#but like. okay yeah i don’t know what i’m saying anymore

[hoshifighting]

I can’t wait for the day you decide to give us staff woozi😭🫶 Like yes give me that man ⚰️⚰️⚰️

staff!woozi

WARNINGS: suggestive, wet dream, mentions of animes.

staff!woozi who’s practically part of your nervous system, making sure your mic is hot and those earbuds don’t fry your brain mid-show. he’s always just there—like this phantom, gliding in with his little toolbox, brows furrowed in that way he thinks makes him look tough, but honestly, you’re kinda finding it cute now. he doesn’t even have to look at you anymore; just one twitch of your finger, and he knows exactly how to tune your sound to perfection.

you’re halfway through soundcheck, squinting against the stage lights that feel hot enough to cook you alive, when your left earbud goes all staticy. and before you even manage to do your little signal—a quick point down—he’s already behind you. no warning. just his voice in your ear, all low, like he’s got some big secret: “left one’s crackling again?”

you turn, one eyebrow up. “damn, woozi, you psychic now or what?”

he just huffs, pulling the earbud from your hand with this look like, duh. “you’re predictable,” he says, but there’s that ghost of a smirk, just the tiniest hint of it, which—yeah, okay, it gets to you a bit.

he’s fiddling with it, fingers so precise you swear it’s like watching magic. “you keep playing with ‘em too much. one more yank, and i’m replacing it.”

“not my fault they suck,” you mutter, grinning when he gives you that little glare, one that says i dare you to test me.

“try it again..” he mutters, his voice dry, clipped. he’s already yanked a whole mess of cables and tested every single one, but well, it’s jihoon. he’s on his perfectionist shit.

“testin’… one, two…” you go through it, all monotone, like you’re recitin’ a grocery list.

he glances up, hands fiddlin’ with some random connector piece, but he’s noddin’, brows all scrunched up like he’s concentratin’ on the meaning of life. and then, without even lookin’ at you, he says, “speak up like you’re actually performin’—not just for me.”

staff!woozi, in his worn-out, slightly-too-tight black t-shirt, earphones looped around his neck like some kinda edgy fashion statement, looks too good for your eyes.

“i am performin’,” you toss back, brows raised. “just, y’know, waitin’ for the tech crew to keep up.”

he scoffs, and finally, he looks up, an eyebrow quirked in that way he does when he’s two seconds away from roastin’ you to death. “keep up? alright, superstar, let’s get your fancy ass mic workin’ then.”

staff!woozi who's always fumbling with your clothing as he fix the mic return on your back. mumbling something about the mic feedback being all off. and with this stage clothing, the skin-tight fabric practically painted on you, there’s no space to breathe—let alone to move. so when he reaches to adjust the receiver on your back, the boy have no gentleness to tidy it up.

“how can you even breathe in these? hold still.” he sulks. his fingers brush against your skin, just under the edge of the outfit, and you swear his touch is cool, like ice, but somehow it sends this weird heat up your body. his hand skims along your back, his fingers grazing just under the fabric, feeling way more personal than it should.

“this is… really necessary?” you breathe out, tryin’ to keep your voice casual, even though your heart’s doin’ that embarrassingly loud thud-thud thing.

he doesn’t even look fazed, just gives you a quick, smug look, like he can sense your pulse trippin’ over itself. “unless you want the mic feed to sound like a dying robot… yeah, this is necessary.”

his hand lingers just a second too long on your skin before he adjusts the strap at your shoulder, his thumb grazing the edge of the outfit. you’re caught somewhere between wantin’ to annoyingly roll your eyes or “hornyly” roll your eyes.

staff!woozi who somehow, always ends up next to you on the road, no matter where you sit, and by now, you’ve kinda claimed his shoulder as your own personal pillow. he doesn’t complain—just settles in, eyes closed, arms crossed, and lets you drift off.

but today, as your head leans into that familiar spot, his voice pipes up. “y’know, there are other seats.”

you crack an eye open, only to see him smirking down at you. he’s lookin’ all pompous, like he’s finally pieced together your little routine. “it’s just… comfortable,” you mumble, shoving your face back into his shoulder, feelin’ the soft weight of his hoodie, and okay, maybe the solidness of his arm too.

he chuckles, a sound that’s too close to teasing. “oh, so i’m a human pillow now?”

“pretty much,” you mutter, pretendin’ to yawn. “it’s just… efficient.”

next thing you know, you’re both out cold, side by side, and the crew’s gotta wake you both up at the next stop. you stumble out of the van, all bleary-eyed and yawning, both of you with puffy eyes, while the rest of the team’s trying not to laugh.

staff!woozi who watches animes during his breaks. you’re sittin in the dressing room, half-done with your makeup, feeling that pre-show buzz, and there’s woozi, huddled over his phone, totally zoned out in his own world. you’ve seen him do this before—earbuds in, watchin’ his anime.

so today, curiosity gets the best of you. you wander over, leanin’ over his shoulder, catchin’ a glimpse of bright colors and characters moving around on his screeng

“you’re into this?” you ask, unable to hide the smirk as he looks up, caught.

he pulls one earbud out, glancin’ at you like he’s deciding whether or not to share his “serious” interest. then he sighs, almost reluctantly, but starts explaining the plot, his voice just a little too enthusiastic. and you’re nodding, totally faking that you get it, but he’s so damn into it, you can’t help but get a little wrapped up in his excitement.

when you’re waiting for the other idols to finish up their set, the two of you are back in the dressing room, side by side, watching some random episode. you don’t know half of what’s going on, but jihoon’s talking fast, pointing out characters, explaining every little detail like it’s life or death. you just follow it because staff!woozi is hot.

you don’t know how you ended up here, exactly— n woozi’s hotel room, in your freshest hoodie and sweats, hair still a bit damp from your after-show shower. but you’re here, a slice of pizza in one hand and woozi right next to you, already deep into the latest anime episode like he’s watching some masterpiece.

it started simple enough, you mentioning anime to him once. you barely know the basics, honestly, but your friend is an encyclopedia of every single plot twist, so you could at least fake it a little. and you’d swear woozi’s eyes practically lit up when you said you’d “totally be down to watch something with him, if he had recommendations.” it became your thing on tour—grabbing a pizza, lounging in his room, and watching the latest episodes like two kids after school.

but right now? you’re barely paying attention to the screen. woozi’s sitting next to you in this black tank top, arms looking like he’s been lifting soundboards for fun, thick enough to make your mind drift way off the anime plot. his shorts? even worse. you didn’t even realize a person could look that good just sitting down, like he’s giving you a whole show without even trying.

“are you even watching?” he mutters, catching you totally off guard. woozi raises an eyebrow at you, smirking. damn, he knew.

“oh, yeah, totally!” you stammer, nodding way too enthusiastically. “i know… exactly… what’s going on here.” but that smirk just grows, his gaze sliding back to the screen as if to say, yeah, sure you do.

staff!woozi, who hardly tears his eyes from the screen the whole night, so focused it’s like he’s analyzing every frame. you’re beside him, bundled up in his bed, head lolling as the exhaustion finally takes over, pulling you under. he glances at you every so often—at first just a quick look to make sure you’re out, catching the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your lashes brush your cheeks in the low light. you’d been running on fumes all night, so seeing you drift off wasn’t a surprise.

but then, he hears it—his name, whispered under your breath, soft like it’s the only thing on your mind even while you’re dreaming. his focus shifts. your back arches just the tiniest bit, your brows drawn together, thighs pressing tight like you’re holding onto some sweet secret even he isn’t supposed to know.

and suddenly, he’s more tuned into you than the screen, pulse pounding in his ears.

woozi pretends this never happened. or tries to.

staff!woozi, who’s suddenly got a whole new edge to him the next morning, acting all distant like you didn’t just watch an entire anime season in his bed last night. on the plane, you figure things’ll be back to normal—you’ve got this routine where you always end up leaning on his shoulder, especially after long nights. but today, he’s keeping a solid inch between you both, arms crossed like he’s suddenly allergic to any kind of closeness.

you try once, shifting a little closer, giving him that sleepy, half-pouty look that usually does the trick. he just leans away, adjusting his earbuds like he didn’t notice.

you huff. “yo, what’s your deal? i’m just trying to sleep, and you’re over here playing hard-to-get?”

he glances over, raising an eyebrow.

“don’t act like you’re too good for it.” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “you let me last night.”

“yeah, well, I’m not your pillow today. i gotta keep my neck in one piece.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “since when did you start caring about your neck, huh? you’re literally hunched over soundboards for a living.”

he shoots you a side-eye. “and maybe that’s why i need to protect it now.”

you snicker, leaning back, but there’s that stubborn pout on your face. “whatever, woozi. don’t get mad at me just ‘cause you didn’t sleep enough watching the show without me.”

you’re still leaning back, sulking a little, when you hear it — just a low mumble under his breath. “not my fault you were… moaning my name last night…”

your head snaps around so fast you practically pull a muscle. “excuse me?” you whisper, eyes wide as saucers.

he stares at you, lips parting slightly as he realizes he definitely said that louder than intended. his eyes dart away, and he’s already sinking into the seat like he might disappear.

you blink, heartbeat going wild as you piece together last night, flashes of the dream you’d had flooding back—heat and skin and his name on your lips. you remember waking up in his bed, flustered and warm, rushing back to your own room before he could see the look on your face.

“so… you heard that?”

his hand goes up to rub the back of his neck, cheeks reddening under that deadpan expression he’s clinging to. “yeah, uh… kinda hard to miss...?”

you bury your face in your hands, groaning, but you can’t resist sneaking a glance at him. he’s biting his lip, looking anywhere but at you, and you swear there’s a faint smirk he’s trying to hide.

“god, woozi, you could’ve just… i dunno, woken me up or something!” you mutter, feeling the burn creep up your cheeks.

“yeah, right,” he snorts, glancing back at you now with this smug little glint in his eyes. “like you’d want that.”

[dira333]

Stubble or no stubble, that is the question - Suna Rintarou x Reader

for the Baby Series, requested by @moochiwoochi

“Dada boo!”

Rintarou blinks against the morning light. A weight shifts on his chest and something wet meets his cheek.

“Dada boo?”

“Hey,” he’d recognize that voice out of millions. “What are you doing up already?”

“Mamamama!”

You appear in the doorframe, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, doing the “boo” gesture without the sound. Sora still shrieks with happy laughter, falling over on his chest.

“Mama boo!” She cries excitedly, slapping his stomach until he hooks his hand around her butt and pulls her close.

“Gimme a kiss,” he asks and Sora happily puckers her lips, sponging wet kisses against his cheek.

“Dada yuck,” she declares suddenly, her small hands poking his cheek.

“Yuck?” He asks, a little confused and a little heartbroken. “I’m not yuck.”

“It’s probably the stubble,” you call from the bathroom. “It’s itchy.”

