#but i guess there always has to be a first

[majestic-mycelium]

todd and the book of pure evil has a great instance of a person upgrading their aid over time to show this change. curtis is a kid (and one of the main charicters) with a claw grip plastic arm that is often shown to be limited and cumbersome in the beginning episodes. he will throw it as a weapon or have it be used as a focus that is not so casually forgotten. the later seasons have him upgrade to a supernatural mechanical arm like edward elric has and that gave me mixed feelings because for as messy the show was in handling topics it was surprising how detailed the inclusion of the plastic arm was. really felt like it came from an informed with how it was a real prosthetic option in real life.

Every time I read the “Toph is a bad example of a disabled character because of her bending.” I want to Physically leap over a table and then flip that table because NO!!!! You do not understand!!!

Toph’s bending is assistive technology!!! It’s a medical aid!!!!!

Toph’s bending allows her to full access her world the same way my mobility aids do, or my medication does. There are times when due to inaccessible surroundings that her aids are rendered harder or impossible to use. Not unlike my own greatest enemy, stairs. However, when she is fully accommodated she’s able to be just as successful and thrive just as much as an able-bodied person albeit differently. Which is the ultimate goal of assistive technology.

[icupblog]

Where did the party go? (batfam x neglected reader) This is part 2!! part 1

Your hands shake as you bring the water to your parched lips. The cold embrace of the liquid makes you sigh in satisfaction. The outfit you were wearing suddenly felt too tight and your makeup felt like a second face on top of your own.

This was the biggest moment of your life... so far. Compared to your siblings it wasn't that big but to you, it was everything. You can't think of them now though. Even the mental image of any of your so-called family made you feel bile climb up your throat.

You don't need them, or their validation. After everything that has happened you need to forget their harsh words and unforgiving cruelty.

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

2 years earlier

The cold hallways recognised your presence as you walked through them. You feel like a zombie, knowing who you were but pulling your body away from your brain, your mind slowing down as every-time you take another step a part of your image dies.

Maybe you were dramatic, maybe you were immature, maybe if they actually cared you wouldn't be. Your hands shake as you grip a bannister. Where were you going again. You didn't even know. Eventually you came to the familiar scene of the kitchen.

The sink was filled with dishes, had they eaten dinner already? what time was it? You hadn't even realised. All you could think of was that mask, his mask. Your supposed brother. The empty eyes that he would stare at you with when he slowly cut your skin open.

You were about to leave, the thought of food in your body made you feel sick. When you saw him. He never showed you his face but you could recognise him anywhere. He could never hide from you. You could spot him out from a mile away, seek him out in a crowd easily.

His body was fire, and yours was gasoline and paper. He would ebb away at you until all that was left was ash. His pupils widened in recognition at you. "name...hi" You couldn't move, he would attack you, throw you against the wall. As he slowly reached towards your shoulder you winced.

Was this some kind of cruel joke?, did the universe hate you that much? "listen, I-I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind and-" your breath became shallow. "I guess I took it out on you" tears filled your eyes, this is it, he came back to kill you. "besides me and Bruce are trying to work things out so-" he took his hand off your shoulder and put it behind his head. He wasn't touching you, could you escape? "maybe we could be a real family-" You bolted, you couldn't stay still anymore, you ducked under his arm and ran past him. Back to your room back to safety.

Turns out Jason's presence was not in fact a joke. He became part of the family, Or maybe he always was. He would make inside jokes with Damian, learn sign language for cass (something you had done when you first met her, not that she noticed). He would even hang out with Tim and Stephanie two people who could not physically stand to be around you for more than five minutes. Maybe in some way you wanted his attention because maybe if you had his you could be part of that family.

It got worse the more Dick came round, his cheery aura meant the family would constantly be around each other. And you were not part of that family. They would have movie nights (without you), hang out at arcades (without you) and even spend Christmas together (they would always forget to buy you presents). Even Bruce went along with them for gods sake, were you really worth so little? Just because you weren't in spandex? You were so insignificant that Alfred just referred to you as 'miss' almost as if he had forgotten your name.

In these moments you would think back to times when your mother held you in her arms as you opened your presents, it was never anything expensive but you would cherish every one, no matter how much it cost. When she smiled her eyes would crinkle, you always wanted that, a life full of smiles and laughter. Yet for some reason you only got sadness.

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

Present day

When you asked a Wayne child what they wanted to be when they were older they normally answered with something artistic and niche like when Damian said he wanted to be an artist. Except you knew he would be even more insufferable if he was one so you thought he was better staying in the tights. Or Cass wanting to do ballet, not Cass you mentally scold Cassandra, when has she ever asked you to call her Cass.

You on the other hand wanted to make an impact, a small irreversible dent on the world (not literally). So now that you are 18 you study law. Is it difficult? yes, but weirdly rewarding. Getting out of Gotham made you realise how shitty that place really is. The air felt like it was choking you and the overall atmosphere felt heavy. Moving to Metropolis was like getting a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You were able to get a scholarship with a college you had great friends. You loved how bright it was all the time, and you weren't being kidnapped every other month, you were feeling amazing.

You had made a life for yourself, a somewhat stable, broke, happy life. What you didn't expect was for the family to remember you or even worse miss you...

yippee I made another one!!

there might only be one more chapter for this series because I'm on exam leave and I'm sick but thank you for all the support!! <3

[rosemaryhoney27]

A Crown of Time and Themyscira

Diana Pierce was many things.

Ambassador. Warrior. Amazon. Daughter of gods. Guardian of justice.

But a mother?

That had never been part of the plan.

So when Kronos—Clockwork, he called himself now, robed in shifting fabrics of blue and silver, ticking softly with time’s breath—appeared in her Manhattan apartment in the middle of the night, she instinctively reached for the lasso at her hip. What followed wasn’t a fight, but something stranger. Something impossible.

He handed her a baby.

A tiny, squirming bundle wrapped in star-speckled cloth, with wild tufts of black hair and eyes so piercingly blue they glowed. Her first thought, strangely, was: He has my eyes.

Her second was: Who the hell leaves a baby with a demigod warrior princess?

“He is Daniel,” Clockwork said gently, holding up a hand as if calming a storm. “But he will be known across the Realms as Phantom. Your blood recognizes him. That is no coincidence.”

Diana stared at the child, then at Clockwork. “What are you talking about?”

“He is your kin—by spirit if not by flesh. He has been touched by death and time and still survived. His birth parents cannot raise him. Their fate is sealed by the choices they made.”

Diana’s frown deepened, but her arms tightened around the baby automatically. He made a small gurgling sound and blinked up at her. Her heart, hardened by battle and sharpened by duty, squeezed unexpectedly.

“This boy is not just a child,” Clockwork continued. “He is heir to the Infinite Realms, and one day, its king. But the Realms are not kind. Without the right guidance, without strength, compassion, and justice—he will not survive to take that crown. He needs you, Diana.”

She opened her mouth to argue. But then the baby reached up, tiny fingers brushing her chin. His touch was cold, like mist after a storm. And yet there was warmth in him too. She felt it in her very core—he was not human, not fully, and not completely god either. A balance of extremes.

Like her.

“Oh Hera,” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“You will know,” Clockwork said with the faintest smile. “You always do.” Then he vanished, ticking out of time like a skipped heartbeat.

That left Diana—Wonder Woman, daughter of Zeus, Champion of Themyscira—alone in her apartment holding a half-ghost baby apparently destined to rule the afterlife.

The baby hiccuped. Turned intangible for a moment, passing right through the blanket. Diana blinked.

Well, she thought, at least I won’t have to worry about diapers.

Still, she had a new and far more pressing concern.

How the hell was she going to explain this to the Justice League?

“Hey, Bruce, Clark—so, funny story... I have a baby now. No, not mine. A ghost baby. From a time god. He’s going to be a king. I guess I’m a mom now?”

Yeah. That would go over great.

The baby snuggled closer, letting out a tiny sigh that echoed like wind in a cavern. Despite everything—despite the confusion, the chaos, and the sudden crash-course in supernatural parenting—Diana felt something bloom in her chest.

Love. Fierce, immediate, protective.

She didn’t know how she was going to do this. But she would.

Because she was Wonder Woman.

And this was her son now.

[babydoll372]

Birthday Girl

Pairings: nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

Word count: 1591

Warnings: natasha is intersex (she has a penis), blowjobs, nat is inexperienced but not a virgin, nude Polaroids, masturbation (r), both are in college, a little angst, begging, cum eating

Natasha waited impatiently on her dorm bed, constantly glancing to the door to see if she missed a knocking sound. But then it finally came and she rushed over, opening it in a hurry and smiling wide as she saw you, and rocking back and forth between her toes and her heels.

“Happy birthday, my sweet girl!” You drew her in for a hug, rubbing her back with the hand not holding her gift. She held you even tighter, you had no idea how excited she was to see you. She saw you every few days, and each of them were her favorite, but this one was special. She had been alone all day, and considering she had a private dorm didn’t help with her loneliness at times. She wasn’t popular in college, she focused on her studies instead of going to parties or making friends, but that always seemed to outcast her, which led to having no one around to celebrate her special day. She went to her classes, and only one professor wished her a happy birthday. She got a text from you, her parents, a few friends back home, and her sister, but it didn’t feel complete until she got to hear you saying it.

“Thank you! I missed you a lot today, you know.” She exclaimed, slowly letting go of you and leaning back to look down at you, you were absolutely beautiful, she thought, the best birthday gift she could ever have. You frowned playfully and stood on your tippy toes to kiss her cheek before replying.

“I missed you too- so, so much! But now we get to spend the entire night together, aren’t you excited?” She nodded quickly, almost enough to make her glasses fall off as you chuckled, fixing them for her. You went over to the bed and Natasha mindlessly followed you, sitting with her legs crossed just like you while facing you. She stares at the bag excitedly, fidgeting with the ends of her cardigan sweater as it was placed in front of her.

“Can I open it yet?” She asked, not wanting to get scolded for opening it too soon. You agreed and she quickly threw the tissue paper aside, commenting on how beautiful the gift bag was firstly, and then getting to the first gift. “This is so cool! Thank you!” She looked at the large pack of books of the series she’s been waiting to finish on her game first before getting the books herself, then leaned over to give you a large hug and a kiss. Anytime she could, she’d give you a kiss, just so she could feel your lips on hers.

Next were the usual dorm supplies needed to be updated, and she once again thanked you for every single one. Then the Lego set she’s been dying to build with you, and when she was ready to just break it open and build it with you right then and there, you had to stop her and tell her there was more left. She found a little baggie that must’ve fallen to the bottom and picked it up, and before she could open it, you put your hand over hers.

“I just want you to know these are meant for you and only you, I ask that you hide them. And, uhm…I don’t do this often so I hope you like them, I guess.” Your words of worry made her furrow her eyebrows and quickly agree to your terms, but then open the bag to reveal 6 different Polaroids. She adjusted her glasses to see them better and her eyes widened as she saw multiple provocative photos.

“Holy crap…I-..you- you look- wow.” She was blushing heavily, giggling to herself as she kept them close to her chest to look through them again and again, and you rolled your eyes playfully at her childish behavior.

“Which one are you looking at?”

“Uhm, it’s- it’s you naked in front of the mirror with your hand, uh, you know where.”

“You want to see it in real life?” She quickly looked up from the photos, her jaw dropping wide open in shock as she could only fathom a small nod and eventually the muttering of a few words.

“Yes please.” You swore you could see drool as you dropped to no layers and kneeled in front of her, asking her to lick your fingertips before bringing your hand to your clit and softly rubbing circles. You took your free hand and palmed her growing erection, humming as she whimpered at your touch.

“Tell me what you want, birthday girl.” You spoke in a low, seductive tone as she couldn’t form words, and she could only glance between your beautiful cunt and her palmed cock hidden behind her pants. “I can’t give you anything if you don’t tell me what you want, Natasha. Cmon, be a good girl for me, baby.” She gulped down her moan and nodded, desperately trying to give you what you wanted but knowing she would feel the utmost of embarrassment.

“I-…mphm, I want to have, uhm, I want to try something I saw before-“ She was cut off with yet another quiet moan, her hips thrusting into your hand ever so slightly.

“Yeah? What did you see before, tell me.” You let out an accidental groan, your fingers moving slightly faster amongst your clit as you could feel arousal pooling out of you.

“It was a blowjob…you don’t have to do it, I just would really like to try it for my birthday, if you don’t mind.” She mustered up the courage to get out the words, and almost instantly felt as though she regretted them, only to see your lips turn up into a sly smirk. You slowly removed your hand from your aching clit, promising yourself to return as you reached into the gift bag and gently placed a crown on Natasha’s head that read, ‘birthday girl’. You grinned and leaned in to sloppily kiss her, not wasting much time before trailing down to her crotch where you quickly pulled down her pants and boxers and salivated at the sight of her thick, hard cock. You eagerly wrapped your lips around the head, making her gasp at the feeling while your tongue swirled around, collecting her pre cum with a moan that vibrated through her.

“Oh fuck..p-please..” She didn’t know what she was begging for exactly, but she knew she wanted more of whatever she felt right now. She could feel more of her cock being enveloped by your warm, sweet mouth and placed a hand over her lips to quiet her gutterful noises, but as you glanced up to see this, you didn’t take it lightly and let her go with a slight pop and took her hand in yours.

“Don’t you dare think about hiding those pretty noises from me, sweetheart. I don’t care if the entire dormitory hears you- fucking let them.” You took her hand and let it to your head and her other soon followed when you returned to your previous position. A tear fell from her eye as the pleasure overtook her, and all she could imagine was your tongue replaced by your sweet, warm walls as you rode her, letting her cum inside you as a birthday treat. Your tongue was heavenly, but everything seemed to remind her of her lack of experience so far, yet luckily the desire was too great for her to even think or worry about anything else.

“That feels so- shit! That feels so good, right there, baby, please right there!” She moaned breathlessly, her stomach heaving up and down as her breaths were shallow and unobtained. She watched your head bob and her hands guide you, even if they were doing little in the matter, and couldn’t help but feel pure ecstasy.

“I’m- oh, please! Please, please, please, you’re gonna make me cum! I- I want to cum, I really wanna cum..” She brought out a whisper into the hot, sex-filled air. She knew you’d let her when she was ready, but she was absolutely petrified of the thought of her seed filling you without your worded consent.

“Baby, I- I can’t hold..mmph! I can’t hold it much longer- I wanna cum for you- please let me cum in your mouth for you, I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” She nodded to herself eagerly, swearing she’d be good for you like she always wanted to be, that felt like her main priority in life. She watched you shake your head yes, making her instantly release without being able to hold back, and loud whimpers filled the air as your name was repeated, her glasses foggy and her mind reeling. She didn’t know how she lasted that long, usually she lasted two minutes of your touch, tonight it had to have been longer, right? She watched your head come up after her cock went limp and her juices emptied, and she felt something in her stir as she saw your lips still covered.

“You dirty girl, your cum got all over me…cmon, clean up your mess.” She nervously leaned in and licked your lips, feeling you turn it into a kiss as she could taste herself on you for the first time, and she enjoyed it. She cleaned you dry, making sure there was no trace of her left on you as you leaned back, cupping her cheeks with a soft grin now.

“Happy birthday, Natasha.”

[4bsurdcreature]

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong.

You don’t drop your drink on the bar floor, you place it gently on the bar it was served on, as you feel your heart pulse in cut time, while your face flushes and your hands shake. Next to you, a warm smile, a gentle hand, a deep voice asks,

“Are you alright?”

And your heart sings, your pulse leaps, all you can think is I love you, I love you, I love you! and you feel sick with the infatuation of it all. “I’m fine.” is what you eventually say, but it comes out unstable, higher pitched, than you want it too, and in turning away you watch your friends trade glances with one another.

