#i miss bo i need to draw him

[bloodiegawz]

posts

[rockafirevevo]

this is my old car's fursona refsheet. he was a 2007 hyundai sonata with massively oversized tires (paws) that the previous owner gave him for some reason. i miss her

this is the wildest character desc i've ever seen on artfight

[jasmines-library]

Tried and True

WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY FOUR: Prompt - Hiding an injury.

Fandom: Batfam/DC/Young Justice

Summary: During a fight with Bane you get critically injured but leave it hidden from your brothers. When they find out, it's a race against time to get you back to the safety of the manor. Warnings: Bullet wound, blood loss, near death experience, surgery, cursing. Word count: 2.8k Note: I'm super excited about this one. That's all i'm gonna say :)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Bane fired three shots down the alleyway. They ricocheted off the bricks, clattering to the ground with a metallic ping. Dick Grayson hid crouched behind the lip of a building overlooking the alleyway, his mask pulled tight over his face. He watched with cautious eyes, surveying the villain before him. You were hunched over on the opposite side of the street dual daggers pressed firmly into the palm of your clammy hands. Damian and Jason lingered nearby, Tim opted to survey with his older brother. He had his bo staff hooked under his arm, ready to draw back and swing at any second. 

“I know you’re out there little birdies.” Bane sung, drawing out his steps as he paced the length of the alley. “Why don’t you come out for a little chat?”

He fired another round of bullets, this time up into the sky. Your little brother cast a look at you from your left, you held out a warning hand.

“Nightwing?” You asked into the coms quietly, careful not to draw unwanted attention. Even though Bane was outnumbered 5-1, he was still extremely powerful and if he caught one of you off guard, you would be in some deep shit. 

“We need to wait until he gets to the end of the alley. There’s a fork. We can flank him from both sides.”

The five of you watched intently as he walked, monotonously slow. When he was a mere few steps away from the end of the alley, Nightwing gave the signal and the five of you sprang into action, disguised and protected by the thick plating of your vigilante suits each specified to fit your needs. 

Landing roughly on your feet, you jumped from the building, reading your daggers in front of you. Your brothers formed a circle besides you, trapping bane between the three exits. He grinned manically.

“Finally! I thought I was going to miss out on all the fun.” 

He hoisted his gun up onto his shoulder and eyed the five of you up. The look on his face was mad; cynical. His eyes glistened beneath his mask as they settled on Robin. He fired, releasing a fresh wave of bullets, but the youngest was small and quick enough to slip away, behind a crate. 

With his back turned, Red Robin took his chance to make a move on Bane. He swung his staff in an arc, swiping at the giant's feet in an attempt to knock him to the ground. He wobbled, but spun around and knocked him out of the way, sending him flying into a nearby pile of junk.

“Red!?” You called out through the coms.

There was static as he shuffled around, coughing slightly as he tried to recover from having the wind knocked out from him. “All good.”

You moved next, Robin at your side. Using the walls, you propelled yourself towards Bane, trying to swing your dagger and lodge it anywhere on his exposed chest, only to have to skid across the floor as he swung his arm out to hit you. Although you weren’t successful, Robin had managed to get in a well placed slice along Bane’s torso. He had been aiming for the thick tubes which pumped him full of venom, but he wasn’t so successful. 

The five of you went many rounds with Bane, swinging, slicing and dodging as you tried to get the upper hand on the giant man. Though despite being outnumbered, he had still managed to get his own in on the five vigilanties. Red Hood was suffering a twisted ankle, and Robin had a trickle of blood running down the side of his temple where Bane had managed to strike him.

“Raven!” Nightwing hollered “Flank left.”

You retreated back round the alley with your eldest brother, twisting and navigating in the dinginess to flank him from his other side. When you returned, he had Tim pinned up against a wall, gasping for air and flailing, his feet struggling to scrape against the floor. You picked up your pace, feet slapping against the concrete. You swung, leaping high into the air and bringing your daggers down in a large sweeping motion, it lodged itself in one of Bane’s tubes, staunching the flow of venom pumping into his veins. You rolled across the ground and onto your feet, skidding against the asphalt as you dodged another swing that caught Robin instead. Nightwing was suddenly flanking from Bane’s otherside, cutting off the rest of the venom’s flow. Pulling Robin to his feet, he raised his katana.

With a signal from your brother cracking out over the coms, you gripped your daggers tighter, shifting them into a more comfortable grip in front of you. The humming of Dicks escrima sticks filled the alley. There was a beat, then you all charged, using bane’s weakness to your advantage. He took a large slice across his abdomen and a shock to his body. He roared, releasing a round of bullets into the brick. Dropping like a sack of flour the five of you pressed your body to the ground, trying to dodge the lethal pieces of metal he flung your way. And that was when you felt it, a raw indescribable pain that radiated across your body above your right hip. You stifled a cry, biting your lip beneath the cover of your mask. Your breath shuddered as you rose, trying to ignore the dark red patch that bloomed across the front of your suit. You readied your daggers, trying to conceal the wound with your arm. You were hoping that the cover of the darkness would help disguise it from your brothers. 

From his place on the ground, Jason fired at bane, distracting him from Tim, who swung his bo staff again at his feet, this time bringing him to the ground. Stepping forwards,you pressed your dagger to his neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to get the message across. He howled and grunted as Nightwing and Red Hood made quick work of securing him with rope they had stored on their suits, then delivering a quick blow to his head to render the giant unconscious. 

Nightwing took a step back and sighed, dropping his twin fighting sticks to the ground. “Is everyone ok?”

There was a chortle of agreement between the comms. You sheathed your daggers in the hosters at your hip, groaning as your fingers brushed against the pulsating wound. 

“Call B, tell him we have Bane.”

“Copy.” You said, flicking through the channels on the comms to call your father. He answered gruffly, signifying that he would be on his way on his way over as soon as he could. You heard the rumble of the batmobile in the background. 

“B’s on his way.” You told your brothers, changing the coms back. “He’ll be here soon.”

You glanced down at your stomach, still oozing blood, crossing his arms in front of you, trying to hide the growing patch and keep some pressure on it. You could feel the warm, stickiness against your skin clinging to the fabric of your suit. You couldn’t feel the exit wound, piercing the back of your flesh. Just the thought of the bullet still lodged inside of you made the pain worsen tenfold. You just had to hope that you would get back to the manor in time to stitch yourself up. 

~~~

Left, Right. Left, Right.

You had never been more glad to see the silhouette of the wayne manor, illuminated by the lights from the many windows that had been left on whilst you were out on patrol. You were trudging back slowly with your brothers after finishing up on patrol and ensuring that The Bat had bane secured and was taking him to Arkham. Your steps had grown sluggish, your vision doubled and your breaths uneven as you tried to keep up pace with your brothers, only to end up falling behind anyway. Your whole body ached, but nothing compared to the stabbing pain near your hip. You pulled your hand away from where you had been discreetly keeping pressure on it. Your head spun as you took in the sight of the blood dousing your hands. 

Left, Right…

Not much further now. You told yourself as you forced your body to keep pressing forwards. Home was so close but felt so so far away. You made your shaky legs push on, but with your hazy vision you swayed on your feet. 

Dick turned around, noticing your absence besides him. 

“Raven?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. His panicked tone alerted the rest of the boys. 

You were leaning on a nearby fence, trying to regain your composure.

“I- I’m fine. I just need-” 

Left…

Your body gave out beneath you as you tried to push yourself away from the wall, you were swallowed by a blinding pain; hot and inflamed as you collapsed in on yourself. Jason, the closest to you, rushed forwards before your body could collide with the hard asphalt. He laid you down tenderly so that your head was lying down on his lap. Dick was by your side patting down your body for the hidden injury, followed quickly by the other two.“Raven?” Damien stared at you with wide eyes. 

“Shit.” Dick cursed when his hand skimmed the tear in your suit, pulling it back with his fingers coaxed in your blood. 

You cried out in pain, eyes flying wide. 

Damien gripped your hand tightly, wincing at your pained expression when Jason hastily tore your mask away. He wiped away the tears which stained your cheeks. 

“AH!” Your face twisted when Dick ripped apart the fabric of your suit to get a better look at the wound; circular and ugly, only around the size of a penny, but it was already an angry shade of scarlet and was leaking more blood than you though you had in your body. The fabric which had matted with your blood tugged at your skin. You squeezed Damian’s hand tightly.

“R, what happened?” 

“...Shot.” You forced out. 

Jason reached around the back of your suit searching for an exit wound then cursing loudly when he failed to find one. “It’s still in there.”

Dick cursed. “Okay. Tim?”

The boy looked up meekly. 

“Grab the emergency pack, we’ll need tweezers, bandages. Something for the pain.”

“On it.”

“Damien? Call Alfred, tell him we need help, stat.”

Hesitantly, the Wayne let go of your hands and scrambled to get his phone. Tim was rushing back over with the supplies. 

“Y/N? This is going to hurt okay?”

You nodded feebly, head lolling around in Jason’s lap. 

“Hood, keep her awake.”

Jason took your head in his hands and angled it up to face him. Your eyes were fluttering closed.

“Hey, look at me, keep ‘em open kid.”

Your eyes opened in fraction as you listened to your older brother's words, though you were in a pained daze, only registering the pain in your side.

They would never forget the inhuman scream that pushed its way past your lips as Dick dig the tweezers into the wound. The pain was indescribable as your fingers clawed against the ground. You writhed in Jason’s hold, squirming away from the onslaught of pain. Dick cringed. 

“Tim, keep her still.”

His hands were like cold vices on your arms as he pinned you down, trying to keep you still as his older brother rummaged through your body. Your screams had morphed into horse shouts by the time he finally got the bullet out. But then came the burst of agony as he pushed his hands down as hard as he could on your wound. You whimpered.

“I know. I know Y/N I’m sorry.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you began to lose a grip on consciousness. Black dots danced in your vision.

“Hey. Stay with us!” Tim patted your face. “We need to move fast.

Jason leaned you up against his chest so his brothers could wrap the bandages tightly around your stomach. Damien had returned, informing them that Alfred was on his way. Once the bandages were secured, you were laid back down in Jason's chest, eyes fluttering. Damien returned to holding your hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across the flat of your hand. 

“Stay awake, Raven. Talk to us.” Tim prompted.

You were silent for a horrifying moment, before muttering out a few words. “...I’m sorry.”

“No. None of that. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I love you all.”

Your breaths were becoming shallower and you struggled to get the air you needed into your lungs. The black spots began to take over your vision. 

“We love you too, Y/N. So, so much.”

You hummed contently. Your body had begun to go numb. 

A dear ran down Damien’s cheek. You reached up to wipe it away as your older brother had done to you mere minutes ago.

“It’s okay.” You hushed. “It doesn’t hurt bad anymore.”

The two eldest vigilantes swallowed thickly, sharing a wide eyed glance between each other. That was when Alfred turned up, and the next minutes went by in a blur. The boys could do nothing more than watch as they whisked you away into surgery, praying that you would pull through. 

