grip on you was steady yet still soft.

"Are you kidding me? You were crying in your sleep just now." He tried to look you in the eyes as you looked stubbornly onto the ground.

"I just had a nightmare." you winded yourself out of his soothing grip. "Are we there yet?"

You looked him in the face with your usual mask on, trying to hide the panic in your head. Gojo frowned and looked almost concerned.

"Next station. But are you sure you're okay-"

"Alright, perfect. Thank you." hastily you cut him off, not wanting to go deeper into the topic while you smiled your best 'everything is alright' smile at him.

He swallowed it. For now.

But his hand was still close to your shoulder. And he didn't pull it away. While looking outside he spoke again.

"We will sleep in the little hotel of Hinas Grandmother. It's not far from the train station."

You nodded while trying to calm down from the roller-coaster of emotions you were just on.

"Okay, then let's get our things now. We are almost there."

~

"Gojo, let me carry on thing please." you pleaded while following your husband as he shook his head.

His hand on your suitcases and an additional backpack on his back. "No chance. I'm not letting you carry anything. You are exhausted enough."

You looked around seeing the stares of other people in this small place. It must have been a really odd picture. A big man carrying two suitcases behind him while his wife was just following him. Oh god…

"Please Gojo, people are staring." you whispered to him but he just whistled with a smile on his face.

You sighed and embraced your fate. He was really something.

"There it is!" he nodded in direction of a small old, building. It had charm and you couldn't help but smile.

You opened the doors for your stubborn husband and adored the older structure of the house. And at the counter stood an elderly woman smiling at you. You couldn't help but smile back.

"Good day to you two. Sleeping here for the night?" she spoke calmly and slow. And still had that glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, we have reservations on the name Gojo." Gojo smiled and leaned onto the counter while holding his ID. The woman looked at it and gasped.

"Oh, you were the lovely couple Hina told me about! Of course we have a room for you two. Honeymoon, wasn't it?" she smiled at you.

You wanted to disagree but slowly it dawned to you. She thought you were married. Well, you were married, but she thought you were married because you wanted to.

"Yes, Honeymoon. Took awhile to convince her to go here." Gojo laughed while taking the key.

"Oh, really?" the woman looked at you surprised.

"Well, that's just not right." you gasped while taking your own suitcase before gojo could take it. "I didn't want to leave immediately, but he wanted to just go, go, go."

"Well, Darling, I just couldn't wait." He grinned at you with that sparkle in his eye. "Is that so bad?"

"You know it is-"

The woman laughed and shook her head. "Oh you two…" she swiped a tear away. "Young love is so refreshing."

You couldn't help the blush that was creeping up again, for the second time this day, and just wanted to hide your face forever before he saw you like that. You looked at the stairs.

And there stood Gojo ready to go upstairs. Smiling at you.

You cleared your throat, while hoping to get a grip on to yourself and pulled your things behind you. "Thank you for the lovely Hospitality."

"Oh, any time." she waved as you stood before the stairs. "Just make yourself at home. Just like Hina has a home at yours."

You waved back, while smiling, before pulling your things up. You forgot how heavy it was, since Gojo carried it till here. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking for his help and proving that you were just as exhausted as he thought.

As you stood before your room you raised an eyebrow at him. "Darling?"

He smiled and turned around to open the room with the key. "Oh, you know. Just slipped."

"Really?" you pulled your things into the room, while following him. He chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. And, well, we are here just a married couple. Not an arrangement for the future of the jujutsu society. So we should act like one."

"Suree." you looked around. And horror began to settle.

You were registered as a married couple. So you had only one big bed. And a normal married couple wouldn't have problems with that, would it?

"I will take the couch." your voice was much more quiet now. It was like they were here, chanting that they need a heir. And you shouldn't be so irrational.

"No way." he shook his head. "You look like you need days of sleep. I'm not letting you sleep on the uncomfortable couch."

"It's not a problem." you walked over to the couch and sat down. It wasn't comfortable, he was right. But who would hurt a little lie?

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. "Let's make a deal."

You looked him in the eyes, in those beautiful eyes. "I'm all ears."

He grinned. "You lie down in the bed for now and sleep till evening while I explore the town. You need the sleep. And later we can discuss who sleeps where."

"I don't have to sleep nooooo-" a yawn interrupted you. "hw. Forget it. Let's do it like you said."

He grinned even wider while handing you the backpack with water inside. "Then make yourself comfortable."

He stood up and took his things and the key. But while pulling the door handle down he stooped.

"Oh, and one thing." he took a book out of the backpack and handed it to you. "I read this before sleeping. Helps me. Even for nightmares. Just in case."

You looked at the title of the book and it said 'Before the coffee gets cold'. A black cat on the cover and you couldn't help but smile.

You looked up at him and chuckled to yourself.

"Thank you, Gojo."

~

You did have problems sleeping. It wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable.

But you couldn't help but think of the things that the higher ups expected you to do on it.

The covers laid heavy on you, while your hand reached for the book Gojo gave you. A chapter couldn't hurt. And maybe he was right and it really helped.

He was really nice to you. He seemed to make an effort right now. And you appreciated that he wanted to make this arrangement easier (since he was really making it hard in the beginning).

And he was so nice and open to you. And he helped you with the luggage and while sleeping. And his eyes were so-

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

No that wasn't happening right now. Not after you just had a couple of conversations. It couldn't be.

But as you read a couple of sentences and felt yourself relaxing to the story, you knew that it was. You couldn't fight the smile that made it's way onto your face.

God dammit.

~

Satoru was worried about you. You looked like you didn't sleep in weeks even though it could have only been last night. You were stressed.

And as much as he wanted you to relax, he couldn't force anything that would just stress you more.

But it was so nice to see you smile from time to time. After all the silence and hiding was it like fresh wind.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo already going out?" Hina's grandmother smiled at him while going through the oages of the visitor book.

"My wife is tired, and I wanted to explore the town." he made his way to the counter again. "Do you have any advice for good restaurants? Or cafés?"

"Oh, I do." she smiled at him. "Sato's kitchen down the street is lovely. And the atmosphere is perfect for a romantic dinner."

She sighed. "My husband and I went there a couple of times, when we were younger. It's a lovely place. Not cheap. But lovely."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you, that sounds like something we have to check out. And anything for take out? I don't want her to have to move again today."

She laughed. "Aren't you a gentleman! Well if you look for good take out, we have a good ramen shop in the main street."

"Then I have to check it out." He made a little dramatic bow. "Thank you for your wisdom Mrs. Sato."

She made sure it wasn't a problem as he left. And if he has any questions of what to do here with his wife he could just come to her.

And he wouldn't forget that.

~

Your body felt heavy as you heard a quiet creak. Your eyes were shut and your head felt a bit dizzy. You still held the book in your hands as you heard a couple of steps.

"You back, Gojo?" you mumbled, your eyes not wanting to open.

"Yeah, but it's not important just keep sleeping."

You wanted to sit up but your body felt heavy. You groaned as you realized what that meant.

"You tricked me…" you weren't sure he would even understand your mumbling. "I'm sleeping now in the bed, and I can't do anything about it…"

You heard a light chuckle that made your traitor of a heart jump.

"I didn't trick you, we had a deal. And now we decided that you sleep in the bed and I sleep on the couch."

"We didn't decide anything…" your voice became more of a whisper as you felt your consciousness drifting away.

"Well," his voice was suddenly really close. "You only have a say if you drop the last name."

Your eyes opened and looked into his. He sat at the end of the big bed, head on his hands as he looked at you.

"I'm Satoru. We are Gojo." He smiled.

"And as Mrs. Gojo you are not alone."

Your eyes fell shut after that. And maybe you were just imagining that. But it still made you feel traitorous warm inside.

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[t00thpasteface]

amore mio, we need to pack up and go...

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑺𝒏𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑹𝒖𝒏*

Pairing: Jeongin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None, however this is a bit short. Sorry for any mistakes.

These were Requested from my prompt list 11: “How’d you know?” And 54: “wait- you said yes?”

-🖤

It was pretty late but here you were sitting by the river with some snacks with your bestie. He had texted you earlier asking if you wanted to go for a late food run with him. You guys went to your go to spot by the river. It was always so peaceful at this time too, only really hearing the sounds of the water. You sat beside him on the ground as you both munched on some snacks watching the people pass by. Talking about anything and everything as always.

“Do you think we could swim across the river?” He asked making you laugh. “Probably why don’t you try it” you teased nudging his arm. He rolled his eyes at you as he shoved a piece of sandwich in his mouth. As it was getting later it started to get a bit colder out making you shiver. “I should have brought my jacket” you say moving closer to jeongin. He turned his head a bit trying not to show that he was blushing. “Want mine?” He asked already taking it off. He was always so kind, a gentleman if you will.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold though?” You asked tilting your head a bit. He shook his head handing it to you. You gladly took it putting it on and sighing happily feeling the warmth. “Ooh it smells like your cologne.” you said smiling.

He coughs clearing his throat trying to bring his mind back. His heart fluttered looking at you wearing his hoodie. The way your eyes shinned with the moonlight and that smile of yours that just lit everything up. You really just made his mind a puddle.

“Ew look at those people” he said pointing at a couple sucking face on the bridge. He chuckled awkwardly. You laughed back “that could be us” you said smirking not making eye contact with him. His heart thudded, hearing it thump in his ears. If his face wasn’t already a bit red from blushing earlier it’s definitely red now. He turned to you with wide eyes. “W-what did you say?” He asked his voice a bit shaky.

“I said. That could be us. But you won’t ask me out” you shrugged a bit. His mind was going a mile a minute “what.. what do you mean” he stuttered out. You rolled your eyes “what do you mean what do I mean, you’ve liked me for how long now right?” You said turning your head. A couple months ago, while talking to his mom she told you about how he liked you. ‘I wish he’d get the courage to date you already, he’s been saying he’s gonna ask you out for like a year or so now’ she admitted.

It made your heart melt knowing he felt the same way towards you. You’ve been crushing on him ever since you met him. I mean how couldn’t you? He was so kind, funny and was always there for you when you needed him. “How’d you find out..” he said softly looking at you but as you met his gaze he almost franticly looked away.

“Your mom told me, but I kinda had a feeling” you said with a smile. He felt almost an out of body experience. His mind racing but also almost blank he wanted to say so much but also couldn’t say anything. “I- and what if I’d ask you out then?” He said his words fumbling as they left his lips.

“I’d say yes dummy” you said with a hum. His eyes were widened as he looked at you now “wait- you’d say yes??” He said back almost not being able to believe what you just said. “God you’re unbelievable sometimes” you chuckled “of course I’d say yes, I’ve liked you for a while too” you admitted.

