#even though i feel there is still more i could talk about

[zennertumbles]

I think a lot of people didn't like these endings because of other reasons though, also.

I personally found a lot of SU to be pretty toothless, often, in how it grappled with the turnaround of its villains. My memory of it is so-so by now but I often remember feeling plainly unconvinced that the characters in question should have changed their minds in the circumstances presented to them, or that their journey of atonement also felt lackluster.

As for Aang and Ozai, I have definitely seen people argue, "no we should kill Hitler! Don't pretend we shouldn't kill globe conquering egomaniacs!" But I have also seen stronger points that the story places Aang in an INCREDIBLY difficult moral dilemma and rather than letting us see his choice in it, or how he plans to do what his heart tells him regardless of what problems that could still cause... he gets saved from that by deus ex dragon turtle. Now, I for one am fine with the ending of ATLA, it's already a show all about watching these kiddos navigate tough choices and the nuanced situations that war can breed, but I think that's a valid criticism.

3rd run Star Wars movies, same shit. Defected Storm trooper Finn? That's a great character concept, love to see it, they didn't give the dude nearly enough screen time. Would have loved to see more baggage of his but he cool. Kylo however? Sloppy redemption. He's on team Blowing Up Planets but we're just not gonna talk about that. F minus all the way down, movie was too damn soft on him.

I would also point to how Fullmetal Alchemist (original story) handled Scar. He's a very fascinating and complex character, who is confronted with his own actions (which come from a compelling place and are in large part carried out against war criminals, many of whom are also trying to fix their shit) and the writing really gives all of this stuff room to simmer. Scar has to choose his battles and give up his principled stance in pressured, heated moments, it feels believable. His course of action at the end of the story also feels believable, as well as how it is offered to him.

I get how chucking a villain off a cliff can be a lazy way of trying to address what harms have been done without digging into the difficult questions posed by keeping these characters around, but some of the stories that save their baddies feel just as messy and even more unsatisfying. Also I think the chucking off a cliff thing is its own interesting convo because it often feels like the direct result of a choice those characters are making, like reaching the end of a crooked course of action and insisting upon it with full ignorance to the wall they're about to run headlong into.

Sometimes I think about how and why some people had such a *bad* reaction to the end of Steven Universe, specifically in regards to the Diamonds living.

Even though they no longer are causing harm to others and are able to actually undo some of their previous harm by living, some folks reacted as though this ending was somehow morally suspect. Morally bankrupt, even.

And I think it might be because so many of us were raised on a very specific kind of kids media trope:

They all fall to their deaths.

Disney loves chucking their bad guys off cliffs. And it makes sense- in a moral framework where villains *must* be punished (regardless of whether their death will actually prevent further harm or not), but killing of any kind is morally bad for the hero, the narrative must find a way to kill the villain without the protagonists doing a murder.

It's a moral assumption that a person can *deserve* to die, that it is cosmically just for them to die, that them dying is evidence that the story itself is morally good and correct. Scar *deserves* to die, but it would be bad for Simba to kill him. So....cliff. (edit: yes, cliff then hyenas. But cliff first. Lol.)

Steven Universe, whatever else it's faults, took a step back and said "but if killing people is bad, then people dying is bad", and instead of dropping White Diamond off a cliff, asked "what would actual *restorative*, not punitive, justice look like? What would actual reparations mean here? If the goal is to heal, not just to punish, how do we handle those who have done harm?" And then did that.

Which I think is interesting, and that there was pushback against it is interesting.

It also reminds me of the folks who get very weird about Aang not killing Ozai at the end of Avatar. And like, Ozai still gets chucked in prison, so it doesn't even push back on our cultural ideas of punitive justice *that much.* and still, I've seen people get real mad that the child monk who is the last survivor of a genocide that wiped out his entire pacifist culture didn't do a murder.

[gay-dorito-dust]

bob things because i keep seeing edits of him and joaquin torres.

Bob is very aware of how much stronger then everyone he is, so when he careful with you, making sure to not use more then he needs. He worries that he might accidently hurt you in the process, something he wouldn't forgive himself for nor ask for forgivness from you as he doesn't deserve it. He's so gentle with you that you thought he was handiling glass or porcelain with how he held your arm or holding your hand.

It wasn't in a way where he was under estimating you, but instead in a way where he was still firm with his grip yet was loose enough where you could easily break away from him. You were at the forefront of his mind whenever he does anything that required him in any aspect to touch you, he would much rather put your comfort first and above his own then ever do anything that would cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort.

Even if you did tell him that he didn't have to be so gentle with you, Bob was still going to be gentle with you even when he's on a mission and see you were in danger, quick to act as he moves you out of harms way as his hands anchor you to reality and to him when you looked into his worried eyes. His grip never tightens nor loosens, caressing your shoulders as though he was trying to memorise your warmth and existence into his mind, as though he was silently asking you if you were okay while his eyes scan your figure for harm.

Bob is the type of guy who would read books and get ideas for what he should do for you, things like little notes that he would leave scattered throughout your room within the Watchtower or places he knows you'll visit frequently, placing them in specific spots that only you would go to. These little notes would vary from time to time, some of them would be suggestions of where you two could do when you had the time, or notes where they would be filled with sugary sweet compliements that were enough to make your heart melt and internally swoon.

such examples like; 'i like it when we do our own things in silence, it calms me knowing that we're doing stuff that we love together, where we don't have to rely on words and instead just merely exist in tandem and are at peace with that.'

'you looked tired today, do you want to talk about it? or maybe a nap? you've done pulling your weight today and need rest.'

'thank you for being patient with me, thank you for being a dream come true for me and being such a safehaven where i can be vulnerable and let you in on my biggest worries, where i can lay it all out and you still look at me like that love you have for me never faded. thank you.'

'i didn't know i could fall more then i already have, then i look at you and find a new reason to love you, you make it as easy as breathing or writing a note for you to find later much like this one. :)'

'i wake excited to see you as if i haven't seen you in months, i even fall asleep in hopes of seeing you in my dreams, there's never a day where i don't stop thinking about you and i don't plan on stopping either becuase i never want to forget the best moment of my life; meeting you.'

However if you were to give him notes, he's smiling wide at your words and keeping every single last note in a box under his bed, so when he feels as though he needs a pick me up Bob will go to the box and re-read your notes and feel better by the time he gets to the lastest one you've written him. He treasures every last thign you've given him and isn't willing to let go of them either, for these were his reminders that there was someone for him who saw him in a way he hadn't think to see himself on.

If Bob saw that you were just out of it, or just more silent then usual the he would move over to you and just bring you to rest against against him, smooth his hand over your arm as you pratically cuddle yourself into him. Your head being burried into his neck as he allowed you to take a brief rest from everything, to latch your arms to his waist and keep him close to you while Bob kisses your head and reasuring you that he wasn't going anywhere, not when you were in need of him and holding onto him like he might dissapear.

He was your charging station until you felt better to continue the day ahead, though not before Bob would ask if you were okay in a soft hushed tone before he allowed you to eascape his arms.

Bob finds that his mind becomes clear when he was near you, no worries nor nightmares plauge this man when his head was on your chest with his ear listening to your heart and steady breathing, so he's often wandering off to your room just to silence his mind. He's come to your doorstep so much so that you kept stuff that he left from previous times he came, whether it was a sweater or a blanket, it didn't matter becuase your room had became his second home becuase you were there to comfort and console him.

[imnez-daydreams]

yeah you wish that i was yours (so do i)

pairing : andrew “pope” cody x reader

warnings : fighting, manhandling, choking, blood, licking of said blood, injury, jealousy, pope makes j watch him and reader, pope calls reader “kid”, “baby” n "my girl".

summary : what happens when you keep pushing pope to play fight with you. (except they are both also yearning idiots in love).

w/c : 2.6k words (yes i may have gotten carried away)

a/n : im super² sick but i could. not. get my ask and this thought from @erwinsvow out of my head so i decided to try and churn my inspiration from lovely shea into this fic. i just finished s1 and this is my first time writing pope so i hope i got his character okay :”)). apologies if this isn't the best work, i'm literally curled up and still burning up as i'm writing this booo. dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics. hope you enjoy !! do like, comment or reblog (or send hot soup) if you did <33

The first strike is the day when Pope gets out of prison. 

You’re standing dumbstruck with your bought meal still in hand when you spot him sitting in the middle of the couch. He’s so … real this time. You must look like an idiot to the rest of the family, still in shock. (Maybe Pope would let you in on this secret later on in your relationship, but when he saw you again, he felt that you were as beautiful as the day he lost you). 

Pope’s eyes travel down your frame, soaking in every detail of you, memorising you as if he didn't have every pixel of every picture you mailed him ingrained in the hardwires of his brain. When his eyes flit back up to meet yours, you feel something start to unlock behind those walls. 

Your eye twitches when you notice how close Smurf is next to him. You hate how she’s already sunken her venomous claws back into Pope, probably starting to scheme how she can puppeteer him again. You want to save Pope, get him away from the void that sinks its teeth in you and never leaves, not entirely, even when you think you’re free. So you do the thing all Cody’s are good at, starting a fight.

“Move, you’re in my spot.” You try to keep your voice even as possible, as if seeing Pope in person after all these years didn’t sweep the rug out from under your feet.

“Hey lay off, Pope’s only been back a couple hours. And since when is that spot y-” You cut off Baz by squeezing in the free space that separates Pope from the end of the couch.

You make yourself comfortable, well as comfortable as you can being so close to Pope again, and place your feet in his lap (despite having more than enough space). Pope glances down at how you've made yourself at home in his lap, then at you. You raise an eyebrow, trying to seem unbothered and rest your side against the back of the couch. 

The family starts talking about their business again, making you begin to lose interest. Just as your eyelids start to drop though, you catch Smurf smoothing her hand over Pope’s curls. Something stirs in you. The part of your brain that makes you do stupid things.

You kick your foot in Pope’s lap, wanting to annoy him. (Wanting him to pay attention to you instead). It works slightly, with him gripping your ankle. But he’s still looking forward. Staring out into space, shielded, guarded, as if the two of you didn't share secrets as kids. As if he wasn't your guard dog the moment he laid eyes on your trembling frame, when Smurf introduced you to the family shortly after she found Catherine. It’s not enough. So you put on a show. Making crude jokes, poking and prodding at him, laying on the snarky attitude.

Pope thinks this is unlike you, unlike his childhood sweetheart friend. He puts together that you must want something, not him obviously but maybe just some attention. Pope doesn't mean to be that aggressive, a sentiment he reserves only for you. But this new kid is unnerving him. It unsettles him, how J quietly laughs at your bad attempts of mean jokes, how his eyes occasionally roam over you. It's why he's been staring straight instead of at you. If Pope gets lost in the sight of you, he wouldn't be able to stand guard. Except J’s gaze dips down, making Pope follow his eyeline. Realising the kid has the nerve to travel his eyes down to the small bit of exposed skin, when your kicking of him makes your shirt ride up.

Pope’s jaw clenches and you think you've finally gotten to him. But he pounces on you so fast that you almost get whiplash.

What the fuck?

Pope is hovering over you, your wrists pinned by one hand, his knees spreading your legs apart to accommodate his frame. You feel his free hand sliding down the front of your shirt, but your confusion is quickly brushed off when Baz cuts in,

“Fuckin��� cut it out you two! I don’t need another headache right now.” 

That signature heavy stare remains on you for a couple more seconds, almost like Pope is trying to decipher you. Then, he grunts and lets go of your hands, moving off the couch completely. 

The second strike is when you both get into a screaming match. Well, more like you’re shouting and Pope is Pope still. The job had gone wrong and he had refused to accept your care until you had finished stitching up Deran’s bullet wound. Even though Pope was very visibly concussed and in pain. The whole time you attended to Deran, you kept stealing glances at Pope, just to make sure he was still alive and kicking (it's what you tell yourself), only to find him already staring straight at you. Keeping your tongue tied, you busied yourself with patching up the boys. Until they all went off, leaving you and Pope alone. Giving you the empty space to berate Pope for his lack of self-importance when it comes to his family. 

“Drop it, kid.” Pope grumbles out, passing by you to take a drink from the fridge.

“No, no. You’re not doing to me (to yourself).” You respond, putting all your might into pushing his back that's facing you.

Pope feels the force from your shove, his strong arm slamming against the cool fridge door to brace himself. His shoulders are hunched. His head hung low. You can feel the tension brewing inside of him. That barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface. He straightens up when he swivels around, dark eyes meeting yours. 

“I don't think you really want to play this game with me kid.” Pope stalks towards you, his footsteps not making a sound.

You scoff, meeting him halfway and getting in his face.

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose? Think y-” You don't get to finish your sentence because Pope’s hand wraps around your throat.

It’s light, not enough to constrict your airflow too much. He’s holding back again. You hate it. You hate him. That’s a lie you repeat to yourself when Pope slams your back to the wall. You despise him because even now in his anger, he still places his free hand behind your skull. Cushioning your pretty little head leaving your back to feel most of the ache. But you want more. More pain that only Pope can give to you. (Or maybe you want Pope to give his pain to you).

Pope tilts his head down to make sure you’re looking right at him. Closing the gap between you two, he whispers against your lips,

“If you play that game with me kid, the only way it ends is with you face down on my bed. I won't stop giving it to you, even if you're begging so sweetly. You want that huh? You want me?” Pope tightens his hold on your throat, but you can sense the vulnerability spilling out at the last sentence.  

“Say, I’m sorry Andrew, c’mon kid.” Pope breaks eye contact to give you this command, whispering in your ear.

“I’m s-sorry … Andrew.” You manage to gasp out.

Satisfied, Pope softens his hold on you, rubbing the sensitive skin on your neck. He plants a soft kiss at the top of your head, so gentle you almost think you imagined it.

“Good. There’s my baby again.”

The last strike is when most of the family is lounging by the pool.

You can feel Pope staring at you.

Sometimes you think he stares harder when he thinks you aren't looking. Smurf’s out somewhere on a task so all the brothers are playing their usual game in the pool, wrestling and fighting over the ball. You’re basking in the sun, leaning sideways on your elbow by the side of the pool. Frowning when you keep noticing Pope playing rough with J. He doesn't deserve that. What better way to lessen that burden on him by putting it on yourself right? (Of course that's the only reason why, not to stop Pope from feeling outshined by a new arrival, totally not). You splash water at Pope, complaining how you're so bored, stating confidently that you could score against him.

“Alright’ kid, c’mon show me what you got then yeah?” Pope relents as he enters the pool again.

You feel giddy with excitement even though you know he's just doing this to get you to shut up. 

…

Pope is barely tightening his hold on you from behind, giving you a fair chance to back out and win easily. But you don't want that. You want Pope to get aggressive with you, put his face all up in yours, make you submit to him. Why can't he just give you what you want? Why is he always so gentle with you? You know why deep down, but that doesn’t stop your emotions from getting the better of you.

You swing your arm back, decking Pope with your elbow. The blow makes him release you completely, and you swim up, up, up and finally breathe when your face exits the water. Easily scoring and celebrating when you climb out the pool, meeting J’s small grin and bumping shoulders with him. You nearly make his shot topple over.

“How about that huh?” You boast despite knowing you played dirty, but your cocky smile falls when J’s expression changes before he downs the shot.

You frown, turning back. Oh, shit. Pope’s emerged from the pool too, but his nose is dripping an obscene amount of blood. It trickles down his chin, his chest and stomach.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Pope. You okay? Here come on, I’ll get you cleaned up”. Running over to Pope, reaching for his arms to lead him back into the house.

But his hand catches you first. 

One hand bounding both of your wrists.

“You can clean me up here just fine, kid.” Pope says so calmly, not even a little bothered about the blood gushing out and down.

‘Yeah okay, let me just get the first aid kit alright?” 

“Kid.” Pope pulls you closer by your hands and walks you backwards.

“I said you can do it here. You’ve had such a mouth on you lately baby, let’s put it to good use yeah?”

Oh, fuck he can’t just say things like that.

The back of your legs hits a lounge chair. The one beside where J’s sitting on, eyes darting between the two of you.

“I’ll get out of your wa-”

“No. You're staying there.” Pope’s tone leaves no room for arguing, guarded eyes locking onto J.

Though when Pope looks back at you, his gaze softens the tiniest bit. Unnoticeable to anyone else, but not to you.