“It’s not itchy,” he pouts, leaning into his baby girl. “Right, Sora?”

“Yuck,” she repeats again, poking his cheek until he sighs. “Fine, I’ll go shave.”

“Nooo,” you whine, stepping into the bedroom again. “I like it.”

“But Sora doesn’t want to give me kisses anymore,” Rintarou pouts, a little less hurt over that fact when you kiss him instead, and on the lips too. 

“Well,” you grin cheekily when you move back. “You’ll have to decide what to prioritize. My kisses or hers.”

“That’s mean.”

“Says the man who made me decide between cuddling my plushies or cuddling my husband.”

“Plushies can’t-”

“Shush,” you cut him off, picking Sora up. “Dada’s being silly.”

“Dada silly,” she repeats like the good girl she is. Rintarou sighs.

“No one in this house is on my side.”

You laugh. “Go to work then, see if they’ll agree with you.”

“Washio would, for sure.”

“Sure,” you pat his cheek with a smile. “Now, do you wanna shower while I do breakfast, or?”

“Depends. Does the little princess need some showering too?” He sniffs the air. “Changing first though, right?”

“I just changed her,” you cry in exasperation while Rintarou can’t help but laugh over Sora’s expression, the utter focus she has when creating a stink.

“I’ll change her and take her into the shower,” he takes her from you. “You get the breakfast.”

-

“Dada boo!” Rintarou hears over the squeaking of shoes and turns, waving. “I’m there in a second.”

“Dada boo!” Sora cries out again, no understanding for the concept of work hours and that her Dada has to get the Coaches permission to take a break.

“Hey Stink,” he’s at her side in a heartbeat, but she’s pouty already, avoiding his kiss.

“Aww,” Rintarou clutches his wounded heart. “No kiss for Dada?”

“Heeey,” Komori calls out behind him, “Is that the little Suna?”

Sora’s face lights up at the sounds and sights of him, stretching her chubby arms in his direction.

“Omo!” She calls out, laughing when he picks her up and swirls around in circles until she’s dizzy.

“Don’t be jealous,” you tell him, hitting his chest softly. “At least try to be a grown-up.”

“Traitor,” he bites back and you laugh before kissing him.

“How was training?” You ask, watching as Sora gets handed from one player to the other, laughing in their faces and poking their cheeks, content with all that male attention.

“Hmm?”

“Training, Rin. How was it?”

“Oh, it was good. We did- Hey, be careful, okay?!” Rintarou snaps at Sarukui who all but throws Sora into the air.

“Relax,” Sarukui responds, laid back as usual. “I have my own kid at home. I know what I’m doing.”

“Dada,” Sora calls out as if only just now realizing that Rintarou’s there too. “Dada boo!”

“Yeah, you wanna come back to Dada?” He opens his arms and she makes grabby hands at him, laughing when he fetches her and blows a raspberry against her clothed stomach.

“Let’s eat with Mama, hah?” Rintarou asks his little sunshine, grinning when she nods.

-

“What are you feeling like?” Rintarou asks once he’s through the door. “Making Dinner? Playing another round with Sora?”

You sigh when he pulls you into his arms, one eye on the little rascal that’s playing innocently on the living room floor - at least for now.

“I think I’m getting a migraine,” you confess to him. “Vision’s been weird all afternoon.”

“Did you call anyone for help?”

“It wasn’t that bad.

“Nuhuh, we talked about it. Vision gets weird, you call my mom or my sister. They’re alive for a reason.”

You laugh into his chest. “They’re not existing just to babysit.”

“They might as well. Especially Rikka. She owes me for all the times I babysat her.”

You wince at his tone and he quiets immediately, pulling you a little closer.

“Go lay down,” Rintarou reassures you. “Me and Sora have Dinner down, easy.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. And if we burn everything we can still order Take-out. I’m gonna call you in half an hour, tops, to see if you’re up to eating something, kay?”

“Kay.” You get on your tiptoes to kiss him, giggle into his stubble. 

Sora doesn’t notice you leave but she notices him when he gets down on his knees next to the blanket she’d been playing on.

“Dada!”

“Yeah, Dada’s home,” Rintarou smiles. “Wanna cook Dinner with me?”

“Dada,” she reaches out to him. “Boo?”

“Not right now,” he blows a kiss against her cheek. “We’ll play Boo later. What do you wanna eat? Caviar? T-Bone Steak?”

He opens the cupboard and Sora squeals at the sight of her favorite crackers.

“One,” he tells her sternly before fishing out two. “Now, what’s easy to make that Mom likes?”

-

You’re still out for the count by the time Rintarou gets Sora ready for bed so he makes the most of it, picks a weird PJ Combo he knows you’ll laugh about in the morning and squeezes into her bed to cuddle before she falls asleep.

“This is the hungry little caterpillar,” he explains softly, pointing at the picture in Sora’s newest book. She points at it two, one ear from her stuffed fox firmly tucked into her mouth. “Yes, you got it.”

Her eyes fall closed soon after, tuckered out from another day of growing, so he closes the book and kisses her temple, pouting when his stubble makes her curl her tiny nose.

“Gonna shave right now,” he promises quietly as he frees himself from the confines of the small bed.

You curl into him the moment Rintarou slips under the covers, tuck your head against his shoulder even in your sleep.

“Hope you still love me tomorrow,” he tells you whisper-quiet as he steals one last kiss. “At least I’ll still love you without my stubble.”

[itsthestutterforme]

History Repeating 1/2 (Rafe x black!reader)

Summary: You get jealous that Rafe is spending more time with his bros than with you, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, some angst, some fluff

**

Your face grew hot as you watch the clock turn 7 p.m. A full two hours after what Rafe had promised.

Letting out a long huff, you stood from your chair and took your wristlet in your hand as you made your way to the front to pay for your appetizer and drink.

“No need, madam.” The waitress stated, holding her hand out when you tried to open your wallet.

“I don’t understand,” your eyebrows knitted together.

Before the waitress could further explain, Rafe walks through the door, guilt weighing on his shoulders. You knew exactly what had happened.

“He paid for your meal over the phone,”

“Yeah, I figured.. Thanks.” You gave her a polite smile before walking directly past Rafe and out of the door.

He tried to talk to you as you walked out but you merely held up a hand and continued out of the door anyway.

“Y/N. Come on,” Rafe starts, watching as you opened your wristlet and took out your car keys. “Y/N,” he repeats and you ignored him once again.

When you tried to open the car door, the keys slipped out of your hand and fell to the floor.

You let out an exasperated sigh and crouched down to get the keys but Rafe beat you to it. Taking the keys into his large hand, he offered the keys to you and you snatched them from him.

“Baby, don’t be like this.” You practically stabbed the key hole and unlocked the car door. “Baby-“

“Once- just for once, I wanted you to show up for me and just be here.”

“I know, okay? I fucked up. I lost track of time-“

“I don’t care, Rafe. I genuinely don’t care anymore.” Tears of anger blurred your vision as you sat in the drivers seat.

Rafe catches the door before you had a chance to close it. “You don’t mean that,” he starts, blocking the door from closing with his toned abdomen.

“I do mean it,” you tried your best to seem as angry as you could, but your body betrayed you.

“If you did, you wouldn’t be crying.” He adds, holding the right side of your face with his hand. He wiped away the waterfall of tears that fell when you closed your eyes.

“Let me make it up to you,” “Please,” he begs when you shook your head no.

“I think I need some space for a little while, Rafe.” He slowly dropped his hand from your face, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Is that something you really want?” You took a long pause to compose yourself.

“Yes,”

“For how long?” His heart sank to the pit of his stomach when you shrugged. “Until I’m ready to have this conversation again,” you finally spoke after a long silence.

“I’ll give you a week.” He loosens his grip on the door as he hesitates for a moment.

He dips his head into the car and leans in an inch from your face. His ogate eyes found yours for a few seconds before he examined the rest of your features.

It was like he was trying to memorize as much as he could. “I love you,” he glances down at your lips and steals a kiss from you before you could react.

Once he sees you don’t pull away from him, he holds the sides of your face and kissed you again, this time more passionately. His tongue caressing yours.

A groan turned into a whimper when he bit down harshly on your bottom lip. Your hands took in the collar of his tshirt and balled up the fabric.

When he finally pulled away, he traced your bottom lip with his thumb.

You hated that how quickly you were falling under his spell. A part of you wanted to push him away and shut the door in his face and drive away. Unfortunately, you were not that kind of person.

“I love you too, Rafe. But I mean it- I need a week of space. If you call, I won’t answer.”

“Okay,” he says, hesitantly pulling away from you and closing the door.

You spared him a single look before shifting the car into drive, watching Rafe’s shrink look smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

**

It’s been five days consecutively that you haven’t been answering Rafe’s texts or calls. You really did mean it when you said you wouldn’t answer his calls.

All his calls went straight to voicemail. His messages were left on delivered.

He had lost digital access to you. You even stopped sharing your location with him.

Most of the day, your phone is on Do Not Disturb unless it’s 9 am. That’s when your Mom typically wakes up and she’ll most likely need you for something.

Did she ghost me? Rafe would ask himself.

Did I go too far this time?

Realistically, he could drive by your house and wait there until you get back home. But that wouldn’t change anything.

If you weren’t anything else, you were true to your word. When you say something, you mean it.

It’s one of the many reasons why Rafe fell in love with you. You were real.

“Hello? Earth to Rafe Cameron.” Topper says, waving his hand in front Rafe’s face.

“What, dude.” He spits at him, annoyed that he was pulled out of his thoughts of you.

“The red head by the bar has been staring at you since we got here. You going to get her number or should I get it for you?” Topper asks, making Rafe roll his eyes.

“I don’t know how many times I need to say this. Me and Y/N aren’t broken up yet.”

“If a chick doesn’t speak to you for five days. It’s a wrap, dude. Come on, you have the be realistic.”

“She’s not just some chick, douche.” Rafe stands from his chair at the sports bar.

“I’m out of here,” he takes a twenty out of his wallet and sets it on the table before leaving the group.

“Their break up is going to hit him hard,” Kelce tells Topper as Rafe walks away.

“Yeah, man. All we can do is wait.”

When Rafe finally leaves the bar, he piles on his dirt bike and slid his helmet on. A thought rattles around in his head.

Sure the tequila shots were partially to blame, but what’s wrong with a little liquid courage?

Before he knew it, he was pulling up into your driveway to find only your car there. Your mom must have left for her vacation already. Which made what he was about to do that much easier.

Taking his helmet off, he shuts off his bike and walks up your driveway. Just as he was about to knock, the door flies open and you rushed out with your portfolio pad in hand and your purse and car keys in the other.

You gasped when you nearly run into Rafe’s chest. Neither of you say anything initially, you just stared at one another.

Rafe thought you looked different. You looked.. stoic, which was something he’s never seen before.