As if those words pulled him in his brain felt like it finally short circuited. His body moved without thinking and he kissed you. You both felt surprise from the action non the less though kissing back. When he pulled away you both just stared at each other for a moment. Before he broke the silence “Will you go out with me? Be my girlfriend?” He said finally. “I- I’ve liked you for awhile but I’ve been to scared to say anything” he admitted “but god do I wanna be your boyfriend, to be able to kiss you like that all the time and see you all cute in my clothes” his mouth was now going non stop.

Rambling everything out as he talked. You couldn’t help but smile leaning back into kiss him. You both melted into each other’s touch blush across your face. “That was a nice way of getting me to shut up” he chuckled. “I’d love to be your girlfriend innie” you said eyes locked with his. They sparkled so bright like they were the stars in the sky above.

“Really!” He said it coming out so fast. “Yes dummy really” you said rolling your eyes. As you both sat there you laid your head on his shoulder as he slowly reached for your hand. “Y/n I’m happy to finally have you as mine” he said softly. “I’m happy to finally be yours innie” you said in almost a whisper.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Every since you wrote it it hasn’t left my mind and i love it so much

Just that one part in A Glimmering Collar, where we finally get tired of Jason avoiding us and we write down “I want you” poor Jason i bet he was was so happy and in disbelief, i bet reading those words, finally finally we want him whether just for the moment or we accept him and what he’s doing

He comes back at night when we’re waiting for him and he’s bringing his hand up to touch our face to prove to himself that this is real, not a fantasy that his tortured-self conjured up to have an escape and we accept him and maybe even lov- what…what do you mean you just want your questions answered? But you said-

I bet his little heart cracked more, feeling blindsided by this what do you mean you want answers he already told you, you don’t need to know or worry about it, answering things makes everything more complicated and makes him vulnerable and jasons just wants us to understand that everything is fine why do we need answers why can’t you just accept this accept HIM

Idk those are just my thoughts i love the way you write AK! Jason and i can’t wait to see what u write next about him! Precious boy he’s been through so much

NONNIE!!! Ahhh, yessss!! This is exactly what I was trying to portray in that scene!! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts! 💙

Let me ramble here, Jason comes into your cage apartment, just as he does every night. He's told you this, but he has no idea how you feel about it. But he wants you to be comfortable here, comfortable with him.

He checks the notepad, the one that almost always sits pristine and empty on the glass table, but this time, there are words on it. His heart rate spikes. You're asking for something. He almost feels giddy. This is his chance to prove that he can be worth something to you.

Expect, the words don't quite make sense in his brain. Alll you've written is 'you'.

Jaaon doesn't know what to do with that. He could wake you up and demand an explanation. Fall to his knees, and thank you for giving him a chance, for still seeing that he's still your Jason.

Instead, he leaves the apartment and spends the next twenty-four hours trying to figure out what you could mean. He doesn't manage to get a clue before the sun has set again, and he knows that it's about the time you go to sleep.

So, he gathers all his courage and goes to you, and the air leaves his lungs because it's you, it's always been you and you asked for him and he doesn't know what to say. He reaches for you cause he needs this to not the some sick prank the universe is playing on him and asks if you meant it.

But then you're confused. You want him to take the mask off. His stomach is twisting when he does. He needs to know if you meant it. That out of anything you could ask for, everything he would have given you, you wanted him. So he asks again.

And then you tell him you just want answers. And his heart drops. He lowers his hand. Because, of course, this wasn't what he hoped it was. None of his dreams ever come true. He can never really have you.

You want answers. He doesn't have any other than you need to be here. He can't tell you that you were the only thing he held onto in that asylum. So he drapes the choker around your neck and thinks, maybe, in this way, at least a part of you will be his.

[willowrites]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 ✦ 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. where sam was there to help y/n when she had a rough day and resorted to unwinding in a not-so-healthy way.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. okay so i was just thinking for a sam golbach fic reader relapses (self harm) cuz their mind has been getting too much lately, and maybe sam helps them clean up and then helps take care of them and makes them feel loved nd just like lets them know that they don't need to do that because he's there from now on?? if that makes sense. also maybe not an established romantic relationship but maybe it ends up that way? like sam tells reader he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if anything happened to them he just cares a lot about them and yeah

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. ANGST ! third person pov, talks of self harm, relapsing, descriptive literature, friend!sam, friends to lovers.

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. if anybody needs anyone to talk to i’m here! 🤍 sorry this took so long to post & write! this one hit really personal for me but id okay to say ive healed & im continuing to heal from my past. if anyone is going through similar hardships, you can get through it! i believe, love, & support you always.

y/n told herself she wouldn’t put herself in this position again. she wouldn’t.. but sometimes things don’t go as planned.

she had tried to stay strong, to stop letting her mind control every action she took; it just became too much. she sat on the cold tile floor of her bathroom, tears making their way down her flushed face. she gripped the item as she took the first swipe, lightly but firm enough.

just stop. she told herself. her hand shook as she went to repeat the action. she looked at her skin i just need to feel something, she thought. something other than what im feeling now.

she had been doing so good but somehow found herself back at square one. all that work that she had done was all gone. she felt hopeless, as if this never ending black hole of despair would stay with her for the rest of her life.

she took a minute to think on her life and what could have went wrong to cause her to relapse. all those thoughts had no specific effect on relapsing, its just her brain had begun to spin a web that caused her to get stuck in her head all day. what else can i do? she thought as she took another swipe at her skin. she planned on continuing until she heard her bedroom door open.

her heart dropped to her ass. “y/n..?” the voice had confusion laced in their voice.

sam.

it was sam.

the blonde boy was one of the things that y/n had in her life that truly made her happy. he was her best friend. she never told him that but she truly meant that with every fiber of her being.

y/n quickly wiped her tears when she heard the footsteps come closer to the bathroom. wiping the tears would make the tear stains disappear but the thing about breaking down, you’re left with that struggle of trying to catch your breath.

she couldn’t stop gasping, trying to breathe calm and collectively. that’s why as sam stopped right beside the bathroom. he heard a small gasp escape her lips that caught his attention.

his eyebrows raised in confusion. he put his head beside the door trying to hear something else. “uh.. y/n? you in there?” he knocked. he received no answer. multiple questions and thoughts ran through his mind before he opened the door.

sam had seen many things in his life, traumatic even, but this — it was like his heart had jumped, dropped, did a tumble, and self destructed all in the span of 3 seconds. he instantly became nauseous at the sight of y/n holding a blade to her forearm. the small cuts that had caught his eye before she covered her arm and hid the blade had his blood run cold.!

the second y/n had been caught she felt guilty and embarrassed. she felt pathetic, like she wasn’t strong enough to handle the hard reality of the real world. immediately, she stood up and faced sam. “i-im sorry you weren’t supposed to see that.. it’s not what it looks like.” she sniffled trying to contain her tears. “i… it just, lately everything has been so crazy and i haven’t … i haven’t done this in a while but… but everything has just been… too much.” she rambled out, trying to explain herself.

sam’s face of confusion faltered. he thought about her words. the way she mentioned in a while had him wondering what caused her to relapse and fall back into this situation. he scanned her face. she’s too pure to be suffering like this. he paused thinking of what to say but truly all that he wanted to do was give her a hug. so that’s what he did.

he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her protectively. she melted into his touch. her lip quivered as she wrapped her own arms around him. her body shook as more tears cascaded down her face.

sam felt his own eyes sting with tears. “i’m sorry.” he choked up. “i’m sorry you’ve been going through all of this alone.” he rested his cheek on her head closing his eyes trying to stay strong for her.

y/n hasn’t said anything, still feeling guilty. sam pulled away and looked down at the floor seeing the blade and a tissue beside it. he picked them up and threw both away.

he turned back to y/n who had a tired look on her face. “as long as i’m here nothing will hurt you, okay? i will be here for you. you can depend on me. you don’t need to do this anymore to yourself y/n, i won’t let you.” he took her face into his hands. “i promise, i love you and im always here for you no matter what.”

y/n’s heart raced as sam’s words really effected her. she nodded pursing her lips and biting her cheek.

he brought her head to his mouth and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “i mean it y/n. i don’t know what i’d do with myself without you. you complete me.”

y/n’s eyes scanned sam’s face noticing how his own eyes began to water and become puffy. the scene before her causing her throat to close. “m’sorry i promise i wont do it anymore. i love you sam and… fuck — i know i shouldn’t be doing that. i just didn’t know what else to do.” she leaned against his chest.

“i know, i know baby but from now on you can talk to me about it. about anything. i care so much about you. you truly have no idea how much i…” he stopped himself not wanting to overwhelm her. “just know you mean the world to me. you are and have been my priority since we met and that’s never going to change.” the reassuring words causing y/n to relax.

y/n started to get inside her head, wondering what if he got tired of her, if he’d leave her, what she’d do or how she’d feel if that happened — or even worse; if she would be a burden to sam.

sam noticed y/n zoning out. “hey, tell me what you’re thinking please.” his hands reached down to grab her own.

she took a deep breath. c’mon y/n. she blinked a couple times trying to sort her thoughts. “don’t wanna be a burden to you.” she admitted to which sam immediately shook his head.

sam brought her hands to his mouth kissing her knuckles. “you could never ever be a burden to me. you keep me pushing through every day because i want to be the best for you. to be the best friend you deserve and… and whatever the future may hold for us — i want you there always, okay? don’t ever forget that.”

his words wavered through the air and stood there so you could process what he truly meant. you thought on it, picking up some hidden message that you’d both communicate about later but as of now, he truly helped you feel understood and seen. as long as you had him you’d feel physically, mentally, and emotionally secure and protected.

© willowrites

[squinch-depraved]

first charlie post,, i hope you enjoy i've never written for him before but this was in my brain so here you go

the music spilled out of the speakers and reverberated in your skull, helping to usher in a developing headache. you searched around desperately for a friend who could help you get home and smiled softly when your eyes settled on charlie. he was standing across the room, leaning against a wall as he observed the goings-on of the party. you remembered him mentioning earlier that he didn't plan on drinking that night, so you inched your way through the crowded space and tried not to blush when his face lit up at the sight of you.

"can you help me get home?" you slurred slightly. you had to repeat yourself twice, each time him leaning his ear closer to your lips until he could understand you over the incessant din of the gathering. once he understood you, though, he put his hand on your shoulder and leaned in to speak to you this time.

"of course! let me tell some people bye and then we'll go," he replied, almost yelling in an attempt to be heard. you nodded and followed him as he waved bye to some mutual friends, and before long, you two were stepping out the front door and joking together as you hopped in his car.

"god, it was so loud in there," you mumbled, sinking down into his passenger seat.

"it was a party," he joked. "i think that's kind of a given for any large social gathering."

"it wasn't that loud all night, was it? i coulda sworn it wasn't that bad earlier this evening," you asked him, glancing at him as he drove. he'd only been to your place twice, but apparently it was important enough for him to remember how to get there.

he laughed quietly and nodded. "the volume was pretty consistent tonight, i would say."

you nodded pensively and rested your forehead on the window next to you, staring out at the city lights whizzing by in the dark. "was really hoping to get laid tonight," you complained quietly. you didn't think he heard you, but charlie gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to come up with anything else to say besides what first popped into his head. it was quiet for a moment before he let his impulsive thoughts win.