“Pope I- I’m really sorry oka-”

“Shhh, it’s okay kid. M’not mad.” Pope brushes your back with his free hand as he maneuvers the two of you on the empty seat, you atop his lap.

“Just want you to take care of me.” Pope whispers into your ear, private from J.

You furrow your brows at his words.

Oh.

Now you understand. 

Of course Pope would see through you, he’s always seen you. The only one who had.

Pope reels back, just enough to meet your eyes with his intense gaze. An unspoken connection. One asking if you want to stop, keep your bond a sacred secret. The other responding to let them see, see who I belong to, that I belong to you. 

The red string that ties the both of you coils protectively around your shared hearts. A beat passes, and you feel the red string relaxing.

Pope lets your hands go as he leans back into the seat, letting you crawl slightly back. You brace your arms, and lean down. The taste of copper fills your senses as you slowly drag your tongue up Pope’s abs. He shudders beneath your contact, not used to a caring touch. You make your way up to his chest, noticing his erratic breathing. Finally, you make it to Pope’s face, where most of the blood is smeared all over from his initial attempt of cleaning it off. 

You meet Pope’s eyes. He’s already watching you. He’s  always watching you. 

Cradling his jaw with your hand, you scoop up the remaining scattered blood on your thumb. You bring your finger past your lips, not breaking eye contact with Pope.

He doesn't blink. 

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you, not since he caught the glimpse of you being all close to J.

In a blink, Pope smashes your lips together, hand pushing at the back of your neck, strong arm wrapping possessively around your waist. He shoves his tongue past your lips, swallowing up your sweet moans and tasting his own blood. 

It's intoxicating. He’s intoxicating. 

All you can sense is his bruising grip on you, the metallic taste of his blood, his heavy breathing.

The big splashes of water as the other brothers fight in the pool, the overlapping shouts and quarreling, the clinking of shot glasses. None of that even registers in your mind.

All you can think and feel is Pope. Him, him, only him.

When you both slowly part for air, Pope rests his forehead against yours. Still breathing heavily, his hungry eyes dart down to the red string of saliva connecting from your lips to his. 

“Hey! If you two are done being fuckin’ freaks, we could really use Pope and J back in the game!” Baz’s voice cuts through the intimate moment.

“Dude c’mon they were just getting to the good part.” Craig butts in and you have to resist rolling your eyes as you scoot away from Pope.

“Shows over. You boys have fun, but I’m gonna take my girl inside.” Pope announces much to their disappointment, you can already hear them arguing over how to settle the remaining rounds.

“That goes for you too, you can go now.” He deadpans to J, who if you didn't know any better, was tomato red all over from the hot sun.

“Oh y-yeah, of course.” J stutters out as he gets up and away from the two of you.

You barely contain your amusement as you turn back to Pope.

“You didn't have to do that, you know.” You mutter as you stand up from the edge of the seat, reaching out your hand to him.

“He kept looking and smiling at you, as if you didn't already belong to me.” Pope raises himself, slowly holding your soft hand in his. 

You grin, knowing he knows that he's dodging your actual question. No words are needed, not when the shared eye contact speaks for the two of you.

You didn't have to let me take care of you in front of an audience.

I know, but I wanted you to. Wanted them to see, see who I belonged to.

Pope hesitantly interlocks his hand with yours, making you crack a smile. Him being oh so shy as if he didn't just have his tongue down your throat a moment ago.

“Thank you.” You whisper as you lead him back into the house.

Pope doesn't respond, just keeps burning his eyes into your frame. You don’t elaborate either, choosing to walk in silence. But it's not an uncomfortable silence, no. Not when your intrinsic bond is weaved beyond words. A whole chapter said with just his eyes meeting yours. 

Thank you for letting me take care of you.

Thank you for letting me love you, in our own messed way.

The understanding flows through the red string connecting your hearts.

a/n : rly scared that i got his characterisation off so im sorry if it is :((. LISTENN ok i'm sorry, when i sent that ask I was in a much more feral mood, but since i got sick (again) I wanted some comfort and softness sprinkled in. hey don't look at me like that. tagging @callsign-fangirl bcs we go feral over shawn hatosy in chat. anyways hope you enjoy !! pretty please like, comment and reblog with your rambles if you did muaks <3 !

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VI

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.7k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'm finally home!! For some reason tumblr was blocked on my laptop there, which was why I wasn't that active but I hope you all enjoyed the other scheduled posts. I wanted to get this one out to y'all as soon as I could, so I hope my jet lagged brain managed to proof read it fine...if not oops. Also, I think the last chapter of this was scheduled so people were missed on the taglist, i should've fixed that for this chapter but let me know if you were missed! I'm sorry about that! Also did anyone catch that supernatural reference?

MILO'S APARTMENT

You were fucking panicking.

The second you saw that text on your phone, you were out the door and en route to Milo and Anthony’s apartment like it was a goddamn emergency—and to you, it was. You didn’t even say hello. Just beelined straight for their wine rack and uncorked a bottle like your life depended on it.

Halfway through chugging it, Milo snatched it from your grip.

“Talk or no more wine,” he said flatly. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face before collapsing onto the couch. “I fucked up.”

“Okay, well, you better start talking, because I swear to God—was it the match? You never told me how it went. Was he an asshole?”

“No,” you said, sitting up. “No. Dick was great.”

“Okay…” Milo said slowly.

“And so is Jason.”

He blinked. “Who the fuck is Jason?”

You explained. Everything. From the amazing date with Dick to the equally amazing time with Jason—each moment fresh in your mind and impossible to ignore—to the absolute mess you’d found yourself tangled in now.

“And now they both want to go out with me again,” you finished, looking like you might actually pass out from sheer stress. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Milo stared at you.

“I fail to see the problem here.”

You gawked at him. “I can’t date two guys at the same time!”

“Why the fuck not?” he demanded. “You’re hot. You’re single. And you’re exploring your romantic portfolio.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel bad.”

Milo narrowed his eyes at you like you’d just confessed to murdering someone’s puppy. “You feel bad?”

“Yes!” you groaned, collapsing against the couch cushions like the weight of your sins had finally taken you down. “I went out with Jason. After my date with Dick. Who, by the way, I also really like. And now I’m just… spiralling.”

Anthony, who’d been eavesdropping, finally emerged from the kitchen, casually sipping from his own glass of wine like this was better than anything Netflix could offer. He leaned against the doorway, perfectly at ease. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, one brow raised. “You went on a date with one hot guy, then met another hot guy who you also went on a date with, and now both of them want more?”

You glared at him, deadpan. “Yes.”

He took another sip. “Girl, if that’s not the universe begging you to experiment, I don’t know what is.”

Milo jabbed a finger in your direction. “Exactly! You’re not cheating. You’re single. You’re exploring. Gathering data.”

“I’m not running a clinical trial,” you snapped, though a laugh escaped despite yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anthony muttered into his wine. “You’re treating this like a double-blind study with ethical guidelines.”

You covered your face with both hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Milo corrected, setting down his glass. “A nightmare is getting ghosted by someone who still watches all your stories and likes your dog pics. This? This is a champagne problem.”

You peeked at Milo through your fingers. “So… what do I do?”

“Date both,” he said without missing a beat.

“No.”

“Date. Both,” he repeated, completely undeterred. “No commitment. No promises. Just casual. See who actually fits into your life. Who listens. Who remembers your coffee order. Who quotes Austen and doesn’t flinch when you spiral into a lecture about neurotoxins.”

“Dick could keep up when I went full brainiac mode,” you murmured. “And Jason… Jason quoted Austen. Unprompted.”

Milo clutched his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Be still my heart.”

“And they’re both so… different and amazing in their own ways,” you added, softer now, more to yourself than to them. “Dick is light. Safe. He makes me feel seen. And Jason is—”

“A walking red flag with a Shakespeare soul and hidden depth,” Anthony chimed in, deadpan.

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Milo gave you a pointed look. “Babe. You’re not choosing between a villain and a hero. You’re choosing between two men who see you. Who want to know you. If they’re both worth your time… then take the damn time to find out who you want and get to know them.”

You hesitated. “And if it blows up in my face?”

Milo didn’t blink. Just reached for the wine and refilled your glass. “Then we’ll be right here. With a playlist, ice cream, and a very detailed hit list.”

“Color-coded,” Anthony added with a sage nod. “Naturally.”

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. “I hate how much sense you two make.”

“We’re gay. It’s our burden to carry,” Milo said solemnly, raising his glass. “To emotional clarity and romantic chaos.”

Anthony nodded, raising his own. “And may the best man win.”

You stared at them both like they’d sprouted wings or grown extra heads. “This is still ridiculous.”

“This,” Milo countered, pouring more wine into your glass, “is the golden age of options. You’re allowed to figure it out without pledging your undying love to the first man who makes you laugh.”

“I kissed Jason,” you muttered into your glass.

“And?” Anthony sipped. “Did you enjoy it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Too much.”

“Exactly.” Milo held his glass up. “Right now, you just don’t know what you’re allowed to feel.”

You looked at them—these two chaotic bastards who somehow made emotional turmoil sound like a well-curated spa retreat—and let out a long breath.

“…I know I still feel bad.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re a good person. You can feel bad and also let two hot guys take you out. Both things can be true.”

Anthony raised his glass. “To moral ambiguity and excellent taste in men.”

You clinked yours against theirs, muttering, “I’m going to hell.”

Milo grinned. “Then take both of them with you, babe.”

BATCAVE

Meanwhile, Jason was still riding the high from earlier. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets quiet beneath the hum of his bike. He was halfway to his apartment when the notification came through.

A case update.

He didn’t hesitate. One hard turn of the throttle, and he was veering off course, heading straight for the manor.

Inside the Batcave, the mood was noticeably different. Dick and Bruce were already suited up, arms crossed in near-identical stances, while Tim was anchored to the console, eyes scanning a rapid stream of data across multiple monitors.

“Took your time,” Dick said lightly, though the usual ease in his voice was dulled.

“I was busy,” Jason shot back, tugging off his gloves. “What’ve we got?”

Bruce turned toward the central screen, the glow casting shadows across his jaw. “We found a breakthrough.”

Jason’s easy mood evaporated.

Tim tapped a key, bringing up a profile. “To cut to the chase—we know who our ghost is.”

“Well, that’s great. Let’s track the son of a bitch down,” Jason said, his voice clipped with impatience as he stepped closer to the screen.

“It’s not that simple,” Tim replied, already typing something in. “There’s been no physical sightings in over four years. No residence, no digital footprint, no bank activity. Nothing directly traceable. We only got a name because of a flagged experiment—an old one that matches his signature. It was buried in an ethics report filed by his only known connection.”

Tim tapped another key.

“B/N L/N,” he said. “And the only person who might be able to help us find him—his younger sister.”

With a soft beep, the next slide loaded on screen.

A profile image appeared.

Jason froze. So did Dick.

“Dr. Y/N L/N,” Tim continued, unfazed. “Lecturer. Neuroscientist. Gotham University. She’s the one who blew the whistle on his unethical research, which caused the rift between them. Records show he’s made multiple attempts to contact her over the years. If he’s on the run from Joker… she might be the only person he trusts enough to go to. Or the only one who knows how he thinks.”

“She’s one of the youngest in her field,” he added, “with two PHDs—”

“Three,” Jason and Dick said at the same time before pausing.

Both men turned slowly, brows raised, staring at each other across the space between.

“How did you know that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Jason’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know that?”

Tim looked between them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Okay… do I even want to know what’s happening here?”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Where can we find her?”

Tim cleared his throat, grateful for the shift back to business. “She’s scheduled to appear at the Gotham Futures Gala this weekend. It’s a high-profile event at the Fairmont. She’s a guest speaker. The event’s raising funds for youth science education and mentorship programs—STEM access, early outreach, that kind of thing.”

Bruce nodded, calculating. “Alright. I can go and see if I can—”

“No!” The word rang out in unison. Both Jason and Dick spoke at once, their voices overlapping in sudden urgency.

Bruce’s gaze flicked between them, unimpressed. “No?”

“I’ll go,” Dick said, his voice smooth and easy—too easy. The kind of voice he usually used to charm the high society. “You’re stretched thin with the Joker situation. Let me take this one.”

“Or I can go.” Jason stated. 

“You don’t even like gala’s.” Dick scoffed. 

“And you do?” Jason raised a brow. “You spend half the night dodging donors and sneaking champagne behind the curtains.”

“At least I clean up well.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You need to get back to Blüdhaven.”

“I’m on leave.” Dick snipped back. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already nursing a headache.

“Enough,” he said, tone edged with steel. “I don’t care which one of you goes. Just make contact with her. Find out what she knows.”

And with that, the ever-exhausted father of far too many turned on his heel and left the cave.

The second Bruce left the cave, the tension snapped like a rubber band. Both Jason and Dick turned in perfect sync, glaring at each other with the intensity of a pending brawl.

“I’m going,” they declared at the same time.

Jason scoffed, folding his arms. “How do you even know her?”

“She was my date!” Dick snapped, voice pitching upward as his patience immediately vanished.

Jason blinked. “Wait—the one from that dating app?”

“You signed up for a dating app?!” Tim choked, spinning around so fast in his chair he nearly tipped over. His eyes were wide, scandalized. “You?!”

Dick didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yes. And we hit it off.”  he said, sharp and pointed. “Now, how do you know her?”

“She’s the civilian I pulled out of that alley last week,” he said coolly, voice dipping into something just shy of smug. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Should’ve walked her home, dickhead.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason smirked. “We grabbed coffee today.”

Dead silence.

And then—because he never knew when to shut up—Jason kept going. “She even kissed me.”

Dick’s expression shifted like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with something sharp and disbelieving.

“You’re lying.”

Jason raised a brow. “Am I? You really think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I think you’d do whatever it takes to piss me off.”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “That too.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly wheeled himself back in his chair like he was watching a bomb about to go off.

Dick took a step forward. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Jason cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business now.”

“That’s exactly what makes it my business,” Dick snapped.

“Funny. She didn’t seem to think so.”

“Alright,” Tim said quickly, raising both hands. “Before someone gets thrown into a wall—can we maybe, I don’t know, not have a turf war over a girl who clearly doesn’t belong to either of you?”

Neither of them looked at him.

Dick’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s it. I’m going to the gala.”

“Like hell you are!”

Tim raised a hand like a kid in class. “How about… rock, paper, scissors?”

Two sets of eyes pinned him to his seat. He shrank back a little. Then, after a beat, both brothers turned to each other.

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward, hands balling into fists, resting on their open palms.

“On shoot,” Jason muttered.

“Obviously,” Dick snapped.

And they went.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot.”

Scissors. Paper.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“Always with the scissors,” Dick said smugly, shaking his head like an older brother who’d won this game a hundred times before. “You never learn.”

Jason’s glare could’ve peeled paint. But Dick was already sauntering off, throwing over his shoulder, “Better luck next time, Little Wing.”

“Best two out of three!” Jason called, stepping after him.

Dick scoffed. “I won fair and square. No one likes a sore loser.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—low, unintelligible—but Tim was pretty sure it included cheater, rigged, and next time I’m bringing a taser.

“Fine!” Jason snapped, crossing his arms with a tight huff. “But I want ground rules.”

Dick paused and turned around. He arched a curious brow, arms folded across his chest, then gave a slow nod, signalling Jason to continue. “Go on.”

“First—we don’t tell her we know each other.”

Dick nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Jason took a step forward, the tension between them tightening like a wire. “We stay out of each other’s way. And I don’t think either of us should sleep with her—not until she makes her decision. Things’ll get messy.”

Behind them, Tim mock-gagged. “Ugh. Can we not?” he muttered. He didn’t even want to think about his brothers in that context. He didn’t care that they were adopted—they were still his brothers, and thinking about them doing that was just gross on every possible level.

Dick held Jason’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “Fine.”

Jason’s tone shifted, quieter now—less about pride, more about principle. “And if this starts to mess with the case, or with us, we end it. Doesn’t matter where we’re at.”

Dick’s posture shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. But he nodded. “Done.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Whoever she chooses,” Dick said, calm and clear, “the other backs off. No hard feelings.”

Jason’s fingers curled at his sides. A long pause.

Then, he nodded. “May the best man win.”