“She’s in love!” One of them, Rachel, says to the other.

“I never thought I’d see the day!” The other, Beth, replies.

Something is wrong! You try to tell them, but you can’t get the words out, as they trade giggles and hushed tones while you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

----

Inside, you face yourself in the mirror. Water has done nothing to calm the fire in your gut, and the butterflies in your stomach swirl to a stampeding rhythm.

You’ve never been in love before, and you never thought you would be. You love, you have always loved, or sometimes loved, or kinda sorta loved, before. But you’ve never been *in* love; beyond passing curiosity, you’ve never wanted to be. It took a while to be okay with that, and an even longer time to acknowledge it, but this is how you are and regardless of how you, or other people, feel on putting a term to it, it’s how you imagined your future remaining.

Asexual. Aromantic. The bane to love-song propaganda. The constant butt of every joke that cries “This is what it means to be human! To Love! To Love! To Love!”.

Right now, you don’t feel human. This feels wrong, like a violation, like someone reaching into your nerves and burning them with the uncomfortable jolt of electricity, forcing you to jitter and move against any conscious choice. Forcing your blood to rush, and your mind to fill with him, him, Him!

Ants bearing love notes and centipedes scrawling heart-felt confessions skitter and scrape across the undersides of your skin. You would cry, you think, if your mind wasn’t cotton stuffed full of Love.

“There you are!” Rachel says, entering the bathroom to find you, shaking, wiping down your face one last time with water and crumbling brown paper towels.

“Something is Wrong.” You tell her, finally able to think without that man drowning your thoughts, content to be a constant undercurrent for now.

“I’ll say!” She laughs, “Look at you, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joshua back there!” No, no no, she has it wrong. You’re not here to think about Joshua’s soft blue eyes- Stop it! Blue: ice scrapping, chilling you to the bone.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t normal. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never felt like this before.” You try to impress. You want to scream. You want to throw up, a little, too, but you can’t tell if that’s you or the Love.

“Twenty-seven is pretty late to get a first crush, sure, but Joshua’s a nice guy, I get it! Not to mention big, strong, and handsome~” She does that thing with her voice. That double entendre waver that you always thought was a little gross, when talking about someone in love.

Why doesn’t she understand- “No, I mean- Don’t you think it’s weird? Isn’t this out of character? I don’t-” You can’t, “But now-” You can’t even say it, “It won’t let go. It won’t stop. I want to be with him, I want him to be with me! I feel weird! This isn’t right!”

“You’re being dramatic... but I guess that makes sense- it’s your first time, after all! Oooh, I can’t believe I got to be there when you fell in love for the first time! This is so romantic, it’s like a fairy tale! No one was right, no one fit, you had resigned yourself to living a Loveless life, until suddenly, He appeared!” She sighs, dreamily. You think you’re going to be sick again.

But still, you stop and think. Stop to partition the little idiot in your brain that keeps designing cursive versions of your name next to Joshua, blossoming with bloodstained hearts in-between. Resigned, that’s how Rachel phrased it. Is that how she saw it, saw you? The bathroom door opens- it’s Beth. She’ll understand.

“You two were having a gossip party without me?” Beth says, but there’s no hurt in her eyes as she gives a sly smile.

“She’s In Love~” Rachel taunts you, incriminating flush branded deep in your flesh burning all the brighter.

“I saw!” Beth squeals, and your stomach drops, hope failing, while your Love soars.

“Beth, you’ll listen to me, won’t you?” You ask, desperate, a last ditch effort “This isn’t normal, this isn’t right- I think maybe someone poisoned my drink-”

“Oh, she just won’t stop.” Rachel cuts you off, rolling her eyes, “She’s convinced, that just because she’s never been in love before, that must mean there’s something wrong.”

“Being in love isn’t wrong!” Beth responds to Rachel, sympathetic gaze turned towards you, reaching out to hold your hands like you’re a child needing comfort, “Sure, you’ve never been in love before, and change can be scary when you’re not ready for it, but shouldn’t you be celebrating? Now you know you were wrong! It is possible for you to love! Isn’t that wonderful?”

You’ve known Beth the longest, you’ve confided in her the most. Every moment of your life had been charted out and experienced with her by your side, your best friend and confidant. She knew you before you had a name for what you were, and she had always acted supportive of your decisions. She was the first person you told, when you discovered your relationship with love.

Beth looked so happy, as she said those words ‘Now you know you were wrong!’

You can’t. You can’t look at them. But you also can’t stay here.

“I’m going home.”

“Already?” Rachel scoffs, arms crossed, looking at you like you’ve said something ridiculous.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Beth calls out to you, as you shoulder your way past her to leave.

----

No one believes you. You think that’s the worst thing you’ve discovered, about being in Love.

They see how your rash of a blush spreads when you talk about him, how you choke and stammer out praises mixed in with your loathing. They think you’re an idiot, new to your feelings, bumbling about them like a hormonal teenager, Love too big to think clearly. That last one is true, (Love all but suffocates you) but not in a way that you can make people listen.

It’s amazing, how few people truly care, when they think it’s about Love.

You ask for help, but it’s not the kind anyone wants to give.

‘Self Sabotaging’, ‘Repressed’, ‘Denial’, you’ve learned there are a million different ways to tell you that you’re wrong for thinking it’s wrong you’re in Love.

----

It is with vindictive satisfaction that you eventually prove your claims correct. When enough time had passed without you throwing yourself at Joshua like he undoubtedly assumed you would (and you were terribly grateful you were able to prevent), you caught him in the act of poisoning another drink. You had proof, and you took it to the right channels; you were cured and he would never do it again.

You were overjoyed, for a bit, but the victory itself was tainted. You stopped the villain, but the damage had already been done.

How quickly did those close to you turn, and how alienating it was, for no one to believe you. Puppeted by Love, reciting poetry of rotting verses, they mistook sweetness for healing rather than underlying disease. They must have seen the festering spread of Love as something to fill in the cracks of your character, instead of covering what little of you there was left beneath it all.

A gift in disguise, you think bitterly to yourself, as you wash the whole event clean. If your friends and family wanted you to be in Love, they can hold onto that fantasy- you don’t plan on speaking with them again, after all. They can read about what happened to Joshua in the news, and you can find a better group of people to spend your time with.

It is with peace you find yourself, in a life without Love.

"Aro/Ace person gets given a love potion" story but instead of them being immune or whatever, it DOES work, and they realize IMMEDIATELY that they've been fed a love potion because this feeling is so wrong and foreign but everyone keeps laughing off the idea of it being a love potion because "they were probably just a late bloomer" or "no, you just finally found the right person!" and it's just a horror story about how no one believes them even though they know, they KNOW this isn't right and they can't stand it.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSPIDER BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Marvel Rivals – Peter Parker x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts simple.

You're someone he meets on the battlefield—a fellow fighter, not a villain, but not a hero either. Maybe you’re with SHIELD. Maybe you’re a scientist pulled into the chaos. Maybe you’re just really good with a sword, or tech, or your fists. Either way, you're competent. Quiet. Mysterious. You don’t fawn over him, don’t praise his quips, and when he swings down to help you? You barely glance up and mutter, “I had it handled.”

He’s stunned. Not offended. Not really. Just... intrigued. You don’t treat him like Spider-Man. You treat him like a guy in a mask. Like a person. It sticks.

He thinks about you that night.

He doesn’t mean to. But he does. The way you moved, the way you didn’t hesitate to kill when it was necessary. There’s something cold and soft in you—like steel wrapped in velvet. You aren’t like MJ. You aren’t like Felicia. You aren’t like Gwen. You don’t want him. Which means he wants you.

The Obsession Brews Quietly.

Peter’s the type who knows when something’s wrong in his head. He’s not stupid. He’s hyper aware of his flaws, his grief, his trauma. But you?

You’re the exception.

He starts tracking your missions—not obviously. Not like a stalker (he tells himself). But he always “coincidentally” shows up where you’re sent. He’s cracking jokes like always, swinging around like always… but his eyes? They never leave you.

You're polite. Maybe even friendly. You laugh when he says something dumb. You save his life once—he plays it cool, but he replays it over and over again in his head like a romantic comedy scene. Your hand on his chest. Your voice. Your breath on his face.

He starts journaling about you.

“Totally normal. Not creepy. Healthy outlet.”

He draws you in his margins. Tries to guess your birthday. Your favorite food. If you’d ever date someone like him. If you’d let him kiss you with the mask on.

And then he gets jealous.

Like, real jealous.

You get a mission with Tony. Peter spirals. Tony’s rich. Cool. Charismatic. You laughed at one of his jokes. Peter snaps at Tony, nearly punches him during a spar. He covers it up, but the rage simmers.

He googles “how to stop being jealous.”

Then he googles your name. Your social media. Your apartment. He tells himself it’s just to keep you safe.

(He finds your selfies. He stares too long.)

It turns.

You go on a date. Someone boring. Normal. Civilian.

Peter sees. He watches from a rooftop.

He follows the guy home. Just to look. Just to make sure he’s not hurting you.

But when that guy touches your hand across the table, Peter's claws come out. Figuratively. (For now.)

You don’t see your date again.

Peter doesn’t do anything obvious. But your date gets fired. Blacklisted. His car disappears. He has a breakdown.

Peter doesn’t regret it. You deserve better.

He thinks about confessing.

He writes a hundred messages. Deletes them all. He wants to tell you, “I’m Spider-Man. I’m Peter. I’m in love with you.”

But it’s not love. Not really. It’s need.

He starts calling you “mine.”

Not to your face. But in his head. In his journal. When other guys get too close, when you joke with Strange, when you look at Steve like that—his fists clench. He mutters, mine. Over and over.

He starts making excuses to touch you. Casual ones. Hand on your back when danger’s near. Pulling you out of the way. Wrapping you in webbing just to “keep you safe.”

You roll your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

He smirks. “Sure. But then I’d have to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

He finally loses it when you almost die.

A close call. You’re unconscious. Bleeding. He goes feral. Webs up the attacker and nearly beats them to death before someone (probably Strange or Cap) pulls him off. He screams that it’s your fault they were too soft. That it’s your life, not theirs.

He doesn’t leave your side while you’re healing. Sleeps in a chair next to you. Won’t let the doctors near you unless he personally approves them. Talks to your unconscious body like you’re already his.

You wake up in a hospital bed, arm wrapped in gauze, ribs aching, and—

Peter is already there, sitting next to you like a sad puppy. He look like he had three Red Bulls and a mental breakdown.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes wide behind the mask. “Hi. You’re awake. That’s—cool. That’s great. That’s amazing. You have all your fingers, right? Can you move your toes? I checked like twelve times but I need to see.”

You blink. “Peter…?”

“You remember me!” He stands up like he won an Oscar. “I mean, obviously, but memory loss was a risk, and if you woke up and didn’t remember me, I’d—well, I’d find a way to make you fall for me all over again, obviously.”

You freeze. “What?”

“Nothing. You want soup?”

It gets weirder.

He never leaves. Literally. You wake up? He’s there. You close your eyes? He’s still there. You ask for water? He’s already holding a glass. He knows your favorite snacks, your music taste, the exact temperature you like your room.

You ask, “How do you know all this?”

He grins. “Lucky guess!”

It’s not. That’s a man with spreadsheets.

You try to leave the hospital.

Peter builds a web-cocoon around your hospital bed and pushes you back inside with a single finger.

“Doctor’s orders,” he says.

“The doctor said I could walk!” you protest.

“I’m the doctor now.”

“You’re a physics major—”

“With a minor in caring for you. Lie down.”

You lie down. You’re not winning this battle.

You finally ask him what's going on.

“Okay,” you say, arms crossed. “Are you… okay? You’ve been acting kind of… clingy.”

Peter laughs, too loud. “Clingy? Nooo. I’m attentive. Protective. Emotionally invested.”

“You bought me a dog.”

“Emotionally invested.”

“You named it after me.”

Peter looks proud. “You always said you liked golden retrievers!”

“I never said that.”

He looks away. “Your neighbor did. I asked.”

You try to set boundaries.

It doesn’t work.

You: “Peter, I need space.”

Peter: “Okay. Got it. Of course. You’re right.”

(That night, you get home and find a webbed-up man on your balcony.)

You open the window. “Peter, what are you doing?”

“Space! Look! I’m technically outside. Not even touching the building.”

You point to the mug in his hand. “Are you drinking my coffee?”

“Okay, but I made it inside, and then took it outside, so it’s technically still respecting your boundaries.”

You close the window. He waves.

Eventually, you… accept it. Kind of.

He’s insane. But he loves you. Like, terrifyingly much. The man built you a custom security system, memorized your menstrual cycle, and accidentally threatened your mailman once because he “looked suspicious.” But he also makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, brings you dumplings at 2am, and cries when you kiss his cheek.

You try to be mad.

You really do.

But then he shows up with a handmade hoodie that says “Property of Spider-Man (Emotionally and Legally)” and you can’t help but laugh.

You wear it.

The moment you really break is when you're having a bad day.

Awful. Exhausting. You curl up on the couch, and he silently webs over with a blanket, a hot drink, and your favorite movie already queued up. No jokes. No chaos. Just soft hands and a head on your shoulder.

You whisper, “You’re kind of insane, you know that?”

He hums. “I know. But I’d go completely insane without you. So.”

You smile into your cup.

You’re never getting rid of him.

And maybe… maybe that’s okay.

You’d been dating Peter for, like, maybe two and a half weeks officially.

Unofficially? He’s been yours since the moment you said “hi” back in freshman chemistry. He just hadn’t told you yet. Or anyone else.

Until today.

Until this stupid mission.

You were not supposed to come. You were supposed to be home. On the couch. Watching romcoms and ignoring the fact that your vigilante maybe-boyfriend (maybe-fiancé, maybe-needs-therapy) snuck out to do superhero things.

But then the mission went south. Someone said your name over the comms. And Peter. Froze.

He dropped from the ceiling like a possessed squirrel.

“WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘Y/N’?! WHERE IS SHE?! WHO TOUCHED HER?! WHO EVEN LOOKED AT HER?!”

Reed (who already regrets ever recruiting him): “She’s fine. She’s just patching people up in Medbay—”

“You brought her here?!”

“You brought her,” Reed says.

“Oh. Right.”

Fast forward. Post-mission. You’re helping Natasha stitch up a wound while Peter hovers around like a vulture with anxiety.

Natasha gives him a look. “You good, bug boy?”

Peter blinks. “I’m fine. My wife’s here, so I’m fine.”

Silence.

Natasha looks at you. You look at Peter.

Your hand freezes mid-stitch. “Excuse me?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You just called me your wife.”

Peter squints. “I did?”

“Yes.”

“I mean—yeah. Probably. Feels right.”

“Peter, we haven’t even moved in together.”

“You have a toothbrush at my place.”

“One time!”

“You stole my shirt.”

“You gave it to me!!!”

He shrugs. “Same thing. Just… marry me?”

Natasha, still bleeding: “Is this a bad time?”

Later that week, the Avengers know. All of them.

Somehow Thor is the first to approach you. He slaps Peter on the back so hard it knocks him into a wall.

“Your lady is radiant and fierce! I like her!”

Peter: “I know! I know! Isn’t she perfect? She breathes and I ascend.”

You: “Why is Captain America saluting me?”

Peter: “Because he respects you.”

You: “I’m not in the military!”

Peter: “You’re in my heart forces.”

You try to have a serious talk.

“Peter, people think we’re married. You have to stop saying that.”

He looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

“Because we’re not married?”

“But we could be.”

“We’re seventeen.”

“Age is a construct.”

You stare.