"i wouldn't mind helping you with that," he said lowly. you almost didn't hear him, and in the long, drawn out seconds before your response, he took in a shallow breath and mentally cursed himself.

"really?' you asked meekly, turning your head to stare at his profile. he kept his eyes trained on the road.

"yeah, i mean, if...if that's something you wanted." he gulped quietly and made a turn.

you thought for a moment and nodded before remembering he might not be able to see you in the dark. "i think i would enjoy that," you admitted, a smile audible in your tone. you could just barely make it out, but he grinned and nodded ever so slightly.

your face flushed at the realization that he had been wanting to fuck you for a while, but had just never reached out to ask. it made sense, he always behaved differently around you than other people, but somehow you had never put two and two together. you wished you had noticed sooner; you were sat there next to him for what felt like minutes grieving all the time you could have spent riding him until he spoke and pulled you out of your fantasies.

"it's this street, right?"

you shook off the thoughts and nodded again. "yeah, turn here, then make the first left, and three places down is me."

"awesome," he stated, carefully following your instructions and parking on the street in front of your home. you turned to look at each other for a moment before giggling awkwardly and tucking your hair behind your ear.

"you wanna come in?" you asked, nodding your head back towards your home and biting your lip.

charlie took in a shaky breath and smiled, eyes flicking down to your lips. "i really do," he replied. you cupped his face in your hand for a second, running your thumb over his cheek before retreating and stepping out of the car. he followed, locking it behind him as he walked behind you up to your porch.

you let the both of you in, pulling him close for a deep kiss before you walked inside. stunned, he trailed behind you, mesmerized by the taste of your sweet mouth.

"fuck," you hissed when you flicked the light switch, immediately turning them back off and instead switching on some lamps strewn across the main area. "you want some tea? 'm gonna make myself some," you yawned. "sober up a bit."

charlie nodded and followed you once again to the kitchen, picking out a tea bag from your stash and sitting down on your couch like you told him to while you changed clothes and made your drinks. after what felt like an eternity of him wondering what was going to happen when you got back, you appeared out of seemingly nowhere, extending a mug towards him while you sipped on your own.

you plopped down next to him and put on a movie, something neither of you would pay attention to but good enough to have on in the background. half an hour passed, the two of you joking with each other and sipping your beverages, and soon your headache was gone.

you weren't sure how you ended up underneath him, kissing him fervently and moaning every time he ground his hips down against you. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he kissed and bit your neck, and you squealed when he lowered himself to be between your thighs. planting a wet kiss to the inside of each, he pulled down the shorts you had changed into and gently took your underwear in his teeth, looking up at you innocently as he maneuvered them off you.

bare cunt exposed to him, you moaned in anticipation. charlie grinned and placed a sloppy kiss on your clit, savoring the noises that fell from your lips as you squirmed underneath him. he began eating you more eagerly, spurred on by your pornographic noises.

you ground your hips down onto his face, feeling the ridge of his nose press into your sensitive nub as his tongue worked on your sopping hole.

"fuck, charlie!" you gasped, legs wrapping around his head. he moaned into your pussy at the feeling of being smothered between your thighs. "oh my god!" you cried out.

rocking back and forth on his face, tangling your fingers in his hair, you approached your high quickly. his eyes were closed, blissed out from how good you tasted and the thought of how good he was able to make you feel. he flicked them open to watch your face as you came, though.

eyes screwing shut, head falling back, you wailed loudly as your orgasm barreled through you. you kept repeating his name until he finally pulled away to kiss you. the taste of yourself on his lips made you crave more.

"can i fuck you now?" he panted, hovering over you. you nodded vigorously and grabbed at his pant loops. he grinned, ego boosted, and began unbuttoning them, quickly sliding them off and tossing them onto the floor. his boxers followed soon after and you tried not to stare at the many inches between his legs while he positioned himself back between your legs.

"you ready?" he asked breathily.

"please, charlie," you begged him. his smile grew slightly and he pushed himself into you, the both of you letting out airy moans while you got used to the feeling of each other. after a moment, he began thrusting, rolling his hips at a reasonable starting speed.

the more noises you made, the more he sped up, pumping himself deeper and deeper into you until you were a mess under him, unable to form words any longer.

charlie just kept singing your praises, calling you beautiful, kissing you gently, making sure you knew how appreciative he was and how badly he had needed this, needed you, for such a long time. you just sat there, babbling incoherently, the occasional phrase able to be deciphered, usually, "so good," or, "fuck, i love your cock."

once he began to get close, he started getting sloppier, letting more of his weight rest on you and biting down on your skin harder. "where do you want me to finish?" he panted, breath hot against your neck.

"mm- tits!" you pawed at him until he got off your chest, still pumping into you as he watched you peel your t-shirt off over your head, leaving you completely naked. the sight of your breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts was enough to send him over the edge, and he groaned erotically as he thrust a few final times before pulling out and pumping himself in his hand over your chest, leaving his hot white seed to spurt out and land all over you.

you dipped your finger in his cum and brought it to your mouth, tasting it greedily while he groaned once more at the sight, filing it away to remember next time he was by himself. he stepped off the couch and walked to the kitchen, coming back with something to clean you off with.

you let him take care of you and convinced him to follow you to your bed, clinging onto him all night.

he didn't sleep at his own place again for a week.

[latenlghtdevil]

Recipe For Disaster ❤️‍🔥 Chapter One

So, here's the result of my head chef!sukuna x f!server!reader ideas running rampant in my mind — a very slowburn enemies to something fic 🫣 I hope y'all enjoy and lmk what you think, my asks are open!! mwah xx

2057 words

Head Chef Sukuna Itadori had worked very, very hard to get to where he was today— sweating his ass off while slaving over the umpteenth filet of the night.

He wasn't ungrateful but he was a bit bitter. He loves cooking, and was damn good at it, but the hours were long and the job could feel really thankless. Especially when tables found it more than okay to completely change his prepared menu for their singular order.

As a ticket printed, riddled with modifications that changed his entree for the night from a marinated steak option to, basically, a steak stroganoff. Yes, he could make it using all kinds of ingredients they had on hand, especially since the server had managed to figure out the complicated system in order to ring it in properly, but, he wasn't going to do it. It wasn't prepped or planned for, and in the middle of a dinner rush like right now, it would complicate everything.

He didn't make exceptions. Unless there was an allergy, his restaurant, Gōrudosutā, was not a place for substitutions and and picky eaters. Sukuna spent his countless sleepless nights racking his brain for new creations, each weekend night offering a different menu, most items never to be repeated again. This wasn't anything new, so who the fuck rang something like this in?

He yanked the ticket off the printer, his eyes narrowed as Geto gazed over his shoulder, scoffing as he read it. A deep breath escaped Sukuna before he crumpled the ticket, the newest servers name printed boldly at the top.

Sukuna didn't like you during your interview, he felt like you were too bubbly, but you had plenty of experience and it was ultimately Satoru’s say, as the front of house manager. He definitely had a lot to say about you.

He couldn't stop gushing about all of your previous high end restaurant experience, starting in fast food and working your way well up from there. Great reviews about her service, wonderful recommendations from every manager she's ever had, regulars who'd follow her no matter where she worked next.

It irked Sukuna. He loves the restaurant industry, but the servers who put too much into it irritated him. There was no reason to fall at the customers feet and accommodate their every beck and call; your job was to serve the food, no friendliness and frills needed.

So the first time he stepped out of the kitchen during the earlier hours of a slower night and overheard you dotting to one of your tables, he wanted to barf in his mouth.

He stood with his back against the wall near the servers station waiting for Saturo to stop sucking up to an unhappy customer, as you stood with your table just around the corner, chatting happily.

“I don't mind at all,” Your soft voice caught his attention, making him glance over his shoulder at you, a bright smile plastered on your face. “Seriously, if there's anything else you guys need, just let me know.”

You finished topping off the tables waters, before moving to the next, just doing your rounds of check-ins with your guests.

You couldn't be that sweet, Sukuna thought to himself. You hadn't been there long at that point, maybe worked a shift or two without shadowing anyone, so he hadn't been around you much to know, but his gut told him that you couldn't actually be that sweet, you'd be filled with cavities.

He was lost in thought, glancing over the dining room with his arms crossed over his chest, his chefs coat pulling tightly against his muscles. He was brought back to this realm as a sweet smell enveloped him as you round the corner, your head down as you read over a ticket, running straight into Sukuna and nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“Oh…” You placed you hand on your chest as you looked up at him, his eyes on you intently as yours quickly trail around his tattoos before meeting his. “I'm sorry, Chef.”

He couldn't find it in himself to say anything, his brow furrowed as he glanced at your notepad, the edges of the ticket littered with doodles. A small grunt left him before he turned on his heels, heading back toward the kitchen.

“Corner!” Sukuna called as he left you behind, your mind now filling with assumptions about the dickhead chef, nothing you hadn't delt with before.

As his mind replayed your last and only interaction, he reached behind himself, untying his apron as held the ticket tightly in his other hand. “Geto, watch the flattop, I'll be back.”

Sukuna stepped off the line, tossing his apron onto the empty prep line, his footsteps heavy and determined as he moved toward the front, the kitchen and expo widow falling quiet at the look on his face. He didn't call anything as he stepped out of the back, his eyes falling on you in the dining room, talking to the table to blame for the whole issue in the first place.

You felt his eyes on you before you even knew he was there, your hands nervously playing at the edges of your server apron, your pens rolling in the pocket. You nodded softly, your heart in your stomach as you space out of the conversation, wishing you'd been able to listen better to the story your regulars were telling but you knew the problems there were about to cause.

The older couple had become regulars of yours a few years and a couple of restaurants ago, having told you many stories of their younger days, bringing in their children and grandchildren to meet you, bringing you presents on your birthday. They weren't the only regulars you'd had like that either.

As draining as the restaurant industry was for you, you loved giving the best service you could to people, you couldn't ever explain why. Maybe you were a bit too compassionate, but it made you feel good and you loved the genuine connections you've made through it all.

That being said, you know it has its faults, especially somewhere like here. You'd been nervous about telling some of your regulars where you'd been working now, knowing just how they are and how this restaurant ran.

You made an excuse to leave, claiming you had food to run as you turned around, his steeled eyes meeting yours. You broke your eyes from his, offering a half hearted smile at a few of your tables as you made your way through the dining room, feeling like a lamb to slaughter.

Thick fingers held the receipt paper up to your face as soon as you came within feet of him, and you could've sworn he growled before he spoke. “What’s this shit?”