Dick’s gaze didn’t waver. “For her. The best man for her.”

Meanwhile, Tim watched the entire exchange unfold like a tennis match—head swivelling between brothers, eyes wide. He looked personally offended that no one had handed him popcorn.

“I’ve got to tell the others,” he muttered under his breath, already planning the group chat text.

Dick left for patrol not long after, slipping his domino mask into place with the smug confidence of a man who thought he’d just secured a win.

Jason, who didn’t need to suit up for another hour, turned to Tim with a groan and a scowl. “Alright, nerd. How did you even know where to look for that flagged experiment?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—it was actually Damian.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

“He said the doctor might be a potential lead. Once we ran her name, we found the connection to her brother and his research. Looked solid.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it was Damian. The demon spawn never let anything go. And this was exactly what he got for digging into her file on Batcave servers of all places. He might as well have slapped a neon sign across the screen that read I’m hiding something, please investigate. The one girl he was actually interested in—and she was tangled up in one of their ugliest cases to date.

Jason turned to Tim, narrowing his eyes like a man about to drag someone else into his personal war.

“You’re gonna help me.”

Tim blinked. “With… what exactly?”

“Reconning Dick.”

Tim frowned. “Didn’t you two literally just agree not to interfere?”

“I’m not interfering,” Jason said, far too quickly. “I’m making sure he sticks to the rules.”

Tim gave him a long, deadpan look. “Uh-huh.”

Jason just stared.

Tim sighed, resigned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. Tim rolled his chair back from the console like it was a death march. “I need a vacation. Or a therapist.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a real one, Replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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Taglist: @mei-simp, @sept3mberchild, @a-brilliante-mariposa, @feralwolfkat, @mercuryathens, @beepboopcowboy, @lordbugs, @coffeemin, @nikkeora, @yuyuti02, @oooof-ifellforyou, @neogogori, @thatoneloser8371, @rtyuy1346, @nkryuki, @tinybrie, @smithieandy, @yuhhh03, @kazuuhali

[ohagiyo]

I'm gonna try this out with Kaori ^^

How does (pre-wc) Kunigami feel about Kaori?

• I feel like he'd respect her for her abilities but he wouldn't like how her playing style is basically luring people into the penalty box by feigning being bad at something (dribbling, man-marking, ect.) only to either then pick apart their weaknesses before making a shot or a clean pass. • He thinks it's unfair how she lures people & tears their weaknesses apart for a simple goal or game-changing pass. • Since he's dense, he probably wouldn't realize she even likes him since how she treats him seems to be the same way she does everyone just with a bit more excitement.

How does Kaori feel about Kunigami?

• To put it simply, she's enamored. By the bare minimum, too. She's completely head over heels in love & probably has the most heavily tinted rose glasses out of EVERYONE because she still feels the same way about him after Wild Card (elaboration later.) • The main reasons she fell in love was because he literally treated her like she was someone with feelings instead of tossing her aside the moment she wasn't useful or interesting to him. (Even though they weren't even on the same teams up until the NEL.) • This is quite possibly the barest minimum there ever could be but it's Kaori and the bare minimum was never something she could even dream of so for her, to even say she wants someone to treat her humanely is like a big task.

Has Kaori ever made Kunigami laugh? / What about cry?

• For the laugh ask :: Absolutely, it was when Kaori looked like a kicked puppy after she accidently dropped her food on the ground and it was really the funniest sight ever. • On crying however, she hasn't made him cry at all. Shoot me an ask or comment on this if you want to see about other characters. ^^

Do Kaori and (cannon character) ever cross paths?

• This one I'll leave blank since there are so, so many characters in BLLK so just feel free to come in my inbox and ask about it (or really ask about any question with any other character) ^^

Which canon character(s) annoy Kaori?

• Kenyu Yukimiya :: she thinks his smile is fake and that he's too polite. Though, she does like how he doesn't really seem to be mean or anything to her and that he at least doesn't treat her like shit. • Wataru Kuon :: she dislikes how he betrayed his team so easily because 1. she's a loyal person, and 2. Kunigami, Bachira & Naruhaya were members of Team Z and could've gotten kicked out of the program— all of whom she is very fond of. • Ryusei Shidou :: she finds his sexual comments very gross & his violence annoying to deal with but finds his play style intriguing. She also likes how he's really just playing for the love of the game and doesn't really cuss her out unlike certain people (cough Kaiser cough.) • Eita Otoya :: the first time they met, he tried hitting on her and Kaori was too dense to realize. She also didn't get flustered by the close contact at all (since she's a physical person), though she did give him a smack on the back of his head when he tried his “ninja techniques.” • Aiki Himizu :: she finds him weird and generally uncomfortable to be around, when asked why she said: “ He's always looking too deep and picking apart my expressions, the way I talk, and stuff.. it just weirds me out y'know? Also! It's really annoying when he pretends like I have some ulterior motive or that I'm lying.. ” • Michael Kaiser :: honestly? she dislikes him at most. Not hate because she can't find it in her to hate him but she does dislike him. • Jingo Raichi :: well, annoy is a strong word but she's definitely scared shitless whenever she hears him yelling or screaming. Though, after spending more time in BM and stuff, she got used to it so it's no longer a problem. She finds his quick temper a bit annoying to deal with despite having one too. Noel Noa :: Finds his general demeanor a pain to deal with, that and him making Kaiser the best so he could beat him & use him to further develop his football skills. She dislikes how selfish he is.

What canon character(s) gets annoyed by Kaori?

• Aiki Himizu :: he can't for the life of him figure her & her supposed “lies” out and that ticks him off to no end. (Kaori has told him multiple times that she doesn't lie and actually is very open about everything but she doesn't think he's listening.) • Shoei Barou :: because of her hyper-activity & tendency to forget, Kaori always ends up making a bit of a mess during whatever task she's on, be it eating, training, you name it and it annoys Barou to no end. (even though they're on completely different teams.) • Michael Kaiser :: He just honestly hates her & just everything about her. • Alexis Ness :: He finds her not bowing down to Kaiser an annoyance and the way she treats him with such indelicacy and rudeness an offense against Kaiser. I can't think of anymore tbh, if you have any idea who else would find her annoying, feel free to shoot me an ask of it! ^^

Which canon character respects Kaori most? What gained that respect?

TBA

Which canon character doesn’t respect Kaori whatsoever?

• Michael Kaiser. • Aiki Himizu.

Which canon character(s) does Kaori respect a lot?

• (Pre- & Post-WC) Rensuke Kunigami :: Looked up to him and saw his good-nature as something totally alluring and for some reason, she couldn't stay away after that fateful night. • Meguru Bachira :: Trauma bonding exercises do wonders and the two ended up as the bestest of friends after Kaori accidently kicked a ball at him while practicing. • Nijiro Nanase :: Pretty self-explanatory, girl was stressed when she didn't see him in the first ten rankings. • Yoichi Isagi :: Although she respects him, Kaori disagrees on everything with Yoichi and the two end up bickering sometimes but remain somewhat good acquaintances. • Gin Gagamaru :: She thinks getting hit by balls all the time must be stressful so whenever she lets one slip through she always ends up profusely apologizing to him after the match. More TBA if I don't forget.

Which canon character does Kaori not respect at all? Why?

• Michael Kaiser :: She dislikes the way he treats Ness & everyone as if they were some disposable tool at his use whenever he pleases.

Which canon character is pissed off by the general presence of Kaori? (we all have those people)

• Shoei Barou :: He can't stand her messiness & the way she once lured him into a weak area so she could score for herself once. • Alexis Ness :: As stated before, her attitude towards Kaiser despite anything is supposedly a severe offense against Kaiser. •

Does Kaori have a crush on anyone?

• Rensuke Kunigami :: Most prevalent crush for her right now. • Meguru Bachira :: Very, very small and insignificant, she used to have a crush on him when they first met but she outgrew it. • Nijiro Nanase :: Same situation with Bachira. • Tabito Karasu :: Lasted a really short time after she saw his plays in the U-20 match.

Who would probably have a crush on Kaori?

• Yoichi Isagi :: Mainly because his type is someone who laughs a lot and has a wonderful smile. • Nijiro Nanase :: They're just sillies, your honor.

Who would Kaori most likely to get a puppy-crush on? (but it can’t be the cc they’re actually shipped with!)

• Meguru Bachira :: Both match each others energy and I think their shared struggle with making loneliness would get them to trauma bond and get along. • Nijiro Nanase :: If I wanted her to be happy, I'd have made Kaori get with him or Bachira because they'd be a power couple but I don't like seeing her happy so no Nanase or Bachira/Kaori. • Tabito Karasu :: He's intelligent, intuitive, aware and so much more, truly the perfect man.

Who would Kaori say is her best friend?

• Meguru Bachira.

Who would call Kaori their best friend?

• Nijiro Nanase. • Meguru Bachira. • Pre-WC Rensuke Kunigami.

Who has brought Kaori to tears before?

• Rensuke Kunigami, it was right after his return from Wild Card.

Who has Kaori made cry?

• No one, no one she knows of at least.

Is there someone Kaori didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

• Jingo Raichi :: Used to find his screaming, yelling & short temper scary to deal with but eventually warmed up to him after they had to spend time together in BM. • • Ryusei Shidou :: Like is a strong word, she tolerates him at best after she saw how more.. normal? he was off the field.

Is there someone Kaori liked at first, but then grew to dislike?

• Rensuke Kunigami :: After Wild Card, she slowly began to dislike him and she doesn't realize it from the heavy rose tinted glasses she has on. The dislike or distaste for him hasn't reached severe levels though, it's just gnawing at her and it has yet to take course. • Hyoma Chigiri :: She thought he was cool, until she found out about how self-important he is, then he began to annoy her with his constant talk about his right leg. She understands that it must've been traumatizing but god does it still annoy her.

Who does Kaori hate?

• Hate is a strong word for Kaori, she's not a hateful person. . . . • HOWEVER !! That just might change in the near future.

Who does Kaori love? (platonic)

• Yo Hiori :: They get along well, not enough to deem the two best friends but they both link up quite easily and with Hiori's passing and Kaori's positioning, the two are bound to pave a way for a goal. • Gin Gagamaru :: Kaori finds his personality cute, though his eyes did use to freak her out a lot. • Ranze Kurona :: Also finds his personality cute. His teeth being crooked like hers made her even happier and find him more cute. I don't know what's up with her liking shy/introverted people. More TBA if I remember

Who does Kaori love? (familial)

• Meguru Bachira :: The two clicked immediately after meeting each-other and quickly became friends after they both realized that they were both shun out as kids. Kaori sees him as a little brother now & they're frequently seen eating & causing ruckus together. • Nijiro Nanase :: She sees him as the little brother she never had & she often helps him with training whenever he's struggling.

Does Kaori love anyone? (romantic)

• She falls in love easily and at some point, it was anyone who showed her a bit of decency. • BUT!! When she had met Kunigami that one fateful night she snuck into the cafeteria and saw him there, inviting her to eat with him and all— he became her first real friend & longest lasting crush.

Has Kaori ever had to let a canon character down easy?

• Eita fucking Otoya, she didn't really do it gently since she hit him on the back of the head for hitting on her but it's the thought that counts y'know.

Has Kaori ever been rejected by a canon character?

• Absolutely, more specifically Kunigami. • It wasn't really a rejection though, no words were said but Kaori had this dreadful feeling that Kunigami would abandon her based off his change despite the two interacting often after Wild Card (mostly just her talking his ear off while he eats and listens silently.) • At least, not unless she can do something to stop him from abandoning or leaving her.

Did Kaori bear witness to anyone’s full character arc?

Unsure.

What is the worst thing Kaori does in their story?

• Fall in love with Kunigami & remain in love with him even after Wild Card. • •

What is Kaori's ‘‘darkness moment’’ in the plot?

In cannon there are 3 times :: 1. When everyone had thought Kunigami was eliminated. 2. When Kunigami emerged back from Wild Card and was completely different from the man she once fell in love with (unknowingly.) 3. When she made the realization that she'd be left behind by Kunigami like everyone else if she doesn't evolve right then and there after seeing Ness' get abandoned by Kaiser in the PXG match. In her lore there are 3 times :: 1. When she had the moment of believing that no one would like her because she's misfortune. 2. When her caretaker abandoned her as did everyone else. 3. When she had to endure people treating her as sub-human due to her appearance & unique color of hair.

What is Kaori's redemption moment?

answer

Is there a canon character that Kaori needs to ask forgiveness towards?

answer

Is there a canon character Kaori needs to forgive?

• Alexis Ness :: For stealing the ball from her right before the moment she awakened in the last PXG VS. Bastard München match just to (from her perspective) pass to Isagi, the man he's despised since the beginning, just to keep her from winning. • Hyoma Chigiri :: For accidently messing up her perfectly braided hair once & spilling sauce all over her during meal time. •

Is there anyone who Kaori would die for?

• (Mostly Pre-WC but also Post-WC) Rensuke Kunigami :: He's the first & only person who taught her about all kinds of love and the first to be her friend so she naturally holds a soft spot for him regardless of his Wild card personality now. • Meguru Bachira :: One of her first ever friends, she and bachira get along quite well and often have lunch together after Kunigami was gone in the duration leading up & afterwards the U-20 match. • Aoishi Tokimitsu :: She seems him as a little brother that she never had despite him being older than her. She also generally looks out for him and uses her positivity/optimism to combat his negative nature. • Gin Gagamaru :: He used to freak her out but she warmed up quickly to him after spending more time together. When questioned why she's fond of him she said: “ His personality is cute! ” • Ranze Kurona :: He made her realize that even with crooked teeth, one can still look cute and she generally finds his quiet personality endearing as well.

Is there a canon character who would die for Kaori?

• (Pre-wc) Rensuke Kunigami through and through. • Reluctantly, Wild Card Kunigami, he'd deny it but he'd actually die for her. • Meguru Bachira.

okay woaht that took a long while, if you have any questions, follow it up with an ask with what other chars ur curious about ^^ Fun fact :: Kaori would have been so much happier if she didn't encounter Kunigami & was in Barcha, she'd have benefited so much from Lavinho & his free-thinking, creative environment and it would've made her embrace who she is & leave the ideals that people only want her around when she's useful but I hate seeing her happy so BM it is !!

Fandom OC Ask Meme

⟢⋱⟡☾ a collection of asks for OCs belonging to specific fandoms

How does (canon character) feel about your OC?

How does your OC feel about (canon character)?

Has your OC ever made (canon character) laugh? / What about cry?

Do your OC and (canon character) ever cross paths?

Which canon character annoys your OC?

What canon character gets annoyed by your OC?

Which canon character respects your OC most? What gained that respect?

Which canon character doesn’t respect your OC whatsoever?

Which canon character does your OC respect a lot?

Which canon character does your OC not respect at all? Why?

Which canon character is pissed off by the general presence of OC? (we all have those people)

Does your OC have a crush on anyone?

Who would probably have a crush on your OC?

Who would your OC most likely to get a puppy-crush on? (but it can’t be the cc they’re actually shipped with!)

Who would your OC say is their best friend?

Who would call your OC their best friend?

Who has brought your OC to tears before?

Who has your OC made cry?

Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

Is there someone your OC liked at first, but then grew to dislike?

Who does your OC hate?

Who does your OC love? (platonic)

Who does your OC love? (familial)

Does your OC love anyone? (romantic)

Has your OC ever had to let a canon character down easy?

Has your OC ever been rejected by a canon character?

Did your OC bear witness to anyone’s full character arc?

What is the worst thing your OC does in their story?

What is your OC’s ‘‘darkness moment’’ in the plot?

What is your OC’s redemption moment?

Is there a canon character that your OC needs to ask forgiveness towards?

Is there a canon character your OC needs to forgive?

Is there anyone who your OC would die for?

Is there a canon character who would die for your OC?

[marvelouslymarly]

Dating Bob includes (Part 3/?)