He softens. “Look, I just… I don’t know how to not love you like this. I tried normal. But you’re the best thing in my entire stupid radioactive life, and if I don’t marry you I’m gonna die and haunt your bathroom.”

You blink. “What?”

“As a ghost. In your shampoo bottle. I’ll possess your conditioner.”

You laugh so hard you snort.

It gets worse. Or better.

You start getting mail addressed to Mrs. Parker.

He says it’s a “funny mistake.”

The next day, your driver’s license shows up.

New name. New address. “Mrs. Peter B. Parker.”

“Peter—!”

“I MIGHT’VE HACKED THE DMV BUT IT WAS A LOVE CRIME.”

Despite everything… you stay.

You let him call you his wife. You tease him. You kiss him when he babbles about baby names for the kids you don’t have (yet). You roll your eyes when he sends you "wifey memes" at 3am. And when he builds a second closet in his apartment just for your stuff? You smile. You fill it.

Because at the end of the day…

The insane, obsessive, stalkerish Spider-Man loves you more than air.

And honestly?

You kinda like being his whole universe.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[ninisdollie]

soft pink love - lee heeseung❤︎⊹.

𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹

“In which reader is just a girl, and his boyfriend barely has patience, but he loves her so much anyway”

Content: +18MDNI fem! reader x heeseung, bimbo! reader, stablished relationship, fluff, crack, suggestive but not so smutty

notes: i love bimbo reader x member sm i think i will do one for every enha member lmao <3

From the beginning, Heeseung had known you weren’t like anyone else. There was something about you—something sweet, glittery, just a little bit dizzy—that pulled him in like gravity.

You weren’t dumb. He knew that. But your mind floated through life like a butterfly, fluttering from thought to thought with a soft smile and a pink-glossed pout. You mixed up common sayings, asked if dolphins were just really smart fish, and once said you didn’t know how to tell if spaghetti was done, so you just “guessed by the vibes.”

And yet, none of it annoyed him. Not even close.

Because you also remembered every little thing about him. You knew what kind of ramen he liked on bad days. You always made sure his hoodie sleeves were pulled down if his hands got cold. You cried when his favorite song came on during a bad week and whispered, “It’s like it knows you, baby.”

People didn’t always get you. They giggled when you said something a little off, raised their brows when you showed up in head-to-toe sparkles at casual dinners. But Heeseung? He’d just reach for your hand and kiss your cheek and think, God, I love her so much it’s insane.

You were soft in a way the world wasn’t. And he loved that softness. Loved that when life was rough and sharp and exhausting, he could come home to you humming to yourself in the kitchen, lip gloss smudged and trying to figure out if water boiled faster if you stared at it.

For example, the first time you got your car.

It all started with a key — pink, bedazzled, and dangling from a charm shaped like a little heart-shaped purse. You shoved it in front of Heeseung’s face the moment he stepped outside your building, grinning from ear to ear, soft pink lipgloss on your plump lips.

“Surprise!” you chirped, your voice full of excitement and not a single shred of awareness for the chaos that was about to unfold. “Look what I got!”

Your boyfriend was standing there, black jeans, white t-shirt and an exasperated look as if he was already exhausted of something that hadn’t even started. But he looked so good too, as always.

Heeseung blinked, staring at the keychain.

“Baby, what… is this.”

You jumped on your feet, wide smile on your face.

“My new car! Dad got it for me. It’s so cute, Hee. I named her Glitter.”

He just stared at you, for a few seconds, his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a smirk, he rolled his eyes with tenderness and his brows furrowed.

“You named your car.”

“Duh,” you said, already tugging at his sleeve. “Come see her. She’s, like, the prettiest thing ever.”

He followed you reluctantly into the parking lot, dragging his feet with the wariness of a man who already sensed the oncoming disaster. And there it was — parked diagonally across two spaces, shining obnoxiously in the afternoon sun. The car was pink. Not soft pink. Not classy pastel pink. It was full Barbie Dreamhouse pink, with glitter detailing along the side and a custom plate that read BBG.

Heeseung just… stared.

“She’s cute, right?” you asked, bouncing on your heels. “And guess what — I’m gonna drive you home!”

His mouth opened. Closed. That was like life-threatening.

“Wait, you’re driving?”

“Yup! I haven’t taken her out yet and I really wanna try. It’ll be fun!”

“…Have you driven since your test?” Test that, just so you know, was paid by your parents.

“Um,” you tilted your head. “Well, like, not officially. But I remember stuff!”

Heeseung looked at you, then at the car, then back at you. Slowly. Like he was calculating the risk of death. Considering the fact that you barely passed your test and that this was your first car ever, he could’ve said no. But then you would pout and sob and tell him that he was being mean, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he could never do that. So he said yes.

“Okay,” he said finally, resigned. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

You beamed. “Yay!”

The moment you slid into the driver’s seat, he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment. Your seat was too far back, your heels were still on, and instead of adjusting your mirrors, you were trying to connect your phone to Bluetooth so you could play your “Girlypop” playlist.

Heeseung sat down in the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt immediately.

“Two hands on the wheel, babygirl” he muttered.

“Mhm!” you said, giving a thumbs up with one hand and tapping your phone screen with the other. “Just let me fix the music real quick.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deep.

“Baby. Please. Both hands. You can play music later.”

You finally looked up, gave a pout, but nodded. “Okay, okay. Grumpy.”

You pulled out of the lot — too fast. The tires screeched slightly, and Heeseung braced a hand against the dash.

“Oops,” you giggled. “She’s touchy.”

“She’s a car,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You were absolutely glowing with joy, completely unbothered.

“Isn’t she fun though? It’s like go-karts!”

Heeseung pressed his head back against the seat, jaw clenched, pantience starting to blur.

“This is not like go-karts.”

You hit the gas again — a little too hard — and the car jerked forward. He shot a hand to the side handle and glared at you.

“You’re going fifteen over the speed limit.”

“I am?” you looked genuinely surprised, squinting at the dash. “Oh, wow. She’s fast. I didn’t even feel it.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, counting to five in his head.

You turned up the music, bouncing in your seat and singing along to some bubblegum pop song that had your name written all over it. The windows down, the breeze on your hair, the soft sun of the afternoon illuminating the streets of LA.

He didn’t even have the energy to argue, didn’t want to, honestly, you looked so pretty. You were always pretty. And he loved you so much.

But then — then you took your hand off the wheel to point at the sky.

“Look, Hee! That cloud looks like a bunny! See it? Over there?”

“Eyes on the road,” he barked, gripping the edge of his seat like it was a life raft. “Jesus—do not point at clouds while you’re driving.”

You gasped, immediately straightening up. “Oopsie! Sorry. Glitter is kinda wobbly, huh?”

“She’s not wobbly,” Heeseung groaned. “You’re swerving. Keep both hands on the wheel.”

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, returning your hands to ten and two with exaggerated care. “So bossy today…”

He pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Because I’m trying not to die, princess.”

You giggled, reaching over to squeeze his arm — which made the car veer again.

“Don’t be dramatic. You’re gonna survive. We’re almost there!”

Somehow, against all odds and the laws of physics, you did make it to his apartment. You pulled into his complex with a wide turn, then attempted to park — but ended up diagonally over the line, inches from the curb.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a full five seconds.

You turned to him with the proudest smile on your face.

“We made it! I’m like, the best driver ever”

He looked at you. At your sparkly nails on the wheel. Your lip gloss catching the sun. The soft blush on your cheeks. Your hair slightly messy because of the breeze. The proud sparkle in your eyes like you’d just landed a plane instead of nearly crashing a car.

And then he leaned over and kissed you — rough, desperate, relieved. Heeseung always kissed you like this, soft, sweet but also deep and strong, as if he was trying to claim you by devouring your lips. And it always took your breath away.

“Next time,” he said firmly, breath warm against your lips, “I’m driving.”

You blinked up at him. “Okay! But I still get to play DJ, right?”

He groaned, grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. “Yeah, baby. You can play whatever you want.”

Some other times, he just enjoyed spending time with you like this.

You sprawled across Heeseung’s bed, legs dangling off the side and head nestled in his lap as you scrolled through your phone with frantic fingers.

“Oh my God, babe—listen to this,” you gasped dramatically, eyes wide as you turned your phone toward him. “So apparently, Chaewon unfollowed Yunjin right after Yunjin soft-launched her situationship with Jay, who was, like, totally flirting with Chaewon just three weeks ago. And then Yunjin posted this story that was clearly about Chaewon like the caption literally said, ‘stay in your lane, sister.’ Like… HELLO?”

Heeseung blinked, staring at the screen as if it were written in another language.

“Uh… yeah. Totally. That’s… wild.”

You didn’t even notice how confused he looked—too wrapped up in the juicy chaos to clock the fact that he had no clue who any of these people were. But he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Instead, he gently scooted down the bed so your head was cradled between his thighs and reached for the hairbrush on his nightstand. With careful fingers, he started combing through your hair, brushing it back in smooth, slow motions. You sighed happily, like a cat being petted.

Heeseung loved to take care of you, he always cuddled you and pampered you, he loved braiding your hair and leaving little kisses on your neck and shoulders. Other times he would even help you paint your toe nails.

“So anyway,” you continued, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow, “Chaewon liked Jay’s cousin’s reel the other day, which some people think means she’s being petty, but I feel like she’s just reclaiming her power, you know?”

“Mmm,” Heeseung murmured, fingers parting a section of your hair. “Reclaiming her power. Got it.”

He started braiding slowly, tugging just gently enough to ground you as you babbled. He honestly had no idea who Chaewon or Jay were—he didn’t even know if Jay was a first name or last—but he loved the way your voice got high and breathy when you got excited. The way your hand gestured lazily in the air as you spoke. The way you smelled like strawberries and vanilla from the new conditioner you bought because the bottle was pink and “gave good vibes.”

“You’re not even listening, are you?” you teased after a moment, turning your head just enough to pout up at him.

Heeseung smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Nope. Not a single clue what you’re talking about.”

You gasped in mock offense.

“Heeseung! This is important!”

“I’m sure it is, baby,” he said sweetly, returning to your braid. “You’re doing such a good job explaining it, too. I’m just dumb, remember?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re not dumb, you just have a boy brain.”

“True,” he nodded solemnly, securing the end of your braid with a scrunchie from your wrist. “Boy brain. Can’t process Jay’s cousin’s reel drama.”

You turned around, folding yourself into his lap now, arms wrapping around his waist as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

“You still love me even though I’m obsessed with dumb stuff, right?” you mumbled into his hoodie.

Heeseung chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head.

“Are you kidding? You talking about dumb stuff is the best part of my day.”

You giggled, heart warm as you buried your face deeper into his chest.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I really am.”

Now, you were probably the most annoying person to have sex with—and Heeseung was completely obsessed with it.

You whined a lot. You made dramatic faces on purpose. You giggled halfway through foreplay just to see him roll his eyes, or paused mid-makeout to ask if your lashes were still on. You asked for lip gloss touch-ups between rounds, and sometimes demanded a water break after ten minutes. You clung to him like a koala when he was trying to reposition, refused to let go of his hand even when it made things awkward, and constantly said things like “do I look pretty like this?” while he was literally buried inside you.

And somehow… he loved it.

You were needy—endearingly, dangerously so. You wanted praise, you wanted cuddles, you wanted him to talk you through it in that sweet, filthy voice of his. You loved being spoiled in bed the same way you loved it outside of it. “More,” “slower,” “don’t stop,” “touch me here”—you gave him constant instructions in that breathy, sugar-sweet voice, and he never complained. In fact, he thrived on it.

You liked teasing him, too—pouting when he went too fast, whimpering “you don’t love meee” just to hear him growl back “say that again and I’ll make you cry.” You knew exactly how to push his buttons—just enough to make him snap, flip you over, and remind you exactly who was in control.

But the moment he touched you, the moment he whispered “good girl” or stroked your cheek with those big hands, you melted. Every single time. You were clingy and whiny and sensitive and all over him, always. You told him he was pretty with your mouth full, told him you loved him while you were still catching your breath, and buried your face in his neck afterward like you couldn’t breathe unless you were wrapped around him.

Heeseung used to say you were a handful. Now, he said you were his heaven.

There was one time when you broke your nail mid-sex, it was something like this.

Your body rocked beneath him, the sheets tangled at your hips, Heeseung’s name spilling from your lips in messy little whimpers. His thrusts were slow but deep, dragging against your walls in that way that always made your back arch and your lashes flutter. He was everywhere—his hands on your hips, his breath on your neck, his voice in your ear.

“Look at you,” he whispered, panting as he kissed your cheek. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You were just about to respond—something equally breathless and needy—when your hand slipped against his shoulder. A sharp, sudden sting shot through your finger.

You gasped. Froze. Eyes wide.

“Hee!” you cried, smacking his chest with a palm that was more dramatic than angry. “Stop—wait!”

His whole body stiffened.

“What? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“My nail,” you whined, holding up your left hand with a devastated look. “My My Melody nail broke. The one with the little charm—I literally just got this set!”

He blinked, chest heaving, still buried inside you.

“…Are you serious right now?”

“It hurts! And it looks ugly!” you pouted, waving your chipped acrylic in the air like it was a crime scene.

Heeseung sat back on his heels, hands resting on your thighs as he stared down at you with a kind of exasperated adoration only someone truly in love could manage.

“Baby,” he said slowly, “we are literally in the middle of me blowing your back out.”

“I know, and I was loving it,” you said with a tragic little sniff, “but then I looked down and saw my nail and it just… killed the vibe.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to three, and leaned down to kiss your lips.

“We’ll get it fixed tomorrow, okay? I’ll take you. Pinky promise.” he said, voice desperate because he was just so, so close.

“Even the expensive salon?” you asked, peeking up at him with your lips still in a pout.

“Even the one with the snacks and the massage chairs,” he said, grinning now.

You stared at him for a second longer, then sighed dramatically and looped your arms around his neck.

“Okay. Fine. But I swear if they can’t fix it—”

“I’ll buy you a whole new set and a Hello Kitty steering wheel cover.”

That made you giggle. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

“Obviously,” he muttered, pressing kisses down your neck as he pushed back in with one smooth thrust. “Now can we go back to the part where I was making you come?”

Your breath hitched immediately, head falling back as your legs curled tighter around his waist.

“Y-Yeah… yeah, okay…”

Heeseung chuckled against your skin, voice low and full of heat.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, the mood returned—your little crisis soothed, his patience rewarded, and the rest of the night filled with broken moans, tangled sheets, and a boy who worshipped you even when your My Melody charm went flying mid-thrust.

Other times it was just so, so messy with you.

Like one time you were straddling Heeseung’s lap in your cutest little pajama set—barely-there shorts, cropped baby tee, lip gloss still shiny from reapplication—you beamed down at him like you’d just invented sliced bread.

“I have a surprise,” you said, sing-song and smug.

Heeseung leaned back against the pillows, shirtless and comfortable, one arm tucked behind his head.

“Should I be scared?”

“No,” you grinned, “but you should definitely be excited.”

You revealed the fuzzy pink handcuffs like a magician revealing a bunny from a hat.

“Ta-da!”

He stared.

You wiggled them with a giggle.

“I got them online. Two-day shipping.”

Heeseung let out a slow, measured breath.

“You are the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”

You giggled and grabbed his wrist.

“Give me your hands, handsome.”

With an amused roll of his eyes, he obeyed, letting you click one cuff around his wrist. You giggled again—why was he so pretty? You got distracted just staring at his fingers for a second.

Then you threaded the chain through the headboard bars and locked the other cuff into place, standing up proudly once it clicked shut.

“There! How do I look?”

“Like someone who has no idea what they’re doing but is very sexy about it.”

You winked.

“Exactly the vibe I was going for.”