“Looks like an order to me.” You shrugged, sliding past him and to the computer, quickly punching in your number before beginning to ring in another.

You could feel the bewildered stare from Maki, one of the servers they've had since opening, boring into the back of your head. She couldn't believe you had the audacity to ring in something like that in the first place, having already warned you about just how quickly Sukuna would appear, now here you were being a smartass about it.

The same finger that held the receipt just a moment ago reached behind the computer, jamming the power button in the middle of your order. You take a deep breath, eyebrows knitted together as you look over you shoulder at the culprit, his eyes already staring deep into yours.

“I need to see you in the kitchen right now.”

His tone left no room for argument as anger began to rise up inside you, your fists clenched at your side as he turned, the swinging door slamming roughly against the wall as he marched back into his domain.

You felt every hair on your body standing on edge as you followed behind him, eyes begrudgingly set on his muscular back, the dark fabric clinging tightly to him. He stops abruptly, slamming his hand onto the expo counter, the stacks of plates around him rattling loudly as silence fell upon the entire kitchen.

“Now, what the fuck kinda order is this?” He seethed through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as he saw red. It didn't feel like blatant disrespect for him, until you opened your mouth back there.

“I think it's pretty simple. Isn't that all the ingredients that you used in the stroganoff you served last week?” You responded, a hand placed on your hips as your eyebrows raised, your head tilting slightly. You'd been here plenty of times before, arguing with countless line cooks and chefs over just about anything you'd could think of, but there's a few things that haven't changed anytime.

You do your job correctly, and you won't back down. So here the two of you stood, toe to toe, at the beginning of something catastrophic. An absolutely recipe for disaster.

“It was on the menu last week, not tonight, sweetheart. You said it yourself.” His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, trying his best to keep calm. He’d been talked to years ago about his attitude toward the other staff, causing him to often bite his tongue.

You couldn't help but laugh at the nickname, willing to assume he'd already forgotten your name. “And don't you have everything back there to make it still? Did I ring something in wrong? I'd be more than happy to go rering it if you'd like to turn the computer back on.”

You offer a sickeningly sweet smile, batting your lashes a bit as you stare up at the man seething before you. “I'd like you to go back there and make it your-fuckin’-self, honestly. You think it's alright to ring in an order that'll complete fuck up the whole system I've got back there?”

A head full of pink hair and a thick fucking skull, got it. This man was quickly becoming a pain in your side, even with this being your first interaction since his manager had hired you.

“I think a competent chef would be able to work out his own recipe.”

“I think you're fighting too hard for a measly 20% tip.”

“You're must be fucked up if you think I earn that little.”

“You're fucked up if you think I'm making this shit, sweetheart. Now march back out there and tell there and tell your geriatric home to pack it up and eat somewhere else if they don't like the menu.” He barked, all attention on the two of you as both of you continued to raise your volume.

Satoru came running into the kitchen quickly, his nonslip shoes squeaking as he stepped between the two of you, giving his chef a bewildered look.

“Get her the hell outta my kitchen.” Sukuna refused to even acknowledge the mans presence between them, his eyes boring into yours.

“Get your head out of your ass.” You could see his pulse thumping on his neck, a small vein stating to appear on his forehead as his breaths continued to heave from his flared nostrils.

Within seconds, Gojo spins, peering over his glasses, his blue eyes silently pleading with you to help him. You couldn't help but huff at the shithead chef once more before leaving the kitchen, finding the host Yuji, Maki, and a couple other servers waiting near the door.

“You okay?” Maki asked, her tone a bit harsh but her face genuinely concerned as your booming voices could be heard quite clearly in the dining room. You chuckled and shrugged, smoothing your apron a bit as you glanced at the computer screen, still attempting to start back up.

“I'm fine, he's a prick, but I could've guessed that.” You smiled softly as Satoru slipped out of the kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff that Helps me Write: Pacing (no, not that kind), and burnout avoidance

So this was supposed to be about something entirely different., but every time I started making a point, I got distracted by a second, bonus idea (ways to trick your brain when it's not cooperating with you! things I've tried (I will try everything) and what worked and didn't! what to do with writer's block!) and then start writing about that, and I've got half a dozen unrelated paragraphs going in my drafts, so I think I'm just going to make this a mini-series of 'stuff that helps me write and may also help you (or maybe they won't, I don't know, this shit's all subjective)'.

If there's anything in particular you'd like to hear about, or something about my process you're curious about, absolutely feel free to reply or shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to address them as I go.

But yeah, pacing. And more specifically, not burning out. I figured it was important I hit this one first, because I think it's the most important one, or at least, the one that makes the biggest difference.

With the caveat that I am someone who has repeatedly driven myself into burnout, I'm also someone who now knows why that is, and have been teaching myself how to, you know, not do that.

So. Here's how I, you know, don't do that.

Will preface this by again mentioning that most writing advice (and advice in general) never seemed to work for me, and I mostly thought I was just Bad at Doing Things, until I learned my brain's literally wired differently, and that I'd been trying to apply processes that didn't actually work for said wiring.

So instead, I figured out what worked for me. And what works for me isn't necessarily what will work for you, or even what will work for me a month or five years down the line, but it's going okay right now.

I'll straight up say that, contrary to all the Writing Advice, I don't write every day, and I don't think it's necessary, or even necessarily a good idea -- I have at times, but I no longer do, because if I write for more than six days straight I find the proverbial well dries up and I write less than I do had I just taken a break when I needed it.

Cognitive energy and the sort of ephemeral ~inspiration (work that's been done on a subconscious level) are fundamentally no different than physical energy: if you don't replenish it, you will run out. If you overdo it, you will run out. If you consistently overdo it without replenishing it, you will burn out.

Taking a page from hockey players here: if you did an intense workout right before a game they'd ask what the fuck was the matter with you. You need a nap and a meal and to get some stretching and light work in. Running at 100% all the time will burn you out in every single field, including this one.

That's not me saying not to run at 100% at all. I generally try to pace myself now, but if I'm really in it, and the words are coming easily, I don't stop until they stop -- I wrote just shy of 4k of later scenes for SAIT last week (my 2024 record!), all in one sititng, by hand, when I was supposed to be sleeping, because that's when the inspiration came. I didn't fall asleep until past 6am that night, and my hand is still mad at me.

But you know how much writing I got done the follow day? (None, I was busy transcribing 4k of handwriting). The rest of this week? (Not much more than that). Those bursts of energy are awesome, and honestly can make you feel like a writing god, but the well's the well, and I've learned my personal well is about 5000 words a week deep.

Before my most recent scrape with autistic burnout, which I'm still sort of climbing my way out of, that well was closer to 7500 words. But honestly, it probably wasn't; I was likely just siphoning words from future wells and then it all caught up with me when I was looking at a horizon of dry-ass wells ahead of me. (I'll admit this isn't a perfect metaphor.)

But seriously, my advice for basically everything, not just writing (and something I wish I'd learned before I hit my 30s), is 'figure out what pace you can work at sustainably'.

Please note that 'sustainably' is not 'without literally dying'. Because my literal ass thought when people said 'give it 100%' they meant, you know, 'give it 100%' (I know! absurd of me), rather than 'give the best effort you can give in this moment considering your current resources'. So I gave it my all (also interpreted that one wrong I guess?). And then I wondered why I kept hitting a wall all the time. And why, eventually, I stopped being able to climb that wall entirely.

I don't think I'm ever going to reach that 7500 word threshold again. There will be weeks I'm so inspired I write that much, but the next week I probably won't manage more than 2500. Or maybe I'll have two 7500 weeks in a row, but I'll need to take a whole week off after that, or spend several weeks working at a lower tempo while I let the well replenish itself.

I've been tracking some metrics quite closely as I sort of tweak my life into its new shape (said shape being 'do the best you can given your resources') , and during my most productive month of this year I wrote 3x as much as the worst (writing wise, I was finalising publication at the time), my current weekly average is about 4800 words. Sometimes it's a bit higher or lower, sometimes much higher or lower, but that's what I can sustainably do right now.

Frankly, I'm a little cranky about this: I know I can do more, because I did do more. But my priority now is not to send myself straight back into burnout again, so when I sprint, it's just that, rather than my previous 'trying to run a marathon at the pace of a sprinter'. I'm writing less than I used to, but it's honestly not that much less: because the pace is sustainable rather than boom and bust, I don't run myself ragged enough to desperately need a break.

I'm aware this advice only works if you have control over your own time, and a schedule that doesn't force you to focus on writing say, one day a week, or around other obligations, but the only real workaround for burnout is consistency, and that consistency cannot be your maximum.

Or, it can, but I guarantee you that will bite you in the ass at some point, and the pain of not getting enough done is nothing compared to the pain of not being able to get anything done because your nervous system threw up its hands and decided if you weren't going to listen to their clues (feelings, symptoms) or their warnings (Feelings, Symptoms) that you were overdoing it, they were going to shut your ass down until you listened.

0/10 do not recommend.

Next week: how to trick your brain into doing shit that it doesn't feel like doing, even though it's onto all your tricks by now. Or at least, how I trick mine.

[whimsicalcotton]

Waiter waiter‼️ I'd like to order number 71 & 101 for the fic snippet prompt, amberpricefield 🙏

bon appetit! sorry for the wait

101: Anniversary

okay The Visual of this wouldn't leave my brain so i. tried scribbling it instead hfjdjhdgd i hope that's okay (and sorry for my janky handwriting)

--- --- ---

71: Spooning

“I don't know what you guys are talking about,” Rachel scoffs, hunched over her homework and unaware she looks about five seconds from face-planting into it. “I'm not tired.”

Chloe takes a breath to argue, but Max beats her to the punch with an unimpressed sigh of her own. “That's bullshit, Rachel.”

She knows she's in hot water if it's gotten to the point that Max is actively calling her out on her nonsense. Still, she follows perfection’s urge to deflect any and all concern. 

“I’m fine,” she insists, giving them both her most reassuring smile. “Really. I wouldn't lie to you guys about that, would I?”

A beat of silence passes, wherein Chloe and Max share a long, disbelieving look. 

“Uh, yeah you would,” says Chloe.

“Pretty much all the time,” says Max. 

“Practically every day since I met you.”

“You're literally lying about it as we speak.”

“Alright, alright,” Rachel stops them before they can go any further. “So maybe I'm not always entirely honest. But how can you be so sure I'm lying now?”

She expects them to have to think on it for a moment, to at least have a few second's struggle in dismantling her facade of a well rested and perfectly functional human being. Instead, they both come out swinging. 

“You look like you've been up all night,” Max offers, brows furrowed in concern. 

“And you sound like you ate your fucking cigarettes,” Chloe adds. 

“Plus, there's your shirt,” Max notes, moving a little closer. “It's done up all uneven. You only do that when you haven't slept well.”

Chloe leans over to look at the precarious stack of notebooks and worksheets in Rachel's lap. “Not to mention the only thing you have written down for this question is the number three. And it's a goddamn English assignment.” 