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

[A/n: just with the other parts, mild spoiler warning for thunderbolts* as this is set after but I'm not going into too much detail on what happened in the film]

CW: just pure fluff

You loved the thrill of sneaking around in the tower in between sparring sessions and daily tasks, looking for hidden corners or spaces in the tower that could become your guys' little getaway for a kiss or two. Most times, you'd sent Bob a cryptic text featuring the bare minimum of information to get him to find you in case he was with some of the other team members when the message popped up on his phone and then you'd wait, peeking around the corner every few seconds, your heart hammering inside your chest with anticipation. The smile on your lips would grow when you realised he was finally making his way to you - you'd grown atuned the sound of his step, assertive and quick, but still with a certain softness in the way his foot would land on the floor - and you'd play with your fingers or the hem of your shirt, barely able to contain the joy of a thousand love drunk teenagers bottled up inside you, knowing you'd get to be with him even if it was just for a short moment. Then, when he was just walking past your hiding spot, you'd grab his arm and pull him towards you quickly. It didn't matter how long you two had been dating, his eyes lighting up the second he saw you and the smile lines deepening on his face as he looked down on you, his hands coming up to your hips and pulling you closer. Most times, you'd share a few kisses, giggling in between and feeling like you were fifteen again, other times you'd just hold each other in your arms, his head buried in the crook of your neck and inhaling your signature scent. Whenever you heard footsteps coming down the corridor or approaching the broom closet you were hiding in, you pulled away from each other and started talking about literally anything or showing each other stuff on your phones, faking laughs and trying to convince whoever walked past that you definitely had not been kissing each other just seconds before. Only when you'd made sure that you were alone again would the tension break and you'd fall into each other, trying to keep from laughing for real this time.

Bob would be the first to say 'I love you'. Though he didn't so much say it as it slipped out one time after kissing you, more of a sigh than a true utterance - and then his eyes went wide as realisation hit him. He gulped, his cheeks burning and his fingers interlocking with each other, nervousness starting to bubble over. Meanwhile, butterflies came awake in your tummy, and a warm feeling spread through your body. He'd grown to be quite calm and collected around you after a while of dating, but in this instance, it wasn't hard to see that he was trying to stay suave and failing miserably - not to say that the look of him in that instant wasn't incredibly cute and heartwarming. He'd try to come up with something else to say, but his mouth would only open and close, the desperation growing with every second he couldn't find the right words. After torturing him for another moment or two, the cogs of his mind turning in an attempt to figure out if he should fight, flee or freeze, you cupped his cheek and placed a quick kiss on his lips before telling him you loved him, too. You could feel every fibre of his being relax, as his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer once more.

Whenever the rest of the team was out on a mission, the two of you would cook together, blasting music over the speakers in the open living room and singing along loudly. You'd made a shared playlist with him of your favourite songs and titles that reminded you of each other and would love to introduce the other person to new music while dancing in between cutting up the ingredients and stirring the pot on the stove. In moments like these, the two of you would forget that you were superheroes trying to save the world and just enjoy each other's company, the weight on your shoulders a little easier to bear. Until one time, while you were swaying in each other's arms, lost in the music and the joy of the moment, you almost didn't hear the faint 'ding' of the elevator announcing the arrival of the other Thunderbolts. Bob was just leaning in to kiss you, his eyes already shut, when you put your finger to his lips and stopped him just before anyone could walk into the kitchen and catch you. You had just enough time to tell him you'd continue where you left off later in his bedroom and put some distance between you, before someone turned off the music and Walker pushed past the two of you obliviously, heading straight for the pot on the stove and using the wooden spoon to taste the curry you had been cooking that evening, complaining about how hungry he was.

[caxasy]

older bf!caleb who loves pampering you every change he gets, wanting to spoil you rotten. he does this through many gestures, anything to prove to you that he is willing to give you anything you could ever want.

this can look like him paying for a lot of your dates together. he absolutely detests the idea that you should ever put your card down for anything in his presence. he thinks its an insult to his capabilities of financially supporting you. another thing that he loves doing as an act of affection is cooking for you. takes it incredibly seriously and expects you to tell him whenever you’re hungry so he can prepare food for you.

i think the main difference between the headcanon of older bf caleb and younger bf caleb is that older bf caleb takes a lot more initiative in taking care of you, whereas younger caleb will still take care of you, duh, but also indulges a lot in you pampering him.

older bf!caleb has none of that around here. he wants to be that pillar of support you can always rely on. kind of unhealthy of him, to refuse to be the one taken care of unless you seriously force him to be, but when was caleb ever healthy in his relationship dynamics lets bffr (i love him to death guysplease)

since older bf!caleb does take spoiling you so seriously though that means that there is no room for anyone else in your life to do the same tings for you. he strictly forbids anyone else to ever pay for your things, provide food for you — whether it be someone else paying for your takeout or GOD FORBID actually bringing you a home cooked meal. he genuinely will not allow that to happen.

you made the mistake of telling him that a coworker of yours gave you lunch today, seeing as you forgot to bring the one caleb packed for you, and caleb nearly lost his mind.

“wasn’t that so kind of them? i mean, i would have done the same for them too, but it feels nice knowing that they care that much,” you smile, retelling the story to caleb, who was not even bothering to hide the pout on his face.

“you took this guy’s food?”

“no! he had a lot of extra, plus i was definitely telling him it was okay, but he kept insisting. i felt bad taking some of his food, for sure. i think i might treat him out to some take out our next shift because that was really nice of him,”

now you wanted to give this guy something in return? the next couple of thoughts racing through caleb’s mind was how this had the potential in becoming a never ending cycle and he resisted the urge of dropping his head in his hands in utter dismay.

“i’m sure it’s fine if you just said thank you, no?” caleb comments before shaking his head, not actually wanting to continue talking about this coworker of yours, “well, ignoring that fact for now, i need you to promise me you’ll call me if you ever need anything, okay? if you forget your lunch at home, call me and i’ll bring you it, okay?”

your eyebrows furrow together and he can already read your mind, “i don’t think that’s neccessary, baby. you’re already so busy, i don’t want to intrude,”

“please, you’re not intruding. i want you to call me, okay? i don’t like hearing about other people taking care of my boyfriend. you’re my boyfriend, i want to be the one giving you food whenever you’re hungry.” he sees you laugh softly at his declaration, but he just continues on staring at you in all seriousness, “hey, i mean it. promise me you’ll call me?”

“i promise, caleb,” you finally appease him, pecking his lips softly to seal the deal.

“don’t call me that,” he whines, leaning into you, pleading eyes looking into yours.

“i promise i’ll call for you, hyung,” you roll your eyes when you see him instantly brighten up. he’s seriously the only person you know that begs to hear that title be called to them so badly.

speaking of, he really hates when you call other guys that title. unless they’re your actual blood related older male figure in your life, he hates whenever you call someone else hyung. it’s something that shows comfortability, closeness, and a relationship between you and whoever you were calling that. even if it’s just a friendship, he hates the idea that you’re close enough with someone to say that so easily.

he wants to be the only hyung in your life. so don’t go calling other men that unlesss you want to see a serious crashout from caleb.

the time he brought it up to you, you thought he was joking. it was just a title, a word afterall, but no, caleb takes that shit very seriously.

“it’s like if you called someone else baby,” he defends, but you’re just looking at him like he’s crazy.

“how is that the same?”

“it is, [name], just please,” he begs by elongating the verb at the end of his word, his eyes pleading and desperate as he looks down at you.

“oh my god, get that look off of your face,” you swipe your hand down his face, smooshing hus features with your palm, but he only smiles and kisses your hand.

“so that’s a yes?”

“you’re clinically insane.”

“well…”

older bf!caleb is really protective of you, to a scary, meticulous degree. doesn’t let you lift a finger whenever you’re around him because 1. it’s part of his nature to spoil you and 2. what if you hurt yourself? he is well aware that you are a functioning, full grown man but still, he’d rather choke on a fizzy soda then hear even an inkling of pain come from you.

doesn’t let you chop vegetables for dinner, insists you just have to “sit there and look handsome” for him whenever you try to help.

will never let you open your own car door, or any door for that matter. you swear he can teleport with how fast he puts a car in park and is then standing outside of your door. teases you, calls it your prince-like attitude that makes him be at your beck and call like this, but really it’s just caleb’s desire to show up for you — show that you won’t even need to do something as simple as open a door when you’re with him because he’ll do it gladly.

screens everyone in your social and work circle, all without you knowing btw. he somehow obtains all their information; keeping mental notes of every single one. most of the things he remembers about them are very simple, but he remembers at least one thing for everybperson you interact with daily.

for example, he doesn’t know what department your one coworker that is, in his opinion — getting too close to you, from, but he does know that they have a 6-year old cat named nami and lives on the outskirts of the business district. does not have a clue on your one girl friends full maiden name, but he does know her favorite cafe, her order, and which barista she tips the most (tries brushing off the fact you have some similarities with said barista).

it’s very niche, miniuscule things that he remembers, but he remembers them all for good reason. their weaknesses if they ever cross you or him.

a very specific one: doesn’t let you pick up orders from the counter at cafes or restaurants? if you guys are eating out and they call for your or his name, he’s up before you can even blink. he’s waltzing over there and bringing back your food with a smile on his face. second nature for him to take care of you, yes, but what if you fell on the way to the counter? what if the barista forgot the cup sleeve and you accidentally burn your hand? he won’t allow it. so just sit down and wait there for him like a good boy so he doesn’t stress out so much.

loves having a physical claim on you. he’s a territorial freak and that’s probably the most immature thing about him (on the long list of immature things he does). refuses to let you leave the house without that promise ring on your finger, he’ll even slip it on for you so you won’t have to exert the effort in that!! won’t let you leave if you’re not carrying some part of him with you.

if he just comes with you, though, that’s even better! he loves hanging out with you, he’s a velcro-boyfriend. kind of hates the idea of you going out and doing stuff alone when you can just invite him? invites himself to a lot of your errand runs. will hang off of your body with no regard for public decency.

his broad shoulders trap and cage you in so you have no escape if you manage to get out of the death grip that are his muscular arms. the kind of guy to stand behind you, arms crossed over your front, weighing heavy on your figure just to remind you (and everyone around) that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere.

older bf!caleb might not know all the couple trends on social media (he only uses it to like your posts, send you cute animals videos, and other misc things all centered around you). but best believe he is down for whatever you tell him.

he loves the idea of you posting about your relationship with him, will watch the videos every night before he goes to sleep and hopes you never stop asking him. because what do you mean your relationship, him dating you!!!, is online for everyone to see? like potentially someone across the planet could know that you’re his and he’s yours. it’s a dream come true for him. loves comments that say how jealous they are of your relationship too, makes him giggle that it’s now very obviously known that you two belong with each other.

one of his favorites was that eye trend. an excuse to be cheek to cheek with you, show off his pretty eyes that you love so much while also staring at you? sign him up, he’ll do that shit everyday.

another fun one was the h.s.k.t. one. he loved the song, loved fact you two were wearing matching outfits, loved how cute you look. he loved it so much he threw you over his shoulder at the end of it and spun the two of you around while he playfully smacked your ass. the video ends with him grabbing your phone and walking with it filming you two as if you weren't thrown over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

he also loved the one where he got to just run into frame, pick you up, kiss you, and spin you two around multiple times. loved loved loved that one because if there’s anything caleb’s good at it, it’s proving how physically strong he is and how you weight just about the same as a feather to him. he also really liked how cute it ended up being, cuddled with you that night rewatching it over and over again. you swore you heard him giggle too.

“a boy who’s jacked and kind” oh, that’s got him written all over it!!! no matter if you’re taller than him, he will be throwing you onto his shoulder with you sitting pretty so very easily. doesn’t even need to hold his breath for a second before he’s putting you on his shoulder, looking at your new given height with a smile. no swaying in his footsteps, he’s firmly planted on the ground and holding you tight so you don’t fall.

liked the one where you wrapped a bow around his bicep too, only cause that one made you so happy. he faked messing it up a couple of times just so he can see that excited smile on your face as many times as possible. before you very adorably scolded him to be serious and he flexed his bicep as hard as possible, breaking the tied bow within seconds.

“do you love my arms more than me, be honest,” caleb’s question isn’t serious at all, he’s just asking to rile you up. you’ve been trying for the perfect shot for what feels like forever and caleb’s teasing isn’t helping your patience.

“i’d love you so much more if you could just do it!” you shush him, retying the pretty pink bow and squeezing his muscular arm, “please, hyung?”

“well when my boyfriend asks like that, how can i say no?” kisses you so softly it practically melts away your annoyance. caleb grins as he hears the audio you’ve chosen play again and he prepares to actually not mess it up for you. to make you happy.

and when you finish filming, you throw your arms around him and bring the both of you down onto the bed. he smiles into your skin, kissing your neck softly as his strong arms go around your back in a tight hug.

“thank you, baby,”

“of course, my love. now — show me the video, wanna see my hard work pay off,” you roll your eyes at his wording.

“all you did was flex your arm, shut up.”

“and you still were looking at me like a piece of candy, now what?” he teases, biting your cheek softly.

“don't bite me!” you screech, smacking his stomach. “swear to god caleb, i’ll bite you back,”

“yeah, wouldn't you like that,” he grins, kissing the spot he bit and wiping it softly with the bottom of his shirt. the sneak peek you got of his abs made you forgive him and settle into his lap to watch the video he worked so hard on.

caleb who is dating you to marry. he already knew he always wants to marry you, but is just holding off on popping the question because you guys are a young couple, plus the fact you are a couple years younger than him. he’s so very, very excited though so permanently make you his and vice versa. wants to turn that promise ring into the real deal as soon as possible.

[blackwell008]

This post really got me today because of the journey I’ve had with social media. I feel like I need to go back to the beginning when all I wanted to do was create art, write my weird screenplays and short stories.

A time when I wasn’t worried about presenting myself as perfect: something I’ve failed at continuously anyway.

A time when my love for filmmaking, my passion for the horror genre and cinema as a whole language.

I miss those days when I was in undergrad and my passion for cinema was addictive. I watched films from all different genres every single day after class (where we sat and watched films for hours).

I didn’t really care about social media at all. In fact, I started my first instagram because I wanted to network with other filmmakers to try to get a job- that was it.

Then in 2013, a really traumatic thing happened and I feel like I had a mental health breakdown. I used social media as a way to escape bc I was in a toxic living situation and had almost no one I could emotionally connect with and talk to.

Isolation, maladaptive day dreaming and misery is a dangerous thing. I started posting and ranting on twitter, posting photos of myself to impress people who were emotionally unavailable and didn’t even acknowledge my existence.

Mental health issues and social media can be a ticking time bomb if you’re not aware, medicated and have no one to hear you out or check up on you.

Eventually with life, therapy and support I am a lot better but I still struggle with social anxiety and living in real life and I used film to connect to the world.

The issue is now whether I still desire to turn my passion for film into a career; or do I just live life as cinephile while holding a 9 to 5.

Honestly, I’ve been pursuing film for 20 years; going back to my very first film theory class in undergrad until recently pursuing a dual MFA/MBA degree which completely blew up in my face.

The current school I attended was a giant clusterfuck with again: absolutely no support (this is another post in itself that I’ll talk about at another time).

I just turned 48 years old. I’m tired, currently broke and feeling defeated by life. Plus the trump administration gutting DEI certainly doesn’t intend to help Black queer women over 30 like myself.

I’m at the point I’m ready to give up. I’ve had so many setbacks, physical and mental health issues that I have to manage on a daily basis, financial issues I have to figure out how to manage (student loans😩🫩🙄).

I just want to be an ARTIST. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Yes, I know I could paint and sculpt etc. which I actually do. However, one of my biggest dreams is to write/direct feature films. I’m actually more open to working in tv now more than ever- seems a lot more stable; but that original love of film I had is still in me.

I keep talking about the film Sinners because it brings me back to that original passion for cinema before it was perverted and bastardized by toxic people I’ve come across irl, the fucked up sociopolitical climate we’ve been in for the last decade and my own personal struggles.

I feel numb. Apathetic. Indifferent.

I pray I’ll get my cinema mojo back like Annie’s necklace that she gave Smoke. Right now I’ve lost it.

This is a long overdue come to Jesus moment. in my case with my growing practice of Yoruba spirituality returning to Olodumare.

I’ll be alright, I don’t consider myself a victim even though I’ve been victimized so much in the last 10 years by America’s horrible healthcare system because of the systemic and institutional racism festering in it; America doesn’t give a fuck about the health of Black people, our bodies and they never have- a horror movie within itself . Again, another conversation for another time.