Heeseung tugged gently on the cuffs, testing them, metal clinking against the headboard.

“They better not break.”

“They’re from a reputable Etsy shop,” you said, hands on hips. “Only five-star reviews. No one got stuck or sued.”

“Good to know,” he muttered. “So what now, Miss Seduction?”

You reached into your purse to grab the key, but paused. Blinked. Then blinked again.

“Hm.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t say ‘hm.’”

“I just… thought the key was in here.”

“You thought?”

You began digging deeper. Then you crawled onto the floor and flipped your purse upside down. Lip glosses, fake lashes, a tiny perfume bottle, a half-melted lollipop—but no key.

“Maybe it’s in the bathroom,” you mumbled, scampering out.

Heeseung sat patiently for thirty seconds. Then a full minute. Then two.

You returned with wide eyes and a nervous laugh.

“…Sooo. Funny story.”

His head dropped back against the pillow with a groan.

“You lost the key.”

“I didn’t lose it!” you argued. “I just—misplaced it. Maybe it’s in my makeup drawer. Or like… in my jewelry box. I was trying to be organized.”

He tugged once on the cuffs. They jangled.

“You handcuffed me to the bed. And lost the key.”

“It’s not lost!” you cried, flopping down beside him dramatically. “It’s just… hiding. Temporarily. Being silly.”

He looked over at you slowly, expression blank.

“You are so lucky you’re cute.”

You made a small, embarrassed noise and buried your face into his shoulder.

“I was trying to be sexy,” you whispered.

“You were,” he said instantly. “You are. I’m wildly turned on. I’m just also restrained, and not in the fun way.”

You groaned into his chest.

“Should I call Jake?”

“Don’t you dare.” His voice dropped an octave. “I swear, if Jake sees me like this—naked, handcuffed, and blue-balled—I’ll never recover.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried, face pressed into his collarbone as he sighed dramatically and kissed your head.

“Only you,” he murmured. “Only you would handcuff me in an attempt to be seductive and forget where the key went.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, pouting. “I really wanted to be a sexy evil genius.”

“You’re a sexy dumbass,” he corrected, smiling.

You glared up at him playfully.

“You love me.”

“I do,” he said, soft and real now. “So much that I’m letting this slide.”

Ten minutes later, after retracing your steps and crawling through your closet, you triumphantly returned to the bedroom with the tiny key pinched between your fingers.

“Found it!”

Heeseung lifted his head and glared.

“Where was it.”

“…In my bra.”

But even if some people considered you dumb—ditzy, scattered, too caught up in your sparkly little world—and even if, yes, you regularly tested the limits of his patience with your glitter-trail messes and wild ideas that made no logical sense…

Heeseung loved you.

He loved you with a kind of stubborn, endless affection that couldn’t be reasoned with. It wasn’t about whether you remembered where you put your keys, or if you knew how to pronounce the menu at fancy restaurants, or that you once asked him if pickles grew on trees. He loved how your eyes lit up when you had an idea, no matter how chaotic it was. He loved how your thoughts moved faster than your words sometimes, leaving half-finished sentences he’d learned to finish for you. He loved how you got so excited about the little things—lip gloss names, your new shoes, an episode of some trashy reality show you made him watch while you braided his hair.

And yeah, sometimes you made him want to scream into a pillow. Sometimes you made him count to ten just to keep from bursting out laughing or sighing in disbelief.

But most of the time?

He just wanted to kiss you.

Hold you close.

Protect your heart and spoil you with every ounce of love he had.

Because no one made him feel the way you did. No one could frustrate him and enchant him in the same breath. No one made him laugh harder, smile bigger, or feel more like himself than you.

To the world, maybe you were a little much. A little messy. A little too loud or soft or lost in your own glitter-drenched daydreams.

But to Heeseung?

You were perfect.

You were soft hands and glossed lips, perfume on his hoodie, sleepy good morning kisses and dramatic late-night rants about celebrity gossip he didn’t understand but always listened to anyway.

You were love, wrapped in chaos.

Kindness, dressed in pink.

Everything he never knew he needed.

And no matter how many keys you lost or how many times you forgot where you parked the car, Heeseung knew one thing for sure:

You’d always have his.

[monzabee]

breathe (2 AM) - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: it’s 2 AM and you are out of breath. oh, and you really have something important to tell your best friend. 

Pairing: postprison!spencer reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

Warnings: kissing, kinda angsty but also not, running  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Breathe, you remind yourself as you push your legs to run faster, breathe. 

Then, you look at the watch on your wrist–it reads, 2 AM. Nothing good happens after 2 AM, you think. You should turn back, go home, forget about everything you’re about to do.  

It’s pure madness.  

The type of crazy you never go for under normal circumstances but nothing about this situation is normal anyway, so why dwell on it unnecessarily? Your mind is still swirling with Spencer’s words earlier that evening, and Penelope’s words from moments ago which has you running through the streets of downtown Virginia–something Spencer is probably going to scold for you, though you’ve always been an avid believer in asking for forgiveness rather than permission.  

“If you don’t tell him now, when will you tell him?” That was the last thing Penelope asked you before you made your way out of her apartment. Simple, blunt even, as if the answer should have been obvious. And maybe it should have been. Maybe you should have done this hours ago when Spencer was looking at you, almost pleadingly–or even days ago, maybe even months ago. But fear has always been a comfortable excuse, and love?  

Love is terrifying. 

“But isn’t love worth it?” Emily asked when you told her just how much you were afraid of messing things up. Because that has always been the problem, hasn’t it? It’s always you that messed up, never the other person, but always you. And messing up with Spencer means losing him, which could never be an option.  

“You could never lose Spencer,” JJ assured you, not hesitating to also point out, “he’s the most stubborn person I know, and he wouldn’t let that happen.” 

Yet, the fear still lingers, curling around your ribs like a vice. Because what if they’re wrong? It’s easy to say it in your mind, but what if saying it out loud changes everything?  

You push the thought away as you turn the last corner, Spencer’s apartment now in sight. The building is quiet, the streetlights casting long, lonely shadows on the pavement. Your heart is pounding, not from the run, but from the sheer weight of what you’re about to do. 

Breathe, you remind yourself as you force yourself to walk up to his building. It’s 2.08 AM now. Breathe, you force yourself as you inhale deeply, closing your eyes for just a second. You can do this. 

Your hands are shaking as you reach for the door, the cool metal grounding you for a brief moment before you finally push it open. The hallway is dimly lit, eerily quiet at this hour, and each step toward his apartment feels heavier than the last. The doorman gives you a small smile, and you try to return it as best as you can.  

Your lungs burn from running all the way as you force yourself up the stairs, practically skipping every other step. This is Spencer, you remind yourself. Your best friend. The one person who has always been safe. So why does this feel like the scariest thing you’ve ever done? You couldn’t have imagined the look he’d given you before you left work, right? That look; the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did – it’s what got you here in the first place. 

You reach his door before you can second-guess yourself again. Raising a fist, you knock–soft at first, then firmer when there’s no immediate response. 

For a moment, nothing. Then, footsteps. The faint sound of locks clicking open, revealing Spencer in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair a disheveled mess. He blinks at you, sleep still evident in his eyes, but the second he registers that it’s you standing in his doorway at–he glances at the clock, 2.10 AM, his brows furrow in concern. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough, a little breathless like he wasn’t expecting you, but his brows furrow, scanning you for any sign of distress. “What’s wrong? You are shivering.” 

For a moment he looks like him again, the Spencer who didn’t spend three months in prison, who didn’t see his girlfriend get shot right before his eyes–the Spencer, who wasn’t forced into a drug addition by one of the unsubs.  

He calls your name, and your eyes focus on him again, “Hey.” His voice is softer now as he takes a step closer to you, “Talk to me.” 

You swallow hard. Breathe. 

“I–” You stop, shaking your head. No more stalling. No more running. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Say it. Just say it. Just say it, goddamn it. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I tried, but I–” Another breath. Another step forward. “I love you, Spencer.” 

The words hang between you, heavy and fragile all at once. Spencer blinks. His lips part slightly like he wants to say something, but for a long moment, he just stares at you. And you start to panic. 

What if I read everything wrong? What if I just ruined everything? 

But then; so softly, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment, he exhales your name. 

“You– ” He swallows hard, his voice almost shaking. “You love me?” 

You nod, your heart beatin in your ears. “I do.” 

He takes another step forward, so close now you can see the exact moment his breath hitches. His hands hover for a second–like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away before they gently frame your face, fingertips barely pressing into your skin. 

“I love you, too,” he murmurs. “I think I always have.” 

Your heart stutters. “You do?” 

Spencer lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. But I’m really glad you didn’t wait.” 

And then he kisses you. 

It’s hesitant at first, careful like he’s trying to memorize everything, the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sigh against his lips. Then, he deepens it, arms winding around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. His arms envelope you as his hands thread through your hair, holding you even closer to himself. 

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe you ran here,” he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. 

You laugh softly; breath still uneven. “How’d you know?” 

“You’re out of breath,” Spencer presses another lingering kiss to your forehead before whispering, “Breathe.” 

[whereserpentswalk]

So a few thoughts:

First off: I 100% agree with @honourablejester. Keep up the good fight, we believe in you.

Secondly: I know this is a slight derail, but I dislike how every metaphor for oppression in spec fic always is assumed to be a racism allegory and only a racism allegory. A lot of these metaphors are broadly applicable to a lot of groups and often map just as well or better onto class/queerness/ability/gender/religion. I guess it's because race has hypervisibility in the US while almost every other system of marginalization has hypovisibility. I think people would be better at writing and reading these metaphors if they didn't decide it was about a specific type of oppression (though there are exceptions of course, where there's a very clear reading as one type of marginalization). It especially feels weird when USAmericans see things written in other countries as being exclusively about USAmerican issues.

Thirdly: Everyone in this thread who thinks robots as marginalized people are a bad trope are acting as if sentient robots are a real thing. There's just this lack of willingness to engage with metaphors and allegory in any way that's not 100% literal. And I'm sorry to say but if you're going to engage with science fiction that has any deeper themes to it, you're going to have to accept allegory. It feels like these people are so used to Saturday morning fluff, that they can't see the stories they read as ever being anything else. Also there just isn't an inherent consistent definition of what a robot or vampire is or does.

Fourthly: As a disabled person: I don't trust people who think that marginalization can be valid if someone's physical differences are real. There's a lot of people in this thread acting as if marginalized people who actually are physically and/or mentally different from their oppressors is a science fiction concept, and that if it were real their oppression would 100% be ok, and as a disabled person seeing that sentiment is pretty scary. Honestly, just in general it seems a lot of the people arguing against robots as allegory seem to think that marginalization is bad because marginalized people aren't a threat to privileged people, and I don't think it'll be good if any of them are convinced the threat is real.

Fifthly: https://www.tumblr.com/whereserpentswalk/724655144226144256/your-new-roommate-is-an-android-you-could-tell?source=share

the reason "robot racism" is often a really stupid metaphor is the same reason that like. discrimination against demons or vampires or whatever doesn't work, is because there's often a pretty justified reasons humans are scared of vampires or robots or whatever, in a way that doesn't apply to real life minorities, like a fantasy author will be like "the reason vampires are discriminated against is because most of them and kill and eat people for fun and pleasure, and so humans respond by trying to kill them, isn't that so sad" and like no that's a perfectly fine reason to not trust vampires i think.

[harukyuu2]

hello!! May I request a fic about wind breaker (including Togame jo) scenario when they "accidentally" walk in on you while you're changing? Thank you!!!!!!!!

-‘๑’-⇢ ˗ˏˋ Woah! Sorryyy! - wbk boys seeing you change:࿐ྂ-‘๑’- !! - Haruka, Suo, Togame and Endo !! (Endo's part is pretty suggestive, implied fem!reader in some cases, small revision only :p)

"Hey, where do you have your... FUCK, DAMN—" ♡ Boy smashed your door closed without even saying sorry, too much embarassment— he cant handle it! You didnt even notice him until he smashed the door, it was like a split second interaction! ♡ You never saw him SOOO red, like— he always blushes! But today?? You can almost see smoke coming out of his head, his red has the saturation on a 100% ♡ His brain isnt working, he cant even form a sentence to you or even look you in the eyes, he feels like he's gonna explode if he does. ♡ If he didnt run out of your house by now, you can reassure him its fine, but youre gonna get embarassed mumbles until he's actually able to think without that image in his head. ♡ At the end of the day, with a looot and i mean A LOT of reassureance and patience for his blush to go down, you'll get your usual nervous boyfriend again, maybe even an apology! ♡ Still, that image of you stayed in his head for more time than necessary— and he probably felt guilty, but also youre too pretty in his eyes! He isnt sure how he got you still.

"...You know im— im sorry or whatever for...fuck, you know! not knocking or somethin'...whatever, damn—"

"Sweetie, are you ready to left alrea— Oh. Sorry!" ♡ He's actually SO CALM, he stands like "🧍‍♂️" checking on you a quick second before leaving politely, you cant even hear him walking, the only sound in the room is his apology AND THATS IT. ♡ Tbh, its surprising you catched him in a situation like that. Suo, as a boyfriend, know everything you need or what youre doing, or what youre about to do...His mind is literally connected to yours— so him thinking you were ready and it was wrong? First time you caught him out of guard. ♡ He stares at you. More than he usually does. You could catch him staring at you and he wouldnt look away! His eyes are literally glued to you (They were already, but now more than always) ♡ Now, Suo can be mature— like reaally mature, but still he's a teenager! So he feels a little embarassed, he's just good at hidding it. Not lying, the image doesnt leave his mind and he feels really inmature for it! ♡ He doesnt know how to bring the topic without making you uncomfortable, but he needs to. So, at night, when youre about to fall asleep, pretty dozed off from reality, he finally turns to cup your cheek and sweetly murmurs— whether you remember it or not, well... he's just going to play it silly in the morning.

"That color and laces looked good on you, darling. Sweet dreams, sorry for not knocking."

"Babe, take your time, but just so you dont scold me later, fireworks start at— ...uh, sorry. Uhh, that color looks good on you! I mean, sheesh, alright— im leaving, im leaving..." ♡ SLOW ASS TURTLE. Talks with you without noticing youre changing. Another man who just stands like "🧍‍♂️" while looking at you for a whole ten seconds and he tries to fix it with compliments just for you to have to push him outside of the bedroom ♡ He hums outside of your room, wondering if he made you uncomfortable or something, relationships are something new for him too— so he has zero idea how to handle this situation at first. ♡ He wont lie that he finded you pretty, thats a normal thing! Well, he guesses...so he wont see complimenting you on it as a bad a thing, but he does understand that not knocking was wrong (and not moving quickly too) ♡ Being on his side was silent for a moment before he leaved a sigh, scratched his neck before ruffling your hair and apologized in a cute way— he learned to talk a lot better after his fight with Haruka and always expresses himself honestly with you.

"'m sorry im just saying this now, i should had knocked...anyways, you looked pretty though...i mean it! You know i love you, right?"

"Babyyyy...Hurry up so we can go on a walk already! do you want to— DAAAMNN, that one looks good on you! is that the one i gived you money to buy? i should buy you another, but in blue and— Dont push meeee...!" ♡ Clingy, whining, sassy ASSSS...He wont leave that room until you try to push him like a good damn minute. Worst of all? While you push him out of the bedroom, he would make sassy remarks of other colors you could try that would look better with a damn big grin in his face. ♡ Apologizing? Nah, he's more into the old good "teasing my girlfriend until she feels the urge to beat me!!", íf you two went to the shopping...yeah, probably points out a store that sells them only to annoy you more. ♡ Follows you around even if youre mad or something, complimenting you on the way and even if he feels playful,(Literally everyday) will squeeze your waist just to scare you and finally get your attention directed to his face. ♡ Once you two are back to your house, he's teasingly tracing the contour of your bra through your shirt, holding you close and not letting his eyes fall from yours, he tempts you through them only to finally squeeze you into an hug since he's a romantic one, of course..!