Rachel glances both down at the paper Chloe's pointing to, and at her shirt buttons, and realizes they're both right. Although instead of admitting to such unquestionably sleep-deprivation induced follies, Rachel chooses to double down on her deflection. 

“You guys really pay that much attention to me?” she asks, taking care not to let the elation sneak into her tone. “That's pretty fucking gay.” 

Chloe fires back an immediate, “You're pretty fucking gay,” while Max goes red and mumbles, “Maybe so.”

“Besides,” Rachel grins, getting perhaps a little too cocky perhaps a little too quickly now that she has them off balance. “What're you gonna do about it, make me take a nap? Hold me hostage and spoon me against my will?” 

Chloe and Max go quiet. They're giving each other another one of those looks too; the kind Rachel has come to learn can never mean anything good. That's about all she has the time to register before her stuff is snatched out of her hands and she's being unceremoniously hauled across the bed.

“Hey, hey, wait a damn second.”

Neither of them say a word. Chloe just keeps dragging her around, not content until they're all tangled up and close as close and be. Max gathers up Rachel's things in succinct and suspiciously squirrel-like fashion, moving to lay them in a semi-neat and equally precarious pile atop the girl's desk. 

“Guys, c'mon, I was just kidding.”

She tries to sit back up, or at least wriggle her way out of the Chloe-shaped bear trap she's found herself in, but she really must be tired because all she manages to do is mess her hair up and bury half her face in the pillow.

“This is so unfair,” Rachel announces as Max sits on her other side. She peers up through her wild hair to give Max the most piteous, dramatic look she can manage. “You're not gonna let her get away with bullying me like this, are you?” 

“Oh no,” Chloe says, looking more than pleased with her new position half wrestling, half snuggling up to Rachel. “Max, is she giving you the doe eyes? Don't fall for it, she's just being a drama queen.”

Max hesitates a moment more before slapping her floppy sleeves over her face. “There. Now I don't see any bullying or any pouting.” 

“Ignoring a girl in need?” Rachel huffs, giving up and fully burying her face in the pillows. “That's low of you, Caulfield.”

She's answered with a duet of laughter and the feeling of Max shuffling close and pressing up to her other side, joining Chloe in laying an arm over her waist. It's impossibly warm nestled in between them, and all those assignments are still taunting her from the desktop, and she really ought to get up again before Max and Chloe succeed in their little scheme and she winds up spending the afternoon lazing away with them instead of getting any work done.

“This is kidnapping,” she mutters, not moving an inch. She tries and fails to hold back a yawn. “This is harassment. You'll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“Sure, babe,” Chloe says, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Whatever you say,” Max hums in agreement, nuzzling closer.

[pinguwrites]

The Doll's Burial ⸻ Jonathan Crane

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jonathan crane x reader

summary | You knew Jonathan Crane was meant for you from the moment you laid your eyes on him — a brilliant man, filled with wit and curiosity and youth. So perfect, in fact, that you have to take him away from the rest of the world and make him yours, your darling doll. He’ll like it, won’t he?

word count | 9k

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, dark!reader, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, reader’s delusional and sick and sadistic but sweet ig, religious (specifically Christian) disdain from Jon , murder/torture towards jon/in general, jon isn’t scarecrow au, slightly ooc jon, p in v sex, househusband!jonathan, PROCEED WITH CAUTION - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

i.

You didn’t know what beauty was until you met Jonathan Crane that fateful winter’s night, a night where the season’s gentle touch had left windows glazed with frost, and the late evening coated in a thick, gloomy darkness. Crystal flakes were falling from the sky onto your body like specks of dust, but it was nothing compared to the way it looked on him, his dark hair contrasting with the white, the snow melting upon the touch of his skin. His breath was coming out in puffs of smoke before dissipating into the bitter air, his square glasses glinting in the light of the street lamps.  

Time had frozen still at that moment, as though your brain had gone numb, much like the cold was numbing your ears and toes and the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips, you observed as the man — whose name you did not know then — glanced at the slim watch on his wrist, shivering ever so slightly as a breeze brushed him by. He was wearing an elegant suit, colored charcoal, the dress shirt underneath thinly striped, and his shoes polished and new, no doubt recently bought. He seemed to be an educated man with wealth, maybe a doctor or lawyer, but you guessed doctor, because he struck you as a scientific mind, curious but practical. 

He wasn’t married, as he had no ring, which led you to believe that his profession took up a lot of his time and effort. After all, how could a man as gorgeous as him not be desired? Even the thought of him in bed with you set your loins alight, not to mention the slightest notion of him being yours until death do us part.  

“Silly,” you had murmured to yourself, though there was a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re thinking too far ahead, like always.”

But it really wasn’t your fault. He was so delightful to look at. Almost like a doll, with his plump pink lips and blush-dusted cheeks. You could imagine it already: a domestic life. He needn’t not lift a finger, not think a single thought, as long as he allowed you to hold him in his arms. How was it that someone who had not done anything at all to warrant such attraction, found himself at the center of your obsessiveness?

There’s something about him. Something different I cannot deny. He was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, anyone you would ever see in the future. It was strange how humans worked, heart so easily manipulated. What was it that caught your attention in the first place? you wondered. The aesthetic of the scene? His simple presence in the emptiness of the street? Did it even matter anymore, now that you were so hopelessly captured by him?

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!”

Heart thumping against your chest at the sudden noise, you answered hesitantly, “Yes?”

The man, who was raising his voice so he could be heard across the street, gave you a wary look. “Do you know when the bus will arrive? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you. The event felt out of control, like you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It bothered you, but if anything, this was a sign. A sign that perhaps he was the one. “I’m waiting for it as well,” you continued. “Do you mind if I cross?”

“I don’t.”

After you made sure there were no cars nearby, you walked across the road and finally got your first view of the man, finding his features, his mannerisms, his everything to be just as breathtaking as it was from a distance. He had a relatively low voice, around a medium pitch, and it was grated, almost like a vocal fry. He had these little freckles scattered across his face like distant stars in the sky. If it was possible, you would have plucked out every single one of them to store in a jar.

“I usually don’t take the bus,” you said smoothly, trying to start a conversation, though all you could focus on the way he was looking at you, his gaze piercing and icy, “but my car’s in a workshop. I thought I’d try my luck here before heading to the subway.”

Your car wasn’t in a workshop. It was in the garage parking lot just diagonal of his view. You had only gotten out because you wanted a quick coffee at the local café. Eternally grateful that you spotted him along the way, you weren’t sure what you would have done if you hadn’t. It had only been a few minutes, and you were already in love.

The man hummed in response, not seeming to take much of an interest. “I’m in a similar situation myself . . . I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, clearing his throat. 

He started walking down the sidewalk to the nearest subway station, a walk you knew was going to take about a while. And in those clothes? He was most certainly going to catch a cold. If it was proper to do so, you would have offered him your own coat, but in a city like this, where no one trusted, you didn’t need to make him suspicious of your kindness. People were like animals, small critters. Approaching them too fast would scare them off. You had to be subtle, ease into it before you did anything too rash. 

“Are you coming?” he asked, turning around, waiting for you to follow him. His tone was expectant, and almost humorous, like the thought of you continuing to wait for the bus was amusing to him. It made you amused. There would be work to do with his arrogance when you finally take him away, you made a mental note of that. 

“No,” you responded. “I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have a friend come pick me up.”

“. . . Are you sure?” he pressed, concerned. He was concerned for you. It was so sweet. 

“I’m sure,” you repeated. If you were with him for a second longer you would have gotten down on your knees and proposed. 

He considered your words, then nodded. “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You as well . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“Jonathan,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with ease. Jon-ah-thun, meaning God has given, gift of God. A gift to you, surely, or why else would he be here, standing in your presence if he wasn’t meant to be taken away? To be polite, you gave him your own name, hoping he liked it as much as you liked his, and simply said, “Have a nice day,” hiding the butterflies inside your stomach that flew around like hail in a blizzard. 

Jonathan Crane, my very own doll.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against the skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then the noises stopped, and a defeated sigh left your doll’s lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped, as though he had given up. It was a shame, too. The sight of him struggling was exhilarating. It filled you with such excitement and arousal that you wished he kept going.

Currently, you were working, with your laptop placed out in front of you on your desk, some oatmeal to your right. The camera system was hooked up to the large monitor, so from here you could watch Jonathan’s movements. He had been awake since the break of dawn, the time he usually got up for work, except he wasn’t at his house today, he was in your basement, body against the cold floor, trembling like a scared bunny.

The planning was the most difficult part of this endevour. You had never actually kidnapped someone before. When you were a child, the local police suspected you in the mutilation of a few small critters in your apartment complex, and in college you were involved in the accidental death of one of your fellow students (he fell down the stairs and hit his head, nothing that anyone could prove was your fault), but to actually kidnap someone was entirely different. 

It would be an ongoing investigation until the case was classified as cold, and even then some cold cases were picked up again after years; you had to make sure no could connect a link, because some people were too narrow-minded to understand how true and unconditional your adoration for him was; and not only that, but the amount of research — or stalking, as some might call it — that you had to do was exhaustive; but really, it was worth it, and Jonathan would fall for you just as you did for him within a few months, maybe a year at most. He would come to realize just how much you cared about him, and just how wonderful your life could be together. Once you arrived at that point, things would flow seamlessly. You had all the precautions in place. Even if he did try and escape, you always had a sedative in your pocket, and all the doors to your house was just as secure on the inside as it was on the outside. 

The only thing you worried about was witnesses. See, Jonathan was usually very careful not to go into secluded alleyways or dingy locations on his own, which made it difficult to take him. So, you had to bump into him in a coffee shop — a coincidence, you had told him — and from there lure him out.  

You sighed lovingly and gazed at Jonathan through the screen, deciding that it was time to bring him breakfast and lay out the ground rules.

After a few more minutes, you crept down the stairs with some food and water, careful not to step on any of the parts that would cause a creaking sound, and unlocked the basement with the passcode. When you opened the door, Jonathan raised his head, scooting his body away from your figure until he backed into a corner.

It was a dingy little place. It used to have carpet, but you removed that in favor of plastic tarp on the floor, nothing that could indefinitely stain the cement underneath. The walls were covered in that as well, and there was no window or clock to let him know the time. There were blankets to the side, and a small toilet to the other corner of the room. It was a good enough place for now. You hated seeing him in these conditions, but only once he proved responsible would you update him to a secured bedroom. At this point in time, he wasn’t capable of understanding things, and would only try to run away if you gave him more freedom. 

Jonathan stayed quiet for a long while, and so did you, but then he scoffed. “I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. You placed the bowl in front of him, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and honey filling the stale air. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. There needn’t be a conversation over this. He didn’t reach for the bowl yet, but you knew he would when you left. Eventually, hunger would get to him. 