~~~

Dick watched as you began to stir. Your face twitched and you shifted uncomfortably. He had his much larger hand wrapped around yours, and had done for a few hours, insisting that he stay with you. You were his baby sister after all. Bruce had tried to send the other to bed, but like Dick, Jason had insisted that he should be allowed to watch over you too. Bruce was about to protest, but he couldn’t dismiss the distraught look plastered on Jason’s face. He had no doubt that the youngest two were lingering around somewhere, minds too full of opposing thoughts to let them succumb to the sleep that their bodies begged them for. Damian had kept trying to sneak in before being dragged away by Bruce. 

The room had been silent for a few hours as they watched your chest rise and fall. The surgery had been hard on your body, and for a while no one was sure that you were going to pull through. Albeit there you were lying pale but showing signs of waking up, on your bed.

  Alfred and Bruce were frequently in and out of your room where you lay hooked up to all sorts of machines that made Jason cringe. His head was resting on the side of your bed by the hand that Dick wasn’t nursing. His eyes had begun to droop shut as the early hours of the day crept around, when you shifted the let out a pained whimper. When he turned his head, he was greeted by your striking eyes. 

He scrambled off of the floor and into the chair that had been pulled up by your bed. “Y/N? Hey.”

“Boys?” You blinked, your head still groggy from the anaesthesia.

The eldest boy gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah kiddo. We’re here.”

Trying to sit up, the tug on your stitches elicited another cry of pain. Instinctively, both boys helped you sit up. 

“Take it easy, little bat.” Dick told you as you gingerly pushed back the sheets. Your hip was bound tightly in a white bandage. “He got you good.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jay pressed. “You could have…”

“I-”

You were cut off by the sound of the door shuddering open and a pair of your ‘not so little anymore’ brothers' heads peeking around it. They were hesitant, glancing around the room until you gave them a gentle smile.

“Y/N,” Damian rushed into the room, wrapping you tightly into a hug. 

“Hey Dami.” You murmured into his ear. 

He was suddenly ripped away from you by a grinning Tim who chided “Hey, be careful with her, you demon spawn. It’s my turn.”

You chuckled as he pulled you desperately into his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay Y/N/N. I was so scared.”

You frowned, hoarse voice breaking as you spoke. “I’m sorry-”

“Damian.” A haggard voice sounded from somewhere in the hallway. It was followed by a pair of heavy set shoes. “How many times do I have to tell you to get back in bed-”

Bruce stopped abruptly at the sight of his children crowded before him. His eyes were clad with dark bags and his hair was unkempt on his head. 

“Hi Dad.” Your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it nonetheless. Pushing past his sons, he was at your side in less than a second. 

And that was when the reality of the whole situation hit you. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Dad. I’m sorry. I- I wasn’t thinking.”

“Shh.” He hushed. “This isn’t your fault. This is no one’s fault but Bane’s.”

“But-”

“Listen to the old man for once little bat. All that matters is that everyone is still together.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY THREE ⛤ DAY FIVE ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

[usermischief]

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale ♚ Tags: canon divergence, getting together ♚ Words: 2883

ao3

---

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

---

Click.

Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. “Fucking hell.” Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else – even exorcising this damned place – worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around – and found out – with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.

Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.

A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy he’s found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood – aptly named Bobak, Bo for short – and who has refused to leave Stiles’ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely won’t be happy about his lifestyle – flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around – Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stiles’ life less, much less, lonely.

Bo barks again.

Stiles quirks a brow. “What? It’s not dinner time yet.”

Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stiles’ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. He’s going to miss Bo’s floppy ears once he’s grown into them.

Before Stiles can follow him, there’s a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence – maybe he should just get an electrician this once – and turns to the front door. It’s not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isn’t usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else – not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldn’t finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.

He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him – aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.

Derek’s never been lurking around here, though.

Well, not until today, that is.

And Stiles’ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derek’s supernatural hearing and all.

Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. “Hey.” He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. “Can I- do you-” Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. “You wanna come in?”

“I bought dinner,” Derek says at the same time.

They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stiles’ neck grow uncomfortably warm.

Luckily, Derek cuts it short. “I’d love to.”

Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was – when? Stiles doesn’t really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, he’s been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad it’s really gotten in the past four years.

“Looks good,” Derek remarks, almost curious in the way he’s taking everything in. “You did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. “Teenagers and haunted houses.”

“Werewolves too?”

If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesn’t show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. “Werewolves especially.”

Stiles snorts and crosses the room. “I expected you to be smarter.” He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, he’s got to figure out the new logistics.

“How’d you do it?” Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.

Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesn’t know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.

Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as he’s greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. “Very carefully,” he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. “And lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isn’t that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think he’s suicidal or are very happy to help.

Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “The demon or the house flipping?”

“Ah.” Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. “That’s why you’re here.”

Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. He’s probably used to people jumping at his command.

It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“I just did.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, “I meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever you’re around me.” He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, “unless, of course, there are other reasons for that.” He’s got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, there’s no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case he’s rejected. Two months tops, and he’s out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.

Derek’s lips twitch.

Good. So, Stiles didn’t exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, it’s impossible to hide anyway.

“Tingling?” Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.

Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek’s gaze drops to his neck then back up again. “You’re a poor conversationalist.”

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. “Geez, D, you can’t just ask people why they’re making you feel weird.”

A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. “I can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.”

Fair point.

However, “I literally exorcised this fucking demon.” Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.

Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didn’t outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how he’d prefer this evening to go. He sighs. “I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.” Stiles doesn't miss as Derek’s expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-” he waves his hand around. “Thought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?” It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.

But that’s something nobody else needs to know about.

Derek straightens.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. They’re very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time – time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their target’s defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if he’s learned anything from his own possession, it’s how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.

Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. “Of course, I could.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. It’s one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.

Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derek’s hand, locking eyes with him again. “Awfully confident there, buddy.”

His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.

Focus.

“You don’t scare me.”

Derek stops directly in front of him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isn’t necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him – as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.

Fucking werewolves, seriously.

“Cute,” Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. “Still not scared, though.” They’re probably both aware that’s not entirely true, but he’s never been someone to back down from a challenge. “You gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.” Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, big guy.”

Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so – and Stiles can’t help but watch his mouth move. It’s fascinating. Every time he’s seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didn’t think he could chuckle, much less laugh.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Beautiful even.

His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. “You’re not very attentive.”

“Oh, really?” Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. “How do you think I’m finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. I’m actually the most at-”

Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stiles’ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derek’s hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.

Stiles’ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesn’t quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.

Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.  

The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. It’s probably best to be upfront.

Once more, he clears his throat. “I’m not staying.” He crouches down and can’t help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. “At least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next… target, I guess.” He runs his fingers through Bo’s soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.

For the first time in years.

Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that he’s a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesn’t need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because he’s loaded. So, he’s either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town… or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles won’t lie — he’s not only a handful, he’s also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. They’re not entirely wrong.

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that he’s not planning on leaving soon. “But maybe I can convince you to come back.” 

Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.

This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. “So, you stalked me because you like me.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. “I never stalked you.”

Bo barks.

“He says you’re a liar.” Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. “I think you followed me around, but didn’t know how to approach me.” Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.

Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sally’s diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.

Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.

[devoted-horror]

May I request a reader that hides behind them when she is overwhelmed or doesn’t wanna deal with people ? For Charles’s lee ray , Vincent Sinclair , the doctors and trickster (seperetly) fluff plz

a/n: it's pretty short sadly but i hope u enjoy it!! <3 anyways have u guys seen jiwoon nd yunjin's upcoming halloween cosmetics.... guys..... guys im down bad for them i fear...

includes: charles lee ray, vincent sinclair, the doctor, and the trickster.

warnings: typical slasher and dbd warnings, mentions of murder, i think it's pretty much just fluff but there might be some undertones of darker stuff?? like very very vague undertones that you'll probably honestly miss but. just stating it, in case.

CHARLES LEE RAY

Charles would, in all honesty, probably tease you for hiding behind him of all people whenever you get overwhelmed. It wouldn't be malicious teasing or anything like that, though he definitely doesn't know when to stop.

In the beginning of your relationship, he probably won't say it, but he likes that you feel safe enough to hide behind him like this.

He'll definitely act annoyed every time you hide behind him, maybe even roll his eyes, but don't let this fool you because he's shielding you away from the rest of the world and keeping you hidden from anyone who may be around.

And if you hide behind him because there's someone around that you're trying to avoid or that you just flat out don't want to deal with at the moment, then trust that Charles will take care of it.

He's not going to immediately resort to murder, so you don't have to necessarily worry about that, but depending on who it is and how they treat you, then yeah.

They may die.

It's an act of romance from him, by the way.

Nothing says 'I love you' quite like killing anyone who inconveniences you in some sort of way. He is a serial killer, after all. How else is he supposed to be romantic?

In all seriousness though, Charles does try to make you feel at ease whenever you find yourself hiding behind him.

He'll crack a few jokes, tell random stories of the past crimes he's committed, anything that'll help you feel less overwhelmed.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Vincent is the only one here who would truly understand why you hide behind him, I think. He knows what it's like to be overwhelmed, wanting to hide away from everyone. It's why he spends most of his time in the basement.

He would never judge you for this, like... at all. He actively encourages you to do it, if anything else, because he wants you to do whatever makes you comfortable.

If he can help you feel less overwhelmed, then he will. If somebody has been bothering you enough to make you feel this way, then trust that he will not hesitate to step in.

Tourist, Bo, Lester, it doesn't matter. You're his top priority more often than not these days.

Shit, he'll put himself in time out if he somehow contributes to making you feel this way. He'd feel genuinely awful if he made you feel overwhelmed, honestly.

When he's overwhelmed, he finds that absently drawing helps to calm him down. He knows that not everyone finds comfort in the same thing, but he'll definitely offer you a pencil and paper if he thinks it might help.

But if you'd rather just make yourself comfortable behind him, then he doesn't mind. He'll continue whatever he was doing with no issue.

Though... if he's in the middle of turning someone into a wax figure, he'd rather you not be around during that. And you obviously can't hide behind him when there are tourists in town, because like... obviously.

But other than that, you're free to use him as a little shield from the world whenever you need.

It makes his heart feel warm inside knowing you feel comfortable enough around him to go to him whenever you feel like this. It makes him feel like he's doing a good job at this whole dating thing.

THE DOCTOR

Herman is a bit of an enigma here because while I don't necessarily think he'd mind you hiding behind him like this whenever you're overwhelmed, he's also not the nicest person to know.

Lover or not, he isn't the type to be nice when it comes to words. He's a genius and views himself as better than everyone else, and you aren't an exception.

Personally, he's never felt overwhelmed. Like... never. He had everything he wanted growing up, and he truly never believes he's in the wrong, even if he is, so he's never had that sort of anxiety either. The only time he's ever felt anxious was when he knocked his classmate out for the first time, he thinks.

So, while he doesn't understand it on an emotional level, Herman does understand it on a scientific level. A part of him can't help but want to pick you apart and study your brain for somehow finding comfort in hiding behind him, but he doesn't.

Herman loves you. At least, he thinks this is love. A considerable amount of tolerance, if not.

This habit of yours is just one of the many things he's not sure he'll ever truly understand when it comes to you. It's... frustrating, just a bit. You're an enigma to him. An anomaly.

He's never been a big fan of anomalies. Yet here you are, hiding behind him as if he were someone who would protect you from harm.

He'd destroy the minds of the many for you, he thinks.

Being who he is, both before and after the fog, you're bound to be safe if you stick by him.

So, while Herman doesn't understand why you feel safe around him, or why he doesn't mind your behavior, he certainly isn't going to make you stop.

THE TRICKSTER

Jiwoon is... not really gonna understand why you hide behind him whenever you're overwhelmed. He thrives under attention, positive or negative, so he can't wrap his mind around how you get overwhelmed by it.

But he most thrives under your attention, so having you hide behind him every time you're overwhelmed or done with people in general really just... feeds into his ego.

So if this is before the fog, it's definitely not something you can do in public.

Jiwoon doesn't care, he really doesn't, but as an idol, dating is like... not really acceptable in the industry, and Yunjin would literally have his ass if he was caught being lovey-dovey with someone and it wasn't part of a publicity stunt of some sort.

He does understand what it's like not wanting to deal with people though, even if he does thrive under their attention. He literally killed a sasaeng because they were stalking him, so like...

I don't think he'd explicitly offer to kill someone for you if they put you in a state of being overwhelmed, mostly because he keeps his whole killer business a secret but, I mean, he would kill for you.

The moment he finds out who has you feeling so overwhelmed, be it by you telling him yourself or by other means, they will be dealt with.

And when the person who has been stressing you out so much lately is suddenly found murdered, Jiwoon is right there to help you deal with the overwhelming shock that may come with the situation.

Not long after the gruesome murder, The Trickster releases a love song with haunting background vocals. Fans and critics alike are trying to figure out who the mysterious voice is, but no dice.

No matter, fog or not, he will be a loving boyfriend and let you hide behind him however you please. Your attention, more often than not, is one of the only things that matter to him.

[purelyfiction]

Room for Dessert

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F!Reader

Summary: it's date night for you and Bob and as always, he is the most doting gentleman you know. full of manners and always wanting to be up to expectations! after a gracious dinner, Bob reminds you there’s still a course you missed at the restaurant.

Word count: 1,658 words

Author notes: HIIIIIII i got this as a prompt from a prompt sheet ages ago and wanted to put this out for mr perfect in every way's birthday but i finished it maybe two hours after the day ended in EST time so!! a day late but, in honor of blorbo's birthday a very nice little birthday treat :)))) HEY THIS HAS SMUT SO IF YOU AREN'T 18+ GTFO || f receiving oral, maybe spanking? not sure it counts. some nsfw language for sure. Thank you @callsignthirsty for beta-ing the majority of this as always you are crucial for my writing :))))))

Your darling and sweet man had gone the extra mile for date night. A white tablecloth restaurant, reservations, bottle service to your table, and the whole nine yards. He’d gotten himself all dressed up just so you could do the same. He’d held doors, played your playlist the whole way in his beat-up classic truck – the perfect man. There was even a fresh set of flowers on the counter when you’d returned home. Amazed by all of this, you look back at him as you drift into the kitchen.

“You have really outdone yourself, Bo.” Your fingers caress the petals, looking over the roses with such delicate motions. You catch Bob’s reflection in the window as he comes up behind you.

“I wouldn’t call it outdoing myself if this is what I deem the standard.” Hands wrap so delicately around your waist, finding themselves at home as the two of you linger in the continued feel-good endorphins from the night.

You have work in the morning. He has training. Yet as his palms flatten against the elegant fabric of your dress, you hum with ease and let your head sink back to his shoulder. Bob takes this new spot as an invitation to pepper minute and delicate kisses up your neck, to your jawline. If this keeps going, the two of you might end up miserable and sleep-deprived. His hand grabbing the flesh of your thigh convinces you to ditch the bedtime.

“Your standard is far from the industry’s,” you tease, looking at how his blue eyes seem to shift in the low light of your kitchen.

“Guess you’ve got the top-of-the-line product then, now don’t you darlin’?” Hands travel from where they’d been innocently tracing little circles on your hip bones. Instead, slinking down to your thighs to toy with the hem of your skirt in this wonderful dress (which he’d bought you just for tonight).

“It would seem that way. And it’s still running like a dream three years later.” There’s an amused huff of air deposited onto your skin, hands busy entertaining the softness of your thighs, fingertips paving a path of goosebumps under them.

“You sure about that? No need for a diagnostics run? Make sure there aren’t any lingering bugs that might be screwing up the hardware?” There’s an easy giggle that leaves you while his hands busy themselves spinning you back around to face him, guiding you so you are flush against the counter of the island.

“I mean, everything seems to be in working order.” Your own arms wrap up around his neck as he gets impossibly closer, lips gluing themselves back to the skin of your neck, moving downward this time. One hand takes yours, holding onto it innocently as his tongue draws a hotspot to your skin. In one swift movement, he’s flattening your hand against his groin, smirking at the way your breath catches when you make contact.