"Im not going to apologize for finding you pretty, babe. Were not in a backwards world, arent we? So stop frowning and i'll spoil you in more gifts!"

I got confused and i made headcanons D: But i'll probably make a scenario for Togame if you rlly want it !!

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday Shana! I would love a mew chapter of what they expect or anything for the untamed💜💜💜

continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

The strange Amestrian girl gets him a room at a motel with a worker that leers at him as she pays and he doesn't know why he's going along with this besides that he's lost enough blood that every time he tries to step away from her, black spots appear in his vision.

She lowers him onto the edge of the bed and disappears into the bathroom, coming back with a damp wash cloth. She grabs his face, tilting into the light of the weak yellow lamp. She frowns at him as she starts to clean his face, wiping away blood and dirt and sweat. "Do you have a change of clothes or something? How are you managing normally? I'd guess the other Ishvalans are sheltering you, but I think you're smart enough to know that's the first place they'll look, and I don't think you want to put them in danger. Do you?"

He tenses. Does she know who he is? What he's done? She's speaking as if she does, but then her actions make even less sense than before. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have a little brother," she says. "If anything happened to him, I'd do a lot worse than explode a few military dogs."

She does know who he is. She moves the washcloth down his neck, and so close and so bare with her touch on him it should be uncomfortable, tense, something, but instead it feels comfortable. His mother died when he was young, but he has vague memories of her wiping him down just like this. "I didn't have a little brother."

"Yeah," she says, golden eyes meeting his just for a moment. "You were one, right? You've got the look."

"What's the look?" he murmurs. He's so tired. Everything hurts.

"Lost," she says softly. He flinches. "Us older siblings, we've gotta keep it together, gotta have a plan, even if we don't. Fake it till you make it. My little brother is never lost because he always knows exactly where I am."

"He gave me his arm," he says, not knowing why he's telling her this. She's pretty and young and knows nothing of war -

She laughs, sharp and unexpected. When he manages to look back at her face, she's grinning, and there's something in her eyes that stops him from taking offense, something that makes him wonder if she really has escaped the war. "Come on, get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning. I have to make a phone call."

She pushes him onto the bed and he shouldn't leave himself so defenseless and unprotected in front of this Amestrian stranger, but his eyelids are heavy and he feels a blanket being spread over him as he falls into either sleep or unconsciousness.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Triumvirate 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, abuse by parental figure, kidnap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Based on this.

Summary: Three men take you away from an unhappy life.

Characters: destroyer Chris, Captain Syverson, Curtis Everett.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t

The tearing in your roots makes you whine. Your mom twists until your scalp feels ready to split, dragging you down the hall as she snarls. He pushes open the screen door and hurls you out with every ounce of spite. You stumble down the crooked steps and land in the dirt. 

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

These men are taking you who knows where to do things you can’t imagine and there’s no one coming to save you. Just like no one ever came to save you from your mom. 

[muntitled]

Rabid

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've figured if you paid him, then your debts would be settled and maybe... just maybe he'd let you go

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Angst, Neglect, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Absent Parents, Violence, Smut +18 (mdni), Sadomasochism, Sadist!Seongje, Fingering, Dark fic, Dubious consent, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: Comissioned by @tojii11 ... as always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Since you've known him as of late, lying has become almost as voluntary as breathing. It should scare you, how fluidly a lie slips past the confines of your lips. Making you more and unrecognizable to even your own self.

"I'm tutoring late tonight."

"I’m studying at the library,"

“I'm having dinner with a friend.”

You didn't have many of those. Had your parents been the caring type they might have known that friends were a luxury you could not afford.

Still, it bothered you that you were making excuses for him. You were helping yourself get extorted everytime you stole for him and everytime you didn't let a living soul know.

The first few times were as difficult as it ever got. But the more you were forced to work for him, the more he corrupted you-the more that infection spread until it became all you were.

"What do you need that much money for anyway?" You squeeze your phone tighter with one hand while the other sits in your blazer pocket. You maintain a calm, controlled gait as you walk out of the school gates, surrounded by your peers dressed in the same uniform walking in clumps of groups- little ecosystems that they formed to help manage their anxieties. You wish you had their problems: Boys. Makeup. Parties.

You wish you had your own little ecosystem. A group who'd be more concerned with strengthening your mental health, not deteriorating it.

"You think school trips to Bali are gonna be cheap?" It was always easier to lie to her over the phone or through text. There was something biting in your mother's eyes that you couldn't always face. Something that would eat you alive if she found out you've been working for the kind of people you're working for.

"Backtrack on the attitude," her words snipe you through the receiver like barbed wire, "It's just strange that they're organizing a field trip in the height of your assignments like this..."

"It's an incentive I guess. They're telling us about it now for extra motivation to see this exam season through.." lies lies and more lies. Your mouth is full of them.

"I don't know if I want you to be thinking about a trip to Bali during all this work... have you been improving?"

There was no improvement with her. Only perfection. She tried your whole life to wipe you squeaky clean until you were spotless. If only she knew that over the past year you've acquired a spot almost impossible to scrub away. He's irremovable. Or at least you thought he was...

"When did you say your field trip was? Perhaps your father and I will tag along, make a family vacation out of it. We never see you anymore because you're always studying and Bali is lovely all-year round-" while your mother talks, your heart sinks and panic festers. You try to focus your steps on making it across the road, down a path you've walked all year.

"Mom, please don't be embarrassing."

"How am I being embarrassing?"

"You'll be the only parent there." Above you, the afternoon sun sits snugly against the horizon, guiding you down a decrepit lane. Stray cats and empty soju bottles litter the street the farther you walk from the safety of the school grounds. You're getting closer and you needed her to send the money.

"It's my money. I can do with it as I please."

You scramble your brain, searching furiously for a lifeline.

"It's just..." More and more lies, "This trip is actually just Geo-camp. Our teachers planned a few cave explorations. We're gonna check out the different stalactites and stalagmites-your presence might hinder my concentration-"

In the distance, the warehouse looms and your fist in your blazer pocket begins to coil.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place instead of wasting my time?” Your mother tsks, “I've sent the money to your account."

"Thank you ma'am..."

The call ends abruptly, void of any warmth. Void of any love. You pull your phone away from your ear and your nerves settle as you see the money reflecting. You suddenly feel bigger than this warehouse- bigger than life itself- like you're armed and ready to take on anything this rabid dog might throw at you.

You tilt your head back to watch the clouds disappear behind the iron roof and you steal your nerves. Word on the street is that this place once belonged to Baek Jin before his untimely disappearance. Until, naturally, a wolf came in and marked it as his own...

The nearer you get to the slightly opened door, the clearer the sound becomes: You hear the sound of a broken man groaning and your body has a visceral reaction. By now you recognize the sound of a fist slamming against human flesh and bone. You know what that sounds like and it haunts you through those quiet moments at night when it was just you and your memories. You fight the urge to stop walking, something in you tugging and begging to just walk away. It's either this or remain a slave for the rest of your foreseeable future.

That thought is enough to have you sucking in one final breath of air before waltzing into the warehouse. It's dark, the air damp and stuffy with little to no circulation. Despite the location, the interior is somewhat tidy and were it not for the man kneeling and bleeding on the floor, you might have thought the place fitting for any dignified bachelor.

“I didn't expect to see you today,” Seongje addresses you the moment you step in. His fist is paused in mid air and it's pulled back as if you'd just saved the man on the floor from experiencing one final blow.

He smiles at you, as if he didn't have blood on his knuckles. As if he didn't have a man on his knees, pleading for his life. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Seongje asks, before digging his fingers into the boys scalp. You hide your trembling hands in the pockets of your blazer and you appear as unaffected as you possibly can when Seongje tilts the man's face to look up at you. “This is Eungmin. He's very cute, very small.” Seongje smiles. “Eungmin is getting beat unconscious because he's been stealing some of my money for himself, isn't that right, Eungmin-a?”

The man’s left ise completely disappeared under a swollen mass of flesh. His skin is broken in several places- all is red and yet he still tries… “P-please-” his words are slurred. You can tell he's getting closer and closer to blacking out. His brain can't comprehend the words leaving his mouth and it's far too painful to watch. “My grandfather's sick and- I needed the money-”

“Sob, sob, sob, stories, Eungmin-a,” Seongje lets go of the man's head before tucking his hands into his pockets. Eungmin sways from side to side as Seongje rounds his bruised and battered body, tsking lightly like a scolding parent.

Before you're made witness to any more bloodshed, possibly even a murder, you grab your phone out of blazer pocket and with trembling hands you press a few buttons on your screen.

Seongje's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pockets. He taps away at the device with bloodied fingers, his orange windbreaker stained with the same blood and for a moment, all is quiet.

Seongje stares blankly at his screen.

“What's this?” He asks without looking up.

Something in you tells you that you have the upper hand. Power has shifted, even minutely and it gives you the courage to reply back, “It's an incentive.”

Seongje's dark eyes finally flit up to you and you're arrested by that wolfish grin. “Big words.” He smirks. “You want a promotion or something?”

You ready your voice. “Actually, Seongje, I’m looking for a way out.”

More silence but this time, it's fucking suffocating. Even the man on the floor, the man who's experienced the very worst of Seongje's wrath has his mouth slightly open from shock.

“I never want to steal for you again. I never want to do anything for you again.” You find your voice in the rubble of your pain and all your anxieties that have gone unnoticed by the adults around you. “I never wanna see you again.”

He nods slowly. “I hear you.” Seongje's voice is calm. So calm it births a sliver of hope inside you: Maybe he'll just accept the money and you might actually be free. You could go back to being a girl forgotten by the rest of the world but this time, it'd be on your own terms. You'd love to be invisible again. Invisible girls don't get extorted like this.

“It's just… I'm really sensitive-”

The very moment those words leave his mouth, the moment a glimmer of a smile flits onto your lips, Seongje delivers a bone-cracking punch to the man's jaw.

You gasp and cup your mouth with both hands. Shocked.

The man slumps over, face hitting the floor. Knocked out cold.

“This is interesting.” Seongje says but you can't look away at the man laying on the ground. His body twitches periodically until there's barely any movement at all. Were you looking at someone passed out or were you staring at a corpse?

Soengje doesn't care about either outcome because he's already lighting a cigarette, standing as if pondering something else entirely.

“Where'd you get this money from?”

“D-Does-” you swallow thickly, “-it matter?”

He nods his head slightly before sticking the cigarette on the tip of his lips, “I could buy a million cig packs with this. The good kind too,” he chuckles, “Fuck, I could buy a fucking factory-”

“It's not that much-”

“Are you rich?” He asks suddenly, ramping up your nerves as he tucks his hands in his pockets to stalk closer towards you. “Have I been extorting a princess this whole time and I didn't know it?” You make your body an iron rod- your face cold. Something like him can't sense discomfort or he'll play with it.

“Not rich,” you say, “Just desperate…”

His feet stop directly in front of you and you keep your gaze there. Not daring to look up at him until he brings his own index finger under your chin, tilting it up.

“I like that word… Desperate.” He blows out a plume of smoke but not in your face. The small, gentlemanly act is almost laughable.

“Seongje, at this rate I'll be working for you for the rest of my life-”

“The rest of your life…” he nods slowly, looking away in a pensive manner before looking back at you, “That sounds fun, doesn't it?”

“Seongje- please just accept the money…”

“Are you calling me poor?”

“That's not what I'm saying at all and honestly, I feel like you know that's not what I'm saying-” your brows are furrowed, voice rising.

“So I'm delusional then?” He asks with a smile.

“Why do you get off on making yourself a victi-” his hand contracts around your throat and it tightens.

“Lemme stop you from saying what you wanna say because you really won't like the outcome.”

He squeezes one more time in warning before letting you go

“Why would I let you go? You're so perfect for me. We work well together.”

“Seongje, Please-”

“Shh… shh… shh…” he lets the cigarette hang off the side of his mouth before cupping both of your cheeks with both hands. He pushes back a stray braid and you tremble under the weight of not only his hands, but his gaze. His eyes are two endlessly cold voids. You don't wonder what's behind those eyes because you bet there's nothing there.

So focused, you've become, with Seongje's eyes, you barely notice his hand slithering down your neck. He feels you, touches you like he's just discovered something new…

“You've just made me more money than any of these useless scumbags ever have…” He stands closer and you watch as he opens his mouth to let the cigarette fall to the floor. You hear his foot stomp on it but your eyes are hazy with tears.

“I pride myself on being a good businessman… Letting you go?” He tsks, “That's not very good business.”

“Please, Seongje-”

“I do believe in rewards though so…” he lets his hand roam lower and lower. On its way down, he squeezes you tit through your shirt, causing a small gasp to slip through.

“Is it okay?” He asks in a low voice, “That im touching you like this?”

He waits patiently for a response that never comes. Truth is, you're completely and utterly overwhelmed. Caught in a web of feeling good and fucking terrible.

A tear falls.

“Shh,” he pats down your hair while all too slyly inching his hand up your skirt. “Seongje will make you feel better-”

You could tell him to stop, but your mind is clouded with all sorts of contradictions. You can't lie some more and say you don't find him even a little bit attractive. Isn't it fucking terrible how that works? This man has tormented you and yet-

“You're so wet, Princess,” you open your legs wider, only flinching when his fingers rub against your clothed cunt. You don't have the energy to look up at him, but you notice the visceral reaction his body is having from all this.

Over his shoulder, you notice the bloodied man unconscious on the floor.

“You just became wetter-” he whispers into your ear before cursing ever so lightly as his finger pushes aside your panties. You notice his movements becoming less controlled, far more hungry and you begin to pull away.

“Say it.” He urges, before fisting your neck in one tight grip. “I need you to say it.”

In a moment that feels unreal, Seongje pushes you backwards, forcing your feet into motion until he has you firmly pressed against a wall. “Say we work well together- tell me-”

You can't very well say much of anything because he's already sinking his index and middle finger into your cunt. Your mouth flies open and you're caught in a silent cry.

“Fuck- Look at how well we work together…” he says, bringing his fingers up to the light. He watches your slick coat, his fingers and something in you coils with disgust and immense pleasure.

His eyes immediately snap to you the second a small moan croaks out.

“F-Fuck-” you gulp in all the air you possibly can when his grip around your throat loosens. There's absolutely no space between you as he crowds you against the wall, staring down at you with the bad fluorescents reflecting against his glasses.

“You don't get to do that… You don't quit on me. I quit on you.” He's forcing his hand between your legs, this time he fucks you properly. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and a tear falls.

“Say sorry.” He taunts with another manic smile flitting across his face, “I want you to take my fingers and tell me how sorry you are-”

“F-Fuck Seongje-” your hips snap awards and you stare up at him with watery eyes- watery eyes that havr his cocktail straining against his pants. He brings you in close by the nape of your neck while he forces you down until your clit meets the palm of his hand.

“You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna cum. And I hate cumming first.”

“Shit…” your eyes roll to the back of your head as you force yourself to grind down on his fingers. His hand around your throat is the only thing keeping you somewhat upright. You've slipped into that mental soace where you'll embarrass yourself to achieve orgasm. You needed this.

And him.

“What a greedy slut, huh? Tell me you're done with me. I want you to say it again-”

You can't say much of anything because you grab ahold of his wrist, keeping his fingers inside you as your orgasm crests and breaks.

You're screaming wildly, devoid of all rational thought, unprepared by the fact that a bleeding man still lays forgotten on the cold floor. All you feel is him. Jts all him and its suffocating.