And to you, he looked defeated. Something you’ve never seen before. Both are reactions to the same emotion: hurt. So it looks like you’re learning a new side of each other.

“I’m running late, Rafe. I have to go.” You finally spoke, your voice was leveled and strong.

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just looked at you.

You stepped out of the door way and turned to lock the door. Side stepping around him, you advance down the stairs.

His window of opportunity was closing. He had to do something.

Come on, Rafe. Open up your fucking mouth.

“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he blurts out, causing you to stop in your tracks. Rafe’s chest heaves with frantic breaths.

“Look, I-I want to make this work. My idiot friends want me to find someone else because they think this,” he motions between the two of you. “Is replaceable. And I don’t know much. But one thing I do know is that this is something you only find once.”

He walks down the stairs and around you to stand in front of you.

“Why don’t you want to be like your dad?” You pressed, accepting the fact that you’re going to be late for your event as the event planner.

“Because my dad met the love of his life when he was in college. But he didn’t fight for her. He let her slip through his fingers and years later, she married someone else and built her own family. And the thought of ‘what would have happened if we’ve stayed together’ is always running through his head. He never let it go.” He starts.

“He still says her name every time he gets drunk. She’ll always be the one who got away. I don’t want that to be me- I don’t want that to be us.” He adds, taking another step toward you and you released a shaky breath.

“This is the most you’ve talk about anything,”

His gaze softened at your words, his own eyes searching yours as he contemplated his response.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Five days worth.”

He caressed the apple of your cheek as he held your face in his hands. “I miss you, Y/N. Alright? I miss you so fucking much. I don’t want to start over with anyone else. I want to fix things with you.”

“What was her name? The one your father let get away?” “Y/M/N. Y/M/N Y/L/N.” “What?” You said, a little baffled by the new information.

“My mom was..” you trailed off and Rafe nods. “Did you know about this before we started dating?”

“No, I didn’t. I found out like five months in.”

“It’s like history is repeating itself.” You said. “It’s exactly what’s happening. Except this time, I won’t let you slip away. Because even after my dad met my mom and Rose, nothing compared to your mom.”

“I love you,” you whispered, bringing your hands up to hold his wrists. “I love you too,” he rests his forehead against yours and tears swelled in your eyes.

You silently cursed yourself because you didn’t want to ruin the make up you worked so hard on.

It’s the reason why you were late for the event in the first place- shit.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe questions, watching the gears turning behind your eyes. “I’m so late to my event right now. Um..” you trailed off when you looked into his eyes, slowly getting lost in them.

Snap out of it, Y/N. Damn.

“I have to go to this or else my client will have my ass. But, you’re more than welcome to stay until I come back.” You added.

“I’ll come with. Do you need the help?” “You want to help me coordinate an event?”

“Any time spent with you is time well spent. Where’s it at? I’ll drive you.” He said, taking your car keys in his hands.

[beausling]

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially young gf (alt!musican!reader) part iii

read part i here, read part ii here

youruser 12m

jensenackles

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jensenackles Fun morning in NYC. Thanks @/goodmorningamerica and @/livekellyandryan for the chat. Sorry for the explicit spoilers 🤭!!!

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theboystv Hope the coffee was iced

gibson_g1rl i think i know what’s going on hereee🤭

pearlzier i think we’re thinkin the same thing🤭🤭

youruser you did so good superstar🌟🤎

jensenackles Thank you, honey. I’ll see you soon☺️🤎

caswh0re @/jensenackles @/youruser music stuff??��

gibson_g1rl @/caswh0re don’t be delusional

caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl 😭😭😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl nonono she’s right, they’re probably abt to fuck nasty

pearlzier @/vamps4y/n BYEE☠️

j2texas OMGG why tf is #She here😭

gibson_g1rl girl why don’t you #kys

youruser

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youruser *taps mic* is this thing on? resurrection coming out october 13th🐈‍⬛🧙‍♀️🦇🧛‍♀️

(note: absolutely no graves were defiled, and not a single dead soul was woken, in the making of this project !!! and big shoutout to st. louis cemetery no.1 for existing and being so cool n morbidly beautiful🤞)

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jensenackles So fucking proud of you, sweetheart. I feel incredibly honored to have been apart of this beautiful project, and I really hope that the world loves it just as much as I do.🖤🖤🖤

youruser hey bro wtf !!!!! you’re abt to get a very tearful phone call here in a minute😭😭 thank you so much for everything, i love you🖤🖤🦇

vamps4y/n AWWW JENSEN THATS SO SWEET !!! OKAY NOW SAY “vamp life til i die”

hrtsy/n @/vamps4y/n NOT THE TIME GIRL😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO DISGUSTINGLY CUTE !!!! ITS NAUSEATING !!!!!

jasvtsc ANYONE ELSE CRYING AND THROWING UP AND BANGING THEIR HEAD ON THE WALL RN😭😭😭

suicideleopard i see that mausoleum we used to always make out behind

youruser you tryna run it back??

suicideleopard @/youruser Pause…

youruser @/suicideleopard nah nah nah it’s good dw i got socks on😼

gibson_g1rl @/youruser @/suicideleopard ?????😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/youruser @/suicideleopard you guys are fucking insane, just make out already

youruser @/vamps4y/n i Really wish i could thumbs down instagram comments…..

suicideleopard liked your comment

jensenackles liked your comment

vamps4y/n @/youruser 😭😭 you literally started this

youruser @/vamps4y/n blaming everyone but yourself…

hrtsy/n OMGOGKFMFO NEEWWWWWW ALBUMMMMMM ON THE FUCKING WAYYYY OMGGGG😭😭😭😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl WE USED TO PRAY FOR DAYS LIKE THESE🙏🙏

y/ngirlies MOTHER IS FINALLY FEEDING US AGAIN

archiveofvirtue THE DROUGHT IS FINALLY OVER😭😭🙏

pearlzier WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK YOU GUYS!!!!!

jasvtsc THE SUN HAS FINALLY COME THE RAIN IS GONE🙌

youruser

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youruser when you gon’ fly me in private so i can land on that dick🧎‍♀️ #oldpics

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gibson_g1rl i beg your finest fucking pardon⁉️

pearlzier THE SECOND PIC?????

jensenackles Hey, nice coat!☺️

youruser OH THNX😸 yeah i actually stole it from this random white boy, he was super chill abt it tho

jensenackles liked your comment

archiveofvirtue @/youruser you two aren’t fooling anybody anymore, just hard launch already so we can be crazy in peace

y/ngirlies @/archiveofvirtue @/youruser RETWEET !!!

jackleswife that should be me

vamps4y/n we should take you out back and shoot you like a deer with chronic wasting disease

deanluvr i’m obsessed with seeing you guys in this era, i don’t ever want it to end🙏

jasvtsc this might be their best era yet

deansluvr @/jasvtsc it is fr

hrtsy/n mama y papa liked🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

caswh0re @/hrtsy/n iktr they’re just like us

youruser

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youruser CHICAGO I HAVE SO MUCH TO THANK YOU FOR

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yourbffsuser baby came back home for awhile guys😸😸

youruser you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can’t take the midwest out of the girl fr🙁

hrtsy/n the sixth pic is so real, like i felt that🤞

youruser we revisited the trap that day☠️☠️

hrtsyn @/youruser OH?????

youruser @/hrtsy/n ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

gibson_g1rl your silly ass was getting more train flattened pennies huh😭

youruser you know it babe🤭🤭

jasvtsc i love it when y/n in chicago🫶

pearlzier ykyk we always get some of the best music when she goes back🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

jasvtsc @/pearlzier EXACTLYYYYY

archiveofvirtue WELCOME BACK JUNE ADVENTURES !!!!!

youruser I FINALLY GOT TO FLICK THE BEAN AGAIN!!!!!

y/ngirlies @/youruser excuse me???💀

youruser @/y/ngirlies the giant stainless steel bean in millennium park☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

y/ngirlies @/youruser OHHHHH!!😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/y/ngirlies @/youruser tf did you think she meant😭

jensenackles Hope you had fun sweetheart!!😊

youruser i did lovey, thank you🫂🤎

pearlzier @/youruser SWEETHEART AND LOVEY?????????😭😭😭😭😭😭

jasvtsc @/youruser LOVEY??? THATS SO FUCKING CUTE OMG????😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO ADORABLE IM THROWING UP!!!!!!

deanluvr @/youruser PLS JUST GO CANON ALREADY OMFGG😭😭

caswh0re @/deanluvr @/youruser “go canon” 😭

youruser 3m

꩜ thank you so much !!! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this😸 all feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💟

꩜ SOOO much happening here, this part didn’t go the way i originally planned but i still like it🙏🏼

꩜ tags : @gibson-g1rl @pearlzier @jasvtsc @archiveofvirtue 🎀 lmk if you wanna be tagged and/or featured in the next part !!!!!

[chrissturnsw1fe]

SWEETDREAMS

Chris Sturniolo

Warning: none just swearing and pure fluff

Summary: Chris and been a dick to you all day until you finally snap at him and he comes back later to apologise.

Chris had been in a mood since this morning he’s been dry and making you feel like shit all day. You guys have been together for a couple of months now and never had an argument. He’s currently out filming a car video with Nick and Matt hopefully he comes back in a better mood.

He’s been gone around an hour so you decided to message him to just see when he was going to be back home.

* message *

Do you know what time you’ll be home around?

Idk.

okay baby see you soon ❤️

yh 👍🏼

* end of message *

“I wonder what’s pissing him off” you speak to yourself. you wanted to pass time so you decide to clean up and do the dishes and have a shower , once your changed in your pjs you walk down the stairs and hear the front door open to see a very grumpy looking Chris walk in.

“hey baby” you smile at him

He ignores you and walks over to the fridge , wow that was rude you thought to yourself. You walk over to him

“Are you okay you seem angry about something”

“Omg can you get off my dick” he replied aggressively

You was so confused on why he was being like this it was starting to get on your nerves a lot. You was reminding yourself over and over again to not get angry.

“Gosh what’s a matter with you grumpy pants”

You let out a sarcastic comment he should know your joking until his flips on you out of no where,

“God just fuck off you annoying little bitch your always here like just go away and get out of my face”

That drew the line for you and you snapped back,

“You know what Chris I’ve done nothing but help you I clean the house for you because your lazy ass doesn’t. Yeah you go out and film with your brothers of course I’m gonna be clingy I barely see you anymore so fuck you too bro”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes but refuse to let me drop.

“Bro are you for real you seriously just called me bro”

“Yes I did now you take that Pepsi and shove it straight up your fucking ass see if that knocks some sense into you , you rude bitch boy”

You storm upstairs into the bedroom and slam the door shut and just start crying you don’t know what to do, one part of you feels bad , you’ve never snapped at Chris like that before, no you decided your gonna wait for him to apologise.