If you’ve read this far I really appreciate you doing so. Trust me, this was a process of 10 years of frustration.

I needed to vent.

I just don’t know what my next move is. I don’t know if I want to be a film director/ screenwriter anymore maybe as a hobby but not a career. I have to be more pragmatic and practical to pay my bills like 99% of us do. I’m definitely don’t think I’m unique in my experience but being a black woman in America I experience it differently.

[sourappl3s]

heyy I was wondering if you'd be okay with sharing about how ur life feels finally after manifesting your dream life and a bit of your journey. Like what all did you manifest? How do ur days look like rn? Do you feel like an absolute God? Like go into detail as much as possible, if u can cz I loveeee hearing ppl talk about living their dream life. Also, I RLLY love your blog❤ thankyou.

long post ahead!!!

my life NOW, feels like a fever dream, its fun, exciting, full of happiness and enjoyment, like i finally found myself not surviving and i’m just living my once desired life. i used to suffer with ed, being the friend that was never picked, not seen as attractive, my family was torn apart, low self-esteem and so much more but i won’t get into since thats not the internets business. i manifested my desired face because i didn’t wanna just look like one person, so now i’m completely unrecognizable, my dream body, dream life, dream everything. i’m always going on like fun trips and my school life is entirely romanticized, i love studying now (even though i don’t have to since i make straight A’s now). my life is similar to a j-drama (no i don’t see japan as a glorious country) and sounds like the song Roses by Chainsmokers and Midnight city by M83. i’ve been to countries i thought i would’ve never been before, so now i get to take those aesthetic pictures, im seriously photogenic/videogenic like i look good in any angle no matter how far i am or how close i am, you can use the silliest filters on me and i’ll still look drop dead, head turning, and extremely beautiful. i’m getting scholarships left to right, AS A FRESHMAN IN HIGH SCHOOL (its never too early to apply for colleges) i’m everyone’s comfort person and i have no problem with being that, love confessions left and right, rich, like RICHHHHH. got rid of my hyperpigmentation, literally everyones type and i don’t feel guilty for it, like i respect preferences but this is my reality so im GOING to make myself your type. straight teeth, natural fresh bakery scent. my family is not even torn apart anymore like everyone just made up and now theres fun days with my family every single day. my wardrobe is literally like barbies wardrobe..its HUGE. a huge friend group.

like i’ve feel in love with my life and thats not even half of what i manifested, like i can still sob from when the time i first induced the void state and immediately affirmed for what i wanted and i woke up with it all. that memory sticks with me for absolutely ever, i don’t wanna say i feel like god, not because im a religious person but since thats what i’ve grown to know and understand thats who i am in soul.. then i can say it feels absolutely amazing. my days are always sunny and bright, i guess i can say it also sounds like good days by SZA. theres so much more i could tell you but i’m currently busy as of now and found some time to type this all out, you can be just like me i promise. make that decision.

make that decision now.

[nowimjustastranger]

I saw this art and my unhelpful brain decided that it wanted to write something for this instead of finishing any of the several dozen wips that I have. But like, no regrets because I've been wanting to write an AU that's more on the creepier side and FrankenStan is the perfect medium for that.

So, without further ado... enjoy!

Stan scrutinized the haggard being in the mirror, his hands braced on the white countertop. They had been covered in grime last Stan saw them –much like the rest of him– but now they were squeaky clean. There wasn’t even dirt under his fingernails anymore. His newfound cleanliness came off as an attempt to erase the wear and tear of the last decade.

Stan still didn’t know how he felt about Ford washing him when he was a corpse.

His body, once an unmarked canvas that life had not yet touched, had become riddled with scars after he was kicked to the curb. And now he was a patchwork of stitches, the worst of the scarring removed with careful cuts before new skin was sewn into place. Each ugly reminder of what he’d survived was replaced with his brother’s handiwork, Ford literally piecing him back together.

Besides, Stan would rather be covered in scars from his brother than keep the marks from all of the unsavory characters that he’s had the misfortune of getting mixed up with over the years.

There was a y-shaped cut spanning nearly the entire length of his torso, stopping just above where the hem of his jeans would be if he hadn’t stripped down after turning the shower on. One of his hands left the counter to brush the pads of his fingers over the raised skin, and there was the distant sensation of what might be pain, but it was just an echo.

Stan’s fingers pressed down harder and curled into the wound, three of the stitches holding it shut tearing, blood gushing from the ragged hole that he had created. The curious digits sunk deeper with a wet sound, dull brown eyes blankly staring at his questing fingers through the mirror. His right eye was a familiar brown but the other was slightly off, the color just a few shades too light.

A timid knock at the door startled him, tearing his eyes away from the fingers buried to the hilt in his chest to the wooden obstruction. He blinked, clawing his way back to the surface, looking around once he was more present in his body. The sheer amount of blood covering both his front and the floor had him grimacing, though he couldn’t help but experimentally wiggle the fingers that he had stuffed into his own chest just to feel that not-quite-pain again.

“Stanley, I brought you a towel and some clothe–” Ford’s voice grew clearer as the door opened and he poked his head in, freezing with one foot in the bathroom. Stan found Ford’s eyes in the reflection, but he was staring at the fingers buried in Stan’s bloody wound, the color rapidly draining from his face. Ford’s grip on the neatly folded stack of fabric went slack and he closed the distance between them, reaching Stan before the pile even hit the ground in a messy heap.

“Stanley! What are you doing!?” Ford demanded, his voice the closest to shrill that his vocal cords could manage. Stan didn’t resist when Ford grabbed his wrist to carefully extract the digits from the gaping hole, blood pouring out unimpeded once his fingers were removed and there was nothing plugging it up anymore.

Ford made a wounded sound that had Stan’s insides clenching with guilt, turning his head away so he didn’t have to look at the devastation and terror on his brother’s face. Ford had yet to let go of Stan’s wrist, grip so tight that it should hurt, but it didn’t. Truthfully, Stan didn’t remember a time in his life where he wasn’t feeling some type of pain. From the sting of shallow cuts and splinters as an adventurous kid, to the ache of bumps and bruises as a stubborn teen, and finally to the burn of beatings and broken bones as a piece of shit adult.

“Stanley? Stanley, talk to me. Please?” Ford pleaded and Stan nearly gave himself whiplash with how fast his head turned to look at Ford, who hadn’t sounded that small and scared since his age hit the double digits.

He opened his mouth to say something –maybe a joke, maybe reassurances, even he didn’t know what would come out of him at this point– when he suddenly paused. A blood vessel in Ford’s right eye had burst, red creeping into white, and Stan abruptly found himself rooted in place. A chill crawled down Stan’s spine, fear settling heavy in his gut as his fight or flight instincts stirred.

Something was looking back at him.

Watching.

“Stanley?” Ford called, his tone less panicked and more wary now, and Stan soon realized why when he snapped out of his intense staring only to find that he had squared up against his brother. Stan stiffly took a step back, his body resisting with all the ferocity of a cornered animal as he forced it to relax into a less aggressive stance. He was losing it, he had to be. There was nothing staring at him from his brother’s eye, that was fucking crazy.

Ford should’ve just cut his losses and buried his corpse in a shallow grave out in the woods somewhere.

“Sorry. Jumpy.” Stan offered lamely, scrubbing a hand over his face as he shuffled further away to put more distance between them. He cringed when he realized that he was ass-naked in front of his brother, less ashamed and more worried about Ford’s sense of modesty or whatever. Ford had hated when Stan would walk around the house in his boxers as a teen, and now here Stan was with not a scrap of fabric on him in Ford’s house.

“Unusual side effects are only to be expected.” Ford grunted dismissively, seemingly letting it go as he marched over to the discarded towel and clothes to pick them up and brush them off before refolding them. He set them onto the countertop when he was done fussing, then he crouched down to grab a large first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink.

“I need to replace the stitches.” Ford murmured, beckoning Stan over with a sharp jerk of his head. Stan hesitated for a moment before ultimately shuffling over to him, though he kept a respectful gap between them since he didn’t think that Ford would like Stan’s bare skin brushing up against him. Ford had always been skittish about touch, sometimes he couldn’t stand it and sometimes it was like he needed it more than air.

Ford surprised Stan by closing the space between them, pressing a warm hand to Stan’s side to guide him to sit on the toilet lid. Ford would no doubt sanitize it later, along with the rest of the bathroom considering there was a significant amount of blood pooled on the floor where Stan had been standing. Stan tried not to feel guilty about it. Failed.

Stan felt that distant pang again as Ford removed the ripped stitches and replaced them, the pull of skin was all he registered. Ford’s hands were steady but his expression was pinched, his worry and guilt recognizable even with a decade of estrangement between them. Little did Ford know, Stan remembered what happened, though he had lied and said he didn’t when Ford had asked.

Ford had looked so scared when he brought up their lackluster reunion that Stan lied. He didn’t regret it though, not when Ford looked so relieved to hear that Stan didn't have any memory of Ford’s hostility and then their fight in the basement. Stan had felt like shit, the infected incision on his side pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Being on the run with a kidney missing was… an experience, to say the least. One that he never wanted to repeat.

Stan remembered the feeling of Ford’s boot pressing against his chest, pushing him back. He remembered how his right shoulder erupted with white-hot agony, the scent of burning skin making his head spin. Then the foot was gone and Stan had slumped over onto the side that still had a kidney, his chest hurt and his stomach churned. He couldn’t seem to breathe properly either, black encroaching from the edges of his vision.

Then… nothing.

Stan assumes that he lost consciousness, but he’s still not sure how exactly he died. Ford was awfully tight-lipped on the matter too, visibly uncomfortable. So, against his better judgement, Stan let it lie for the time being. Ford had looked… bad. Worse than when Stan had initially come face to face with him. The dark circles darker and eyes wild, his hair an utter mess and the same clothes that he had been wearing when they reunited were now dirtied with dried blood.

Ford had yet to clean himself up and change since he insisted that Stan get the first shower, which led to the present where Ford was packing up the first aid kit, his brows furrowed like he wanted to ask a question but hesitated to do so for whatever reason. Ford had a habit of getting all up in his own head, overcomplicating things or needlessly worrying.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Stan prompted and Ford’s face smoothed out, his emotional shields slamming down in an instant. It was like highschool all over again, though Stan had no one but himself to blame for how that turned out. If he had just been a better son, a better brother, just… better. Things would’ve been different.

“You don’t need to worry, Stanley.” Ford grunted, putting the first aid kit away but otherwise making no move to make himself scarce. Stan couldn’t really blame him for his unwillingness to leave Stan to his own devices, especially after he found Stan fucking around with one of his stitched-up wounds. So Stan didn’t comment, opting to make his way to the shower and step under the steaming spray.

The hot water was blissful, warming Stan from the outside in. He left the curtain pulled open just enough that he was able to peek out every so often as he went through the process of washing himself, finding the bathroom empty but the door left wide open, Ford returning with rubber gloves on and a bucket of cleaning supplies within a few minutes.

Ford wiped down both the toilet and counter before starting on the floor, scrubbing the cold and sticky blood off the tile. Stan occasionally checked his progress, impressed and a little uneasy in equal measure about how much he seemed to know concerning proper clean-up. Stan himself had been a cleaner for Rico rather than a smuggler, he was less apprehensive about cleaning up a crime scene than potentially participating in human trafficking.

Still, he had eventually sent an anonymous tip to the authorities when he had been called to clean a family massacre. One of Rico’s men had been skimming off the top and Rico had made an example of him and his family. One of the mutilated bodies was a fucking six year old, and her death obviously hadn’t been fast or painless.

But Rico had half the precinct in his pocket and Stan was given a warning by way of ambushing him in his motel room, knocking him out with a blow to the head. He had woken up naked in a tub, his side hurting like a bitch and head throbbing. He was alone, his clothes neatly folded and pockets cleaned out, his possessions lined up on the counter.

When Stan struggled out of the tub with uncooperative limbs and lots of cursing, stumbling over to check his wallet first and then his phone, he found a text from Rico waiting. That’s when he realized just how deep he was, stuck in a cage that he had voluntarily walked into, even shutting the door behind him. He was an idiot to think that he could get involved with the cartel and not end up in a shallow grave.

So he ran.

“–ley. Stanley.” Ford said urgently, snapping Stan out of his trance. He blinked, the burbling drain coming into stark clarity. The water was lukewarm at best now, Ford’s hands a hot brand on his slick skin. And, judging by the distress written all over Ford’s face, he had been trying to get a response from Stan for longer than he was comfortable with.

“...sorry.” Stan mumbled, reaching for the knob only for Ford to gently knock his hand away to do it himself, the spray dying down to a rhythmic drip. Then Ford pulled the shower curtain open further, briefly stepping away to snag the fluffy towel, before returning to wrap it around Stan’s shoulders. He hovered as Stan stepped out of the tub, body moving on automatic.

Stan couldn’t find it in himself to protest when Ford took the towel and started carefully rubbing him down with it, starting with his hair and working downward. Thankfully, Ford skipped over Stan’s crotch and ass, simply passing Stan the towel once he was done with Stan’s calves so Stan could do it himself, Ford hurrying over to the counter to fetch the clean clothes.

The silence was oppressive, like a physical weight bearing down on Stan’s shoulders, but he had yet to scrounge up the courage to break it. But something had to give and, as the confrontational twin, Stan usually took it upon himself to crack open Ford’s hard outer shell. Stan didn’t even know if he could still reach the familiar boy who was hidden beneath layer upon layer of Ford’s protective walls.

But fuck if Stan wasn’t going to give it his best shot.

I T ' S A L I V E

click for better quality

[aperrywilliams]

1000 Times (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader) - Part I

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Author Masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your mom is getting married, and you have to come back to your hometown for the wedding. There is a little problem, though: you told her months ago you have a boyfriend, and now she wants to meet him at the wedding. Your best friend, Spencer, who happens to be the guy you are in love with, too, offers to help you with your problem. If you say yes, will things work out like they are supposed to?

Word Count - Part I: 4.6k.

Warnings: Fluff/Angst/Smut/Angst/Fluff (I think that order is correct). Minors DNI. The smut is not detailed and mostly implied (Part II). Reader and Spencer are idiots in love. Reader’s dad died. Reader has poor and unhealthy family relationships, especially with her mom. Cheating is mentioned (in a past Reader’s relationship). There are discussions about child trauma. If I forgot something, let me know. I tried to use (Y/N) only when necessary. I really tried.

A/N: I’m not a big fan of the fake relationship trope, but the idea of Spencer and Reader struggling to figure out and communicate each other's true feelings got me to give it a shot. Three parts, just because I didn't want to post 15k in one go. Tell me your thoughts.

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'Eyes on the ground But I can't look up now I don't wanna give it away My secret In another life, my teeth and tongue Would speak aloud what until now I've only sung.'

-

People usually can define you as a joyful person who offers words of encouragement to anyone who needs them. Everyone loves your sense of humor, and your laughter is so contagious that it's hard to be sad around you.

But today, Spencer notices something is off, not only because he is a good profiler but also because he always focuses all his attention on you, no matter where or when.

To say that Spencer has a crush on you is an understatement. After having known each other for 4 years and being friends almost from day one, it's virtually evident to everyone - except you - that Spencer is madly in love with you. Although he will never act on it, he's content knowing you consider him your best friend. It has to be enough for him.

As you're sitting at your desk, your eyes are lost in the first page of one of the files you need to go over. You scan the words, but you're not paying any attention. You're so distracted that you don't realize when Spencer stands next to you with two cups of coffee.

"Good morning," he says, voice soft because he knows your head is somewhere else.

Hearing his voice makes you immediately look up at him. The frown creasing on your face morphs into a more relaxed expression.

"Morning, Spencer."

Knowing he has your attention, Spencer places one cup of steamy coffee on your desk.

"I thought you might need it."

"Thank you. You are my lifesaver." You take the cup between your hands. The smell is so inviting that you don't care if it is still hot; you take a sip nonetheless.

Having Spencer around can make any moment a better one, even if your mood is sad or sour. Even though Spencer can read you well enough to know something is off with you today.

"Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

You huff, a pout forming on your lips. Of course, Spencer Reid would notice.

"Is it that obvious?"

Spencer considers his answer for a moment.

"If I lie, will make it better?"

"Maybe?"

"So, no. It's not that obvious."