You've quite literally found yourself in the clutches of a sadist and he's guiding You gently through your orgasm… patting your head down lightly like you were a delicate baby bird.

"Why would I ever let you go?"

[ronearoundblindly]

Pampered

Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Alpine!Reader (platonic Bucky Barnes x reader)

Summary: A stranger comes by while Bucky is stuck on a mission longer than expected. Your friend's friend is...uh...really hot.

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Warning for shameless enjoyment of cat behavior designed to mess with Steve, probably puns (many, many puns), thirsty thots, and fluff. Steve's just a sorta-clueless good guy. So...no warnings. WC 992

The sound of the key wakes you from a nap in the sunny sliver on the bed.

Normally, Bucky says he’s home when he returns, but all that follows the door clicking shut is “what’s this mess?”

No more words after, only the crinkling of plastic, foil, and cardboard as whoever came in cleans up your mess. Bucky has been gone for almost three days, and since you can’t figure out how to make yourself change back, you chewed through various packaged foods and snacks. You’re fine because this little form needs very little sustenance, but the intruder…doesn’t agree.

“Rascal” rumbles deeply down the hall.

You jump down as quietly as you can and peek toward the kitchen.

Enormous, broad shoulders are visible over the island countertop, and a perky, round bum angles to and fro as he gathers the last bits of trash.

The man straightens after shoving it all into the bin. He’s…he’s…he’s really handsome.

“Hey, kitty—I mean, Alpine, right? Hi, Alpine,” his soft, unfamiliar voice calls down the length of the apartment, “I’m Steve.”

Who the hell is ‘Steve?’ 

You shift so that only one of your eyes is visible to the newcomer.

“Bucky’s friend,” he adds, immediately muttering, “which she can’t understand, you idiot…” Steve begins searching the lower cabinets and finds the crap cans of cat food Bucky squirreled away after you refused to eat them.

“You’re either very hungry—or perhaps not hungry at all based on the stuff you ruined.”

This ’Steve’ is not a cat person. The big, blond man, bigger than even Bucky, fills your bowl and walks it over to you.

With each step forward, you bend lower in suspicion, but he doesn’t really notice before unceremoniously placing it in the doorway and continuing to the bathroom.

You’re not eating that, so you follow until he turns, looks confused, and shuts you out.

Gross. Unacceptable. You miss having thumbs.

If he’s going to bother at all, he’s damn well going to use those meaty arms to open you a can of the human stuff—the real food Bucky learned to feed you on day one.

You slap your bowl until it upends, trot into the kitchenette, and hop on the counter beneath the correct cabinet.

“Alpine,” you hear Steve shout from the bathroom, “what was that?”

Despite his annoyed grunt once he finishes and sees the spill, you paw repeatedly at the cabinet, crying in urgency because it seems to be the only thing he’ll respond to: pathetic guilt. You also come face-to-face with not just a handsome man, but possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and lose time staring into his sky blue eyes.

“No,” Steve says, knocking you out of your daze. “Get down.”

You growl when he shoos you off.

After a half-minute standoff, Steve caves, sighing in defeat.

“Buck always said he’d spoil a girl rotten…” 

Well, you, sir, are cute, distant, and awkward. So there.

He starts to leave the kitchen, so you plant yourself in front of him.

“Babygirl,” Steve snaps, making you preen slightly at his tone, “I gotta get your bowl, or you get nothing, okay?”

Oh, yeah. I guess he does, you think with an indignant chirp, sitting by your bone-dry water bowl while he shuffles around, griping about wiping up the floor yet again.

You lick at the food only as long as it takes him to refill the water, and then you run over to the first potted plant, screeching. He’s making his way to the front door without noticing.

He hisses at himself. “Good call. I almost forgot.”

No one knows you can pull the tap to drink out of it like a fountain, but you have no way of transferring some water to the plants. Watching them wither has been the most motivation so far to attempt transforming back to a human, a problem you no longer have to worry about now that Steve is here.

“Buck got delayed,” he explains, “probably just another day or so. He’s mentioned figuring out a doggy-door situation for you, but apparently that’s a non-starter for the building. I guess…Guess you’re stuck with me coming by on occasion.” Steve rambles as he moves from pot to pot.

You stay at his heel, craning your neck to watch him gently tip the watering can repeatedly, a few veins pulsing along his thick forearm as he does so.

When he’s done, you sit in the middle of the hall, watching him gather his stuff and slide on his shoes.

“Eat, babygirl,” Steve encourages as he leaves.

You simply stare and shift on your paws expectantly.

He frowns. “Buck is coming home. I promise. He’ll be back soon.”

But Steve doesn’t continue to shut the door. His hand is just frozen there while he eyes you.

Then he gives in, comes inside again, and bends down to pat your head. It’s the first time he’s touched you.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” Steve squats down, a sad smile stretched over his face. “What do you want, huh? You want company? You been alone too long?”

Yes.

You press into his hand and slowly blink.

“Alright, alright—“ he stalks over to the couch and sits, relaxing finally “—I’ll stay a while.”

Steve waits for you to settle beside him, curling against his firm thigh before he rubs down your back in a steady rhythm. You’re sure to purr loudly and respond to his continued chatting with merps and meeps. You can tell he's stressed like Bucky was when you first met, but as the minutes become an hour or more, the tension melts away. Steve seems to forget about everything else until his phone rings.

When he’s almost closed the door, Steve peeks one of his eyes around to see you standing patiently.

“Be a good girl for me and eat, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Yes, Steve, I will.

[Next Part: 'Babygirl']

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @yenzys-lucky-charm @irishhappiness @fallenxjas

[inseobts]

Fate Won’t Take You From Me

chifuyu matsuno x fem! reader x mitsuya takashi

what if your boyfriend chifuyu knows the future will never be nice to the two of you and he doesn't know how to change it.

a/n: I wrote this when I still had to finish the anime so I hope it's not too bad o(TヘTo)

words count: 4.6k

tags: angst, drama, love triangle(?)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Chifuyu leans against the wall of the abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, watching as Takemichi rubs his temples like he’s battling the worst headache of his life.

He just got back from another dive into the future, another desperate attempt to fix things before everything spirals out of control. Chifuyu is used to this by now. The frustration, the exhaustion in Takemichi’s eyes.

Takemichi looks uneasy, avoiding his gaze, shifting uncomfortably like he’s keeping a secret.

Chifuyu doesn’t like that.

“So?” he presses, forcing his voice to stay casual “I guess we didn't win yet.”

Takemichi hesitates “It’s… complicated.”

It always is. Chifuyu sighs, running a hand through his hair “Yeah, yeah, it always is. But you know what? I wanna know something else. You know I always try to not ask much but I'm too curious.”

Takemichi finally looks at him “What?”

Chifuyu smirks, trying to lighten the mood, though there’s a weight in his chest that he can’t explain “I never asked before but… What about me and y/n?” he asks, referring to you “Do we… you know… last?”

Takemichi blinks “Last?”

“Yeah. Do we stay together? Are we finally married?”

It’s supposed to be a stupid question. A joke, even. Because of course you do. You and Chifuyu have been through everything together. There’s can't be no version of the future where you aren’t by his side.

Right?

Takemichi’s silence is the first thing that unsettles him. The second is the way his friend suddenly refuses to meet his eyes.

Chifuyu feels something in his stomach twist.

“…Oi,” his voice drops “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Chifuyu, I—”

“Just tell me. The worst that can happen is that we gonna change the future.”

Takemichi takes a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his words shatter Chifuyu’s world.

“In every timeline I’ve seen 'til now… you never marry her.”

The air in Chifuyu’s lungs disappears. It’s like the room is suddenly suffocating, like the walls are caving in around him.

He swallows hard “Then… is she… alive?”

“Yeah, she keeps doing good actually.”

“Then… is she still around? does she marry someone else?”

Takemichi hesitates. But he can’t lie, not about this.

“…Mitsuya.”

For a moment, Chifuyu doesn’t move. He can’t.

His brain refuses to accept the words, refuses to process them.

Mitsuya? Mitsuya?

It has to be a mistake. Takemichi has to be messing with him... but his face tells him everything.

It’s true.

His fingers curl into fists. His heart pounds, a chaotic mix of emotions, shock, denial, fear. But the worst one is the burning, consuming jealousy that claws its way into his chest.

Mitsuya. His friend. The guy he trusts with his life.

And the guy who, in every future that exists, steals you away from him?

Chifuyu forces a laugh, but it comes out weird “Nah… nah, that’s bullshit.”

Takemichi doesn’t say anything.

Chifuyu’s jaw tightens “She loves me.” His voice is sharp now, more desperate than he wants it to be “She’s with me.”

Takemichi finally speaks, and his voice is gentle. Pitying.

“…She’s with you... now.”

Now.

The word slices through Chifuyu like a blade.

Because that means one day, you won’t be.

One day, you’ll wake up and love someone else.

One day, you’ll leave him behind.

His chest tightens painfully, like his heart is being crushed in a vice. He wants to scream, to fight, to tell Takemichi he’s wrong. But he can’t, because deep down, a part of him knows… you’ve always been close to Mitsuya after all.

A part of him knows, if he looks too closely, he’ll start noticing things he never wanted to see.

But he refuses to let that happen. He won’t let fate take you from him. He can’t.

Chifuyu doesn’t sleep that night.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, Takemichi’s words replaying in his head like a curse.

“In every timeline I’ve seen… you never marry her.”

“She ends up with Mitsuya.”

He hates it. Hates how it latches onto his brain, poisoning every thought, twisting everything he knows about you. About him.

It’s stupid. You love him. He knows you do. But now, he can’t shake the feeling that one day, that won’t be enough.

The next day, he finds you outside Mitsuya’s sewing room, your back against the wall as you wait for him.

You look up when you see him, eyes bright. His girl. His heart aches just looking at you.

“Chifuyu” you call out, pushing off the wall to meet him “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickers to the door behind you. Mitsuya’s door.

Something in him snaps.

“What about you?” his voice comes out sharper than he means it to “What are you doing here?”

You blink at him, confused “I told Mitsuya I’d stop by today. He’s fixing up my jacket.”

Of course. Mitsuya.

Chifuyu clenches his jaw, ignoring the way his stomach twists.

“So you just waited out here for him?” he asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Yeah?” you frown, tilting your head “Why?”

He knows it’s stupid. He knows he’s being irrational. But now, every second you spend with Mitsuya feels like a countdown.

Like every moment between you two is another step toward the day you wake up and realize you love him instead.

And the worst part? You don’t even know it’s coming. And he doesn't even know when does that exactly happen.

Chifuyu swallows down the jealousy burning in his throat and forces a grin, his usual grin, the one you love.

“I just didn’t know you guys were that close” he says.

You roll your eyes, laughing “Of course we are. He’s my friend.”

Yeah. Friend. Until he’s not.

The door behind you suddenly opens, and Mitsuya steps out, wiping his hands on a rag. He looks up, notices Chifuyu, and nods.

“Yo” Mitsuya greets.

Chifuyu nods back, but there’s something in his chest, something ugly, clawing at him as he watches you smile at him.

Is this what fate looks like?

Mitsuya turns to you, handing you your jacket “Should be good as new now.”

You take it with a grateful smile “Thanks, Mitsuya. You’re the best.”

Chifuyu watches as Mitsuya reaches out to fix the collar of your shirt, a simple, meaningless gesture.

Something inside him breaks, and efore he even thinks, he grabs your wrist.

“Come on” he says, voice tight “We’re leaving.”

You blink at him in surprise “Chifuyu?”

He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t want to let go.

Mitsuya watches him, silent. Calm, as always. But Chifuyu swears he sees something in his eyes, a question.

Chifuyu forces a grin, pulling you closer to him.

“She’s mine, Mitsuya” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to his voice.

Mitsuya doesn’t react, just watches. Like he’s studying him. Like he already knows something’s wrong.

You pull your wrist free, frowning up at him “What’s with you today? That was rude.”

He hates how guilty you sound, like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’re the one hurting him, when it’s fate itself that’s betraying him.

“Nothing” he lies, forcing himself to relax “Let’s just go.”

You hesitate, glancing back at Mitsuya, but eventually sigh and nod “Okay. See you later, Mitsuya.”

“Yeah” Mitsuya says slowly, watching the way Chifuyu keeps you close “See you.”

Chifuyu doesn’t look back as he leads you away, but he knows Mitsuya is still watching, and for the first time, Chifuyu realizes something.

He’s not just fighting fate anymore.

He’s fighting Mitsuya too.

Chifuyu doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re far from Mitsuya’s place. Even then, his grip lingers, fingers still curled around yours like he’s afraid to lose you.

You glance at him, brows furrowed “Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing” he says too quickly “Just wanted to spend time with you.”

You give him a look “You could’ve just asked instead of dragging me away like that.”

His stomach twists. You’re not mad, not really, but there’s something in your tone. Something off. Like you’re confused. Like you don’t understand why he’s acting this way.

Because you actually don’t. Because you don’t know what he knows.

He forces a smirk, bumping his shoulder against yours “I just missed my girl, that’s all.”

Your expression softens, but only a little “Still… you were kinda rude to Mitsuya back there.”

His jaw clenches before he can stop it “You always have to defend him like that?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back.

You blink, surprised “What? Chifuyu, it’s not about defending him, it’s just—”

“Forget it” he cuts you off, shaking his head “Let’s go do something fun.”

You hesitate for a second, then sigh “Fine. But if you keep acting weird, I’m making you tell me what’s up.”

He just smiles, pulling you along, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

He won’t let fate take you from him. No matter what.

Later that night, Chifuyu watches you from across the room as you scroll through your phone. You’re probably texting Hina or some of the other girls, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

His mind replays Takemichi’s words over and over again like a nightmare.

“She ends up with Mitsuya.”

His fingers curl into fists. He can’t let that happen. He won’t.

But would Mitsuya even fight for you?

Would he ever try to take you from him?

No. He knows Mitsuya. He knows he’d never do something like that. Mitsuya’s too good. Too loyal.

And that scares him even more. Because if Mitsuya isn’t the one stealing you away…

Then maybe it’s you. Maybe one day, without even realizing it, you’ll start choosing him instead. Maybe it’s already happening.

Chifuyu swallows hard.

He needs to do something. Now.

Mitsuya, on the other hand, notices the change almost immediately.

At first, it’s subtle. Chifuyu standing closer to you, always making sure to keep a hand on your waist or your wrist. The way he interrupts conversations just to pull you away.

It’s small things. Easy to brush off.

Until he realizes Chifuyu never lets you be alone with him anymore.

Until he catches the sharp glances Chifuyu throws his way when you aren’t looking.

Until Chifuyu starts watching, like he’s waiting for something to happen.

Mitsuya doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches back.

Because he’s starting to understand.

Mitsuya leans against his worktable, arms crossed, watching Chifuyu from across the room.

It’s been like this for days now. Chifuyu hovering close to you, keeping you just out of reach. Always watching. Always waiting.

At first, Mitsuya thought he was imagining it. That maybe Chifuyu was just being overprotective, like he always was. But now it’s obvious.

Chifuyu isn’t just protecting you. He’s guarding you from him.

Mitsuya exhales through his nose, standing up straight “Chifuyu”

Chifuyu stiffens but doesn’t look at him “What?”

“You got a problem with me?”

Chifuyu finally meets his gaze. His eyes are sharp, guarded “No.”

Mitsuya tilts his head slightly, studying him “Then why are you acting like you do?”

Chifuyu exhales a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “Because it seems like you’ve been keeping her away from me.”

Chifuyu’s jaw clenches, but he forces a grin “She’s my girlfriend, Mitsuya. Maybe I just want to spend more time with her.”