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

Yes, yes I am. I love you as true as the air you breathe, as blue as your eyes gleam, and as certain as the beat of your heart. 

“Why do you ask?” you said instead.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

There was no point in hiding your intentions. 

He scoffed again, head down. “Realize this, I have nothing. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give you.”

Reaching out to him, you rubbed your thumb against his skin. He was cold. Again. 

“You need to learn how to keep warm,” you said, concerned. “There’s some blankets. Use them.”

Jonathan pulled away, though you could tell he wanted you to keep doing that, because for a brief moment he almost leaned into your touch and warmth. So, you did just that. You gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. He put up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, he relented, and let you caress his skin. Letting your fingers trail up his cheek to his nose, you quickly made your way to his eyelashes, his long, thick eyelashes that fluttered like a black bird’s feathers. 

“I did a bit of research on you,” you said. “Just enough to make sure no one would come looking for you right away, to learn your patterns and your habits, or any other important bits of information . . . like the fact that you have a therapist.”

Jonathan looked straight into your eyes. It was almost as if, at the moment, he was more concerned about what you might have read about him than his current predicament. He didn’t want anyone to know his past, his secrets, his weaknesses. It was embarrassing, and you knew that because you read in his file — which took atrociously long to obtain — how ashamed he was of himself, how conscious. 

He shoved you away, and you backed off.

“Don’t be mean,” you frowned, hurt. “It was necessary. Watching you through your window wasn’t enough to truly know you. And even now, I’m sure there’s so much I’ve missed. It’ll be nice. As long as you listen and don’t cause trouble, everything will be okay.”

“You’re delusional,” he scowled. “I’ve known enough people like you in my life to understand how you work. Once you’re tired of me, you’ll dump me and get someone new to torment.”

“That’s not true, and you’ll see that,” you protested. It broke you to know that he thought of himself as expendable. “. . . I know you need some time to think. I’ll come down in a few hours with lunch, alright?”

You took his silence as a ‘yes’.

“Good boy.”

+++

A few weeks had passed by. The snow was beginning to melt, turning into a mushy, brown sludge that you had to trudge through every morning to get to work. Admittedly, you were quite busy with your job, but you made as much time as you could for Jonathan. Your doll was in a sour mood the entire time, and after calling you a bitch and a unintelligent, perverted whore — such colorful language — he started begging you to let him go.

I won��t tell anyone. I’ll give you money. Please, I’m begging you. All clearly signs of emotional distress.

It hurt you a lot when Jonathan rejected your affection. More than you thought it would. He should be grateful that you took such an interest in him, but instead he was disgusted. Of course, he would fall for you soon, but it made you wish that he had already done so, and that too on the night you two met. 

Wouldn’t it have been romantic? Love at first sight. Did you not deserve something like that? For someone to look into your eyes the way you did his and think, This is the one I want to marry. Again, you knew it would take time, but the wound still cut deep. 

He was eating, which was good. One less thing to worry about. But when you checked his wrists to see if the cuffs were still locked you found them red with marks. It worried you a bit, so you applied some cream to them — or at least, tried to, with the way he was struggling and all. You did other things like bathe him, but despite how desperate you were to see his pretty cock, you never went beyond the waistline, and encouraged him to clean himself down there instead. You hoped it established some sense of trust between you two, because at least Jonathan would realize that you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable. 

When you were researching Jonathan Crane — before you took him — you learned that he was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. A professor at Gotham University first, but either way, it seemed that his heart lied with the sciences. You did a little internet digging and tracked his book orders, then picked something you thought he would like and was sure he hadn’t read yet.

One book on chemistry and its applications on brain science, and another on psychology, a look into real-world examples written by a doctor from the late twentieth century. 

Carefully wrapping it up in light blue paper, you tied it with a navy-colored ribbon and made a bow. Your fingers lingered on the box, a little nervous about handing it over to Jonathan, but you walked downstairs with it anyways, opening the basement door and watching with satisfaction as he scurried away once again.

“It’s just a gift,” you laughed, setting it down in front of him. He watched it warily. “I want you to open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Jonathan’s lower lip quivered, and you had a sudden desire to kiss him. Lips upon lips, heavy and sweet. Sometimes, you felt as though the only way to get close to him — truly close — was to peel off his skin and wrap it around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He would die, which you didn’t want, but to think about it was enough. It was so intimate it made you hot all over. 

“Please,” Jonathan muttered. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to hear this again. I’ve been really patient with you. Can’t you just . . . be normal?”

“Normal?” 

Oh, dear. He’s about to go into another one of his fits.

“How can you expect me to be normal when you’ve got me locked in chains?” he frowned. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t getting upset, but rather more submissive. He wasn’t scowling or spitting in your face, but rather his head was downturned and his body language more open. Was this it? Was this the point of breaking? 

“I have nothing,” he continued. “No bed to sleep in, no touch . . .”

Touch. Well, he had you, didn’t he? 

“You don’t like it when I touch you,” you said.

He looked away, almost embarrassed. This doll of a man had you completely enamored, fooled, like a hopeless soul waiting for the heavens. Anything he did, anything he said, would make you fold in a heartbeat. If he asked you to go get the moon, you would die, frozen in the vastness of space just trying. He could make you do anything, except perhaps let you go, but only because you knew that deep down, he didn’t really want it.

Jonathan didn’t make an effort to come closer to you, and you didn’t either. Despite your devotion, you wanted to see him make the first move. You had waited long enough. All you wanted was to be loved by him, and you knew that he had it in him to show his affection. He just feared you, feared that you would hurt him.

. . . Maybe a few more days. A few more days of waiting until you would take drastic action.

+++

Laying on the couch, you turned on the TV, opening up the Gotham news channel as background noise while you dozed off. There were a few errands to be done, but you decided to put them off until tomorrow as the weather had gotten worse. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the snow was still brown and mushy, but it was freezing, and you made the stupid mistake of leaving your car outside. 

After ten minutes of just lazing around, you were abruptly woken up by the ring of your doorbell. With a groan, you got up off the couch and unlocked the door, only for your nerves to jump and a nervous chuckle escape your lips.

“I — well, hi. Can I help you, officer?” you asked, looking the man in front of you up and down. He had wispy brown hair that was covered by a fur hoodie and a kind smile painted on his face. He didn’t look like he meant any harm, but perhaps this was just a facade to get your guard down. For all you knew there could be police officers stationed all around your house. Or were you being too paranoid? Yes. You probably were. 

“You can,” he said, voice a little gruff. “My name is Peter Wright, I just wanna ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”

You hesitated. “What's this about?”

Wright chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Do you know a man named Jonathan Crane? You may have just passed him on the street — he had dark hair, glasses, clean-cut . . .”

Your mind ran through all the possibilities. There was absolutely no way this man could know you two even met. You were so careful — so unbelievably careful. Was there something you had overlooked? Something you had missed? Maybe someone saw you with Jonathan and reported it to the police once they realized he was missing.

“. . . No.”

Wright smiled. “No need to be so tense. We just wanna know where he is.”

You smiled, trying to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue who that is. You probably have the wrong person — ”

“ — yeah, figured,” Wright interrupted, flashing another smile. “He’s been missing for a while. You’re not in trouble, we just have to check every lead.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” you said. “May I ask, why have I become a . . . lead?”

“Just some security footage on a date of interest. You had crossed the street at a bus station.” Wright paused for a moment, seeing if you remembered anything. You did, but you kept your face blank. It was better to pretend. It made you relieved, however. This was nothing serious, and nothing that was your fault. “He wrote it down in one of his journal entries, that’s why we checked.”

“Journal entries?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Yes. That’s how all these smart people are like, or so I’ve been told. Methodical, pattern-orientated.”

Was he even supposed to be telling you this? It seemed like this man was more loose-lipped than he first appeared. Perhaps you could pull some information out of him, turn on your charm. 

“You know what? Come inside. It’s cold, and I can make you some hot coffee.”

“Really?” Wright raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting let me in?”

You gave a playful glare. “I’m not gonna ask again, sir.”

Wright obliged, and for the rest of the evening, he divulged information about the case, a little too flirtatious for your taste, but it got the work done, and by the end of the day, you learned that they had nothing on you, and nothing on this case. 

+++

“Jonathan,” you cooed as you entered the basement with a plate of mashed potatoes and steak. You immediately noticed that his knuckles were bloody, and realized what he was trying to do — he must have heard another person upstairs and banged against the concrete walls in the hopes that he would’ve been heard.

What a stupid boy!

“Hold on,” you muttered, annoyed, placing the food down. “I’ll get you some bandages — ”

“ — Can’t you just be here?” Jonathan said shakily, his voice hoarse. “You said you loved me but you never spend time with me, you’re always upstairs . . . I’m going insane.”

Your heart leaped. Finally. Finally! It was happening. He was beginning to see, to truly see the connection you both had. You could envision it already — a wedding, with only an eficator there to make things legitimate, with flowers and a beautiful background, perhaps a sunset or beach, or maybe some mountains — topped with snow. That would be perfect, absolutely wonderful. Oh, you would have to start making the plans now! 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, no. No, darling. I’m just so excited, I’ve been waiting so long . . . Here, can I hold you?”

Jonathan nodded with a sniffle. 

Not wasting a single moment, you wrapped him up in your arms, watching as he delicately snuggled his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing up against your skin was exhilarating, making you shudder and shake like you were about to lose it. About to lose it and take him right then and there, all romantic like, with nice words and the scent of rose petals . . . Maybe your first time could be in a bath, with lit candles, cleaning each other off. It was —

Hold on. Where was his chain?

Jonathan’s arms were around your waist, but you couldn’t feel the metal. You looked to the hook on the wall and saw that it had broken off, next to it the psychology book you gave to him, heavily dented. 

Chasting yourself, you felt Jonathan tighten his grip around your body. You should have checked — you should have checked for the chain like you did every time you came down. What was wrong with you? This one simple mistake could ruin everything . . . 

Trying to think as quickly as you could, you looked around the room for the other book, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You had a sedative syringe in your pocket, but you couldn’t get to it without alerting him. Alas, you finally felt something poking you in the side, something sharp like an edge, and within seconds you had been tossed to the floor and hit over the head.

+++

When you finally woke up, your head was reeling. You had a massive headache, and everytime you tried to sit up your vision would go a little dark and you would give up. Before you could try again, you had a hand against your throat. You felt a horrible surge of anger, and in the midst of your emotions, a slight sense of arousal.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” you cried out, voice choked. You could feel a shift in movement, because after Jonathan realized he was hurting you, he loosened his grip, but it still wasn’t enough to get out of his grasp. He probably tried to open the basement door but couldn’t, so waited until you came to give him the passcode. You couldn’t rely on the hope that he wouldn’t hurt you. He was desperate. But so were you.