You go in the shower to release some stress off your back , you brush your teeth and get into your pjs to put a movie on and hopefully Chris would’ve decided to say sorry by then.

It’s been about 2 hours since the argument, you feel your eyes drifting off to sleep you check the time on your phone, it’s 11:32pm, you switched the tv off and nodded away to sleep.

Time skip (Chris’ pov)

I felt so bad for snapping at y/n like that I shouldn’t have said what I did, I check my phone and it’s 2am I choose to have a shower and do the the right thing.

After my shower I walk into the bedroom and see y/n sleeping, I walk over and get into bed,

“Hey baby you up”

She hums in the sleep

“I’m really sorry you was right I promise I’ll be better and I was just having a bad day I didn’t mean to snap at you the way I did please forgive me”

“It’s okay we all have bad days I understand just don’t take them out on me you know you can talk to me about it” she smiles at me

“I will thank you for always being here for me and also never call me bro again I did not like that” I laugh a little

She giggles at me “I won’t but let’s talk in the morning I’m tired”

I nod at her and bring her into my chest

“I love you”

“I love you more”

I smile and kiss her forehead as she drifts back off to sleep. Wow it feels like a weight has been taken off my back.

“Sweet dreams”

A/n: I hope you liked this it was my first fluff I’m open to any requests if you want some dm me.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Helo there! What do you think about Harry's and Neville's friendship? And the aspect of both of them possibily being the chosen one?

I like Neville and his dynamic with Harry, even if I don't think they're that close.

Like, Harry is more of a mentor for Neville with the DA rather than a friend who's a peer.

in fact, he barely spoke during D.A. meetings anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and countercurse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents, working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker, only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.

(OotP)

And I think Neville keeps looking up to him as a symbol and a leader less than as a person.

Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”

(DH)

Neville kinda idolizes Harry in a way.

That's why I don't think they are particularly close, but they do care about each other. Harry feels a bit sorry for Neville and a little protective over him:

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces.

(PoA)

“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.” Harry did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.

(DH)

And he does trust Neville a lot. Both Harry and Neville have full faith in each other which I really like:

Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville will take Harry’s place. There would still be three in the secret. “Just in case they’re—busy—and you get the chance—” “Kill the snake?” “Kill the snake,” Harry repeated. “All right, Harry, You’re okay, are you?” “I’m fine. Thanks, Neville.” But Neville seized his wrist as Harry made to move on. “We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?” “Yeah, I—” The suffocating feeling extinguished the end of the sentence; he could not go on. Neville did not seem to find it strange. He patted Harry on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.

(DH)

They have a sort of quiet understanding and while their friendship isn't super close, they do care about each other and like each other. They could've probably been good friends if they were given the chance to interact more. (That's another reason why I love DADA professor Harry with Herbology professor Neville to give them that chance)

Their dynamic, if they were to get closer, kinda reminds me of an older brother & a younger brother due to how much Neville looks up to Harry and how Harry is protective over Neville.

As for both of them being the Chosen One, well, they aren't both the Chosen One. Only Harry was Chosen at the end of the day. But, I think that by the end, Neville is a truer Gryffindor than Harry.

In book 7 Harry failed to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor:

When Ron offered the sword, however, Harry shook his head. “No, you should do it.” “Me?” said Ron, looking shocked. “Why?” “Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it’s supposed to be you.” He was not being kind or generous. As certainly as he had known that the doe was benign, he knew that Ron had to be the one to wield the sword. Dumbledore had at least taught Harry something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts

(DH)

The sword that only appears to a Gryffindor in need:

What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

(DH)

rejected Harry, but embraced Neville:

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle—

(DH)

Add to that Harry's use of Unforgivables in book 7, and I feel like Harry was supposed to embrace his Slytherin characteristics in this book as a theme of the narrative, you know? Like the rejection from the sword and Harry needing to be more cunning than ever should've been this sort of closure. Of Harry's understanding, not all Slytherins are evil and he himself is a bit of a Slytherin and embracing it. It would've worked so well with Snape's story and the themes of the book, truly a missed opportunity to not make this idea of Harry finally saying "yes Slytherin" instead of "not Slytherin", and embracing the fact he is a bit of a Slytherin while Neville, who was terrified to be in Gryffindor, who asked the hat to place him someplace else, embraced being a Gryffindor fully. They have kind of small parallel barley-there arcs in a way that I found interesting in my current reread of Deathly Hallows. Like, I feel there was an intention there, as Harry does feel he is less of a Gryffindor throughout this book, even though he still is, I'm talking about his feelings on the matter.

I think this idea is there, just not as explored as I would've liked it. It is just interesting that the Sword of Gryffindor chose Neville as the true Gryffindor but rejected Harry who is the Chosen One because he was chosen by the Heir of Slytherin. Idk, I feel like there is something there.

[honeyjars-sims]

3.37 Soulmates

Today I’m spending some time with Pops. While I was camping, he found out that the LGBT center where he’s been working forever will be closing in just a couple weeks and he’ll be out of a job. It wasn’t unexpected–they’ve been having funding issues for a while–but it still sucks. Unfortunately, Dad is in San My for a gig this weekend, so I figure Pops could use some company.

“I’m really sorry about your job,” I tell him as he finishes washing the dishes. “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“We have a good amount in savings, and I’ve already been in contact with someone at the LGBT center in Del Sol. They’ve all but offered me a position there that pays more and has more flexibility.”

“Wow, that’s great! So I guess you won’t have much of a reason to stay in Evergreen Harbor, then.”

“Not really. We could probably find a smaller place closer to the LGBT center.”

I know what that means. There’s no reason my parents should have to pay for another 3 bedroom house when their kids are grown. “I guess it’s time for me to find a place, too.”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but I think you’re ready for it.”

“Yeah, I am. I really appreciate you guys taking me in for as long as you did.”

“You’ve come a long way, Johnny. You’ll be just fine.”

“What about you? You’ll be all alone when Dad is traveling.”

“That’s the good thing about this job. I’ll be able to work remotely some, so I can travel with Dad sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I know it’s not easy for you two to be away from each other.” I pause. There’s something that’s been on my mind since I came back from my camping trip, and Pops seems like the perfect person to help me figure it out. “Do you think you and Dad are soulmates?”

“Soulmates? Hmm.” He stops for a moment to consider. “No, I don’t think we are,” he finishes.

“Really? Why not?” I'm taken aback by his answer. What does he mean, they're not soulmates?

“Well, you remember how Dad and I met, right?”

“Yeah, you saw each other at a protest and sparks flew or something cheesy like that.”

“Mm-hmm. But I don’t think I’ve ever told you the full story of what happened that night. Before I ended up at the protest, I was at your mom’s apartment–she told me she needed to talk to me about something. Instead, I told her I was gay and couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore, and I left–without finding out that she was pregnant.”

“Oh. She was going to tell you that night?”

“Yes, until she decided that I wasn’t the kind of man that should raise children. If things had been different–if she had told me she was pregnant before I came out to her–I would have stayed.”

“You would’ve kept pretending to be straight?” I can't imagine what his life would have been like but it sounds pretty terrible. And to think he would have chosen that because of me and Chantal?

“For a while at least. And who knows, maybe eventually I would have found someone else to love and I’d still be happy. But I wouldn’t have met your dad that night.”

“Ok, but that didn’t happen. What does that have to do with being soulmates?”

“Because, Johnny, if I’d stayed with her a little longer then the things that happened to you and Chantal at your mom’s house wouldn’t have happened. I would have been there to keep you safe and well cared for. I just can’t believe that your Dad and I were meant to be together when the circumstances that led to us meeting were also the circumstances that led to my children being hurt and neglected.”

“Well, maybe it’s fate and you would’ve met a different way.” I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around what Pops is saying. A world where he and Dad aren't together just doesn't make sense.

“Maybe. But I don’t think any of these hypotheticals really matter. Like you said, that’s not what happened. What matters is that today, in the here and now, I can’t imagine my life without him. Any reason in particular why you’re thinking about soulmates?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

“I guess it’s more that I’m wondering how you know if someone is the right person for you, but it kind of sounds like it’s not that simple.”

“Well, a sign isn’t going to drop down from the heavens that says ‘This person is the one,’ but it doesn’t have to be complicated. Find the person you can’t imagine your life without. I don’t know if that’s what you were wanting to hear, but I hope it answers your question.”

Find the person you can’t live without. Maybe there aren’t signs falling from the sky, but those words are about as close as I’ll get. “It does," I tell him. "It may not be the answer I was expecting, but I think it cleared something up for me.”

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

Normally I would jump at the chance to get some input, but now I don't feel like I need it. I shake my head. “No, I think I can handle it from here.” The thought makes me nervous, but I can’t avoid this. I need to talk to Lacey.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[gothamite-rambler]

A Day in the park (Tim Drake comfort fic)

Tim Drake rested on his stomach on the floor of his bedroom, resting his head on his bent arm. Old jazz music played loudly from a record player connected to a large speaker, filling the dim room with melancholy melodies. The curtains were drawn tight blocking the midafternoon sun and casting shadows over the scattered remnants of what had once been a vibrant space.

A year had passed since his father’s death and two years since his mother had died. Losing both parents as a teenager felt surreal; they were simply gone from his life. Tim thought he would cope with grief and loss with ease like his hero, Dick Grayson had when faced a similar loss at least that's what he thought.

All he felt was the crushing weight of the world, with knowledge setting in his parents weren't coming back. On significant days commemorating his parents, Tim’s energy was replaced with spiraling sorrow. He often locked himself away in his room, isolating himself from everything and everyone. The absence of Jack and Janet loomed heavily over him, an unshakable presence that colored every moment.

Tim (voice heavy with despair): I hate life.

His eyes glazed over, staring blankly into the distance.

Tim (fighting his emotions): I’m not going to cry. I won’t cry… I just have to celebrate his birthday… that’s the least I can do si- since I couldn’t save him. God, what's the point of doing anything anymore?

He groaned, his gaze lost in the void, as if seeking answers in the emptiness, but was only met with silence.

Hallway Outside Tim's Room

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stood outside the closed door to Tim's room, both concerned since Tim had been shutting down on days that were linked to his parents and it seemed he was getting worse.

Bruce: How long has he been in there?

Dick checked his watch.

Dick: He started at 5 in the morning, so that’s about 16 hours.

Bruce crossed his arms, a look of concern on his face.

Bruce: It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. His mother’s birthday and death anniversary aren’t until—

Dick (raising a hand): Bruce, it has officially been a year since his father, you know, died and he found him there.

Bruce (rubbing his chin, pondering): Hm, thought he'd be passed this already.

Dick (giving Bruce a pointed look): Mm-hm, and how well did you handle your parents’ death?

Bruce (defensively): Okay, I was eight when they were shot and killed in an alley.