A groan escapes your lips because you don't want to feel bitter, much less spread it to others.

"Great."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head. "I don't think so. I mean -" You look around and see your coworkers already at their desks. "I don't feel as if opening up here could be a good idea."

Spencer nods in understanding.

"We can go for a walk if you want. I don't think Hotch would mind since today is only paperwork," he offers. You look at Spencer gratefully for having someone like him as a friend. And even though you would prefer having him as something more than a friend, you'll never tell him that. You won't risk your friendship with Spencer because if you lose him, it will be unbearable to you.

"Okay. Good idea."

Once you're walking across the park, Spencer tries to address the topic again. You pause for a moment, thinking about how to explain yourself. Stopping at a bench under a big tree, you take a seat, bouncing your legs as you collect your thoughts. Spencer sits next to you and waits. He won't pressure you. You know he won't.

"It's silly," you start with a humorless laugh. "Pretty silly, to be honest."

"I don't think it's silly if you feel bothered about that. You can tell me," Spencer reassures. You sigh in defeat.

"My mom called me yesterday."

Spencer knows that family is a hard topic for you. The times you have talked about it, you have made clear that your relationship with your mom and older brothers has never been pretty good—the opposite, actually. After your dad passed away when you were fifteen, living in that house became unbearable to you. As your brothers took care of the family business and wealth, your mom pressured you to live the role of a high-birth girl who is well-behaved and looking for a rich man to marry.

The moment you told her your plans to join the Academy—and not the Diplomatic Academy—your mom made your life a living hell, so much so that you decided to leave your hometown at seventeen years old. With no money, you made your way into minor jobs until you could apply to the FBI. Only years later, after you were fully settled, did you reconnect with them, but you have never put a foot in that house since you left.

And although your mother finally accepted that you had made your own decisions, she has never stopped criticizing you for them.

Despite everything you have gone through, you still love your family, even if you don't share the same interests or expectations in life.

"Your mom? What's her demand this time?"

Spencer knows—because you always talk to him about it—that your mom calls you only when she needs something from you. Not money, for sure, but anything related to keeping the facade of a dream family to the people she relates to in high society. The last time was when one of your brother's father-in-law passed away one year ago, and she insisted on you to be there. But every time, you had dodged her requests, arguing about your job being demanding enough of your time.

"That's the thing. This time is something 'big.' She is going to marry. Next month," you blurt out. Spencer's eyes widen in shock.

"What? Does she have a boyfriend? You never mentioned one that I recall."

"Because I didn't know she had one," you shrug. "I mean, after Dad died, she married again, but I thought since her last divorce from Alan, she got the memo about how marriage doesn't mix well with her narcissistic self."

Spencer hums in contemplation.

"And she wants you there, isn't she?"

"Yep. And I'm afraid I should be there this time."

Spencer doesn't say anything, but the frown on his face tells you he's not a fan of the idea.

"I know what you are thinking. Believe me, I'm not thrilled about going there and seeing all those people, but I never came back after all these years, and despite everything, she's my mom. I guess I just need to prepare for it mentally," you shrug, trying to convince yourself that it is not a big deal.

A month has to be enough time to prepare, right?

"I get it. I'm not judging you. It's just I worry, you know? Your family hasn't been nice to you. Especially your mom."

Spencer's concern isn't unfounded. Since he's known you and started to be your friend, he's seen every single time after any call or text you get from your mom or brothers how your mood changes because of something awful they say.

"I'll be fine. I lived there for years, and I survived; what would do a full weekend of self-centered people ready to jump at the minimum gossip like hunger sharks?" you joke to light the mood. Spencer doesn't seem amused, though.

"That's not a nice thing to picture, if I have to be honest."

You chuckle at the scowl on Spencer's face.

"I know, but seriously, I'll be fine. Thanks for worrying about me, though."

-

You'll be flying to your hometown in three days, and all the arrangements are done. You got permission from Hotch not to work since Thursday, so you can have enough time to catch an early flight. You bought two beautiful dresses - for the rehearsal and the actual wedding - shoes and chose some accessories that suit you nicely. You wanted to book a hotel room, but your mom didn't allow it, arguing that all the guests would be spending the weekend at the family house—a mansion, to be precise.

In the afternoon, Spencer catches you looking at your phone in the breaking room. The frown on your face tells him you're not reading something good. When you notice his presence, a huff leaves your lips.

"Spencer, I'm so stupid," you lament, flopping in a chair next to you. Spencer furrows an eyebrow.

"What? Why are you saying that?"

"Because I am!"

"You must enlighten me because I don't follow."

Spencer sits by your side to wait for your elaboration.

"I lied to my mom some time ago. I told her I had a boyfriend. I know it is stupid, but she didn't stop bothering me about it and insisted she wanted me to meet some guys she knew, so I told her I already had one. Obviously, my mom didn't forget it because now she wants me to bring him to the wedding." You hide your face with both hands in pure embarrassment. "I'm an adult, for fuck sake! I just should have told her the truth."

As a man of logic, Spencer thinks of an efficient way to end your misery: "Why don't you tell her you broke up with him?"

It's not that you haven't thought of it, but the reason not to consider that option troubles you almost way worse than having to tell her the truth in the first place. And Spencer catches your hesitation.

"It will be worse, isn't it?"

You nod. "I mean, I'm already hearing in my head the speech about how I can't have a normal life or a normal relationship, how incapable I am of leading my life, not like my brothers, and on and on. I know it shouldn't affect me after all these years, but—" you trail off.

"It hurts you nonetheless." Spencer finishes for you.

"Yeah," you concede with a sharp exhale.

Spencer pats your knee, a gesture you're used to when he wants to comfort you without words needed. Despite the silence, though, Spencer's brain goes into overdrive. He wants to help. He hates seeing you conflicted or in pain. If he could take everything that hurts you off of your shoulders and carry it with him instead, he would do it without any complaint.

After a brief silence, Spencer verbalizes the idea fluttering in his brain.

"I can go with you," he blurts out. Your head snaps up to him in no time.

"What?"

"I can be your boyfriend. I mean, your fake boyfriend," he corrects immediately, trying to hide the blush after what he would call a slip. Although he's sure you didn't notice.

You take in his words; it never occurred to you Spencer would be offering to do something like that. It's so sweet of him, but you can't take in his proposal; it's unfair to him.

"Spencer, no! I can't let you do that."

Spencer anticipates you'll oppose the idea because he knows you are used to fixing your problems on your own, without people's help.

That's why your answer doesn't surprise him, and if he wants to convince you, he will have to use all his tricks.

Spencer crosses his arms over his chest with a scoff.

"Why not? So bad prospect of a boyfriend I am to you?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. The last thing you want is to offend your best friend. And much less in that specific matter.

"No! That's not what I meant. It's just I don't want to expose you to these people. It would be unfair to ruin your weekend."

"Who says it would ruin it? I'll be spending time with you. Free food, no work, in a mansion? I see it like gain if you ask me."

You roll your eyes. You have known stubborn people and Spencer Reid.

"Even if you have to pretend to be my boyfriend in front of everyone? Are you forgetting that little detail, mister anti-PDA?" You ask, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Spencer scoffs, trying to hide the flush on his fave due to the prospect of those implications.

"Are you misjudging my talents playing a role?"

The smirk on your face mirrors Spencer's.

"You have them?"

Spencer mocks fake hurt at your comeback.

"Ouch. Okay, maybe I'm not so socially skilled, but I can play a good role if I propose it."

"Overachiever," you grumble, making Spencer laugh.

"Well? It's a limited offer, so take it or leave it."

You know he's not serious about withdrawing his proposal, but you are still contemplating the scenarios.

Having him by your side in a stressful situation like this one sounds good. Pretending to be more than friends? Maybe not that much. But how bad can it be, anyway? You'll find out in three days.

"Okay, 'boyfriend.' Time to ask for vacation time and pack your suitcase."

-

On the flight to your hometown, you use the time to tell Spencer about the people you're sure will be at the wedding, recounting stories about them you recall from your childhood. Spencer absorbs the names, relationships, and background stories as if he were studying for a case.

You talk about uncles, aunts, cousins, husbands, wives, and a bunch of other people who are apparently quite wealthy and well-connected. Spencer knew your family had money, but you rarely gave much detail about it. From everything you're sharing during the flight, Spencer concludes that your family is one of the most important and wealthy in your hometown. The contrast between that fact and your actual personality is contradictory, to say the least.

The moment you're both in front of the family mansion, you can't hide the anxiety filling your body. Spencer notices and reaches you with one arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple.

"Hey. You are not alone in this, okay?" Spencer mumbles, and you nod, grounding yourself with a deep exhale before ringing the bell.

When the doors open, a well-dressed older man emerges. You recognize him immediately. He is Andrew, the family butler since you were a baby.

"Miss (Y/L/N), welcome back," Andrew greets you at the door. You smile at him.

"It's nice to see you, Andrew. Uh, this is Spencer Reid, my fri- my boyfriend."

Jeez, 'boyfriend' sounds weird rolling off your tongue.

"Welcome, sir. Please let me take your suitcases to your room." Andrew offers, already grabbing your luggage and inviting you inside.

"Andrew? Is that my daughter?" Your mom calls from the open living room. A tremor runs down your spine, and Spencer squeezes your hand as you both peek into the room where she is.

"Hi, Mom."

"Honey! It's really you! I thought you would be here at night," she says, standing from the chair to greet you with a soft hug.

"I asked for an extra day off," you explain. Not that your mom cares what you're saying anyway; she is already looking at Spencer from head to toe.

"You must be the boyfriend," she muses.

"Mom, he's Spencer Reid, my boyfriend."

Maybe you can get used to calling him that way after all.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. (Y/L/N)." Spencer offers his hand, and your mom complies, extending hers and giving it a light squeeze.

"Please, call me Ann. Besides, my last name will change again in two days anyway. Are you from the Reids of New Scottia?"

Spencer looks confused at first. You roll your eyes. Of course, your mom would ask something like that.

"Uh, my family is from Vegas, actually."

"Vegas? Uh. How picturesque. I'm assuming you are not a gambler, are you?"

"Mom-" you warn.

"Oh, no, no. I'm not. I prefer other ways to spend my free time," Spencer explains, and your mom hums.

"Good to know. God forbids this girl to get involved with someone like that. For another scandal, we already have enough with your cousins," she says, looking at you.

"Mom, the comment is unnecessary," you complain.

"Of course not! If I told you what your cousin Nolan did with his family's heritage, his grandfather, may he rest in peace, would be completely shocked."

Clearly, you're not in the mood to entertain the gossip your mom wants to share, so you try to change the subject.

"Is Lincoln home yet?"

"Yes, your brother arrived this morning with Rose and the little ones. Your nephews are so grown up. Of course, you probably don't know since you barely knew them when they were born."

You already feel a migraine coming on. Spencer, seeing your discomfort, intervenes, asking your mom random questions about the house, and she seems happy to answer.

At some point, your mom checks the wall clock.

"Okay, I'm sure we can talk more later. For now, go upstairs to settle and rest from your flight. I still have to make some arrangements for the rehearsal dinner."

Grateful for the break your mom gives you both, you nod and head for the stairs with Spencer.

As you walk to your bedroom, you can't help but examine the walls to see how changed they are from how you remembered. You haven't put a foot in this house in almost ten years, and some kind of unsettling nostalgia sets in your stomach. If Spencer notices your quietness, he doesn't say anything. With a reassuring hand on your lower back, he navigates with you through the halls that end in an open space with several doors around. In a corner, there is the door of your old room.

As you get inside, you are face-to-face with what could be the image of a time capsule. The room doesn't seem changed at all. There is some new furniture here and there, but it's like it has been frozen in time.

"Damn," you mumble. "It's like if I never left."

Spencer looks around and spots some things that scream 'you': a bookshelf full of classics, an old wood desk perched in front of a window with a fantastic view of the gardens, and a big picture of you and your dad on top of it. The bedside tables have lamps emanating a soft, warm glow, and the bedframe has simple old wood patterns. In a corner, a little sofa with cozy blankets atop.

You sit at the edge of the bed, taking in everything. Spencer sits by your side, examining your body language.

"Are you okay?"

You don't know how to respond. Are you? You are supposed to be. It's not a big deal, just a room full of memories. But why do you feel like you're drowning?

When the tears start to stream down, a pair of stronger arms envelop you in a tight embrace.

"It's okay. You are okay," Spencer repeats over and over. You let yourself go and sob in his arms.

You don't know how long you stay like this, but as the tears subside, you feel a little lighter. Spencer keeps soothingly rubbing your back.

"Thank you, Spencer. I didn't know this would hit me so hard," you muffle the words before parting from his embrace.

"You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you."

How could you not have feelings for him? Spencer is the epitome of the man of your dreams. And that's why you think he's out of your league.

Now that you feel more collected, you decide it's time to unpack. It's not that different from when you are on cases and share a room with Spencer. Usually, there are two beds. The ones there are not; you share the bed while keeping some respectful distance. This time should be the same, right?

While you unpack, you tell Spencer about what's coming. One of your brothers - Lincoln - will probably be at dinner, while the other - Ralph - will arrive tomorrow before the rehearsal.

After a shower and a little nap, you're ready to go downstairs.

At the dinner table, you already see your mom sitting at the head of the table, and your soon-to-be stepfather, Dylan, is on the opposite side. Lincoln and his wife, Rose, are sitting together. In front of them remain two empty seats; you take the one next to your mom, and Spencer takes the one next to Dylan.

And even if dinner is already served, your mom and Lincoln are more interested in interrogating you and Spencer than eating.

"So, it is working with the FBI so demanding, as my sister is used to say?"

You only glare at Lincoln. Of course, neither your brothers nor your mom believe you have a real job that could consume so much time. For them, you only spend your time wasting people's paid taxes, running with a gun attached to your hip.

Spencer clears his throat. "It is. Actually, statistics say that field agents working at Quantico spend more than 80% of their time on physical and mental extenuating tasks and only 20% on routine ones."

"Using data to justify yourself?" Lincoln jokes, and Spencer's eyebrows furrow. You roll your eyes and are about to say something when your brother laughs. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Actually, it's good to hear someone who uses evidence and not intuition for everything."

You do as you don't hear him, although Spencer looks at your reaction from the corner of his eye.

"And how is it to work with your girlfriend?" Dylan asks. "Even if I would like to spend all day with Ann, I'm sure she would be bored at the end of the first day at my job," he laughs. Your mom scoffs.

"Darling, I would be bored at the beginning of the work day." All laugh at your mom's intervention, minus you and Spencer, who only observe if the question to him remains.

On cue, Dylan's eyes shift to Spencer, who, after sipping his glass of water, proceeds to answer.

"It's pretty good to work with her. (Y/N) is an excellent agent and profiler. It's a privilege having her in the BAU. We're partners, and we watch our backs."

You can't help but feel your heart flutter when you hear Spencer talk about you with such respect.

"Look at that, Lincoln, they are so in love," Rose intervenes this time. Her comment makes you and Spencer blush at the sudden attention.

"Yeah. Who would have known my sister could be that lovable," your brother says, gaining an elbow punch from his wife.

"Behave, kids," your mom warns. You only roll your eyes for the umpteenth time in the night.

After dinner, you can't stop Dylan and Lincoln from kidnapping Spencer for a 'man's talk,' as you have to settle to stay with your mom and sister-in-law to catch up. It's like you were sixteen again, and you hate it.

The group conversation dies quickly, though, as Rose excuses herself to check on your nieces before bedtime. When you're left with your mom, you start asking questions about the wedding so she won't have a chance to focus on you. She happily obliges, telling you about all the details.

From time to time, your gaze shifts to Spencer, who is doing his best to keep up with your brother and Dylan. When he looks in your direction and catches you staring, he winks at you. The sole gesture makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. You smile back, making an effort to mask the flush you know there is in your cheeks.

The night finally settles, and everyone decides to go to bed. Tomorrow is the rehearsal, and most of the guests will arrive, too. It will be a busy day.

You and Spencer, hand in hand, say goodnight to everyone and retire to your bedroom.

Once you plop on the bed, you let out a relieved sigh. "I apologize for the superficial topics at dinner. I know it can be not-so-stimulating to talk about people as rich and shallow as my mom."

Spencer is listening to you while hanging his jacket and placing his shoes on the rack.