“Everything you’ve done,” he repeated with a low murmur. “You know how humiliating it is to be trapped in a basement for a month, forced to bathe in front of you because I can’t even be trusted with a flow of water? Have to piss with chains on? I’m a doctor, I shouldn’t have to submit to your delusion.”

“You should and you will!” you screeched, squirming. “You finally have someone to love you, to adore you, someone who would do anything for you, and it’s still not enough. Or you know what? Maybe you like that. Being sad all the time, not having anyone to care for you. Probably used to it, huh? Distant parents, bitch grandmother, no friends, no lovers . . .”

Jonathan tossed you to the floor and pinned you down, his nose close to yours, breathing heavy, eyes a little glossy. Then, without warning, he slapped you. The sting was both painful and pleasurable. The little whimper you let out was more of a light sigh, but you didn’t let that distract you. All you needed to do was reach into your pocket for the syringe, which he clearly hadn’t noticed was there. If you could drug him just a little, you would be able to get your power back, your control.

“I want the code. That’s it.”

“I want a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just one kiss. A nice, long one.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. His breath tickled your skin. Then, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his perfect, pink lips against yours. He was so easily manipulated, so eager. Even when he had all the power, he still fell for your little antic. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

While he was distracted, you swiftly took the syringe out and stabbed him with it, pushing half the liquid in. He pulled away and gasped, but then his eyes started drooping, and his movements became more wobbly, and he fell into your arms, disorientated and dizzy.

“Mm . . . what did you do?” he asked. 

You grabbed his hair, making him wince in pain. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard to be patient, not rushing you, making you feel as safe as possible” You paused. “But sometimes people aren’t grateful for what they have. That’s okay, it happens. You just have to learn. I’ll be patient again, just for you.”

You laid him on his back and started unbuckling his pants belt. He tried to stop you, but his movements were too weak and groggy.

“Don’t — don’t,” he pleaded.

You stopped, but only for the time being. You lifted him up onto his feet and let him lean against you. His feet were dragging a little against the floor, but he managed to walk. He pulled himself away from you when you made it to the top of the stairs but stumbled. He just wasn’t strong enough. You unlocked the passcode.

You led him over to the bathroom on your first floor, where you opened the tub’s tap and let the water flow. Jonathan’s eyelids drooped slightly, but you could see — smell — the fear in them. He knew what you were going to do, and he was helpless to stop it. 

Taking off the rest of his belt, you pulled his cock out. White, soft, a little big, but other than that it was perfect, just like every other part of him. You brushed your finger across it, watching the way it twitched in your hands. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned down and gave the head a small kiss, but that was the last bit of kindness Jonathan was going to receive today. In fact, receive for a long while.

You dipped your hand in the tub, which was steadily flowing with water, and gave his cock a hard squeeze, making him whimper in pain. “That’s the closest to lube you’ll get,” you said. “Now come on, don’t fight me. Dip your face in.”

Pushing his head down into the tub wasn’t much of a struggle, but Jonathan wasn’t making it easy. Your doll, your poor doll. He didn’t want to be hurt, but that was what had to happen. And it would keep happening until he finally admitted that he loved you. 

When Jonathan’s nose touched the water, he groaned, his head dizzy. It was cold, but by the time he could even register the temperature, his entire head was in, held by your hand as your other stroked his cock. A few air bubbles came up, but you didn’t give in. You wanted him to struggle, you wanted him to be in pain. He was like a fragile mouse caught in a trap. Only you could let him go. Only you had the power to.

After a few more seconds, you lifted his head up, watching with glee as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering when he could spare it. 

“Aw, baby boy. You don’t like that very much, do you?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. You just shoved him down into the tub again, feeling your body tingle. You swiped your finger over that little hole where you would soon force cum to shoot out of, and pressed down on it hard. Then, you found your way to his balls, slightly pulling at the small hairs there. Pinching and squeezing. His thighs shook, so you slapped them. They were another beautiful part of his body.

You continued pumping, up and down, steadily, then pulled him out. You could feel some pre-cum on your hands . . . even when you were torturing him he couldn’t control his biological reactions.

When he came up for the second time, he begged, “Please — I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . Mercy, I can’t!”

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and water was running down from his chin to his chest underneath the plain white shirt you had given him. His nipples were perked, probably from all the adrenaline, but you liked to think that it was because he was aroused. 

“You can and you will,” you growled. “Take it. Take it!”

+++

When you were finished with him, you took him back down to the basement, his cock hanging limp through the zipper area of his pants, and tossed him to the floor. Noticing one of the books you gifted him on the ground, you picked it up and threw it at him. It hit his leg, and within seconds, he passed out. 

You locked the door and left him like that for the next few days. No food, no water, no nothing. Through the camera you could see that he was barely moving. He only got up to use the toilet, but other than that, he was like a slug. It was on the third day that you decided to go down again and nourish him, otherwise he might die, and you didn't want that, not after all this hard work. 

ii.

Jonathan Crane was respected throughout the city of Gotham, a known and reputable psychiatrist amongst others in his field, as well as connected with higher elites who often funded his projects, his small passions. Never did he think he would ever end up in someone’s basement, that too the basement of a beauty. 

He had gotten into a car accident while pulling out of Akrham’s parking lot. It was a stupid mistake, not even his fault, really. The curb was so narrow and it was difficult to see past the line of trees whether another car was coming or not, and in his rush to get home, he went ahead without thinking and collided with a red Sedan.

No one was injured, but his car was beat up, and after getting it towed, he had to walk all the way to the nearest bus station (which was very far away, as the aslyum was rather secluded). It was cold, and he wasn’t dressed for this weather at all. He tried to take his mind off the temperature by looking at his watch, the tick-tick ticking, but when he finally got there, he found that the bus was not coming at all. It had been fifteen minutes, and nothing was there. The entire street was surprisingly empty for a city as busy as Gotham, with only the occasional patrol car driving past.

He was about ready to head to the subway — another long trek — when he saw someone else standing across the street. It was a woman, he could tell from the figure, but she was shrouded in darkness . . . Maybe she was waiting for the bus as well.

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!” he shouted out, hoping not to startle her. He knew how women could get, all scared and skittish when they were alone. He understood. Crime rates were high, rape and theft were common. Even he was on his guard right now. 

“Yes?” the woman answered hesitantly. 

“Do you know when the bus will arrive?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m waiting for it as well. Do you mind if I cross?”

Jonathan hadn’t expected that, but agreed nonetheless. He found it a bit odd that she was waiting on the other side of the road, but figured that she might have only just arrived. When she crossed, the light of the street lamps hit her face and he was taken aback. She was awfully pretty — beautiful, in fact. She was looking at him with almost dazed eyes, a nervous expression upon her face. He couldn’t tell if she found him attractive, or if she was intimidated by him. Most people were. 

They had a short conversation that eventually ended. Jonathan would head down to the subway station, and the woman had opted to call her friend to pick her up. He was a little disappointed. She seemed interesting, and there was no harm in continuing their conversation, but he was also tired and in no mood to convince her to come along with him. 

He was about to leave when she asked him for his name. “Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he clarified.

“Jonathan,” she repeated. For a moment, he felt ill at ease. Maybe it was the reminder that he was in the middle of an empty street at night, or the way she looked at him as she repeated his name. He shook it off, he was just being silly. 

The woman gave him her name — your name, a nice name. He didn’t know what it was about you, but for the rest of the day you were on his mind. It was enough to make him mention you in his journal, mention with a flow of compliments that ranged from beautiful to almost sinister.

+++

Jonathan had always had a bit of a problem when it came to people. As a child he was ostracized and bullied for his gangly body, and in his adulthood, he had always come off as too unnerving for others. It probably didn’t help that he was arrogant and assuming, too. When it came to lovers, he could get quite obsessive, a problem that broke most of his relationships. Apparently no one liked it when their boyfriends were possessive.

He’d had a few affairs before, but nothing ever serious. He could never find someone he liked enough to marry. On the surface, he semed like the kind of guy that was more interested in his work than anything romantic, but in the end he had been raised with typical values, and as much as he tried to shake it off, he really felt like his path in life was to work, marry, have children, and then die.

When he was a kid his grandmother, Keeny, stressed upon him the importance of finding a good Christian wife. She must be a virgin, submissive, good-natured, and so on. He was sure she had already picked someone from their small town for him, because she was oddly pushy towards this one Church girl who liked to have ribbons in her braids (that was all he really remembered of her). Jonathan wondered what his grandmother thought of him now. Despite all the bad memories associated with her, he still sent letters with money every once in a while. She responded sometimes, mostly with pleas for him to come back, but he never paid them any mind. He was done with her and Georgia. 

In his mind, his ideal wife would be an intellectual just like him. Preferably smart, but not as smart as him, who was just as clingy as he was, who understood and could care for him, and who was perhaps a little more on the dominant side. He was always embarrassed with the fact that he liked dominant women, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding one, or at least, hoping one would find him.

“So, you’re opening yourself up to new relationships,” his therapist, Dr. Taylor Smith said, an encouraging smile on her face. Jonathan had been with her for years, and while they were strictly professional, Jonathan couldn’t help but be slightly attached to her. It was what happened when someone gave him even the slightest ounce of affection.

“I suppose so,” Jonathan responded, not knowing what else to say.

“If you’re ready for it, I think you should go out and start talking to people,” Smith suggested. “You have a lot of colleagues, you could start there.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’ve stopped asking me to lunches.”

“Because you decline all the time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t you ask them first?”

Jonathan frowned again. “I’d rather not.”

Smith gave a knowing look. “And how do you suppose to meet people, then?”

Jonathan didn’t want to answer. He knew he was being silly, but he just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Eventually someone would come along and ask him out, right? He just had to wait a little . . . Perhaps he could loiter around some bookstores or near the lectures he attended so he could meet a woman who was like-minded.

“Look,” Smith said, intertwining her hands. “Before we meet again next week, I want you to have made an effort towards a relationship. Friendship would be a good start.”

“I have friends. Harleen is — fine,” Jonathan relented, after seeing the glare his therapist was giving. “I’ll do that. It’ll be my homework,” he joked, but on the inside he was thoroughly annoyed.

+++

Jonathan’s first idea was to go to a coffee shop. He had been starved for some caffeine and decided that instead of making one at home he could go out and get one. He parked his car in a nearby garage and walked over to a local shop. It had a long line of impatient-looking people, moody, too, at that.

He took his place in line, inhaling the sweet aroma of the atmosphere. A few people were working, typing away at their laptops, while others were with their friends or family or partners. He tried to look as casual as possible, sweeping his hair over his forehead every once in a while, but then he stopped, feeling stupid.

He felt like a kid back in highschool trying to get a girl’s attention. Everyone here was either already with someone or rushing to get out. It was a dumb idea. He’d just get his coffee and leave.

Maybe he could just ask his coworkers at the asylum. They were nice enough, and it would probably do good on his work relationships if he made an effort on them.