“I think you’re right, baby.” He’s rock-hard. Instead of letting you linger in the sensation, Bob’s moving before you can even indulge in his previous action, hands gripping under your ass and carefully lifting you to rest on the counter. His lips meet yours for the first time since arriving home, his tongue pushing its way to its rightful place against yours. One hand continues to toy with anything he can find under your skirt, his fingers skating to the lace of your underwear, tugging at them with no real defined goal. You're like magnets, Bob's large hand hopelessly drawn to your waist, your chest, fingers desperately grasping at you through the padding of your bra. There’s a resistance as his lips pull back, moving back to the spot right under your ear. “You know, I just realized something.” The low baritone of his register vibrates the shell of your ear.

“Did you get a notification on your operating system?” The tease leaves him nipping at your ear.

“Something like that,” he huffs, hands still gripping onto you as if you will vanish if he lets you go. “We completely skipped over the dessert portion of dinner.”

“Was it on the agenda?” The response comes quick, but not nearly as instant as the following one. “Or is this fine-tuned machine starting to break down?” His hand is gripping your chest again, an almost punishing response to your question.

“This machine would like to self-correct if you’d just be patient enough.” He finally breaks the magnetic spell he’s under, blue eyes a heavy, royal color by this point. His hands easily glide back under your skirt, both of them working in tandem to tug the cotton from your hips. You shift to help him rid the fabric from your body, the cold granite of the countertop making you shiver on contact. With your panties on the floor, his hands drop to the counter, boxing you in as you rest on a makeshift pedestal to your most nerdy—yet flushed and intoxicating—boyfriend. The cocksure demeanor has begun to fade ever so slightly, uncertainty creeping in at the most inopportune time. “I- ugh-” his fingers are chilled from the stone when they return to your waist.

Your eyes meet with his, the softness of your boyfriend suddenly on full display as his hands make laps on your thighs, running up and down. A cautious hand comes up to his chin, forefinger and thumb gripping it. “Honey?”

This happens from time to time. He’ll be on such a roll, so easily matching the energy that you ignite in him, then suddenly shut down as if he’s rebooting. Once, he told you that he would get so overwhelmed with how many emotions he felt toward you—so turned on—that he would short-circuit and need a minute for all systems to come back online. Bob’s gaze returns to yours, no longer spaced out, hands pausing their continuous motion in favor of gripping at your thighs once more.

“Would it be too crass to say I want you to come on my glasses?” All systems go. Your hand shifts up to caress his jawline, carefully guiding his lips back to yours.

“No. It’s fucking hot-” Your answer evaporates into the air as you tug him close again, his hips slotting between your easily parted thighs.

“Should I–?” he gasps, eyes flicking toward the floor before they return to your mouth.

“If you want me to cum on your glasses, Bo?” You run your tongue over your kiss-stung lips. “Yeah.”

Bob surges forward, eager to lick into your mouth, claiming it before falling to his knees. You card your fingers through his hair and shift your legs further apart to give him more room to work with. “God, baby, you look so good like this,” he groans. The praise jolts you as large hands settle on the inside of your thighs, careful lips starting a trail of kisses from the top of one knee, up your leg, and right to your dripping center. His breath staccatos over your skin, hovering as a thumb carefully spreads you, basking in what he’s done to you. “Oh, this never gets old, angel, never, never.” The sound of his voice fades as his tongue expertly glides up your folds, making a lap or two at the top that sends your breathing pattern into a fit. You attempt to brace against the counter as he works, your hand gripping taut to the curls you adored.

You aren’t sure what code Bob has written in his brain that gives you the benefit of duality: the charming and beyond kind gentleman at dinner this evening and the absolutely rogue man between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby, so fucking amazing—fuck dessert,” it’s muttered against your cunt, eagerly lapped away to send your stomach spiraling. You have half a mind to let the counter behind you morph into a mattress as your eyes fall shut. You’re tempted to let the stone cool your skin from the burning sensation Bob is supplying you.

Instead, you jump, eyes shooting open when his hand comes to the outside of your thigh. Glancing down, blue eyes drill into yours, Bob pulling away with the hardest focus chiseled into his features. “Eyes on me.” Oh, fuck, he was taking it to the extremes. Bob’s ability to hyperfocus was an advantage and a disadvantage. Such as right now, when he is insistent on making you watch as he devours you, barely getting enough air as he fastens himself even more firmly against you.

As his tongue pushes into you, a shrill sound escapes you. You’re not going to be much longer, if he stays down this path. Bob just might get his wish. And he does, not even minutes later, your legs viscerally shaking, large hands clamping them to the counter to prevent you from locking your thighs around his head in an effort to stop. Gasping for air, slapping the palm of your hand against the countertop, your words are short off your lips, “Bob, baby, you can- shit- honey that’s enough,” however, he hasn’t powered down yet, with no intentions on stopping. When you try again, an arm crosses over your hips, pushing you down just enough to keep him centered right where he needed to be to tie the knot in your stomach again. You can’t help the way you squirm and writhe under him, strong arm gripping to your hips as he frantically swipes his tongue against you - until you break, nearly screaming under him, possibly - no, likely disturbing the neighbors.

You’ve laid fully back on the stone by this point, unable to will yourself to move after all Bob had put you through. There’s a pop of his knee when he stands up, hands coming to either side of your body, leaning onto the counter and over top of you. Glasses not only fogged up to no end, but in dire need of a cleaning.

[lebenspurpur]

love languages

AN: i don't actually know if i ever did this, so i'm doing it now. sorry for the long hiatus, life is packed full of stuff, as usual. i hope you all had a peaceful christmas and an equally peaceful new year's eve.

summary: love languages of the slashers, both receiving and giving.

warnings: mentioned sex in Bo's, mentioned weed and alcohol in Otis', canon backstories of the slashers

slashers: Michael (RZ), Vincent, Bo and Lester, Brahms, Thomas, Otis and Baby, Jason, Josef and Amanda.

(𝕽𝖅) 𝕸𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝕸𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘

Giving

Gift giving and acts of service describe Michael's style of loving you perfectly. He may not be the most talkative, physically affective partner, but he's protective and creative.

The protectiveness shows when he takes care of problems you have, no matter how small. The sink needs fixing? He's on it. You need help lifting something heavy? He's ready to flex those muscles. A person at work is annoying you? Just say the word and he'll take care of them.

The creativity becomes visible in the little gifts that get more individual the longer you know him. In the beginning, he gifted you nearly everything he could find: some candy, a dead mouse, sometimes pretty rocks. As time passes, he spends more time on them. Now you get carved bones, self-made masks, he even picks flowers now and then!

Receiving

Michael would never, ever ask for this, but I'm convinced he loves physical touch as a love language. It doesn't even have to be a big thing, Mikey already enjoys you stitching him up when he got hurt again. His personal heaven, though? You, laying on his chest while watching a hilariously bad horror movie and eating some take-out.

𝖁𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

Giving

Totally quality time. It would be gifts, but Vincent's gifts are rarer than you'd expect. Most of the time, he gets too insecure and critical of the gift (mostly a drawing or a sculpture) which stops him from ever giving it to you.

Instead, he makes sure you're comfortable and safe in Ambrose. Whatever you want to do, Vincent will do it with you. Even if you just want to spend the day in bed and cuddle, he's absolutely down. Sometimes he organizes little dates for the two of you, where you can spend some time away from his brothers and the Sinclair residence. Especially after he was too focused on the museum for a while, cute dates are his way of apologizing.

Receiving

100% words of affirmation. While Vincent's childhood was filled with (mostly toxic) compliments, he hasn't heard them in a long, long time. And his little artist ego misses them dearly. It doesn't matter if you praise his art, or anything else, he loves it. He wants to hear how much you love him, that you'd never leave him. He can't relax without some reassuring words. The only compliments, he's sensitive about are the ones about his face.

𝕭𝖔 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

Giving

With Bo, it's actually acts of service. Sure, he's physically expressive as well, always down to touch and caress you, but does he know how to show love through that? No.

He rather focuses on providing for you, mostly by earning a little money to get by. He also prides himself by being the go-to man for reparations around the house.

Receiving

Just like his twin, it's words of affirmation. Unlike Vincent, Bo never got any praise in his early years. He's never known the feeling of being complimented for anything else but his body or his ability to fuck someone. And he doesn't know how much he needs it until you show up. (Imagine him wanting nothing more than to make you proud, so he gets some praise. Shut up, I'm not crying.)

𝕷𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

Giving

Oh, Lester loves to give gifts. He's super into crafting and collecting stuff he finds to make something new out of it. Stuff like bone necklaces, animals carved out of wood or self-made jewelry. They're always so beautiful, and you're sure he spends hours making them.

Though, during busy times, he has to content with a small bouquet of wildflowers he got for you. You're always excited anyway, no matter the size of the gift.

Receiving

I strongly believe one of Lester's dreams is a wholesome, domestic lifestyle with a spouse he can come home to. So it's acts of service. He loves coming home to a warm and comfortable home with you waiting for him. And if you cook him a meal? He's in heaven.