Dick blinked slowly, irritation washing over him as he covered his eyes with his hand, listening to yet another excuse from his father. Despite being adopted, they had both endured the same experience.

Dick (irritated tone): Bruce, I went through the same thing. I watched mine hit the ground after being shot!

Bruce (deadpan): It's not a competition, and if it were, I'd win.

Dick (forcing a sugary tone): Why don’t you just go off and be all emo somewhere else? I’ve got this covered.

Bruce (firmly): All I’m saying is maybe this is tied to something about his parents, and he needs to patrol to clear his mind.

Dick (annoyed): Bruce, last week he walked into a burning building—not to save anyone. He just went in and sat down. I had to drag him out, and his body was limp.

Bruce (shrugging): It happens.

Dick (rubbing his forehead in frustration): Yeah, well, it wasn’t fun carrying you out of a building when I was ten. Just leave.

Bruce (sticking to his idea): I was just suggesting options. He’ll be fine; he’s done this before.

Dick (voice rising): That’s not a healthy coping mechanism! He walked in on his father’s dead body!

Tim cranked up the volume on the loudspeaker, wanting to drown out the ramblings of his family and block everything but the music from his mind. Bruce glanced at Dick, then shook his head in silence.

Bruce (flatly): Fine. You handle him, Dr. Phil.

Dick: (crossing his arms): Okay, that was uncalled for.

Dick sighed, setting aside his frustration with Bruce’s disregard for Tim’s obvious depression, and knocked on the door.

Dick: Tim, do you want to hang out with me today?

Tim pressed his face against the floor, making it impossible for Dick to hear him.

Tim (voice muffled): There’s no point in doing anything today. Let me wallow in the depths of my despair.

Dick (sincere helpful tone): We can get lunch, see a movie, whatever you want.

Tim groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and trudged over to the door. Under normal circumstances, he would have leaped at the opportunity, but today was different. When he opened the door, Dick took a step back, taken aback by Tim's disheveled appearance.

Dick (holding his nose): Have you showered at all?

Tim (hollow tone): No. I’m staying in until my dad’s birthday is over. Just leave me be.

With that, Tim shut the door again, returned to his original spot on the floor, and flopped back down, squeezing his eyes shut and resting a hand on the back of his head.

Dick (sudden realization): Dad's birthday! That’s today.

He lingered for a beat, recognizing the inappropriateness of his reaction.

Dick (cont’d): With that in mind, Bruce and I will give you the space you need.

Tim (sarcastically): Fantastic.

Tim hit replay on his dad’s favorite jazz song for the fifteenth time, closing his eyes as memories of happier moments washed over him.

---Wayne Manor Kitchen- Three Hours Later---

Tim finally emerged from his room, propelled by thirst and a craving for juice. He walked past Jason in silence, retrieved a bottle of pomegranate juice from the fridge, and sank heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. Jason glanced up from his phone, noting how worn out Tim appeared.

Jason: Hi, Tim.

Tim grunted, uncapping the bottle and chugging from it. Jason eyed him, puzzled by his behavior.

Jason: You okay?

Tim (drained): I feel nothing.

Jason (nodding): Mm-hm, you look like a crazy homeless guy outside my apartment.

Tim (deadpan): That’s pretty spot on.

Jason: Have you taken a shower? Because you—

Tim (insulting himself): Smell like I bathed in skunk juice and then doused myself in air freshener? I'm aware.

Jason nodded, picking up the empty juice container, astonished that Tim had downed it entirely, and taken aback by the stark change in his demeanor from bright, lively, and snarky to this despondent state. Tim’s gaze remained fixated on the ceiling.

Tim: The bright bulbs in the ceiling hurt my eyes.

Jason: That happens when you’ve been hiding in your room for too long.

Tim: I deserve this isolation... I wish I’d died twice to save them. Now all I have left are dead parents, depression, ADHD, and anxiety. What’s the point of being productive?

Jason (feeling awkward but trying to be civil): You’re not wrong.

Tim (hopeless): There’s no point... in anything. I couldn’t save them... I’m not a hero.

Jason grabbed Tim by his shirt, pulling him up firmly.

Jason: I can’t deal with this. We’re going outside!

Tim (somber): I want to lie here in my sorrow. At least feeling mentally dead brings me a little closer to my parents.

Jason shoved Tim into the back seat of his car, where Tim slumped against the seats, whimpering softly.

Jason: We can deal with that where I'm taking you.

He started the engine and drove off leaving the Wayne Manor.

Jason (cont’d): By the way, Tim, you’re channeling more emo than Bruce on a good day. We need to change that. Fresh air and—burning those clothes.

Tim (muffled due to his face buried in the seats): Uggggghhhhhhhh.

Jason (turning up the radio): Glad you agree.

---Gotham Park - Twenty Minutes Later---

Jason strolled down a path, Tim trailing behind him like a shadow through the park. Tim longed for the solitude of his room, where he could wallow in despair, but Jason had ventured out of his own gloomy comfort zone to reach out. They had a rocky history, but that was in the past.

When they reached the top of a hill, Jason stopped at the spot, turning to face Tim.

Jason: This seems like a nice spot. You can—

Tim flopped onto the ground.

Jason: I meant you could sit down, but that works too.

He took a seat next to Tim and awkwardly patted him on the back of the head, not very skilled at offering comfort.

Jason (cont’d): Hey kid, um, how… how are you feeling?

Tim (face in the dirt): Dead inside.

Jason (trying to ease the tension): That… makes sense. I’ve been there. I was dead once, and I understand what it’s like to feel mentally dead. Not brain dead! You- You get what I mean.

Tim (annoyed as his face lay in the dirt): Mm-hm.

Tim rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes from the sun by resting his arm across his face.

Jason plucked little blades of grass while Tim let out a heavy sigh.

Tim (cont’d): You forced me to shower, change clothes, and currently I’m touching grass. Can I just go home and be sad there?

Jason: A few years ago, I would have done that, blamed you for what's happening to you, but sometimes it’s better to distract yourself when you’re feeling down. I never really got that chance, but now you have me to help you out. I'm not the best at comforting people, but I for you I'll make an exception.

Silence settled between them, prompting Jason to poke Tim’s arm to check if he was still awake.

Tim (irritated): I’m not asleep. My way of distraction is reminding myself how I failed in life. They’re both gone, and I’ve accepted that life is meaningless.

Jason (shrugging while plucking grass out of the ground): I mean, life isn’t completely meaningless. Most times it's a bitch, but you keep going. The fact I’m saying that has to mean something. Right?

Jason gave the depressed boy a half smile, but Tim wasn't having it.

Tim (bluntly): That you’re good at lying.

Jason: While that may be true, I mean it this time. Life is unfair, but you shouldn’t wallow in pity on your dad’s birthday.

Tim (voice trembling): I… just want to go home. I just want to go home. Why won’t any of leave me alone?

Tim refused to open his eyes in fear of crying.

Jason frowned, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him.

Jason (somber tone): We’ve had our... issues, if you know what I mean. You know the time I beat you up?

Tim (bitterly): When you said you made fun of my mom dying by drinking water?

Jason's eyes widened when he remembered that he did say that specific insult.

Jason: Right... I regret saying that, but that's in the past. Today, I want to be here for you. You don’t have to face this alone, even if it feels like the world is against you.

He hesitated, recalling past grievances.

Jason (cont’d): I made bad jokes about your mom and then your dad, and that’s probably why you don’t want me around right now.

Tim (despondent): You’re not wrong.

Tim didn't respond except for a quick huff from his breathing and he tried to block out any sadness that would make him break. He couldn't cry, not now, not ever and especially not in front of Jason Todd.

Jason (apologetic): And I’m... I'm sorry for what I said and the pain I accidentally put you through.

Tim: Accidentally?

Jason: That's the best you're getting out of me. You won't forgive me... I get that, but I apologizd to show you that I want to help you. You... You lost both your parents and have been holding in how you really feel for a while haven't you?

Jason (placing a hand on Tim's shoulder): Tim, it's not your fault.

Tim: Take me home.

Jason: It is not your fault that either of them died.

Tim (clenching his jaw): Shut up and take me home!

Jason: And they would want you to keep going. And people like me, Dick, Bruce, even Alfred will help you build up the strength to get out of bed without feeling hopeless.

Tim (sniffling): Why? I don’t deserve it.

Jason: You don’t deserve kindness while you grieve? I may not be your biggest fan, but you're not that bad. You’re young, smart, a decent fighter, and… a good person. You shouldn’t shut yourself off from the world because they're gone.

Tim took a deep breath as he felt the walls he put up around him falling away.

Jason: I kind of hate to even admit this, but you've proven yourself to be a decent hero. Which means you’re too damn persistent to give up on life. And we're not leaving until you just let it all out. We're on the top of a hill so we have semi-privacy.

Tim uncovered his eyes, but they remained closed. Jason waited for a response, allowing silence to linger as he gazed over the hillside.

Tim (finally speaking): I hate myself for not being able to save them. My mother... I never got to say goodbye and dad's last words to me was that he loved me. They're both gone and I feel like there could've been something for me to do to save them.

His lip quivered as he opened his eyes, then shifted down as he thought about the last words from his dad.

Tim: I thought I'd have all the time to talk to them, hug them and... they tell they love me. Now I’m alone and it's all my fault.

He covered his eyes again, letting a cascade of tears fall.

Tim (cont’d): I thought things would change when he woke up from the coma, but I got busy with... this life I thought I wanted! Then the last image I have of him is his... bloody corpse. I just remember shaking him awake like that would do anything.

Jason nodded, a sympathetic expression as he placed a hand on Tim's shoulder to comfort him.

Tim: They're both dead. They're both... dead. I'm the reason they're gone.

He wept softly, releasing the guilt he had buried beneath indifference. His heavy breaths echoed in the quiet space. Jason remained by his side, awkwardly patting Tim's shoulder for comfort.

Jason: Don’t blame yourself for things beyond your control. I swear, everyone in this family has blamed themselves for their parents' deaths.

Tim (between sobs): Not you.

Jason (bluntly): I shielded my mom who betrayed me to the Joker, before a bomb went off and killed us both. Believe me, I’m just as crazy as the rest of you.

He attempted to ease the tension with a joke, but Tim merely whimpered and gritted his teeth. Jason sighed but refused to give up.

Jason (cont’d): Come on, sit up.

Jason helped Tim sit up, positioning himself closer. Tim kept his head down, a frown clouding his face.

Tim (sadness in his voice): Now I’m crying like an idiot.

Jason (reassuringly): I’m not judging you for crying. If you were crying for something mundane I would, but let it out like I said.

Tim (loud): I hate this. I hate this. I just want my parents back!

Taking a deep breath, Tim said something he had never wanted to confess, especially in front of Jason. Jason patted the young man on the back again, it was his best way to comfort the person he tried to kill in the past.