When he got to the counter he ordered a small latte and went on his way, but after turning the corner he bumped into someone. They were holding a cup of coffee — from the same cafe he just went to. The cap, which must not have been applied properly, fell to the ground, and all the hot, brown liquid splashed onto both him and . . . and . . . the lady from the bus station?

Jonathan hissed at the burning sensation, but restrained himself from letting out a small scream. A few people stopped and turned to look at them. A few of them in pity, others stifling their giggles, while one man offered to go get some napkins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman — you — said, grabbing some napkins from the man and wiping your blouse off.

Jonathan glared.

“What is wrong with you?” he sneered, his face contorted in controlled disgust. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? I don’t — look, I’m really sorry, sir,” you fervently apologized, which made Jonathan feel a bit bad. “Here — some napkins — ”

“ — Don’t bother,” Jonathan said, looking down at his suit, though his tone was a bit softer. 

There was a moment of silence. Jonathan admired your features for those few moments, and thought back to how he wrote about you in his journal. His cheeks flushed a light pink at the memory. Imagine what would happen if you found out . . .

“Aren’t you going to say sorry, too?”

Jonathan sighed, getting annoyed again. “I’m sorry,” but it was sarcastic. 

“I want to hear a genuine apology,” you said, but before Jonathan could say anything, you continued, “That or . . . you buy me another cup of coffee and we go our separate ways.”

Jonathan was caught off guard, but he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to do what he came here for: make a friend. And she was so obviously flirting. 

“Alright. But we’ll be quick. I have to change.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

You both walked back to the coffee shop, standing in line as you looked over the menu. Jonathan wondered what to say.

“It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” he said, feeling sticky as his dress shirt stuck to his skin. “We meet at the bus station, then here . . .”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Jonathan couldn’t believe that you didn’t remember. “I introduced myself to you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. And you told me your name.”

You thought for a moment, eyes dazed for a few seconds, but when you looked back at him you shook your head. “I-I suppose you look familiar, but I don’t really remember . . . I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

Eventually, you both got up to the front. You ordered another coffee and Jonathan paid with his card. This time, he made sure your lid was secured on properly. When he got out of the cafe for the second time that day, he felt disappointed that he had to leave you again.

At the bus station he had let you go, and was he about to do the same thing here? No. He would try, shoot his chance. If it didn't work, so what? He would get over it.

“I can walk you back to your car,” Jonathan offered, taking a sip of his coffee, which thankfully he didn’t drop when he bumped into you. 

“I don’t want to bother you,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s all the way down the road.”

“I insist,” he said. 

You smiled. It was such a sweet smile, Jonathan wished he could igraine the memory into his mind forever. 

“What do you do for work?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

“Real estate,” you responded. “You?”

“I’m a psychiatrist . . .”

He didn’t mention the fact that he worked at Arkham. It was infamous in Gotham, and not that great of a conversation starter. Jonathan didn’t want this to turn into an interview about what it’s like to work there, how the patients were, and so on.

When you and Jonathan reached your car, he felt that odd sense of dread again. He was near a closed-off area behind a shop. It was one of those places that had parking lots for behind a store, and was shaped almost like a square. The shop was closed, and there was only one car in the area — presumably yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a laugh after seeing the look on his face. “There was no parking nearby. I’m actually kind of glad you walked me . . . it’s a little scary all by myself.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Jonathan said with a shrug, ignoring his instincts. He walked you to the car, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked out. 

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against Jonathan Crane’s skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then he stopped, and let a defeated sigh escape his lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped. Since he woke up he had been trying to get out of this place — out of this basement, it looked to be. His thoughts flooded his head a million times, and it was impossible for him to produce a semblance of coherent thinking. He begged his brain to stop working, to just be quiet for a moment so he could control his emotions and focus, but it wouldn’t. It left him tired and confused and scared.

What happened to me?

Why am I here?

Was that woman responsible for this? Did she kidnap me? Oh god, she kidnapped me.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

People are going to notice I’m missing. The police will come for me, I’ll be fine.

No they won’t. It’s Gotham, no one will do anything about it.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop it. Stop thinking.

After a while, he got his thoughts to quiet, but before he could be rational, the padlock clicked and the door opened. He backed into a corner — well, as far as his binding would let him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

It was you. You were his captor. His doom.

You placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Cinnamon and honey filled the air. It had little pieces of apple cut up, and even some chocolate chips on the side. It was absolutely heavenly, and Jonathan could feel his mouth water at just the sight of it. He restrained himself, however. He was not that hungry, at least not yet, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisioned. 

“I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. 

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead. Avoiding the question.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

Was it wrong that for a moment Jonathan felt nice? In all his life, he never had someone care for him, but here, someone had gone through the effort of kidnapping him just to be with him. He felt stupid for thinking like that. This wasn’t some story, it was reality, and in reality, you didn’t actually love him. You were obsessed. Obsessed . . . Was he that incapable of being loved that people had to either hate him or obsess over him like an object? Was there no in-between? 

There were a few more words exchanged. You brushed your fingers against his skin, and though he pulled away, he couldn’t deny the affection rising within him. No one had ever touched him this gently before, this kindly.

You left, leaving Jonathan alone in the cold, dark room. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached for the bowl, and began eating.

+++

A few weeks had passed by. Jonathan couldn’t tell if the weather outside had begun to turn warm, or if it was still as cold as the last time he saw it. He never knew what time it was unless you came down with food, and even then, he was probably a couple of hours off. As he spent time in that basement, searching for a way out, he felt a sense of desperate hopelessness creep onto him. Would he ever make it out alive?

He couldn’t believe that he was even in this situation. After insulting you and calling you names, he resorted to fervent begging, but even that wasn’t enough to make you let him go. In your delusion you had made his life a misery. He couldn’t keep living in your basement like some sort of pet, forced to bathe in front of you and constantly monitored by cameras.

Maybe Jonathan would have liked you better if you actually gave him a nice room to sleep in. Or if you made something other than acai bowls and fruit smoothies all the time.

He could see it in your eyes that you truly believed you loved him, and it made him feel scared. While he overviewed cases like this and met people with the same mentality to kidnap and stalk, he still didn’t know what to do. In a part of his brain, he thought that maybe you weren’t so bad and that you could have been torturing him right now, but instead was being kind and thoughtful. 

You tried to apply cream to his bruised wrists, and you didn’t even scold him for trying to get out of the handcuffs. He made it a difficult process, but it was because he was afraid. He had never been touched like that before. You were making him feel all sorts of things — anger, confusion, fear. 

It didn’t help when you brought down a present for him. A book on chemistry, and another on psychology. It was wrapped in a box, which was wrapped in a light-blue color. Why were you so sweet? In all his years, he had never gotten a present as meaningful as this. His heart had wrenched uncomfortably, and he had to remind himself who you were, what type of person you were.

Maybe if he used this book to hit you over the head with, it would knock you out and he could escape. He could use it to break the chains, too. They were hardcover, and th

———

(I stopped writing here.)

The rest of this section was just going to be through Jonathan’s perspective.

iii.

You opened the door hesitantly, a wave of guilt flooding your body. Jonathan lay there on the floor, beaten and bruised, shivering in a corner even though he had a blanket around him. He didn’t smell good, but you expected it to be worse, so you took it as a sign that things could still be salvaged.

———

(I stopped writing here).

Jonathan is passed out, barely able to move. For the next few days, you nurse him back to health. You clean him, feed him, and give him better clothing. He doesn’t fight back. Slowly, he starts to accept his new environment and you upgrade him to a guest bedroom, but you still lock the doors and windows so he can’t escape.

The police officer comes back to flirt. You’re annoyed, but you know you need him for info. The police officer starts to get suspicious, and out of fear he’ll do something, you murder him. The murder is sort of the climax of the story.

After that whole ordeal, Jonathan has been completely conditioned by you, but the ending is open-ended. “The Doll’s Burial” is meant to represent a burial of his true self, replaced by a version you created, or, his actual death. It depends on you — do you get bored of him, is it truly an obsession? Or do you truly love him, and are willing to spend your whole life as his wife?

Tagging in case ya'll are still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

@nela-cutie

@slut4thebroken

@wild-rose-35

@madeinuk

@flwrs4aust

@httpxgray

[hippolotamus]

Inspiration Saturday 🧜‍♂️

thanks for the tags @thekristen999 @dangerpronebuddie (go check their stuff if you haven't, it's riveting!) 💖

I posted some mer!buck earlier for an ask, but now I'm using this as an excuse to post the other bit of the snippet (all prev snippets here)

“Smartass,” Eddie mutters, already emptying his pockets, dumping the contents in his shoes. “You’re not secretly one of those evil merpeople that’s gonna drag me under, are you?”

“You wound me!” Evan scoffs, holding his hand to his heart in mock offense. “And do you really think I would tell you if that was my plan?”

“Actually, I think you would. You can’t lie for shit.” Eddie lowers himself into the water, wincing at his pants and tee clinging to his skin. “Now what? I can’t exactly tread water forever.”

He thinks Evan mumbles something about humans before swimming closer. 

“Now what is that you hold onto me.” Evan arranges them, looping Eddie’s arms around his neck. “There.”

Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat as realizes how little space there is between them. How their bodies are pressed together, noses almost touching. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close before. Not since Evan saved him, and Eddie doesn’t actually remember that part. 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “There.” 

He thinks there must be something else he could say, something intelligent or witty, but his brain is too occupied. Too full of confusing thoughts and emotions that don’t make any sense. 

“You said you’d dance with me,” Evan reminds him, a little too softly. 

“I- I did.” Eddie swallows past all the new, contradictory feelings trying to rise to the surface.

inspired by me remembering this song existed and running away with it

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @eowon @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @tizniz @diazheartsbuckley @weewootruck @saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6 @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @your-catfish-friend @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @jesuisici33 @dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @dorkydiaz @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @beyourownanchor6 @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @wildlife4life @rewritetheending and anybody else who wants to 😘

[dan-crimes]

I love it when I'm not actually as invested in something as others are yet I'll still spend. 10+ hours just watching content about it cuz I still have to know about it like I might not have brain rot or anything but I gotta have that info in my brain

[anewp0tat0]

i lied i had like atleast one more weston thought to expell from my brain, before i miss this boat entirely. we're heading to green lands woooo

[vellichorsdesire]

definitely do not think about being called tons of masc terms by an f/o. if you’re comfortable with it of course, they make sure before doing so. maybe they start with calling you the petnames/nicknames they’d usually use for you, calling you handsome along with it (‘hey, handsome man’ or a ‘hi, my sweet, handsome boy.’) maybe you like being called pretty boy too, they’d definitely ask first. maybe they focus on the features they adore the most about you.

maybe you ask to be reassured with such words because you feel comforted by it and they don’t mind doing so, but in the end they really do think those sweet things that they mumble in your ear.