However, he also adores physical touch. Nothing is more relaxing than laying on your lap with your fingers in his hair.

𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖍𝖒𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖊

Giving

I think it's obvious that Brahms' love language is physical touch. He can not keep his hands off of you. And he doesn't care whether you're busy or not.

To cut him some slack, there's no slasher that knows how to be as comforting with touch as Brahms is. Plus, his hands are the softest.

Receiving

Who would've thought, it's still physical touch. In addition to that, words of affirmation. Brahms loves touching, and he loves being touched equally much. He also likes being praised, as we all know.

On a more serious note, Brahms needs your voice to ground himself pretty often. His entire life was filled with so many rules and restrictions, it's strange to be a free man suddenly. Praising him, complimenting him, reassuring him - it often saves him from spiraling into a melt-down when something goes wrong.

𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖙

Giving

Tommy prides himself as the provider of his family (because he is). Therefor, his love language is acts of service. He sews for you, he fixes things for you, he threatens Hoyt when he once again crosses a line. Thomas would do anything for you, really. His biggest fear is to be without you, and so he works hard to eradicate any chance of that ever happening.

Receiving

Thomas is so touch starved, he adores physical touch. Ever since he was born, people were too afraid or too disgusted to touch him, to even get close to him. The only exception was Luda Mae. He used to think he would die without knowing any loving touch.

And then you came around, and you're so affective, so sweet to him. Tommy doesn't think he deserves you, but whenever you touch him, he melts anyway.

𝕺𝖙𝖎𝖘 𝕯𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉

Giving

As surprising as it sounds, Otis' love language is giving gifts. Otis isn't good with words (don't get me wrong, he can hold speeches like a champ, but let's be honest, he'd rather bite his tongue off than say anything emotional), he's often rougher than he'd like, he's lazy and his past-time activities are... special. In his eyes, there's only one way to prove his adoration, and it's surprisingly well-chosen gifts.

Otis always seems to know what you're currently interested in or what you wanted for a while. When he hands you the gift, he brushes it off like it's nothing, even if you're getting super emotional, but you know he means well. (He steals them, by the way, I don't think he pays for anything ever.)

Receiving

Otis loves to spend time with you, so quality time. He's been alone for so long, it's refreshing to have someone beside him who actually enjoys his company. Sure, he has his family, but nothing compares to the presence of a significant other. He loves movie nights with the two of you, even better if they involve weed or alcohol.

𝕭𝖆𝖇𝖞 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖑𝖞

Giving

Spending quality time with you is one of her favorite ways to show her affection. It's up to you what the two of you are doing. Baby's down for doing each other's makeup, she's also down for robbing a bank. You have a lot of options.

Receiving

Baby loooooves getting gifts. It doesn't matter how expensive or big they are. Anything you decide to give to her is being cherished. Be it a lipstick you bought or a drawing of her, Baby will never forget it. Gifts make her feel so wanted, so spoiled.

𝕵𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖋

Giving

Josef is very, very good with words, especially words of affirmation. It's kind of ironic, given how awkward he can be.

But really, he's praise as a person. Josef loves to compliment and worship you. No matter what you did, he has to make sure you know how much he adores and cherishes you and how wonderful you are.

Receiving

As seen in Creep 2, Josef needs someone to spend quality time with. Doesn't matter if you're going for a walk or just enjoying a bath together (we all know what scene I'm talking about), just being around you makes him happy.

Nevertheless, we also see him being extremely touch-starved. Josef is aching for some physical touch, and if you give it to him, he'll cherish the ground you walk on.

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖁𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖘

Giving

Jason is always proud to say he's a providing type of man. Acts of service are such an easy way for him to show his love. He hunts for the two of you, he cooks, he renovates, Jason is all about making your life as comfortable and easy-going as possible.

Receiving

Jason misses words of affirmation. Just tell him how strong and attractive he is, and the boy is blushing redder than anything you've ever seen before. Praise about his work (as in his cooking or certain fixes he made) make him swell with pride as well. He adores how tender your voice is when you talk with him.

𝕬𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖆 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖌

Giving

In Amanda's eyes, making sure you're safe is her number one priority. She protects you, she gives you a comfortable life, free of any worries she could possibly get rid of. Her acts of service often contain getting rid of any evidence that traces you to her, but she loves the satisfaction of knowing that you're looked after.

Receiving

Amanda misses the simple sensation of having dinner with someone she loves, or watching a movie cuddled together. Spending quality time is very, very important to her, and she often neglects tasks she got from John, simply because she misses your company.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Replica (Part 4)

Summary: The iron cage has slammed shut and you will never leave it.

Perturabo/fem!Reader

Warnings: incest (kinda), possessive behavior, manipulation, humiliation, smut (finally :D), dubious consent

Word count: 2601

Finally, after a while, I was able to finish part 4. Perhaps I will write part 5 with the daemon prince, but I need some time for it. Updated the images (what I love about Tumblr is that you reblog the old version of the post, but by going to the original you can see the new version, it's very convenient). Specifically re-read The Hammer of Olympia for this one. I hope you enjoy it, it was a lot of fun to write.

Song: Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

You still remember the first time Perturabo kicked you out because you mentioned Dorn. For two weeks he did not meet with you and did not have a heart-to-heart talk, moving away as far as possible. You thought that the primarch would do the same now, but the very next day he summoned you to his chambers.

You felt awkward for the first hour, but gradually relaxed. But still wondered why the Iron Lord behaved so strangely in the baths. Of course Perturabo was hard pressed by his responsibilities, but his sudden rage was unusual. You haven't done or said anything wrong.

Maybe he changed his mind about you? He realized that he became attached to you when a primarch should not have weaknesses. Does he see you as more than a mortal friend? Does he think of you as a sister or... something more?

These thoughts made you blush, and you hid your face in the book while Perturabo worked on the drawings. No, this is unthinkable. Of course, you knew that the primarchs had families on their planets. Parents, adoptive siblings and friends. But could they have romantic feelings for mortals?

And did you want to become his lover?

You could barely restrain yourself from jumping out of your chair and rushing around the room due to the abundance of thoughts. Feeling a strange sensation, you raised your head and with a gasp saw the attentive gaze of the primarch. You swore he could hear your heartbeat.

“Very exciting poems” - you tried to justify yourself by telling half-truths. You really liked these verses and it would be better if the lord did not know your thoughts. - “I never thought that I would love Olympic poetry about love so much.”

The primarch continued to glare at you and you shifted nervously in your chair. Did you say something bad? Since Perturabo called you, it means he is not offended or angry. But why does every minute with him last like an hour? Why is the room so hot, and the mere sight of a man makes you tremble?

“You can call me Bo.” - the primarch said quietly before turning to the table. - “During this time, I became attached to you almost like a sister. So why not make our communication even more... close.”

You smiled softly, accepting such a wonderful offer with all your gratitude. Your heart was happy. Enough time had passed to experience grief and yet you missed your parents and brothers. It was nice to feel part of the family again. Even if it is so unusual.

You involuntarily rolled your shoulders, throwing off the recent strange hot sensations. It’s as if you felt someone else’s emotions and desires that are unusual for you. But as always, you tried to brush aside the annoying thoughts and continue living in your “dome.”

***

You continued to live carefree, not knowing the sorrows of mere mortals, from time to time forgetting about the monstrous actions of the primarch. He was terrible in anger and did not value people, regarding them only as a piece of meat. He despised the weakest sons, “covered with rust” and unworthy to bear the title of Iron Warriors. He pumped out all the resources from the planets that came his way.

He had told you about his deeds before, but only the tiniest bits. Enough to frighten you and force you to obey him in everything. But you spent much more time talking about more abstract topics. Beautiful and creative. But Fulgrim's betrayal and journey into the Eye of Terror took their toll.

Now the primarch began to pour out his soul to you more and more often, sharing the terrifying methods of the art of war and enslavement. He spoke about the crimes of other legions and the warp space that you recently visited. Perturabo didn't seem to care what you thought about what was happening in the galaxies. You are just an ordinary mortal girl who will not survive in this world without him.

But you were truly frightened when the iron lord told you about the betrayal of Horus, the demons of the warp, the World Eaters and the daemon prince Angron, with whom Inron Warriors would go to their greatest battle. Siege of Terra. The man saw the horror you were in, watched as tears flowed down your cheeks and how awareness gradually came.

“I understand how difficult it is to find out all this. But nothing can be done. The False Emperor must be overthrown, and we will rule the Imperium as we deserve.” - the primarch, grinning darkly, stroked your head. - “I promised to take care of you. And I will continue to cherish you. Nobody cares about you except me. You would have become a slave or fodder for fuel in the hands of my brothers or continuing to live under my father's rule. Without me, you are a mere mortal girl, one of trillions. You are nobody. Nothing."

The man’s words hurt painfully, and yet you pressed closer to him. Thoughts swirled in my head. Your home world was far from the Solar System and yet your life was quite acceptable. You had a loving family, you did not live in poverty, and working as a chronicler was your long-time dream. Rogal Dorn brought your world into harmony, improving life on the planet and you were glad to become part of the Imperium.