Tim (cont'd): I remember when... when I thought it sucked they weren't around that much, but they were still in my li- life. I'd take barely around parents over ones I'll never see again.

Jason: Hm... What's something both of them likes?

Tim: My mom loved dandelions. She said weeds or not the cotton ball flowers always made her happy to see. I remember one time she picked a bunch of them in a field once when we... Went on vacation together. She looked so happy with those stupid flowers.

Tim chuckled while crying.

Tim: And my dad... He loved jazz music. Couldn't sing it, but he would play it almost every night to the point I got sick of it. I got sick of it and... Now I can't stop listening to it.

Tim bit down lightly on his finger as Jason sat next to him.

Jason (sympathetically): It's tough adjusting to that at a young age. Sorry to bring Bruce and Dick into this, but they've been through it... Fuck, I went through it and when time passes it... gets easier to manage.

Tim whimpered wiping tears from his eyes.

Jason (sincere): You say that you couldn't save them and you're a failure. You’re many things to me, Timmy boy, but someone who wouldn't want to protect others is not who you have ever been.

Jason gently nudged Tim.

Jason (cont’d): I’m not letting you go home feeling like Bruce. By the end of today, you'll feel slightly better. What do you want to do first? We can sit here, grab some food, hit the bookstore or library, or even go to a rage room—whatever you want, the day is yours.

Jason waited for answer, surprising Tim.

Tim (sniffling): What’s a rage room?

Jason: It’s a place where you can smash things. You pay to enter, get a bat or a golf club, and for thirty minutes or an hour, you just let loose on some broken stuff. It’s oddly therapeutic.

Tim: That actually sounds fun or maybe I’m just losing it.

Jason: Probably both. Want to go?

Tim lifted his head, considering the idea.

Tim (wiping his eyes): Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me.

Jason: Um… I did, but I've changed to toleratibg you. I can see you’re hurting, and I don’t want to act like I don’t care. You deserve more than that. Don't get used to me being this nice though.

Tim: If I get better don't expect seeing me cry like this.

Jason (smiling earnesly): Sounds good to me. I thought you were just this annoying ric— upper middle class brat who stole my mantle— which you are—but you’ve grown on me.

Tim: This feels like a trick, like you’re going to toss me in your car and drive off a bridge or something worse. Which I'd deserve…

Jason: I’m not going to kill you; that’s out of my system. But for the rest of the day, drop the self-hate—that’s my specialty.

Tim wiped his nose, a dry laugh escaping him.

Tim: Maybe you are the best person for this. Plus, you dragged me out of the house, and I’m too depressed to drive or walk home....All right, take me to the rage room first.

Jason nodded, helping Tim stand to his feet.

Jason: That’s the spirit, let’s go. Then we can hit the Waffle House.

Tim: Isn't that place dangerous?

Jason: I have a gun. We’ll be fine.

As they walked, Tim hesitated.

Tim: Did Dick tell you to do this? If he did, you’re not obligated to-

Jason (interrupting): Yeah, Dick called me about what you were going through, but he never asked me to step in. I wanted to help… myself; this is too important to hand off to someone else.

Tim managed a weak smile, appreciating the gesture.

Tim: I still have my doubts, but I appreciate this—for now.

Jason: Just don’t expect this from me all the time. I do feel bad for you, but against my better judgment, I'd rather make you feel less dead inside than laugh at you.

Tim (judgement tone): Or send me a Christmas card with you next to my mom’s grave?

Jason laughed.

Jason: That was a fun Christmas card, wasn’t it?

Tim rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he let out a dry chuckle.

Tim: I can’t believe this is happening, but your jadedness is lifting my spirits.

As they continued toward the car, a small weight began to lift from Tim's heart.

Tim (cont’d): If you have a picture at my dad's grave though, I'm beating you with a wiffle bat.

Jason chuckled, feeling lighter himself.

Jason: That’s the Tim I remember! No worries, I’m not that much of an asshole anymore.

Tim: We’ll see.

They climbed into Jason’s car, the atmosphere lightening.

Jason: All right, let’s get to that rage room. No crying there; you can do that afterward.

Tim nodded, giving a thumbs-up while resting his head against the window as they drove away. His guilt and depression wasn't gone, but Jason's support was a good start.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Black album Jason having a massive crush on reader who is the lead guitarist of the opening act. The boys tease him about it and confesses to them.

This idea is so cuteeee, I hope you like it💕

Soundcheck crush

It’s another soundcheck, and I’m back on the sidelines, bass in hand, pretending to be preoccupied with the controls. But really? My focus is locked on her—Y/N, the lead guitarist of the opening band. She’s up there shredding through her solos, completely lost in her music, and I’m transfixed. Every time she closes her eyes, lips pursed in concentration, I swear I’m about to lose it.

I can’t even begin to explain what it is about her—maybe it’s the way she looks so effortlessly at home up there, the way she seems oblivious to anyone watching. There’s no denying it, though: I’ve got it bad, and it’s getting harder to hide.

And then, of course, James appears beside me with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for me to slip. He’s grinning, eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene. “Checking out the opening act again, huh?” he teases, his tone loaded with barely disguised amusement.

I try to keep it cool, shrugging like I’m totally unbothered. “Just making sure the levels are good,” I say, though I can feel my face warming. “You know. Professional courtesy.”

“Oh, really?” Kirk joins us now, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You’ve been awfully dedicated to this ‘professional courtesy’ all week. Especially when it comes to watching Y/N.”

Lars sidles up, crossing his arms with a smirk of his own. “Jason, man, you’re not fooling anyone. We all know you’ve been staring at her, like, every single day.”

They keep at it, nudging me and making side comments, and I’m about to come up with some excuse when Lars raises his eyebrow. “Admit it, dude. You’re crushing on her, right?”

I let out a sigh, feeling my face heat up even more. The guys know me too well, and the way they’re looking at me, I know there’s no point in denying it anymore. I groan and rub the back of my neck, finally letting it out.

“Alright, fine!” I say, laughing a little despite myself. “Yeah, I like her, okay? She’s… she’s incredible. Not just her playing—she’s got this presence, you know? Like, I can’t stop watching her. She’s just… different.”

There’s a beat of silence before the guys burst out laughing. But it’s not the mean, mocking kind; they’re just surprised, probably glad I finally cracked.

James slaps me on the back, grinning. There it is. Finally, some honesty from our man here. So what’s stopping you? Go talk to her. She’s not gonna bite your head off.”

I shake my head, still embarrassed but relieved to have gotten it out there. “I don’t know, man. It’s… not that easy. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I’ve been secretly watching you every night’? That’s just… weird.”

Kirk chimes in with a laugh. “Or, you know, you could just tell her you like her playing. Give her a compliment, say something. Anything would be better than staring her down from across the stage.”

I laugh and roll my eyes, but I know they’re right. The truth is, every time I get anywhere near her, my brain just… short-circuits. It’s like I forget how to form sentences, and that’s if I’m lucky enough to remember my own name.

And then, of course, here comes the opening band, just wrapping up their soundcheck. Y/N’s leading the group, her guitar slung over her shoulder, her face still flushed from playing. When she sees me, her eyes light up, and she walks over, giving me this warm, friendly smile.

“Oh, hey, Jason!” she says, stopping in front of me. “Didn’t realize you’d be hanging around for our soundcheck again.”

I scramble for something smooth to say, but my brain decides to abandon me. “Uh… yeah! I mean… I’m, uh, a fan. Of… music. And your band. And… you.” As soon as the words are out, I know I sound like an idiot, but I can’t stop myself from turning red.

She raises an eyebrow, laughing a little as if she’s trying to decode what I just said. “Well, thanks, I guess?” she says, chuckling. “Nice to know I’ve got Metallica’s bassist as a fan.”

“Totally,” I manage, forcing a smile. “I mean, you’re… really good. You’ve got an amazing sound and… you, especially, you’re just, uh…” I trail off, mentally kicking myself as I struggle to finish a coherent sentence.

She looks at me with a soft, amused smile, tilting her head slightly. “Thanks, Jason. That’s really nice of you.” She gives me a quick, friendly nudge on the shoulder, sending my heart racing. “Guess I’ll see you out there tommorow?”

“Yeah,” I managed, still dazed. “For sure.”

With one last smile, she heads off with her bandmates, and I’m left standing there, feeling like I just ran a marathon. As soon as she’s out of earshot, the guys completely lose it.

“Oh man, you nailed it!” Lars says, cracking up. “‘I’m a fan of… music. "So smooth,” he mimics, clutching his sides from laughing so hard.

“Seriously, Jason, I thought you were gonna pass out!” Kirk adds, wiping away a tear. “I’ve never seen you that red in my life.”

I let out a groan, rubbing my face. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. At least I actually said something this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, baby steps,” James says, grinning. “Maybe by the end of the tour, you’ll actually be able to have a full conversation with her.”

They keep poking fun, but it feels different this time. I’ve got this stupid grin on my face, and even though I stumbled through every word, there’s a part of me that’s just… happy. She talked to me, laughed with me, nudged my shoulder, and she didn’t seem to think I was too much of a mess. 

For now, that’s more than enough. But next time? I might just take a real step forward.

[hheaven-sentt]

blood and bone III

summary: vulnerability leads to injury. sometimes, injuries can heal with minimal scarring | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 4.8k

warnings: mentions of violence and gore, alcohol consumption, language, two idiots in love, angst for a bit, mentions of regrets and a bit of self loathing, reveal about reader (i have been planting the seeds of it omg i'm so excited)

notes: part 3 as promised omg i feel unstoppable | ao3

one | two

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It feels like there’s a hole in your chest. You go through the motions, not paying attention to much else. It feels good to throw yourself into your work. There’s nothing else keeping you steady anymore. The sting of rejection hangs heavy on your skin, it’s all you can think about. Does Leon know? Does he know that you want to know him as intimately as you know guts and sinew? Does he know how bad it hurts to know that he won’t let you?

“You’re being dramatic,” Rebecca says. You look at her through your lashes over the files you’re examining. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,”

You sigh. No, perhaps it wasn’t. “I don’t know,”

Rebecca frowns, contorting her soft features into some kind of sympathy, and leaves you to your sorrow.

Your apartment is so empty when you return to it. It’s always been this way, but it somehow feels worse now. Before your trip to New York, you’d had something to hope for. You felt a bit brighter. Now, you feel as empty as the living room of your place. It’s too cold here.

You collect your forgotten glass from last night. There’s a bit of liquor still loose in the bottom. You wash it out in the sink and place the glass on the counter. You feel like crying.