"You don't have to apologize for that. All families have their topics. I'm not going to judge."

You snort. "100% sure you were the only one in that room not judging anything," you chuckle. "You are too good for your own good, Spencer."

"You think so? Dylan seems nice."

"Wait until he ties the knot on Saturday," you anticipate. "The last ounce of goodness in him will die that day." Spencer shakes his head, chuckling.

"It's like the poor man is dammed for the only fact of joining your family."

You shrug. "I don't have proof, but I don't have doubts either."

Spencer calls the first dibs on showering while you stay in bed, scrolling down your phone. Would it be a good idea to get called for a case right now? If that happens, you will never hear the end of it from your mom. So far, things have gone well. You and Spencer already survived the first family dinner. You should be proud.

When you're ready to take your turn showering, Spencer, already clad in his pajamas, is happily scanning your bookshelf for a book to pick.

"If you want something accurate to engage in our current predicament, 'Animal Farm' is the one," you suggest before disappearing into the bathroom. You still can hear Spencer's snort.

After the nightly routine is done, you and Spencer are in bed. He is still flipping pages from Orwell's book while you plug your phone into the charger and switch off your light.

"Will you set the alarm, or do I set mine?" Spencer asks, closing the book and leaving it on the bedside table.

"I did it already," you reply, getting comfortable under the covers.

"Good," Spencer murmurs, mimicking your actions.

You both lie on your sides, facing each other, but barely making out if the other has eyes open or not. The room is lit only by a tiny ray of moonlight that peeks through the curtains. A smile creeps onto your face. The scene feels so domestic that it's difficult to think of you and Spencer as not being a couple. You feel so comfortable by his side, and you can tell he feels the same. Are you misreading this relationship? Sometimes, you think your feelings might be reciprocated, but the idea doesn't go so far when your rational side tells you Spencer never could look at you differently than a friend.

"Spencer?" you murmur into the darkness after a while, thinking maybe he's already asleep.

"Uhm?" Spencer raps, lost in his thoughts.

"Thank you. For everything." And you mean it. And not only for agreeing to be by your side this weekend while you face a complicated part of your life. It's much more than that. It always has been.

"Anything for you," Spencer whispers. 'The love of my life,' he wants to add but doesn't dare to say out loud.

The silence envelops the room again, and this time, none of you breaks it. The long day finally catches up with you both, and moments later, you succumb to slumber.

-

'Kiss me goodnight Like a good friend might I'll do the same Won't mean it 'Cause love is a cage These words on a page Carry the pain They don't free it In another life, I wouldn't need to Console me as I resign to release you.'

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[whatdoyouwanttocallmefor]

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗼𝗼 𝗖𝘂𝘁𝗲, 𝗜𝘁 𝗛𝘂𝗿𝘁𝘀 - 𝗝𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Genre: Fluff, slice-of-life, soft romance

Warning: NO? IT JUST SO CUTE AND FLUFFY AND IM JUST BAHUWEDGWEGVDW bye ---

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of Jeongin’s dorm room, surrounded by snacks, plushies, and the quiet hum of his playlist in the background. It was one of their rare days off. no schedules, no alarms, no interruptions. Just peace, Jeongin’s hoodie wrapped around her like a cocoon, and the warm scent of his fabric softener lingering around her.

Jeongin watched her from the couch, chin resting in his hand, eyes slightly narrowed in what could only be described as a dangerously lovestruck daze. The sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt swallowed her hands completely as she tried to open a bag of chips with her teeth.

He nearly lost it.

“Yah…” he said suddenly, voice low and borderline threatening but not in a scary way. More like a warning to himself. “Stop being so cute.”

Y/N looked up, chips halfway to her mouth. “Huh?”

Jeongin dropped his head back with a groan and kicked his legs like a flustered puppy. “You don’t get it. You’re killing me right now. Literally, I’m in physical pain.”

She blinked. “...From what?”

He jumped off the couch, marched toward her with intent, and dropped to his knees in front of her. “From this! This level of cuteness is criminal, Y/N. I should call the police.”

“Jeongin, what are you talking about—”

“Look at you! My hoodie’s swallowing you, your face is all squishy, and you eat chips like a baby raccoon. I can't—” He grabbed a nearby plushie and screamed into it dramatically, then looked up at her with wild eyes.

“You know when things are so cute you wanna squish them? Or bite them a little? That’s how I feel about you 24/7!”

Y/N burst out laughing, cheeks tinted pink. “You sound like you’re losing your mind.”

“I am!” he whined, grabbing her by the arms and gently shaking her. “You're lucky I love you too much to actually bite you. But if you keep being this adorable, I might have to chomp your cheek. Just a little one. Like—nom!”

He made the biting gesture with his teeth, moving toward her playfully.

Y/N giggled, leaning back to avoid his silly “attack.” “Jeongin! No biting!”

“No promises!” he shouted, before tackling her into a gentle hug, rolling them onto the carpet. “This is your fault. You’re too cute and I’m suffering. I hope you’re happy.”

She smiled into his chest as he held her close, his fingers playfully poking her sides like he was trying to absorb the adorableness by osmosis.

After a while, he sighed, his voice suddenly softer. “You really don’t know how cute you are, do you?”

Y/N looked up at him, surprised by the shift in tone.

Jeongin brushed her hair back, eyes warm but still laced with a hint of that chaotic affection. “I could stare at you all day and still not get over it. It’s honestly kind of a problem. I want to keep you in my pocket.”

“You want to what?”

“You heard me,” he grinned. “Shrink you down. Pocket-sized Y/N. That way no one else gets to see you being this cute but me.”

“Jeongin…”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry. I’d still give you crumbs and let you watch Netflix in there.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh again, heart swelling with affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” he teased.

“Unfortunately.”

Jeongin gasped and rolled away dramatically, hands over his heart like he’d been fatally wounded. “Cute and savage. I’m doomed.”

And even though he pretended to groan in agony, the goofy grin on his face never faded.

.

.

.

The next day he did bite you at your cheeks :) (He can't help himself)

[somethingvicked]

Not a Sound

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

warnings: mentions of death, Vecna, the Upside Down, demobats, vaginal fingering, handjob. No use of Y/N.

 ”No way,” Steve said, cutting through the air with the palm of his hand to emphasize his words. ”We stick together, no matter what. We’ll all sleep in the living room, it’s safest.”

You sighed. Steve’s reasoning was logical – you were all stuck in the Upside Down, but… it surely didn’t work with what you wanted. Or Eddie. You could see the disappointment in his big, dark eyes, as well as how his plump bottom lip suddenly poked out as he pouted.

Until recently, you and Eddie barely knew each other, but since you had been a part of the gang all the way from the start (when Will disappeared and El showed up) you knew of him of course, being close with Dustin, Mike and Lucas.

And, you couldn’t deny you found the metalhead attractive. His wild curls, chocolate brown eyes and full lips. His hands that were always gesturing about something, fingers decorated with rings. You knew he played the guitar and you could just imagine how it would feel holding his hand, feeling the calluses on his fingers. Or more…

You had asked Dustin if Eddie was single, and the boy had rolled his eyes – you didn’t know why at the time – and told you to ask his Dungeon Master out. You were about to do just that when the nightmare hit. Chrissy Cunningham found dead in the Munson trailer, apparently wrecked beyond recognition. Eddie nowhere to be found, making him the prime suspect.

Even though you barely knew Eddie, you had agreed with Dustin that there was no way Eddie could have done that. Something else was up.

And it was confirmed when you all managed to track Eddie down and he told you what had happened. How it had resembled a scene out of The Exorcist and he couldn’t do squat about it.

Then it was your turn to speak. You told him the truth about the Upside Down, about the monsters and how it had all started three years ago with El and Will Byers disappearance.

You had to give Eddie credit – he was still scared and confused but he took it way better than most people would’ve.

One would have thought that the fact that more teenagers fell victim to the "curse", as Dustin had named it, would be enough to clear Eddie but no.

Fred died. Patrick died. And Max was next.

You had to stop it and clear Eddie’s name. That’s why earlier that evening you, Steve, Nancy and Robin had gone out on Lover’s lake, trying to find the gate where the monster, now nicknamed Vecna, had come through to kill Patrick. If there was a gate through then there must be a way to close it, right?

Steve had dove into the lake and come up a moment later to tell you he had found it but he had barely gotten the words out when something dragged him under.

Nancy hadn’t hesitated a second but dove into the lake, you and Robin quickly following suit. Eddie joined you, you noticed, as you came out on the other side.

Steve had nearly been strangled, and bitten by the monster bats, now named demobats. Robin had twisted an ankle and the rest of you were soaked through the bone and tired after the fight.

You couldn’t help but admire Eddie – after the bats had flown away – how he fought against them, swinging the oar as if it was a sword. It made your core tingle.

It was decided you would go to Nancy’s house to fetch her guns, so you would have something to defend yourself with, before trying to find a way back.

You and Eddie walked beside each other, a little bit slower than the others, talking.

”So...” Eddie said, smiling a little. ”This a regular thing for you guys?”

You chuckled. ”I wouldn’t say ’regular’. But yes, it happens more often to us than other people.”

”Damn. Here I am making up monsters and other worlds for my party and half of them has already experienced it in real life,” Eddie said, shaking his head. "They must find them lacking."

”Dustin and the others love Hellfire,” you said, ”and they love you as their DM. I haven’t seen Dustin be in so awe of someone since he met Steve.”

Eddie snorted, looking away. ”Yeah, Steve Harrington... would you think me a loser if I admit that sometimes… sometimes I’m a little jealous of how close he and Dustin are? It’s stupid, right? Why should I care what that little punk thinks, but… I do.”

You took his hand and squeezed it. ”I don’t think you’re a loser. I think it’s sweet that Dustin’s opinion means so much to you. That shows he means something to you and it makes me glad, because Dustin means a lot to me too.”

Eddie smiled, looking down at your joined hands. ”Would you… think me a loser if I admit that I’ve all but pumped him on information about you too?” he then asked, his voice low. ”What’s your favorite food, favorite movie, what music you listen to... if you have a boyfriend?” he continued, looking into your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that both of you had stopped walking, now just standing on the path and looking at each other.

You shook your head. ”N-no,” you whispered. ”Because… I asked Dustin if… if you were seeing someone and he told me to ask you out.”

Eddie inhaled deeply, his lower lip disappearing in between his front teeth. You wanted to have that lip between your teeth, feeling irrational jealousy.

”Hey!” Steve barked, making both of your heads snap towards him in sync. ”Keep up! We need to stick together.”

 Both you and Eddie rolled your eyes but increased your pace, still hand in hand, so you were soon caught up with the others.

An unpleasant surprise awaited you at Nancy’s house though. It turned out that her guns weren’t there, that it seemed the whole house was stuck somewhere in the past.

So now you had no guns to protect yourselves with and no real idea how to get out. And outside you could hear the sounds of demobats and who knew what else.

”I say we stay here for a couple of hours, catch our breath,” Steve said, clearly still in pain from the bites of the demobats. Robin seemed to agree, sitting down and resting her twisted ankle.

”I'll get the first aid kit,” Nancy said, ”that should be here at least.”

After Steve’s wounds had been disinfected and patched up with something better than Nancy’s makeshift bandage and Robin had gotten a cooling pad to rest against her ankle you cleared your throat.

”Alright, it’s probably good if we try to get some sleep. Me and the girls can stay in Nancy’s room and you and Eddie can take Mike’s.”

Most of all you wanted to share a room with Eddie, but that would be too obvious – Steve would probably accuse you of being insane for even thinking about being intimate in a moment like this. But there was a possibility you could sneak away when the others had fallen asleep and meet up in another room.

”No, no way,” Steve said, shaking his head. ”We’re sticking together, it’s safest. And we can take turns keeping watch so nothing gets in. We’ll all sleep in the living room.”

Robin snorted. ”Who died and made you general?” she said ironically, then her eyes widen and she glanced over at Eddie, remembering that someone – more than one – had died in fact. And Eddie had witnessed one of them.

”It’s a good plan,” Nancy agreed with Steve. ”We can bring down the mattresses to make it more comfortable but I agree it’s safer sticking together.”

Eddie had that disappointed look on his face again, but he nodded, realizing that bickering about it wouldn’t do any good.

You each dragged the mattresses from the rooms down to the living room and Eddie gave you a sudden flirty grin when he pulled his mattress next to yours.

You smiled back, glad to have him close at least. Maybe you could wait until the others was asleep and sneak away, to the bathroom, perhaps?

You all laid down and Nancy said she would take first watch, a kitchen knife in close reach on the coffee table, should any monsters come inside.

You and Eddie laid on your mattresses, holding hands, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, while your free hand was playing with his hair.

As soon as Steve’s snores started and Robin’s breaths evened out you gave Eddie a wink and started to get up from your mattress.

”Where are you going?” Nancy immediately asked.

”Umm… bathroom,” you said, blushing, even though you knew she couldn’t see it in the darkness.

”I’ll go with you. Eddie, you’re still awake? You keep watch while we go.”

”I can go with her to the bathroom,” Eddie offered and but Nancy clearly didn’t catch the drift. ”That makes no sense. We’re both girls, it’s safer if I go into the bathroom with her – you would need to wait outside the door, that leaves you vulnerable.”

You sighed, knowing that unless you wanted to reveal yourselves completely you had to do what Nancy said.

After you came back you laid back on your mattress, back to holding Eddie’s hand and stroking his face.

Eddie stroked your cheek, letting his finger follow the outline of your lips. You couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the tip of his finger.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. Despite the darkness in the room you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate.

You licked your suddenly dry lips, the tip of your tongue sliding over Eddie’s finger, making his nostrils flare.

You slid your hand down from his face, down his chest, his firm stomach and in beneath the shirt, playing with the trail of hair leading down into his jeans. You felt the cold metal of his handcuff belt buckle and it made you rub your thighs together, already feeling the material of your panties sticking to the lips of your cunt from the wetness.

Eddie moved one hand down to your breast, carefully squeezing, making you whimper, and he immediately shook his head, giving you a teasing grin that clearly said: ”don’t make a sound.”

Eddie swiftly ran his hand down to your jeans, popping the button open and slid his fingers inside, pulling the crotch of your panties aside to get to your pussy. He gasped when he felt your wetness and you gave him the same grin, waving your free finger in his face. ”Don’t make a sound.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at you but he got serious again when you tried to undo his belt, as silent as possible so Nancy wouldn’t hear. Quickly he helped you with his free hand, so you were finally able to slip your hand into his boxers, finding him rock hard and leaking.

Now it was your turn to nearly gasp, but Eddie quickly put his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sound. Without a beat you started sucking on his thumb while your hand started to pump his cock in the same rhythm.

Eddie bit his lip so hard you thought it was going to bleed as he tried to buck his hips against your hand as silently as possible, all while his fingers teased your slit.

He hadn’t pushed one inside yet, just sliding them through your folds, soaking them thoroughly in your wetness, making sure to rub against your clit every time he moved them upwards.

You bit his thumb, a silent prayer and he gave you that cocky grin again as he finally pushed his middle finger inside, his thumb on your clit.

You felt the metal of his rings against your cunt, all nerves on end, but they had grown warm from your body heat, so it wasn’t uncomfortable.

The barrier of your jeans muffled the wet sounds as Eddie fingered you, you sucking on his thumb as hard as you could whilst jerking his cock harder and harder, precum leaking down from his tip and spreading every time you went up and then down.

You wanted to pull your hand out and taste it but both of you were too lost in the sensation now.

You felt the tingling feeling starting to spread from your pussy, up to your belly and along your spine, making you trying to spread your legs wider, pressing against Eddie’s hand.

He now used the heel of his hand to rub your clit, so he could put more fingers inside you, first his index finger joined the middle one and then when you nodded encouragingly he slid the ringfinger inside again. You felt so full, and yet it felt like it wasn’t enough. Not enough and yet too much at the same time.

You weren’t sure how you would be able to keep quiet as your orgasm approached and Eddie seemed to have the same struggle as you, sweat dampening his bangs, the veins on his neck standing out as you felt his cock twitch in your grip.

Quickly Eddie turned his head to the side and bit down on the mattress as you felt his cock spurt, his warm seed spilling all over your hand and the inside of his boxers. Despite your own situation you couldn’t help but smile, even forgetting about your own pleasure for a second as you kept pumping him until he had grown completely soft in your hand, clearly with nothing more to give you.