But now it was just a dream. A deception. No, the primarch could not lie to you. The Imperium is rotten and sooner or later an unenviable fate would await you. The world was full of dangers and you could not resist these horrors. You would have been torn to pieces, gutted and eaten alive long ago if it weren't for Perturabo. He saved you. If he didn’t need new personal slaves, if you weren’t noticed, then you would... you would...

“Bo,” you whispered chokedly, swallowing tears and trying to calm your breathing. Fragile fingers squeezed the iron lord's tunic with force. - "I'm scared."

The man stopped stroking and you held your breath until you felt the touch of fingers on your chin. The primarch gently lifted your head, forcing you to look straight into your eyes. You could only gasp in horror and the feeling of safety next to Perturabo.

“You mortals do not obey me. You don't know what's good for you. There is no peace and kindness in this world. Only violence.” - your lips trembled and you let out a strangled squeak, feeling the grip on your face intensify. Almost possessively, the man held you close to him, never breaking eye contact. - “You promised that you wouldn’t leave me. So continue to listen to me. Love me and I will build a perfect world for you.”

You cannot stand the excess of emotions and, sobbing, bury your face in the primarch’s chest. Some part of you knew he was fooling himself. He wants to destroy and recreate everything anew just for himself. And you were part of this vast plan, a chaotic and terrifying dream, recreated from the darkest feelings of a primarch.

But the world around you was disgustingly cruel and merciless. You won’t be able to take a single step, the monsters will immediately destroy your body and mind. You didn't have anyone. No family, no friends. There are no enemies left, and the strangers have disappeared. There was no human warmth around you and you didn’t notice how you were left alone in an iron cage. Only Bo was with you. You only had him.

And if Terra must fall for the Iron Lord to be happy, then so be it.

***

He lost. The opportunity to rise was taken away from him. He was deprived of his greatest triumph. The Solar War ended in victory only thanks to Perturabo. He alone bore on his shoulders the responsibility for the entire success of the traitors while the rest of the legions indulged in senseless violence and debauchery.

But the worst thing was that Horus did not allow him to storm the Imperial Palace. He was not allowed Dorn's creation to be destroyed. He was not allowed his once beloved father to laugh in the face, who preferred another son to him. The warrior turned out to be a slave of the Chaos Gods, having lost his power and strength. And his brothers would not have been able to contribute to the war if not for the Iron Lord.

He's so tired of it. Complete disappointment. Retreating to Mars, Perturabo continued to oversee the ongoing Siege of Terra. Rage and resentment overwhelmed him and he destroyed everything that came in his way. He did not spare his creations, nor his slaves, nor his sons. He was humiliated. Again.

He hated them all. And the Emperor, and the loyalist brothers and traitors. They all mocked him. No, that will not do. The Warmaster may win this war, but he won't be celebrating for long. Perturabo will not let them rest on his laurels, oh no. He will rise above them all. The Primarch was humanity's greatest creation, but that was not enough. He needed more strength, more power. He will become a deadly deity who will crush everything in his path. All galaxies will obey him. Everyone will fear and respect him.

He will rule over everyone. And with him his Legion. And with him...

The man stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath and slowly lowering the hammer. Containing his emotions, he slowly walked towards her chambers. How long had he been trying to drown out his feelings, to deceive himself? How long and unsuccessfully have he tried to suppress this desire?

She was a fragile mortal, unworthy of his attention. But she had been a part of his life since his childhood. Crafty and smart, so kind and beautiful. She was weak, but so pleasant and sweet to the taste. Only she was allowed to see his soul hidden behind the iron. He told himself that he almost loved her like the Emperor... No, he loved her much more than his father. And the whole world.

The primarch slowly opens the door and sees you cowering next to the bed, trembling in horror. Of course, you now know about what is happening in the world and what sacrifices Perturabo makes to make your life enjoyable. Besides, you probably heard him raging with anger. Well, now you just have to calm him down.

“Bo?” - your voice trembles with surprise and you almost sigh with relief. You rise to your feet, but you can’t even take a step from the tension. - “Is it over? I-I heard how angry you were. Are you-”

“Take off.”

It's that simple. No confessions of feelings, no long conversations. The primarch did not want to wait any longer. He let you close enough to him. Why use unnecessary words when you can strengthen your connection in such a primitive but intriguing way? You freeze and open your mouth in surprise. Hands tug at the dress, unable to remove the fabric stuck to the body.

The primarch notices a blush on your cheeks. Embarrassment is an unnecessary quality, but he likes to see you in this state. It's quite charming. But he doesn't want to waste another minute. With sharp steps, the man approaches you and with one hand, forcefully tears your dress, exposing your body. You scream and try to cover yourself, but Perturabo grabs your hands, not letting you.

The man swallows, looking at your perfect forms. On your femininity. This is an ordinary human body, nothing special. He had seen naked people more than once, and females too. But you aroused him. The Emperor removed such base desires from the Astartes, but the Primarchs were a different matter. They experienced a greater range of emotions than mere mortals. They knew and saw more. But the war for humanity and service for the Emperor did not give them the opportunity to experience carnal pleasures. To become attached to mortals in a different way.

But now Perturabo no longer serves anyone but himself. And he could do whatever he wanted. With these thoughts, the man begins to touch you, no, caress you. That's what it's called. His hands on your shoulders and waist. Touching your lips, kissing your breasts and stomach. Listening to your breathing. Lower and lower until it reaches your thighs. Primarchs grew up in flasks; they were not born naturally between their mother's legs. And you... you would have been a wonderful mother to his real sons.

The man throws you on the bed and takes off his clothes. It’s good that he took off his armor first. He couldn't stand waiting that long. The primarch climbs on top of you and is displeased to see the fear in your eyes. Because of the difference in height? Women can endure even more than that, and sharing the bed with a primarch should be the greatest honor. Especially with him.

Or is it because of the blood of slaves and sons that got on his face? Still fresh, it dripped onto your body and you shuddered every time. In truth, he doesn't care. Now you are afraid, but soon you will dissolve in him and thank him for this.

Perturabo abruptly enters you, tearing you apart and looking with ecstasy at how your face stretches out in pain. He feels your blood and cannot wonder if he is your first or if your tender body is simply not intended for a primarch. Even if it's not meant to be, you have to accept it.

“Be quiet. Control yourself. I don't want to hear your screams. I don’t want to see you hurt.” - He wants it in some way. Make you suffer for what you did with him. The man moves his hips and you bite your lip. - “I just want to hear your moans. You have to beg me for it.”

The Iron Lord continues to slowly fill you, peering into your face until he notices dramatic changes. How your mouth opens slightly and your eyes close from the rush of feelings.

“Bo, I”

"You were right. I crave love. I want love. And you have to give it to me, you have to.” - the primarch accelerates, not allowing you to get a word in. “They underestimate me, but it only makes things worse for them. I am the grandest, sister. I am superior to everyone in this world. I'm not a boy, I'm a man. And now you see it. You see it.”

Perturabo leans down with difficulty and begins to kiss your neck, leaving hickeys. He remembers the sound of crunching, he remembers blood and dead eyes. It wasn't you. It was a decrepit old woman who called herself you and dared to condemn him. Daring to mock him. And you, crying with pleasure, know your place. So continue to remain at his feet and he will show you a perfect world.

The man groans and pronounces your names, continuing to whisper about his grievances and shout about imminent divinity. Until he finally fills you and sinks onto the bed with a sigh. Burying your small figure with his massive body. Completely unaware of your tears and misunderstanding in your eyes. How a drop of love mixes with true horror.

But if he saw it, it wouldn't change anything. You belonged to him. You were his and only his. The iron cage was finally closed. And now the bird will sing only to him.

[nrdmssgs]

König meeting civilian reader Scenario (part 2)

Masterlist

Part 1 here

Huge shoutout to @ethanhoewke and @patyog for helping me realize, the second part was possible.

After a month, reader meets König once more, this time in more intimate atmosphere. König gets cuddles)

It was not an easy task to gather all your friends together. Not because your group was particularly big. You just were all growing older: some started families, others changed jobs, places of work, every next year there were more adult problems, keeping some of you away from others.

So you weren't surprised, when only a few of your friends agreed to come to that little party of yours to celebrate your move to another part of town.

You scroll down your group chat, counting, how many people will come, when you stumble upon a message of your friend, who introduced König to your company.

"I'm coming with *Königs civilian name*"

You felt, as if a little light flickered in your chest.

Even though the last time, you've seen this humble and gentle giant was almost a month ago, you still remembered him time to time and smiled. His voice, soothed and carried away by the talk, you two had, still resounded in your ears from that conversation in the bar.

Behind the menacing figure, there was a warm soul. Not a most open one, but still... You didn't need much time to figure it out.

There were these little "cracks" in his reserved demeanor. Little shy smiles, happiness flickering somewhere deep in his silver eyes, when his mind was consumed with something, he was passionate about.

You weren't sure, why exactly, but you were happy, you'd see him once again, hear his sweet accent.

The moving itself is scheduled for the next day, but this is your old tradition - to celebrate not in the new, but in the old apartment. As evening falls, your friends begin to gather.