Everything is too much. The case that is no longer yours lives in your brain, Leon’s rejection weighs down your bones, and you feel more alone than you have in months.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the salty taste runs over your lips. Tears claw at your throat, feeling like barbed wire scratching at your insides. You try to blink them away, but it just makes their assault worse. With a sigh, you sink to the floor. You feel pathetic, crying on your kitchen linoleum. There's nothing worse than crying alone in a place not meant for tears. You breathe in deeply, feeling empty with each intake. You put your head in your hands.

It’s then that your phone rings. With a groan, you stand, snagging the phone from where it rests on the counter. You flip it open with one hand.

“Hello?” you ask, sniffing aggressively in order to maintain some sort of composure.

“You okay?” Rebecca’s voice, soft and delicate, drifts into your ear from the speaker.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Place is real dusty, made the mistake of kicking it all up,”

With a small laugh, Rebecca continues. “I just wanted to remind you of the gala tomorrow night. The whole team is going, which includes you, so wear something nice,”

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll sit this one out. Those places make me anxious anyway,”

“No way,” Rebecca says. “You have to come. You’re, like, the guest of honor,”

You frown deeply, scrunching your features together in what looks like a wince. A gala is the last thing you need right now. It really sounds like your worst nightmare.

“He’ll be there,” Rebecca says. You frown more.

“Is that supposed to convince me to come?” you ask, picking at a piece of the counter that’s peeling up.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Probably a month ago,” you say, pursing your lips. “Haven’t seen him since we got back from New York,”

“Yikes,” Rebecca says. You roll your eyes. She doesn’t know the half of it. “Just wear something nice, okay? I expect to see you decked out in all your best jewels,”

“Right, because I’m known for those,” you joke.

She bids you goodbye, and you stare at the shadows on your floor cast by your body in the light of the rangehood. You don’t even know what you would say to Leon. An apology doesn’t seem quite right, neither does pretending nothing ever happened. If anything, you’re sort of hoping he ignores you completely. That would be much easier than pretending to enjoy small talk.

With a groan, you take yourself to bed. This is something you can think about in the morning.

The sunlight does not shed any new perspective on the situation. You’re hopelessly staring at your closest, running through your options of what to wear.

“This is childish,” you mumble to no one in particular, and thread through your clothes to find a simple button down and pleated pants. They will have to do.

You dress quickly. You’re stuffing your shirt into your pants when a button pops off. It lands with a clang against your mirror. You groan, a long, drawn out sound that releases some of your tension. Why can’t anything go right for you on days like this? You reach down to pick up the fallen button, choosing to discard it on your nightstand. Maybe you could figure out how to sew it back on. It can’t be much different than sewing up a wound, right?

The taxi ride to the banquet hall is silent, save for the staticky noise of the radio. The cabbie doesn’t speak, and you prefer it that way. There’s not much for you to say anyway, at least in terms of small talk. You’re not exactly keen on sharing your pathetic situation either. So you remain silent until you pull up to the building. Checking your pockets for your necessities, you push out of the cab. It’s starting to drizzle, so you hurry inside.

You find Rebecca quickly, wearing a beautiful tan dress that hugs her figure well. You suddenly feel frumpy. The cuffs of your sleeves are fraying, your shoes are a size too small, and your pants barely brush the tops of your feet. Maybe you should’ve just stayed home.

“You made it!” Rebecca cheers, shoving a glass of champagne into your hand. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would,”

You force a smile, and say, “Me neither,”

She grins at you, threading her arm through yours. She drags you amongst the other guests, greeting the ones she knows and introducing herself to the ones she doesn’t. You admire her ability to fit into any space. There’s no evidence to suggest that she has ever seen horror, no clues that point to sorrow running in her veins. You cannot say the same for yourself. You’re fidgety, uncomfortable, and try your best not to speak to others. Your eyes shift across the ballroom, looking at the hundreds of heads that are crammed into the space. It makes you frown.

“Doing okay?” Rebecca asks. You nod. “We can find somewhere to sit?”

“You keep mingling,” you say, pulling your arm free from her. “Come find me when it gets boring,”

She flashes you a smile that has lingering worry, and lets you drift into the crowd. This is the last place you want to be, and she knows it. You find an empty table near a big window. The curtains are drawn back, and you can see the rain beginning to pelt down onto the courtyard outside. You’re not sure how long you watch the rain fall, casually sipping your champagne. The screech of a chair being pulled out beside you draws you back to reality.

Leon looks handsome, albeit uncomfortable, in his pressed suit. He fidgets with the cuffs of his jacket as he sits, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. You swallow hard.

“You looked lonely,” he says, adjusting in his chair. “Figured you could use some company,”

“I appreciate the kindness,” you say, setting your glass onto the table. He finally levels his gaze on you, and a chill snakes down your spine. “I’m alright, though,”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get away from the crowd,” he says, half smiling. 

You’re not sure what to say, so you don’t say anything. You turn your gaze back to the throng of people casually conversing like nothing bad has ever happened. The thought makes you frown. Of all the horrors and devastation you’ve seen, this has got to be the worst. People mingling and drinking like others aren’t dying a few states away.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Leon’s voice pulls you back to him. It’s a bit gruff and worn, like he’s been talking all night. Maybe he has. “Seeing people dance and laugh and be so care free?”

You nod. “They have no idea what’s out there,”

“No, they don’t,” he says, trailing his eyes over your crossed legs. “Maybe it’s better that way,”

“Maybe,” you muse, reaching for your glass again. It was half full before Leon sat down; it’s now almost completely empty. Your mouth feels dry.

“How’ve you been?” Leon asks, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. You watch him carefully, like he’s hiding something.

“Fine,” you say. You’re not sure why the words come out so clipped. You can’t find it in yourself to be sorry, though. He wants arm’s length? That’s what you’ll give him. “You?”

He frowns. “I’m alright. Just haven’t heard from you,”

“Didn’t know you wanted to,” you say. The lines around his mouth deepen, and you want to kiss them away.

“Are we back to this, then?” he asks. You feel his gaze on every inch of your skin. You feel suddenly exposed, raw. You frown.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you ask, swallowing. “Easier that way,”

You’re not sure why you throw the words back in his face, but you don’t exactly regret it. He watches you like he��s studying you.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice low and delicate, like he’s treading uncharted waters. You suppose that’s exactly what he’s doing.

You frown. “You said it. Not me,”

“But is that what you want?”

You don’t know. You want him to give you more than surface level. You want him to be open with you. You want him to laugh at your jokes, and sit on your couch, and help you cook dinner. You want him to know you.

“I don’t know, Leon,” you say. Something sparks in his eyes, an emotion you can’t quite place.

He’s silent for a while before asking, “What’s your sister’s name?”

You gape at him. “Angela,”

“Did you like having a sibling growing up?” he asks, scooting his chair a few inches closer.

You smile a bit. “Sometimes. Other times, I wanted her to disappear. Y’know, sibling quarrel and all that,”

“I don’t, actually,” he says. You furrow your brow. “I didn’t have any siblings,”

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much else you can say. “You’re welcome to have mine, if you like,”

He laughs then, bright and wide. “I think I’m alright. I’ve learned to like being alone,”

“What did you do?” you ask. “Before everything, I mean,”

He contemplates your question for a moment, like he’s deciding if he wants to share pieces of himself with you. “I was a cop,”

“Noble,” you say, smiling. “That tracks,”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you say, sighing. “Was training to be an EMT, but…things got in the way, and now I’m here,”

“So you’ve always been interested in medicine?” he asks. You nod. “Did you ever want to be a doctor?”

“No,” you say. “Wanted to be in the thick of it. Saving lives, and all that,”

He grins. “Bet you regret that a bit now,”

You shrug. “Sometimes. I like my job,”

“Even when it’s hard?”

“Even when it’s hard,”

He’s silent then. You watch him watch you. Something shifts in the tension between you, and you relax into your chair a bit more. There’s no one else in the room, no music playing, nothing. Just you and Leon, trying your hands at getting to know someone. You’re not sure you know how to be vulnerable like this anymore, not after everything. Visions of blood caked under your fingernails and memories of the screams of the damned make knowing another person challenging.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask. He grins at you like a child.

“Green,” he says. You nod. “Yours?”

“I like a good burgundy,” you say. He rolls his eyes playfully. “Or maroon,”

“Are those not the same thing?”

You laugh. “Not even close. Burgundy is more brown, maroon is more of a reddish purple,”

“Right, my bad,” he says, smiling.

The hole in your chest begins to close. This feels like an olive branch. You want to pull him into your orbit, feel him on every inch of your skin. You want him to consume you. You’re almost positive that he would.

“Come dance with me,” he says. You almost drop your jaw at the suggestion.

“Who are you and what have you done with Leon?” you tease, wringing your hands together. You want to take him up on the offer, more than you think you know, but it doesn’t seem like something he would do. You’re almost worried that this is some cruel ploy.

He laughs. “We can do something normal for once. No harm in it,”

You nod, standing to follow him into the crowd of other couples. His hand is steadfast on your waist, the other gently clasping one of your own. You feel stiff as he leads.

“Loosen up,” he says, leaning further into you. Your throat feels like it closes up.

“I’m loose,” you lie. He grins at you, perfectly soft lips pulling around his stupidly white teeth. God, you want to kiss him.

You decide then that you don’t want easy. You don’t want to keep him at an arm’s length, and you’ll do anything to convince him he doesn’t want it either. You want him, wholly and vulnerable, completely. You want him to look out for you. You want to do mundane, domestic things with him. You want to cut his hair because the barber never gets it right. You want to walk into the kitchen and see him doing the dishes, not because you asked but because he wanted to clean up your conjoined space. You want to fold laundry with him.

You’ve never wanted this way, or this much. Before, you’d been so content to let him be cold and detached, to throw yourself into your work and live alone. Now, you’re not happy with that. And you think he knows that too.

“You look nice tonight,” he says, voice low and gentle. It washes over you in a wave, settling your bones and warming your blood.

“Careful,” you tease, smiling. “I might think you’ve gone soft on me,”

“I think you knew that already,” he says. “This is the part where you tell me that I look nice too,”

He does look nice. You knew that already. His suit is almost all black, save for the cuff links that shine against the lights of the ballroom. He looks more than nice. He looks perfect, collected.

“Well, now you’ve gone too far,” you say, grinning so wide that your cheeks hurt. He rolls his eyes. “You do look nice, though,”

When the music fades out, he doesn’t let go. You don’t want him to anyway. You want to stay here, like this, forever. You want him to keep holding you until you’re both no more than dust. He drums a rhythm on your side with his fingers, and a shiver runs through you.

“Take a walk with me,” he says, almost bumping his nose with yours when he leans in to look at you. He’s a hair’s width away, and if you leaned in a touch, you’d be kissing him. You wonder what would happen if you did.

“Okay,” you say.

He leads you out of the crowd by your hand, which you can feel the beads of sweat beginning to form upon. You catch Rebecca’s eye as you move through the crowd. She gives you a wide smile and a subtle thumbs up, which you scowl at. It’s raining hard when you exit the ballroom. You can barely see the cars on the street ahead of you through the thick sheet of water coming down.