Mitsuya doesn’t react “And maybe you’re scared.”

Chifuyu’s whole body tenses.

That’s all the confirmation Mitsuya needs.

Mitsuya takes a slow step forward, his voice calm but firm “You’re not stupid, Chifuyu. You know I’d never do anything to mess with your relationship.”

Chifuyu says nothing.

“But you’re still looking at me like I’m the enemy” Mitsuya continues “Like you’re waiting for me to take her from you.”

Chifuyu exhales sharply, turning away “Drop it, Mitsuya.”

“No” Mitsuya’s voice is steady, unwavering “Because this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you.”

Chifuyu’s hands curl into fists.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “You really think she’s gonna leave you”

Chifuyu’s eyes snap to his, burning with frustration “Shut up, Mitsuya.”

Mitsuya holds his gaze “Or maybe...” He pauses, voice softer now, like he’s starting to understand.

“Maybe you really do think I would try steal her from you...”

Something flickers in Chifuyu’s eyes.

A crack.

Mitsuya inhales slowly “…You know something, don’t you?”

Chifuyu doesn’t answer.

Mitsuya watches him for a moment longer, then sighs “If you keep this up, you’ll lose her anyway.”

Chifuyu’s breath catches in his throat.

“Not because of me, or because of fate itself” Mitsuya says simply “But because you won’t let her breathe.”

Chifuyu doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there. And for the first time, he wonders if Mitsuya is right.

If in his desperate attempt to fight fate… He’s becoming the reason you leave.

Chifuyu’s mood shifts over the next few days. You notice it immediately. His usual smiles are forced, and the protective gestures feel more suffocating than caring. He pulls you closer when you don’t need it, watches you with eyes that don’t just look. They study.

And the worst part? He barely acknowledges it. Like he’s pretending everything’s fine.

You can’t pretend anymore.

This isn’t the Chifuyu you know. The Chifuyu you know was always open with you. Always honest. Always real. But now…

You can feel the distance growing.

It hurts more than you thought it would.

So tonight, you decide to confront him.

You wait until the two of you are alone, until it’s just you and him in the living room, the silence thick and suffocating.

He’s on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a manga in hand, but his mind clearly elsewhere.

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze focused on him “Chifuyu.”

He doesn’t look up “Hm?”

You step forward, your heart pounding “Stop acting like this.”

He freezes, the manga slipping from his hand, but he doesn’t look up “What are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, walking closer to him, every step heavy with the weight of your frustration “You’re being distant. You’re overbearing. You’ve been acting like… like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be kept away from everyone. And you know I don't like it.”

Chifuyu finally looks up, but there’s no understanding in his gaze. Just confusion “I’m just looking out for you.”

You shake your head “That’s not it. It’s more than that.”

He looks down at his hands, then back up at you, the walls around him thickening “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me, Chifuyu” you step closer, your voice firm but shaking from the emotion rising in your chest “You keep acting jealous... You think I would leave you for someone else?”

His eyes widen, and you can tell you’ve hit a nerve, but he still doesn’t speak.

“You’ve been pushing me away, and I don’t know why. I thought you trusted me, but now…” you take a breath, steadying yourself “Now, I feel like you don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He stands up suddenly, his face a mix of frustration and guilt “I trust you, Y/N! I do! But…”

He trails off, his voice faltering as if he’s trying to find the words to explain the chaos inside his head.

“But what?” you ask quietly.

Chifuyu rubs his forehead, as if trying to calm the storm in his mind “Every time I look at you, I think about what happens next. What if one day, you wake up and you’re not with me anymore?”

You blink, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. His eyes are dark, haunted, like he’s seen something he can’t shake.

“Chifuyu…” you whisper, stepping closer to him, your voice softening “I’m not going anywhere. I'm here...”

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and for a moment, you see the fear, raw and unfiltered, that he’s been hiding.

“You don’t get it” he mutters, voice breaking slightly “I saw it, Y/N. In the future. In every timeline… you end up with Mitsuya. Not me. You marry him.”

You freeze. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can see the pain in his eyes, the torment he’s been holding in.

“You saw it?” you repeat, your voice shaking now.

“Not me, actually. But it’s the same…” he admits, his voice almost a whisper “No matter what… you end up with him. And it kills me, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch it happen.”

You take a step back, his confession crashing over you in waves. The room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.

But then, you find your voice “Chifuyu…”

You take his hands in yours, forcing him to look at you “Listen to me. I don’t know what you saw or not. But this…” you shake your head, feeling a mix of confusion and compassion “This isn’t about fate. It’s about us. I choose you. Every day, I choose you.”

Chifuyu’s eyes well with unshed tears, his hands trembling slightly as he holds onto you “But what if it’s already decided?”

You gently cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes “Then we fight it. Together.”

His breath catches, and for the first time in days, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Chifuyu…” you say softly “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you need to trust me.”

He nods, his voice breaking as he whispers “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was so scared…”

You smile gently, brushing a strand of hair from his face “I know you were. But you can’t keep pushing me away like this. We’re in this together. Always.”

Chifuyu finally lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly like he’s afraid he might lose you all over again.

“I won’t let you go,” he says, his voice thick with emotion “I promise.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Chifuyu feels like maybe he can stop fighting fate and trust that you are his, and no one will take you from him.

It’s a quiet evening when Takemichi arrives back from another dive into the future. He’s been gone for days, and you’ve been trying to distract Chifuyu from the anxiety that’s been weighing on him ever since the last conversation.

When Takemichi walks in, his face is grim.

Chifuyu notices him first. He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes tired and heavy with the burden of knowing too much.

You look up from where you’re sitting on the couch and smile, happy to see Takemichi, but Chifuyu doesn’t share your enthusiasm.

“Back already?” Chifuyu says casually, his tone sharp and protective.

Takemichi hesitates. The last time he revealed something, it only made things worse.

“You… you want to know what happens this time?” Takemichi asks, his eyes shifting nervously between the two of you.

Chifuyu stands up, walking over to where you’re sitting. His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice as he answers Takemichi.

“No,” Chifuyu says, his voice steady “I don’t need to know. Whatever happens in the future… we’ll handle it.”

Takemichi blinks, surprised by Chifuyu’s refusal. Normally, Chifuyu is the one pushing for answers, the one desperate to fix things, but today… it’s different.

“Chifuyu…” Takemichi starts, but Chifuyu cuts him off, his voice unwavering.

“No, Takemichi,” Chifuyu says, shaking his head “I don’t need to know what happens with me and Y/N. I trust her. I trust us.”

You feel your heart swell, the love and reassurance in Chifuyu’s words more than enough to put you at ease. But then, a part of you know what Takemichi has seen, his face tells everything.

Takemichi swallows hard, looking between you both. He knows the truth. He knows what he’s seen. He knows what’s coming. And yet, he doesn’t want to say it.

Chifuyu’s grip on your hand tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look at Takemichi. He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I already know what you saw” Chifuyu replies, his voice calm and controlled, but there’s an edge to it “But I don’t care. This is our timeline. Our future.”

Takemichi’s eyes widen in confusion, not understanding what Chifuyu means. He expected a fight, maybe even an argument, but Chifuyu… Chifuyu’s eyes are clear. His gaze unwavering.

“You’re… you’re not angry?” Takemichi asks, his voice uncertain.

Chifuyu shakes his head slowly. He finally looks at you, his expression softening.

“No” he says simply “I’m not angry. I’m just…”

His voice falters for a moment, but he continues, his words filled with conviction “I’m choosing to believe in you, y/n. In us. And no matter what happens, I’m going to fight for that. For us. If that’s the future, it means that something might have happened and all I want is you to be happy, even if it's not with me.”

You feel a rush of emotions flood over you as you squeeze his hand tighter, the words meaning more to you than anything else. You don’t need the future to define what you have now.

Takemichi watches the exchange between the two of you, his chest tightening. He understands now. Chifuyu is choosing to trust you. He’s not going to let the future dictate his present.

“You really believe that?” Takemichi asks, his voice quiet.

Chifuyu nods firmly “Yeah. I do.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, the world feels still. Takemichi is silent, eyes searching Chifuyu’s face, and then, finally, he lets out a breath.

“…Alright.” Takemichi says, his shoulders slumping slightly “Then, I guess that’s all I need to hear.”

You can see the relief in Takemichi’s expression, the weight he’s been carrying lifting slightly as he looks at both of you.

“I’ll make sure this timeline works out for you guys” Takemichi adds with a small smile, stepping toward the door.

Chifuyu watches him go, then turns to face you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid to ever let go.

“I’m not going anywhere either” you whisper, holding him close.

“I know” Chifuyu replies, his voice steady but filled with warmth “And I’m not letting you go either.”

You smile against his chest, feeling the love and trust between the two of you stronger than anything fate could ever throw your way.

And for the first time in a long time, Chifuyu feels like the future doesn’t matter. Because as long as he has you, nothing else will ever break them apart.

The days after are peaceful. Chifuyu’s trust in you grows stronger with each passing day. He never mentions the future again, never brings up Mitsuya, and his affection for you deepens, he’s focused, determined to make the present his truth.

But something inside you feels weird.

You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to admit that the future still lingers like a shadow over your relationship. But after everything you’ve heard, after everything Chifuyu has sacrificed to believe in you, you can’t ignore the question that keeps pressing at the back of your mind:

Why do you never end up with Chifuyu in the future?

You’ve tried to push it away. You’ve tried to focus on the present. But the truth is, you can’t stop thinking about it. And deep down, you know you need to get the answer for yourself.

One night, when Chifuyu is busy with work and you find yourself alone, the weight of your curiosity becomes too heavy to ignore.

You slip out quietly, your heart racing as you make your way to Takemichi’s place. The chill of the night air doesn’t even register, all that matters is the unanswered question that’s been haunting you.

When Takemichi opens the door, his face softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he asks, surprised “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” you say quietly, stepping inside. You don’t waste any time “I need to know. Why… Why don’t I end up with Chifuyu in the future?”

Takemichi blinks, clearly taken aback. He hesitates, looking at you with a mix of sympathy and something heavier. Something he doesn’t want to say.

“Y/N…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant “Are you sure you want to know this?”

You nod, the resolve in your voice stronger than it feels “I need to know, Takemichi. Please. I have to know the truth.”

There’s a long silence as Takemichi looks at you, weighing the decision. He knows how much this will hurt. How much it could change everything. But he can’t keep it from you.

“Alright,” he says finally, his voice low “The reason… the reason you never end up with Chifuyu in the future… it’s always the same.”

You hold your breath.

“It’s because of Chifuyu,” Takemichi continues, his voice thick with regret “He never feels like he’s enough. He loves you so much that he convinces himself you’ll be better off with someone else. He pushes you away… he doesn’t want to be the one holding you back.”

Your heart sinks as you absorb his words. It’s not about Mitsuya. It’s not about you choosing someone else. It’s about Chifuyu, about his own insecurity, his fear of not being good enough for you, of loving you so much that he believes he’s destined to lose you.

“And no matter what happens,” Takemichi continues, voice trembling with empathy “Chifuyu doesn’t fight for you. Not because he doesn’t love you... he loves you more than anything. But because he thinks that’s what’s best for you. He believes you deserve someone who can give you the world, someone who won’t drag you down.”

The words crash over you like a wave, and you feel dizzy, your mind racing.

Chifuyu’s fear of being unworthy is the reason you’re torn apart. He believes his love for you is not enough to keep you.

You take a deep breath, forcing the tears back. You’ve spent so much time trying to make sense of everything, trying to figure out why fate always separates you and Chifuyu.

And now you know.

But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

You stand there, numb for a long moment before you finally speak, your voice thick with emotion “So… it’s always his choice? He chooses to walk away from me?”

Takemichi nods, his eyes filled with sadness “Yeah. He never thinks he’s good enough for you. That’s the reason, no matter how much he loves you, no matter how hard you try, it always ends the same.”

Your heart aches as you let that sink in. The realization that Chifuyu, the person who loves you more than anything, could be the very reason you can’t stay with him.

You turn to leave, Takemichi’s voice stopping you just before you reach the door.

“Y/N,” he says softly “I’m sorry.”

You nod silently, wiping away a tear that threatens to fall. You need to go back to Chifuyu. To hold him. To remind him that he’s more than enough. You need him to believe in you, in both of you.

But deep inside, you know it won’t be easy. Because it’s never been about love. It’s been about belief.

And for now, you can only hope that, somehow, Chifuyu will find the strength to fight against the very thing that’s pulling him away from you: his own fear.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

I 100% have a whole Scheme planned out for the super likely and definitely going to happen event in which I win the Comics Books Lottery and get to be the CEO of DC for a day lmao I have been dreaming about what I'd do for this for MONTHS!

welcome to the first draft test screening of...

Red Hood: Vein Tides

ISSUE #1

We open on a panel of a mugging which has just begun, then, the next panel pulls back to show us the looming silhouette of THE RED HOOD looking down. The view of the mugging is split into two panels side by side across the width of the page with the blacked out shape of Jason in the middle, poised to spring down and attack!

But he doesn't. Instead we see his inner monologue as he continues to let this go on.

The panel on the left holds the mugger and Jason's first thought box: [John Abernac. Father of four. He lives down the street. He's also about to get evicted due to late rent.]

The panel on the right holds the victim [Don't recognize her. Do recognize the pearls. Genuine. Two grand, easy, if you know a good fence.]

We face Jason, seeing him in an impassive, unreadable full face mask OR in full creacher mode with only the two red dots of his eyes visible in the darkness of the hood. [Four kids kept off the streets for the price of endangering one stranger who can clearly afford it? Simple math... so long as nothing goes wrong.]

The mugger reaches for her jewelry. [Maybe I don't love or understand God...]

[But I am praying.] Closeup of his white knuckle grip on the hilt of his kris.

The mugging goes as fine as threatening someone with a knife for their possessions can. He wasn't needed, and tonight, everybody walks away unharmed.

Jason steps away from the edge and breathes a sigh of relief. [That's the difference between me and Bruce... He's never been able to make the hard choices.]

[And after tonight, with any luck, any luck at all, I won't have to.]

The rest of the issue sees Jason making sure everyone in his territory is okay, settling scores, and paying up debts, at one point literally sending small sums of cash to various members of his friends/family, culminating in him shedding his armor and physically cleaning his home and giving back a borrowed object as a civilian.

He checks his now incredibly clean apartment and declares his satisfaction [Perfect.] Then we linger on him hesitating for a moment before deciding against calling his landlord.

Then he leaves the apartment, passing by a janitor who he smiles and waves to. [Not here. I can't do that to him. Besides, I've always been partial to Lydia Tomkiw's view of it.] The last part being a reference to this song.

He walks through the streets and down to the water, hiding himself away with his back against a support pillar and the water up to his gut.

He holds a gun up to his temple. [I felt so light and free all day today that it actually surprises me when I feel fear in the end.]

He screws his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. [I am so, so scared.]

He pulls the trigger and we see the muzzle flash from afar lighting up the sunset and then a panel of the sunset as it tints purple.

ISSUE #2

Jason wakes up in the hospital, having been found by beachgoers at Amusement Mile and rescued. The bullet only grazed his skull and he almost drowned, but all in all it only took pumping the seawater out of him to get him well enough to wake up and walk out.

He goes home, curls up in the shower, and weeps.

This has firmly cemented in his mind a suspicion that he's long held: [Death is a mercy God has forbidden me from receiving.] <- this should be the first actual thought or speech we hear from him this Issue.

He gets dry and dressed and sits down. Several panels of him simply staring at the floor. Then he thinks [Well... guess it's a good thing I didn't cancel my lease after all.] and the bleak humor of how unfairly mundane that is seems to break him out of the paralysis of depression somewhat.