König and your mutual friend are among the first to arrive. You greet them warmly and lead them into the living room.

He smiles, but does not look up and seems to be trying to press himself against the wall, take up less space.

You feel sorry for the poor guy, so you give him a little tour of your apartment, just to keep him busy.

"And here is my bedroom. Now it's almost full of boxes, as you can see. And the bed seems to have been taken over by Bo," you laugh, pointing at the fluffy red cat's tail sticking out from under your blanket.

He almost steps into your bedroom, but stops abruptly in midstep."E-ehm, is it ok, if I say hi to him?"

"Go on, this old buddy can be grumpy, but he enjoys a good scratch. Just don’t expect anything big from him, he isn't the most outgoing pal."

And so you leave those too alone at peace. You don't tell König, that your old cat tends to ignore strangers, unless they bring him treats.

The evening goes on, you chat with friends and almost forget about two discreet quiet buddies hanging out in the next room.

That is, until it's time for your old tradition: a ritual you've developed with your friends a long time ago. You called it "Hyde scroll". In honor of the move, you and your friends bought a roll of paper and the cheapest set of paints. The roll was laid out in an empty room and everyone had to draw or write something that is now weighing on him. Someone confessed their love, others drew caricatures of their boring colleagues or bosses. There were no restrictions or rules in this matter. At the end, the one of you who was going to move took the resulting collage with him.

And when you uncorked the sparkling wine and poured it into glasses and prepared paints and paper on the floor - you remembered that someone was missing here.

"Hey, I'm sorry, we completely forgot you here!" you stop at your bedroom door, shocked by what you see. König is sitting on the floor by the bed, and your cat Bo, who is usually not interested in guests, stretched out on his chest and pressed his red snout to Koenig's chin. Bo`s purring so loud, as he never did with you.

König seems to enjoy it so much, he would gladly purr too if he could. His massive hand covers the whole upper body of Bo, who was never considered a small cat. The other hand is rested under Bos` paws to serve him as a support.

The guy looks at you and shyly smiles. "He wanted cuddles, I guess."

"H-how did you do that?" you ask, utterly confused. "Bo is not the easiest one to make friends with..."

König looks down in embarrassment at the cat purring loudly on his chest. "I didn't do anything special, honestly. I guess, animals just love me."

You giggle and pull him by the hand to the living room, where others already enjoy their sparkling wine and creative freedom.

The appearance of König with a cat in his arms causes a sensation in the room. "This is the first time Bo has hit it off so quickly!" notices one of your friends.

You even get a little jealous of your cat. You lived with him for 13 years, and he never slept so peacefully in your arms if you got up and walked somewhere.

Perhaps it was because you were much smaller than König and the cat was not so comfortable when you walked somewhere with him in your arms.

König sits down on the floor in front of the spread paper and looks at what the others had drawn and written. Sometimes he chuckles softly, sometimes sighs tenderly. He still holds Bo carefully in his hands.

You move paint and brushes closer to him. "I can't, my hands are full. And this is where your friends should paint, not someone you see a second time," he says, looking up at you.

"Hey, we're already friends, since you almost stole my cats' heart," you get down on the floor next to him and take the cat away from him, getting a disgruntled look from Bo. "I trust my buddy here, he won't open up so easily to someone not worthy. So might as well call you my friend."

König looks taken aback by your words and you proceed. "Here, you see that small doodle at the corner? It's from our mutual friend. And you know, how our friendship started? I liked his T-shirt and I just walked up to him and asked where can I buy a same one. Fast-forward to this day - we're almost best friends. So... friendship doesn't always have to be earned or to start with anything big. Sometimes it just... you know, just starts."

His expression slowly changes to a more understanding one. You start telling him about other doodles and people behind them. In several minutes a little barely visible smile blooms on his face again.

In the end, you convince him to take a brush and paint something. You even promise not to peek as he does it.

When the evening comes to an end and almost all your friends leave, Koenig helps you clean up after the party. Almost the entire apartment is filled with boxes of things you packed for the move. You have to maneuver between them, like in a maze.

At some point, you turn from behind a mountain of boxes and almost trip over König. He catches you at the last moment and for some reason apologizes.

"You have nothing to apologize for, it's all about moving with endless boxes," you laugh back.

He looks around the rows of boxes and looks at you anxiously. "Are you going to load everything into the car tomorrow yourself?"

"Well, of course, I can ask Bo, but something tells me that he will not help me."

He chuckles as he looks back towards the bedroom, where your cat has gone. "Can I... can I help you tomorrow?"

"Hey, it won't be fun... Just a full day of loading, unloading, heavy lifting, putting oddly named furniture together. I don't think, it's something, you want to spend your time on."

"I'd be spending my time on my friend... And besides, heavy lifting never bothered me."

[msookyspooky]

♡ Obsessed Delusional Reader x Sinclair Brother's ♡

Bo Sinclair:

- "Wow, so you want me that bad, huh? 🤭😏 You tied me up because you want to keep me here? That's so romantic! 😍 And out of everyone in my group it was me?"

- Bo is staring at you, trying to scare you and even hurt you but...The drive isn't there with you being so...Willing? Like, there's no fun in this you lil nutjob!

- Match made in hell

- "Are you there? Is your head just decoration or somethin'? What the fuck is your problem?? I am CRAZY and EVIL and will FUCK YOU UP." You: "Okay bby, if you say so. 🥰" All while Bo is short circuiting.

- Alright, that's it. You're getting the glue on your mouth.

- Honestly about to cut something off to make you afraid or hurt...He might but also might not because you fascinate him so are you a person that fascinates him or a toy he needs to break?

- The bondage sex is probably banging though ngl he's even a bit enthralled by how eager you are compared to most victims

- When you are still not afraid and looking at him in a way that melts most hearts even his icy one he can't even truly torture you properly. Most victims he can shut that off because they trigger his sadism by screaming and fighting or cussing him out or begging him but all these years he's never had a victim act so lovey dovey even after finding out his darkest secrets

- At first this has him so frustrated he has to leave the gas station room; having a crisis cause this has never happened before!

- Doesn't trust you but decided to undo the mouth glue or tape and untie you after all the fun to see what you would do...When you follow him around like a love sick puppy he's both annoyed yet enjoys it

- Mad lil unloved boy in a man's body that is both flustered and irritated at his captive being so fucking smitten for him without manipulation on his part. He has to be in control and your feelings for him is out of his control and he hates it.

- "...What the fuck" -Bo after finding you drawing his name with hearts in a notebook and planning your wedding and future with your captor while your chained up in his bedroom instead of the gas station room bc he obviously is in love with you to move you to someplace more comfy; how sweet of him ♡

- You are dead ass scarying him.

- He should kill you but he thinks you're so crazy he's kinda nervous if he misses with his shotgun and what you'll do if he does because you so obsessed with him is a level of coocoo he ain't never had before

- Once you start to show dimension other than flirting with him (Bonus points if you have trauma like he does and it's why you're lovebombing him and so attached) he starts to look at you as less a pest and more a clingy pet.

- Like...You really just have that much of a crush on him after everything he's done? You both can trauma bond and lovebomb each other? (And manipulate even if he's too dumb to realize you're manipulating him too to love you)

- Is actually willing to be crazy with you after awhile and have you obsessed with him because why not? It gets lonely in Ambrose and he likes you as a pet at times. He'd put a ring on your finger as his spouse just to shut you up, claim you like someone claims their chair, and as an act to lure victims

- If you get extremely possesive and jealous and refuse him having anyone strapped in that chair in that room but you; he actually is so flattered you're that possesive of him. Like he secretly always craved a person making him theirs like this PLUS you know his dark side and still want him.

- He'd probably ease up on being so mean and try acting like a crazy possesive delusional married couple together after that even if he still treats you as a thing to easily manipulate and control and he's CLEARLY not being manipulated either (Poor dumb bastard.)

- Vincent is internally screaming and questioning why this person is in their house and has a wedding band from a victim on their finger and his brother is...Being sweet on them??? Lester is happy for you though.

Vincent Sinclair:

- "Wow...I'm your muse? 🥺💘 That's so swee-" *Paralyzing agent kicks in but you have heart eyes still*

- He literally cannot work with you looking at him like that. Stop. He can't even wax your brows off because you're looking at him in a way no one has before

- You weren't even afraid and it makes him hesitate because...He forgot his tools upstairs! Obviously...He'll try again later.

- Once the agent wears off and your spared for now it's ten times worse

- He is blushing so bad under his mask at all your praise and admiring his work and admiring him you're gonna melt his damn mask!

- He is harder to get through to than his twin (HC Bo is more desperate for affection as the least favorite bad seed unloved child than he let's on he just acts cold but they both crave acceptance)

- Vincent pats your head like Jonesy the dog when you smile at him while he works...You're not so bad. As long as you stay outta the way.

- May have to pick you up and move you where he wants like furniture sorry his people skills kinda suck being sheltered for his face then stuck in abandoned Ambrose half his life

- Bo acts annoyed with your obsessed ways but secretly enjoys the neediness for him. Vince is actually annoyed being much more reclusive than Bo and now you're staring at him while he works.