“Still want to take that walk?” you ask, looking up at Leon. He’s still holding your hand. He grins at you.

“Afraid you’ll melt?” he returns. You laugh. He gives your hand a squeeze. “Just for a bit,”

You’re soaked to the bone two minutes after you step into the shower. Your clothes stick to every inch of your skin and a cold wind blows, threatening to freeze the very marrow within your body. You won’t let it, not when Leon is looking at you the way he is, cheeks tinged pink from laughter and smiling so wide that you can see your reflection in his teeth.

He never once lets go of your hand as he leads you down the sidewalk. You’re silent, but it’s not uncomfortable. A car whizzes by, nearly splashing you, but Leon pulls you into him and covers your body with his. You catch a whiff of whatever fancy cologne he’s wearing, and you almost feel drunk on it. Maybe it’s the champagne you’d been sipping, but you’re not sure. He keeps you within reach, just in case another car attempts to sour your evening, he says.

“Why do you never call me by my name?” he asks suddenly, looking at you through stringy and soaked hair.

You shrug. “Everyone calls you by your name,” you say. “That’s also not entirely true. I only call you ‘Kennedy’ sometimes,”

“Only when you’re mad at me,” he says, grinning. “Which is often,”

“Well,” you say, returning the wattage of his smile. “There’s your answer,”

You stare at him for a moment, taking in the sheer beauty of his person. Before, you’d thought he was all hard edges and crisp lines. That he would cut you if you got too close. Now, though, in this moment and this lighting, he is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. Round cheekbones, soft lips, gentle features that are perfectly symmetrical. He has a few freckles dotted across his cheeks, smile lines that make his eyes crinkle. A hairline scar that extends across his right cheek. Without thinking, you reach out, smoothing your fingertips over it. It’s not that deep, barely snagging on the ridges of your fingerprints. You hear a breath hitch in his throat at the movement.

“Sorry,” you say, retracting your hand. “I didn’t mean to do that,”

“It’s okay,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes scan your face, lashes fluttering against the assault of the rain. He returns the gentle gesture by pushing a few wet strands of hair out of your eyes. His touch is ghostly, barely there.

“I never thanked you,” you say. He furrows his brows. “For staying with me that night. It…it really helped me,”

“You needed me,” he says. “Did you know that you snore?”

You bark a laugh that you can’t stop from bubbling over the surface. “I do not,”

He grins. “You totally do. It’s almost scary. I didn’t know a person could make that kind of noise,”

“You’re so mean,” you say, frowning. “You really know how to flatter someone,”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go. I need out of these clothes,”

He leads you down a few winding streets, making turns that seem random. It dawns on you then that he’s bringing you back to his apartment. Your heart leaps into your throat, clogging up your breath and your functioning. Your brain is swimming. You’re going to see how he lives, what his life looks like outside of work. He’s letting you.

He only drops your hand to get the door open. The lock jams, which you can’t help but laugh at, and then he’s finally letting you into his space.

His apartment is almost bare, similar to yours. White walls wrap the space, a few items dotted around on tables. He doesn’t own a television, you note. There’s a wall of shelves, though, filled pretty decently with books. You didn’t take him for a reader, but you suppose it makes sense. You toe your shoes off near the door, soaked clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor beneath you.

“Sorry about the mess,” you say, looking up at him. He shrugs.

“Better rain water than something else,” he says. You smile.

You follow him to his room, watching the way he begins to loosen in the space. Regardless of the lack of personality, this place is his home. It’s where he feels most comfortable, most him. And he let you into it. He digs through a tattered dresser that has likely seen many homes, turning only to haphazardly chuck an old shirt at you. You barely catch it, letting out a huff of air at the impact. He follows it with a pair of shorts.

“You’re welcome to shower,” he says, tugging off his sopping suit jacket. He begins working on the buttons of his shirt next, and you almost let your jaw drop.

“I think I’m done with water for a few hours,” you say, cheeks growing warm. He’s halfway to his navel when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You guess on which door it is and push into it, closing it behind you. You catch your breath.

You feel giddy. You can’t help the childish smile that creeps onto your lips.You change quickly, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You look frumpy, but very comfortable. You wonder what you’ll do next. Maybe he’ll just call you a cab and send you home. You pray to whoever is listening that that isn’t the case. With a heavy exhale, you leave the bathroom.

“Just leave your clothes in there,” Leon hollers from his bedroom. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow,”

You nod, following his voice. He’s clad in a sweatshirt that is a bit too big on him and a pair of sweatpants. He looks so human. You take a moment to look around the room. Where he didn’t have a television in his living room, he does have one in here. You think that’s odd. There’s a VHS player balanced precariously on top of a few books, wires running across the floor to connect to the television on a table. You wonder if this is where he spends most of his time. He leans over the VHS player, popping a tape into its mouth. Then, he settles into his bed.

You’re standing in the doorway, wearing his clothes, watching him get comfortable in his bed. You feel like some weird stalker or voyeur. It makes the tips of your ears burn.

“You can come sit, y’know,” Leon says, grinning at you. Something shifts in his gaze; he must see the turmoil on your face. “Or I can call you a cab,”

You shake your head, moving to join him. He leaves plenty of space between you–always the gentleman. You don’t recognize the movie playing on the screen, but you watch it anyway, focus so trained on it to prevent you from staring at Leon. The film drones on even though you’re not really paying attention. Leon shifts beside you, arm brushing against yours. You almost stop breathing. You feel silly for feeling this way; childish, weak, vulnerable. You wish you could be more nonchalant, more like your peers. But you don’t know how to be like that anymore. You only know quick action and timidness. You only know how to hide vulnerability for the sake of keeping people from asking if you know what you’re doing. You only know how to be closed off in the hopes that people won’t ask you how you are.

Because you know the answer. You know that if someone asks, you might unload on them. You might tell them how much you miss your family, how hard it is to dig through bodies and pull out their most valuable pieces. You might tell them how much you miss home, how much you regret taking a job in Raccoon City, how much you wish you’d stayed in school, how much you wish you could hold your nieces. 

As you think about it, you begin to cry. You’re not even sure why. It’s after a particularly unbecoming sniffle that Leon shifts his focus to you. You feel very embarrassed, trying in earnest to not let him see you cry.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping at your eyes with your wrinkled palms. “Sometimes I get lost in my brain, and it makes me cry,”

He shifts a bit closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. His fingers move in circular motions, and you can’t deny how much calmer it makes you feel.

“Talk to me,” he says, almost whispering. You look him in the eye then, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. “I want to listen,”

You sniffle again. “I thought it was easier to be mean to me,”

“I don’t want easy,” he says. You gnaw on your lower lip. “I’m sorry I said that,”

“I don’t want easy, either,” you say. He grins at you then, full and wide, and bright enough to blind you. You wonder if this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You wonder if he’s finally going to kiss you and get it over with.

“Can I be honest?” he asks. His voice is so soft, so calming, you wonder how you never noticed it before. You nod. “I thought, for a while at least, that if I was just rude enough to you, you would stop following me on missions. I thought that if you couldn’t stand to be around me, you wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t follow me into the jaws of death. Obviously, that didn’t work. That day that you stitched me up? It all hit me. I just…don’t know how to be the man you deserve yet,”

You smile, face warm and light, insides gooey and sticky. “I saw you as a challenge. I would continue to work with you out of spite,”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that now,”

“My turn for honesty,” you say, voice shaking a bit. “I was…in Raccoon City. When everything happened, I mean. I saw it first hand. It’s the reason I am where I am. I was training to be an EMT there, had some friends I’d been staying with. That’s why I get so…weird when I have to do my job. It’s why everything is so hard,”

He nods as he listens. “That must have been hard,” he says. You nod.

“It was devastating,” you say, breathless. “If I was shy before–which I was, mind you–I was a recluse after. It’s why I don’t go out, why I don’t like groups of people, why I have such a hard time being vulnerable,”

“I know what that’s like,” he says. You feel like your heart cracks open, beckoning him inside.

“You make me want to learn how,” you say, trying your hardest not to look away from him. “You make me want to learn how to be vulnerable, how to be open. I’ve told you things even Rebecca doesn’t know about me. I just…struggle with it sometimes,”

He’s silent as he watches you, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing. Maybe he just wants to be friends, have an extra shoulder around for when things get to be too much. Maybe you’ve read every situation, every interaction completely wrong. You don’t really know what you’re doing, after all. Maybe your naivety clouded your judgment.

It’s then that he does kiss you. It’s soft and pliant, warming you to your very core. Your hands shift to hold him better, fingers curling around the collar of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer. You melt into him, letting him set little fires across every inch of skin he consumes. You want him to devour you whole. One of his hands finds the back of your head, tilting you ever so slightly to give him better access to you. You give it up without a second thought, a small gasp escaping you as your tongue meets his. In this moment, nothing else exists. The movie playing on the television is drowned out by your bliss, the deafening roar of blood in your ears settles to a beautiful hum. It feels like the crest of a wave splashing back down into the ocean, like a symphony crescendoing. You could die here, wrapped in his warmth and his kisses, and be happy.

When he pulls away, breathless and kiss swollen and reddened, you want to sink back into him. You find it cruel that he would pull away from you, leave you cold where you were so warm before.

“Keep being vulnerable with me,” he says, breath uneven and stuttering. “Please don’t ever stop,”

If he keeps looking at you like this and kissing you, he doesn’t have anything to worry about. You’re more than willing to be whatever he needs, reading to be molded like clay into his desires. You want it. You want him. Your heart flutters at the thought that he wants you too.

[sulevinen]

i feel like every jayce hater is a viktor lover

[poppyseed799]

btw I don’t know if this is a thing anyone is thinking about but I’m not gonna stop drawing Jimmy as a canary. It’s a lovely bird. It’s still something that’s been really important to his series. There’s no reason to drop the canary headcanon just cuz Lizzie fell into the void.

[weezerlvr228]

why he so mysterious…

demur

[weirdo09]

who needs kids to pick on them when you already have a built in bully?

[awnrii]

i don’t know if anyone will see this but hi it’s me daniel awnrii guy who might have founded nark(?) here to say please don’t tag my nicholas art with stuff like “he’s so sexy” or view my nark stuff as solely sexual 😭😭😭

feel free to post I’m not saying do not ever post about sex ever go ahead but don’t tag it under my posts specifically please!!

[purpledisastertwin900]

Whenever people say “it’s all in your head” about things like ocd, anxiety, adhd, depression and all the other mental disorders and illnesses I always wanna say Well I know that, how tf do I get it out of my head?! Cuz I’m stuck in my head almost every single day I KNOW it’s in my head, thanks for the unhelpful reminder, now HOW DO I GET IT OUT, SHARON