He weakly resolves that he's got to find something to do or be or whatever that will make it worth surviving.

He can't name anything that could possibly do it though. He's not honestly sure he can remember a time in his adult life that he was actually fulfilled or at all happy.

In the meantime though, there's no rest for the wicked. Some how or another he finds out about a secret underground laboratory that's right beneath his feet and has been producing batches of highly rare designer drugs.

He sneaks his way into the laboratory and we end with a panel of his face, he looks awed. [It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...]

ISSUE #3

Full page dramatic panel as Jason stands before a huge vat filled with a horrific squid-human-crab hybrid. From behind him out of panel comes a speech bubble. "So, Red Hood, what do you make of our latest creation?!"

"It's gorgeous..."

The awe in his voice and the unusual response is enough to break the traditional back and forth that a hero and villain ought to have at this juncture. So, when he turns around and reveals our Villains(?), Monsieur Mallah and The Brain, they don't start fighting.

Instead he gets a tour of the facility as a potential ally - or, well, more like a potential landlord and mafia jackass who's going to demand a cut of the profits from all the drugs they've been making in order to fund this operation.

This also gives us a tour of their goals. "Clones, I'm sure you've noticed, tend to disintegrate very, very quickly. The solution to this is generally to add enormous amounts of non-human DNA, specifically lobsters and octopuses and anything else that demonstrates significant resilience to aging"

The problem is that they can't get anything even remotely human out of the process. Vaguely Bipedal is about the best they've ever managed, and the Brain doesn't want to be stuck as a pile of incoherent stabbing limbs and slimy tentacles. So, the progress of science marches ever onwards, one failed, brainless squid monstrosity at a time.

And they are brainless! No brain or even any spinal chord in their vertebra - they aren't eager to make a bunch of minions that'll inevitably turn on them when they learn they were made purely to have their brains scooped out to house The Brain.

Or, at least they claim that they're brainless and why should anyone be trusting them? In every panel, Jason's thought boxes have been consumed with figuring out ways to take out the lab, the guards, and of course the loving duo of evil themselves.

And when he finally gets to the end of the tour Jason's mind is made up:

It's too dangerous to take them on without good reason. The lab is positioned right underneath an apartment building that houses at least a hundred people and there's no way in hell he can take this place out without it being a blood bath that seriously risked opening up a sink hole right under all those innocent people.

Plus, they just aren't doing anything all that evil! [Who gives a shit if they're doing weird experiments on a bunch of animals? The world does worse things for hamburgers every day.] The audience is meant to be made a little uncomfortable by the fact he cares so little about the animals.

So he gives them his stipulations for safety and selling practices with regards to the drugs and agrees to let them stay in his territory - And silently resolves to follow up on the brainlessness claim to make sure they're on the level with that one. [Zapping animals? Fine. Making an army of disposable quasi-people? Not so fine.]

Jason leaves, trying to think of what to do next to keep the soul crushing depression at bay. He's about to despair that his only options are sleep and throwing himself off of this roof - when suddenly he spots Damian moving into a nearby building.

ISSUE #4

Jason follows Damian and inserts himself into whatever fight Damian gets himself into.

It turns out that Damian has been tracking down an odd case: designer drug manufacturers with a penchant for rare animal smuggling on the side... He's after the lab that Jason has just sanctioned.

Damian confronts Jason about the drugs that are coming from his territory. "And you mean to tell me you are simply okay with this poison spilling out from underneath your own nose?"

"Hey, what do I care if the people of the Diamond District have gotten bored of their usual highs? Besides, it's not coming out of my territory, just moving through it. You'll have better luck trying the other Robin down at the docks - good f%$king luck getting him to cooperate as much as I am by the way."

Damian leaves, hopefully none the wiser for now, and hopefully this will give Jason enough time to figure out a plan.

Because seriously, what is he DOING?!

Jason looks down at his hands, trying to sort out why on earth he'd felt any desire to stick his neck out for them.

His reasons for not taking Mallah and the Brain down immediately fall apart like this. On his own he stands a high chance of making a deadly sinkhole, but a whole team? They could just dedicate one of them to keeping collateral to a minimum, problem solved.

All the same, for reasons he doesn't even understand himself, Jason thinks again of the haunting beauty of the horrific squid beast and he cannot bear the thought of its legacy coming to naught.

We change over to Damian clashing with Tim as he tries to find the information on this case that Tim supposedly has.

They figure out pretty fast that Jason lied to him about it.

This has him... well, Damian would never call it scared, but it provides a distinct sense of concern. He remembers fighting Jason with Dick, the way he ran rings around them, the way things went very, very badly for every other bat who has tried to fight him one on one, and how Jason required basically ALL of them to catch him in Task Force Z - and it turned out that Jason had simply meant to get captured anyways at the end of it.

Together, Tim and Damian decide they need to call in The Big Guns. They each pull out their phones and dial, with the last two panels showing that Tim is calling Cass and Damian is calling Dick.

((Though, Author's Note here: I'm not sure I have enough room in this plot to justify this many characters. I may axe Cass, bc as is she has to get sidelined pretty damn heavily, since this is really about Dick and Jason. I might end up axing Tim too, or maybe instead of her? Could have her fill in his plot beats? Idk, we'll see. Sometimes not including a character at all feels more respectful than shoe horning them in and out of the plot, even though it would logically make sense for them to be involved.))

ISSUE #5

We open into a scene of Jason arguing with Mallah and the Brain, trying to convince them to pack up and move. In turn, they're demanding that he either fuck off or buy them time to make one last attempt. Being captured and being forced to move on both bring them to effectively the same square one and they'd rather fight it out.

Jason snarls. "You two-bit morons already know exactly what's going to happen if you stay! You'll make yet another body that's 90 percent fish, fuck yourselves over with your own damned pickiness, and get your shit kicked in by every damned vigilante in the city!"

"Since you are so concerned with my Husband's so called 'pickiness', then I am sure you won't mind it if we put you into one of these failures and take your body for ourselves!"

The idea shocks Jason and we transition into a flashback via panel edges shaped like shattered glass

[Memories. Not exactly mine - a different Jason, a different reality...]

Various thoughts play out over panels roughly summarizing the tenta-Todd-tacular events of the Nightwing run Brothers in Blood. [Joy.] [Freedom from pain.] [Finally feeling like a part of my body rather than a prisoner inside it.] [Power. Thrilling strength.]

We fade back the present moment as Jason realizes, [I could have it all again...]

"Do it!" Jason thrusts out his exposed wrist. "Take a sample then, see if I'm compatible!"

This again brakes the flow of the normal Villain-Hero dynamic, and Mallah cautiously steps forwards and stabs him with some kind of super science gadget.

He mutters some comic science mumbo jumbo and declares him to be a viable body donor.

The Brain says, "It will take at least 48 hours to build your body. If you cannot keep your associates away from us for that long, we will simply have to go ahead with the surgery - without a destination for your grey matter... Deal?"

"Try to take it without and I'll turn both of you into a fine pink paste spattered across the walls. Deal."

Scene transition into a planning session as Jason assesses the resources and forces available to him for the purpose of misdirecting the bats. He's planning for everyone, even though he knows that most of them have far bigger fish to fry right now.

He briefly gets out into the field and talks to various goons and mooks, setting up his pieces, but it's clear he's planning on fighting many of the Bats himself, one at a time, ideally. He knows he's no match for them all at once, but one on one he's got good odds he can take anyone except Cass and Dick.

Then Jason is called back to the lab for surgical preparations. They're checking his blood pressure, taking a bit of his last minute medical history, determining if he's allergic to any particular kinds of anesthesia, getting told when to start fasting, getting his head shaved, that sort of thing.

We see Jason staring into the main cloning tank. In the dark water within we see the mass of cells that will form his new body. In the dark of Jason's metaphorical mind space we see a soft blue glow in roughly the same shape as the mass of cells.

The Brain joins him. "Horrid, isn't it?"

"I thought we'd been over this already."

"I meant the Hope."

"Oh..."

They briefly discuss the shared pain of brutal failures suffered over and over and over again, of existing in a world that seems bent on nothing but retreading their greatest moments of suffering, always leaving relief just out of reach, and about the simple truth of why they both keep trying:

There's nothing left for them if they ever try to stop.

We end with Jason gearing up to go out and fight, outfitted with some yet-to-be-revealed gadgets from his temporary allies.

ISSUE #6

Most of this issue is dedicated to his fights with the other Bats and their encounters with his schemes.

During these fights, it's very clear to see he's gained back some of his zest for life, flipping and shit talking and joking around in a distinctly Robin way - something that's been absent from his fighting style for years now, and wasn't there in earlier fight scenes in this series either.

He returns to the lab battered, bruised, tired, but victorious and mostly unharmed.

He rests against a wall and listens in on a conversation between Mallah and Brain. They're talking about what they're looking forwards to doing with his body. Drinking tea, feeling the warmth of the sunset, holding each other. It's soft and sweet, and a striking contrast to the way he's always viewed his own body. It leaves Jason more determined than ever that he's doing the right thing.

ISSUE #7

The bats can tell they're being maneuvered, and so switch from trying to directly catch Jason, to trying to catch a mook who knows enough that they can start catching up to Mr. Three Steps Ahead.

Another frustrating as hell fight with Jason later and they manage to catch someone that's actual been inside the lab. However, they don't know much beyond the basics because Mallah, The Brain, and the Red Hood keep speaking French to each other and not many of them understand it - it's a cloning lab, they know the way to get to it, the bosses have changed the plan to stealing the Red Hood's body, and no one seems to know why the Hood isn't fighting them about that.

The Bat group assumes that Jason must have fallen for a trick, that maybe they'd falsified some kind of terminal diagnosis and were offering some kind of false promise of a cure or something. It would go some way towards explaining why a few of his actions lately have seemed an awful lot like tying up loose ends...

Dick isn't so sure, though. Something about it feels off. Even ignoring the fact that Jason's way too clever to get duped like that, would he really go to some random supervillains for a cure instead of just... waiting it out? Or finding a proper blaze of glory? However, without a better idea to propose, he hesitantly goes along with the group's ideas.

Back at the lab, Jason looks at his new body, far more formed now, and listens to the technician walk him through what it's likely to be able to do once fully matured. He gives some last minute input on the ratios of how much species's genetics will be expressed. Lots of silly comic book science about how octopus DNA alone could give him the limited shape shifting abilities he's after, but adding in sea sponge or clam DNA will be necessary if he wants the sort of toxin filtration systems needed to survive living in the Gotham Harbor.

For once, he finds himself truly looking forwards to tomorrow, eager to see what life in the water is like, rather than merely grimly resigned to enduring another day.

[It's almost unbearable. Too soft, too kind. It's all I can do to keep myself from trembling.]

ISSUE #8

We're down to the final hours of the cloning process. The bats have finally managed to side step Jason's schemes and it's down to tunnel warfare down in the storm drains and sewers of the city.

They're having to fight for every damned inch of ground against mooks and dozens of traps clearly designed to disable them, but it's clear to see that it's only a matter of time before they reach the lab proper.

Alarms blare as they breach the doors and Jason stands ready to greet them, loaded for bear with armor and weapons.

Dick tries to get Jason to stop fighting so they can talk, beating around the bush like, "We just want to make sure you know what you're getting into..."

Jason is reasonably responding with different versions of "Fuck off with that patronizing horseshit!"

Tim gets tired of this and yells out, "He is trying to steal your body so he can f@#k a gorilla, goddamn it!"

This successfully shocks Jason to a standstill. Genuinely horrified he says, "Tim! Mallah is a person with a name! That's his husband!"

Then in the next panel Jason continues, while firing his guns at them again, "What they do in the privacy of their bedroom with my body is none of your business!"

Tim, dodging bullets, "What?! You think this is ending in a three-"

"I DEMAND WE CEASE THIS LINE OF QUESTIONING AT ONCE," Damian interjects, while stabbing.

Jason backflips away, cackling - and then the device on his wrist beeps as the countdown displayed on it reaches zero. "Ah well, this was fun folks, but it's time for the finale!"

He bolts as fast as his legs can carry him, heading for the surgical suite with his pursuers nipping his heels. The Brain has already gotten into the machine, and Mallah practically slams him into his end of it.

Jason has one last moment to look longingly towards his new body, the first glimpse we see of it in its completed form, then the anesthesia takes him under.

Mallah punches the lockdown button that will seal this room off from the outside world, but he's too late. Nightwing manages to slide underneath the blast doors at the last possible second

A tense one on one, man versus ape fist fight ensues. Mallah is clearly giving it his all, but in the end, Dick wins. He stabs a tranq into Mallah and is left alone with the controls.

He opens the case protecting the ABORT button.

One panel goes by without his fingers lifting off of the case. Then two. Then three.

He closes it again, walking away and pacing the room. He looks at Jason, floating in his tank, tubes and wires hooked up to him, various horror movie style buzzsaw arms and massive injector needles hovering over him, and starts talking to his sleeping form.

"How could you possibly...? This is- it's repulsive, it's insane, it's..."

He looks down silently for a moment.

Dick walks to the control panel again and begins typing. "I know you. They're wrong. They underestimate you. This has to be what you want for yourself... And you've had too much of that taken from you already..."

The computer speaks as the machine whirs to life, and we get to see the saws baring down on his skull, {PROCEDURE INITIATED - PREPARING DONOR BODY}

Outside we see that this has triggered the last ditch defense mechanisms of the laboratory. The whole place is quickly flooding with seawater. {TRANSFERRING PATIENT TO DONOR - TRANSFERRING DONOR TO SHELL}

The rest of the bats are forced to evacuate while Dick scrambles to get the emergency breathing equipment onto himself and Mallah who is groggily beginning to wake up.

{TRANSFER COMPLETE - WAKING PATIENT AND DONOR}

The last page is absolute chaos as Jason practically explodes out of his tank, laughing and shouting his victory, spiky red rimmed speech bubble and all :3

ISSUES #9 and #10

Everyone scatters -Mallah and the Brain escape onto some kind of helicopter or something, Jason crashes his way into the harbor, and the Bats are left cleaning up the mess.

We focus on Jason learning his new powers, and just enjoying the feeling of swimming and transforming and playing kraken with a boat full of people smuggling guns out of the US.

We get a small aside to show Mallah and the Brain living it up somewhere, maybe Zandia if that's still a thing. Ideally this will include a tasteful fade to black, because, of course, what they do in the privacy of their own bedroom with Jason's the Brain's body is none of our business.

I also want to have a scene where Jason returns to the spot where he committed suicide in the first issue, but I'm not exactly sure how I want to handle it. I want something that both shows that he's happy to be alive, but also that he doesn't regret having made the attempt. I want him to reject the narrative that it was a mistake, instead seeing it as... a vital part of his autonomy I suppose? I have complicated thoughts on it and they aren't quite fully formed yet, but I know I want to have him respect his former self's decision. His decision to become a sea monster is of the same substance after all.

The final scene has Dick taking a boat (Tim's?) out into the water at night and luring Jason up to him. They talk for a little while, about how he's doing, whether or not he can actually participate in life on land anymore (he can), and Jason thanks him with a hug before they part ways again.

Obviously, DC would almost certainly undo both the Brain getting a body, and Jason gaining monster powers :/ Tis tragic, but! The point of this would be to force them to actually put some damned work into it! No last minute return to the status quo, you want that shit back you're gonna have to take a whole ass other story arc to get there >:3

And of course, alas, SOMEDAY I'm going to be able to admit to myself that DC will never ever let me install this shit into their canon and simply draw it as the fan comic it was meant to be lol

Serious question: DC has asked you (yes you 🫵) to write a 10 issue Jason Todd comic run. No conditions or stipulations, any era, any supporting cast, any villain. What do you do?