Then Eddie perked up, increasing his pace, his fingers inside you crooking and seeking for your special spot, finding it without a beat, making your eyes widen at the sudden pleasure slamming into you. You bit down on Eddie’s thumb as hard as you could, closing your eyes in bliss and at the same time fighting against the impulse of screaming your euphoria to the heavens.

Eddie kept going until you had sunk back like a sack of vegetables, feeling totally boneless.

You opened your eyes and you and Eddie grinned at each other. He removed his hand from your mouth, shaking it a little.

”Ow,” he silently mouthed at you and you bit back a chuckle.

”Sorry,” you mouthed back, removing your hand from his boxers, looking at the remnants of his cum covering your hand. Without another beat you started sucking on your own fingers, making Eddie gape at you.

Not to be outdone he quickly mimicked you, sucking your juices from his own fingers.

Then, he looked at you, tilting his head like a puppy before moving closer and carefully kissing you, making you taste yourself on his lips, as he surely did on yours.

Then you heard Nancy getting up and you froze, wondering if you had alerted her to what you were doing. But she walked over to Steve’s cot and shook him.

”Hey,” she said softly, ”it’s your turn to keep watch. But if you’re tired I can keep going. You lost a lot of blood after all.”

”Maybe we can both get some rest,” Steve said, deep in thought. ”It has been rather calm, right? Nothing happening?”

”Nothing,” Nancy confirmed, making you bite your lip to stop the laughter bubbling up inside you from coming out, ”not a sound.”

You supposed she was right about that.

taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @quinnyficsy @jenniquinn

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[divadowndivadown]

Part two of the Vampire’s maid <3

Here’s part one if you didn’t see it first

Author’s Note: I’m so excited about this part! It’s been so long since I’ve written everything and it feels so good to share my stories with you. Love you diva, feel free to comment on the story and thanks for the support <3

He never revealed much about himself, to your dismay. But he would always be around as you did your chores for the day, keeping a vigilant eye on you as you went about your daily routine of dusting around the manor.

A slow two weeks had passed since the first meeting, and strangely, he hasn’t touched you since then, much less talked to you. There was always an anxious gut feeling you had around him after you found out you were working for a vampire lord, feelings of isolation grew even though you could always feel his presence hover close to you. Malicious or possessive? You couldn’t tell, but what you did know is that you never wanted to get on his bad side. Even though he hadn’t done anything to you and was actually a decent host, setting you up with your own room and making sure you got fed each day, you couldn’t help the thought that he might try to kill you someday.

“Lord Damascus.. I’m done dusting… was there anything else you needed..?” You inquire, looking into his eyes as he looks up from his book, his eyes bore into yours as that awkward tension grows with every bated breath. A quiet breath of relief escapes you as he gives you a slow nod and a wave of dismissal, but when you turn to leave you hear his voice call out to you.

Lord Damascus had only planned on feasting on your blood that night… drinking every drop until there was nothing left.. he’d done it to a plethora of ignorant, clueless humans, luring them in with hopes of an easy job, food, and comfort away from the city. You should have been like the others, and in many ways, you were. Young, naive and ignorant to the trap he had laid out for centuries. But you… your lovely warm eyes, so full of fear and anxiety, your heart pounding out of your chest, the way you shivered when he felt your pulse. He was utterly entranced in a way he himself couldn’t understand, he just knew the feeling was right, the need to hold you close and comfort you, to protect you from everything, to cherish your very soul, the need to make you his.

It filled his heart with a sense of wonder and confusion, having spent the week beyond enthralled with everything you did for the manor, for him. He noticed how diligent you worked, how committed you were to getting a good deal of work done. The areas he frequented became clear of the dust and grime under your care, bringing him back to when he still considered himself youthful.

His face nor his hair have shown any indication of his true age, and he had always held himself in high regard, dignity and eloquence is what he thought of himself before you.

After your fifth day at the manor he found himself watching you at night, how your chest rose and fell so calmly, the peace that took over your unconscious face compared to how you always looked over your shoulder with worry. He wondered when you would stop being afraid of him, did he not give you enough space..? Did you feel threatened by him?

“Maybe I should reach out more..” he pondered as his heart grows fuller with each breath you take, safe and comfortable under his gaze, just as you should be. Later on at night he started imagining things he would have never been interested in before you. How your lips would taste against his, how warm your body would be when he cuddled you, how incredibly lovely you would look melting into him. Thoughts of domestic affection and warmth clouded his mind and plagued him every time he watched you do your simple duties around the manor.

After the first week he continued to sit in the chair as he watched you sleep, but on this day he felt something dormant stirring within him as he watched you drool. It wasn’t anything irregular but at that moment you couldn’t have been more irresistible to him, watching the warm saliva slip past your lips, down your cheek onto the silk pillowcase did it for him.

He felt his body aching as he silently leaned into you, his thoughts wrapped up in your raw, unconscious presence. Fangs digging into his lip as he resists the urge to kiss you awake, his mind coming up with images of your pretty eyes fluttering awake in surprise has him quietly groaning, his cock throbbing eagerly at the sight of your sweet, unaware, sleeping face.

He almost touched himself, but being so vulnerable in front of you asleep or not was enough encouragement to refrain from this newly discovered desire. He couldn’t remember a time his body burned for someone so badly, and it only got worse as he continued his habit of watching you at night.

It was unruly, he thought as he watched your sleeping form, you had worked so hard these past days and it was getting harder to stay away from you, to not hold you close in his arms, to not sing your praises. He felt pathetic in a way, not that he would ever admit it, but just watching you get all the rest you rightfully earned makes his heart unusually fuzzy and his cock strain painfully against his tailored trousers.

It became his favorite past time, every small twitch, every subtle moment of your rest had him seething in lust and affection. He tried to labeled it a just a silly game he’d play with you… until he heard you snore for the first time. Pure, deep, unconscious snoring. The type of snoring that lets you know how deep and comfortable the person is.

He had came untouched. It was the headiest aphrodisiac he had ever been trapped in, his cum stained his trousers in a large wet mess, hoarse whimpers forced back in his throat, and the feeling of being utterly breathless and spent yet still wanting more forced him to realize it wasn’t a game. He was obsessed.. and he had to make you feel the same, no… better. He wanted to give you euphoria, and he couldn’t wait to devote his entire existence to your very being.

“My dear, I have a question… and I need your honest answer, am I clear?” He insisted, his tone calm and leveled but it wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Yes, my lord..?” You murmur, the pounding of your racing heart didn’t help with your nerves at all. You could only think of all the negative things that could possibly happen. Was he going to kill you now? Was he not satisfied with your work? Is he going to-

“…are you afraid of me?”

The question left you startled and unsure, his rich bass voice made you unexpectedly calm, but then your brain started spinning again. Should you lie? Lying would be easier… but what he calls you out and you get punished?!

You don’t even realize you looked away until you lock eye contact with him once again, gulping heavily as you take a breath, “..yes… I know you haven’t done anything.. but you’re… a vampire. I know I’m just your maid so please don’t hurt me” you admit, expecting the worst.

“Harm you..? My dear… my delightful human… I wouldn’t even think of such a thing. You’re mine. And I take care of the things that are mine, do you understand?” He chuckles, but his tone is sharper than before.

You silently nod and watch as he puts his book down and walks around the desk and stands in front of you. He can feel how your breathing unintentionally hitches as he cups your cheek and tilts your head up to face his, and it makes him keen inside.

“..you’ve done such an eloquent service for me, do you not agree…? I haven’t seen cobwebs since you started here. You’re utterly valuable.. how could I ever harm you?” He disclosed, grinning gleefully and mischievously as he can feel your heart flutter again, knowing he’s winning you over.

“Well… when you put it like that I just sound irrational..” you jest depreciatingly, but you do feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Still slightly on guard but… you feel better.

“You do, my precious human… but rest assured, I see you. And I appreciate you with every fresh breath you bring” he coos as he presses a tender, lingering kiss to your temple.

You could feel a simultaneous shiver of comfort, relief and embarrassment run down your spine from the kiss, warmth creeping up your face as your eyes try to wander elsewhere before his hand gently pulls your attention back to him.

“Mm… you’ve given me your all.. and I believe I am behind on your payment, aren’t I?” He inquires, but before you can even get your thoughts together, his lips are on yours.

It’s a warm, tender kiss. The one he’s been craving since he saw you, and finally got. He savors you with all his undead heart, sucking on your lips tenderly and carefully as his arms slowly wrap around your waist. He doesn’t stop till he feels your need for air, but by then he’s already smitten, so lost in you, so ready to worship your hard working flesh like it deserves. He only asks you one last question..

“…would you like your reward, my darling..?”

Here’s Part 3 <3

I got inspired to write my own monster story from these blogs: @lyonnerileyauthor @monstersholygrail @davinawritings

Dividers are from: @kodaswrld

[sturniololuvz]

can you do one where chris finds condoms in his son's room and he is like 16

“What You’re Ready For”

Chris hadn’t meant to find them.

He was just grabbing laundry from his son’s floor, cursing the pile of socks under the bed, when he spotted the small box tucked behind a sneaker — unopened, but unmistakable.

Condoms.

He froze.

It was like the air shifted. Like time slowed.

For a moment, he just sat there on the edge of the bed, the box in his hands, staring at it like it might explain itself.

His son was sixteen.

A good kid. Respectful. Funny. Sharp. He had his mom’s eyes and Chris’s sarcasm, and for the most part, he’d stayed out of trouble.

But this?

This was new.

Chris put the box on the dresser and sat back down. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. But he also couldn’t pretend he wasn’t suddenly spiraling into every version of “What if?” a dad could imagine.

So when his son walked in, fresh from practice, hair damp, earbuds in, Chris just raised an eyebrow and said: “We need to talk.”

His son froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes flicked to the box.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, arms crossed. “Oh.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“I wasn’t—” his son started. “It’s not like I’m doing anything right now. I just… I wanted to be prepared.”

Chris let that sit.

“Prepared,” he echoed, not angrily — just trying to keep his voice steady, even though a million thoughts were running through his mind. “And how long have you been thinking about being prepared?”

His son looked away, embarrassed. “A while.”

Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not mad. I’m… overwhelmed. But I’m glad you weren’t being dumb about it.”

“Uncle Nick would’ve died,” his son muttered.

Chris snorted despite himself. “Yeah. He probably would’ve leapt out the window.”

Silence again.

“I swear I haven’t done anything,” his son said quickly. “I’ve just… me and her, we’ve talked about it. A little. But we haven’t—like, nothing’s happened.”

Chris looked at him for a long time. “Okay. First of all, I’m proud that you’re talking about it. That’s more mature than a lot of guys your age. But second… I need you to really hear me.”

His son nodded, nervous.

Chris leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sex isn’t just about protection. Or being ‘ready’ physically. It’s about being ready emotionally. You’re giving a piece of yourself to someone — and that sticks. It matters.”

“I know,” his son said quietly.

“I’m not gonna ground you. But I am gonna ask that you keep being honest with me. If something changes, if you feel confused, if anything happens — you come to me. No judgment. Just truth.”

His son nodded again, this time more firmly. “I will. I promise.”

Chris stood up and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Because no matter how old you get, you’re still my kid. And nothing’s more important to me than keeping you safe.”

His son smiled. “Even if I’m… gross now?”

“Especially if you’re gross.”

They both laughed — the tension easing, just a little.

And as Chris left the room, he didn’t feel totally calm.

But he did feel a little better.

Because his kid was growing up.

And somehow, they were still figuring it out together.

⸻

[kxsagi]

Hello girlie🩷 I hope you doin well,

I saw u open u request today :).

I wanted to ask if you could a headcannon or smth like which kind of car drivers are the blue lock boys and would they drive gearshift or automatic, which car would they drive?

I personally think Kaiser can drive both and he is a cocky driver. He is german so I guess he is a good driver and would absolutley use the no speed limitation on german highways. Isagi probably swears and curses a lot. Could you pls write it for Kaiser,Isagi,Sae,Rin,Bachira,Barou and whoever you like🩷

“𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬? 𝐧𝐨”

a/n: i'm doing well and i hope are you too! i absolutely love this request ❤️

ft. kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, bachira meguru, barou shoei

kaiser michael

drives: both. obviously. he could drive a tank if you asked him to. 

car: obnoxiously loud BMW M8 Competition with blacked-out rims and illegal neon lights that scream “main character.” 

driving style: spawn of satan meets fast & furious audition reel. 

he drives like every road is a racetrack and he’s got a sponsorship deal on the line. 

one hand on the wheel, other on your thigh, doing 210km/h with zero fear of god or death. 

“buckle up, liebling. we’re gonna pass 12 cars and a soul today.” 

listens to eurobeat and EDM (like 700 main street that song is so good idc). subwoofers so strong your bones vibrate. 

randomly revs the engine when another guy looks at you. 

brake checks people for fun. 

will lean out the window to yell “move it, snail boy” at slow drivers. 

the police? fans. they ask for selfies. 

isagi yoichi

drives: automatic only. thinks stick is a myth invented by the show top gear. 

car: toyota corolla, the 2023 “sport” trim that he swears has more horsepower (it doesn’t). 

driving style: unhinged, but law-abiding. 

he’s the type to hit the brakes 0.002 seconds after the light turns yellow, clutching the steering wheel like it personally betrayed him. 

screams internally every time someone merges without signaling. road rage is most definitely present. 

“HELLO?? it’s not a personality test, it’s a damn traffic light. MOVE.” 

accidentally floors it when you're just trying to chill. 

swears under his breath with the windows up but immediately apologizes after: “sorry love, that was not very respectful of me. i’m just… really passionate about traffic etiquette.” 

gps volume at full blast. still misses the turn. 

itoshi sae

drives: automatic. doesn’t need stick – that’s what other people are for. 

car: mercedes-benz S-class, silver, polished like a mirror, smells like “wealthy indifference.” 

driving style: smooth, silent, emotionally detached. 

never makes sharp turns. it’s all glides and glances. 

has never parked crooked in his life. 

listens to ambient lofi or complete silence. 

“why would i honk? that’s embarrassing.” 

lets pedestrians walk even when they shouldn’t. 

will drive an extra 15 mins to avoid traffic but act like it was his plan all along. 

always looks like he’s in a commercial. he could run someone over and still look cool. 

itoshi rin

drives: manual. said “automatic is a metaphor for mediocrity” and meant it. 

car: black mazda RX-7, pristine, waxed weekly, emotionally significant. 

driving style: laser-focused, but not chill about it. 

adjusts his mirrors exactly three times. won’t move the car until the seat feels “symmetrical.” 

“don’t talk. i’m merging.” 

refuses to use drive-thrus. too inefficient. 

slams the brakes at yellow lights like it’s a moral stand. 

speed limit? 1km/h over. rebellious. 

gets irrationally mad when you fiddle with the radio. 

doesn't let you eat in his car. you once dropped a fry and he nearly pulled over to exorcise it. 

uses apple maps even though he memorized every street. 

bachira meguru

drives: automatic (but makes it look manual somehow). 

car: bright yellow jeep wrangler with anime decals and at least 12 hanging plushies. 

driving style: feral and fearless. 

rolls the windows down no matter the season. yells compliments at strangers. 

parks diagonally like it’s an art piece. 

will drive into the forest just because “the trees were calling him.” 

doesn’t use turn signals. he “lets the vibes decide.” 

GPS? nah. he just follows the sun and the stars. 

keeps snacks, glitter, and possibly feral raccoons in the back. 

“do you want to hear my car playlist or my car chase playlist?” 

there is no peace when he’s driving. only laughter, speed bumps, and spontaneous detours. 

barou shoei

drives: manual. automatic is for weaklings and children. 

car: dodge challenger hellcat, blacked out like his soul. 

driving style: aggressive. like "fasten your seatbelt or meet god" aggressive. 

merges like it’s a battle for survival. 

absolutely has a custom license plate that says KING23. 

revs his engine at red lights because “the car needs to BREATHE.” 

“i don’t slow down. they get out of the way.” 

will stare into other drivers' souls at stop signs like it’s a standoff. 

has rock blasting as he parallel parks. 

glove compartment has protein bars and nothing else. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