- Dead stares at you when you sculpt tiny little figures of you both holding hands with wax he let you have...He loves it or else he'd destroy it obviously ♡♡♡

- When he lost his mask and you fawned over him (He acted like Erik in Phantom of the Opera the DRAMATICS) he's absolutely panicking and startled

- Once you kiss that side of his face and praise him maskless how on Earth could he not fall for you too despite your odd ways??

- Becomes just as obsessed with you only in a more lowkey way than you. Making sculptures and drawing you all the time. Enjoys you talking, keeping him company etc.

- Bo is bewildered when you verbal rip his ass so viciously when he made a nasty remark to your angel bby his twin brother that this big guy was reeling back thinking you were gonna jump him. Probably said shit that he'll be secretly thinking about tonight with a heavy heart too. Vincent snickers and pulls his guard dog away as you glare at Bo the entire way back downstairs.

- You and Bo do not get along because of how protective you are of Vince and how mean Bo can be

Lester Sinclair:

- "Oooo, you got such a big hunting knife! Is it in reference to...Other big things?🤭😘"

- HUH!?

- His brain shut off because he had never had a victim he took to his brothers flirt with him like this. And while he's covered in grime and roadkill?!

- It's okay it just adds to his manliness. We love a man with hobbies! ♡

- Like...Are you being mean and joking? Are you...Alright up there in your noggin? He would take the long way and other roads to Ambrose just to talk to you more and figure you out (Even when Bo is in a hot ass suit in a Church with no air waiting and is ringing Lester's cell off the hook)

- When you are fascinated by what he does, praising his job, asking about him; he is a blushing mess driving. Then he tries flirting back and cracks his cheesy jokes. And when you laugh??? Ooooh it's over. He's crushing severely.

- Easiest brother to woe. He's keeping you. Gonna show up to the house like Spencer in that one episode of ICarly.

Bo: "...What is that?"

Lester drinking a smoothie while you cheerfully wave love struck on his arm: "A smoothie??"

- He did question your mental state at first but hell he grew up with Bo and Vince so what the hell? He's a lil crazy too! Just part of your charm is all.

- When you are talking about the future he gets a little nervous but not out right opposing it just give him some time, babe! He could give you a ring made of deer antler or bone wittled down and you'd cry and say yes.

- He acts cute with you. You both are so disgustingly sweet on each other it makes Bo gag and Vincent roll his eye whenever you both come to town.

- Both twins are so jealous their goofy dirty lil brother found love before them and they can't stand it

[atlasthegreatest]

A Not-so-Quiet Visit / Talia Al Ghul x Daughter! Female Reader

Which, Talia’s eldest daughter — Y/n Al Ghul— decides to check on Damian, shocking the Batfamily, who mistakes her for an enemy. With Bruce intervening, the truth of her identity leaves the others unsettled — another Al Ghul is now in play.

Word count: 4542

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Hope you like it!

The low hum of the Batcave’s computers filled the cavernous space. Barbara sat at the console, tapping away on a keyboard while Dick Grayson and Tim Drake poured over reports from Gotham’s streets. Damian had been unusually quiet tonight, even more so than usual. He sat on the edge of a metal workbench, his face drawn in thought, occasionally glancing toward the time on the Batcomputer as if waiting for something—or someone.

“He’s more brooding than usual. Impressive,” Dick muttered to Tim, who snorted quietly.

“Maybe he missed a test question or something,” Tim replied under his breath.

“Silence, imbeciles,” Damian snapped, but his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes flickered toward the Batcomputer again. He seemed restless.

At that moment, the distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the upper levels of the Manor—Bruce’s office. Damian froze. He knew who it was.

Before he could say anything, the sound of boots clicking confidently on the cave’s metallic stairs made everyone spin around in alarm.

Barbara’s hands instinctively reached for a defensive position, and Dick moved smoothly into a combat stance. Tim swore under his breath and quickly drew his bo staff.

The figure emerging from the shadows was a young woman, older than Damian but bearing the same sharp, angular features and a gaze far too cold for someone her age. She had a regal air about her—like she belonged here. Her black combat suit hugged her form, with weapons resting at her hips, though she made no move to reach for them. She didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

Her hair was tied back tightly, and her striking green eyes—so much like her brother’s—swept the Batcave with a calculating sharpness.

“What the hell—?” Tim started.

“Intruder!” Barbara announced, fingers hovering over the console to trigger security protocols.

“You dare.” The words left her mouth with the venom of someone who was used to being obeyed. She lifted a hand in a small, dismissive gesture that mirrored Talia Al Ghul perfectly. “Lower your weapons, now.”

“You’re with the League of Assassins,” Dick said, his voice low, tense. “What do you want?”

She gave him a condescending look, the kind that told him he was so far beneath her notice it was almost laughable.

“I am not here to deal with you,” she replied coolly, her accent a faint echo of her mother’s. “I am here for my brother.”

“You mean Damian?” Barbara asked, her confusion deepening as she eyed the young woman. “Who are you?”

Damian shifted uneasily, but the tension in his shoulders melted just a little. “She is my sister,” he said with the certainty of someone revealing a fact he thought should be obvious.

The entire room froze.

“Your what?” Tim said, blinking as if he’d misheard.

“Sister,” the woman confirmed smoothly. “The eldest child of Talia al Ghul. Damian’s superior, and unlike him, far more patient.” Her gaze flicked back to Damian. “I came to ensure you were unharmed. There were rumors circulating among the League—none of which I liked.”

“What rumors?” Dick demanded.

“You don’t need to know,” she replied with a dismissive glance. “It is a matter for the family. Not… outsiders.”

Barbara took a step forward. “You can’t just walk in here and—”

“I can. And I did.” The woman raised a brow, unimpressed by the outrage gathering in the room. She stood perfectly still, making no move to draw her weapons. Her poise was absolute, the very picture of a leader accustomed to giving orders without needing to raise her voice.

Tim gave Damian a sharp look. “You have a sister? And none of us knew about her?”

“Correct,” Damian said, standing up and walking toward her without hesitation.

“You’re just now telling us?” Barbara asked, still reeling from the revelation.

Damian shot her a look that was both arrogant and irritated. “My personal affairs are none of your concern.”

The woman gave a faint, approving smile. “At least you remember that much, little brother.”

Before anyone could press further, a deep, familiar voice called from above.

“Stand down.”

Bruce Wayne descended the steps slowly, his shadow stretching across the cave floor. His gaze locked immediately onto the woman. His face betrayed no surprise, no confusion—just an unreadable, neutral mask.

“You knew,” Dick accused, disbelief written across his face. “Of course, you knew.”

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stopped a few feet away from the woman and gave her a nod—small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“Talia is upstairs,” he said to her quietly. “You could have used the front door.”

The faintest trace of amusement curled the corners of her lips. “I wanted to see how well your security has held up. It’s lacking.”

Tim muttered, “She is related to Damian.”

The woman ignored him entirely, stepping past Bruce with a fluid grace. Her attention remained solely on her brother as she reached out to clasp his shoulder—firmly, yet with an unspoken sense of care. “You’re well?”

Damian gave a sharp nod. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it,” she murmured, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. It was the kind of silence that spoke of familiarity—one born from years of shared experiences, of battles fought side by side, and of a trust that did not need words to be confirmed.

“You’ve been holding back again,” she whispered in a low tone, meant only for Damian. “Mother will not be pleased.”

“Mother isn’t pleased with many things,” Damian retorted, his expression softening slightly in a way the others rarely saw.

From the background, Dick and Tim exchanged glances. None of this made sense.

Barbara, still processing everything, crossed her arms. “So, let me get this straight—you’re some kind of… shadow sibling we were never supposed to know about?”

The woman turned her gaze on her, expression unreadable. “I prefer to think of myself as the one who handles things you cannot.”

“That’s comforting,” Dick muttered sarcastically.

Bruce gave her a look that was equal parts warning and understanding. “Are you planning on staying long?”

“No. Mother and I won’t linger.” Her eyes flicked upward, where Talia undoubtedly waited in the Manor. Then she glanced back at Damian. “But I will return.”

There was no goodbye, no ceremony. She gave Damian’s shoulder one final squeeze before turning on her heel and walking toward the exit with the same effortless confidence she had entered.

Just before she disappeared into the shadows, she paused and looked back, her piercing green eyes locking onto Bruce.

“Take care of him,” she said, her voice softer this time. There was no malice in her tone—only a quiet command, laced with something dangerously close to affection.

Bruce gave a subtle nod. “I always do.”

And with that, she was gone, as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving the Batfamily standing in stunned silence.

“Well,” Dick finally said, breaking the tension, “that was… something.”

Tim groaned, rubbing his temples. “We just found out Damian has a sister, and Talia Al Ghul is upstairs having tea with Bruce. What even is our life right now?”

Damian smirked. “You’ll adjust.”

Barbara shook her head, exasperated. “I really hate this family sometimes.”

From the shadows above, faint laughter echoed—like the sound of a ghost, a whisper of a life none of them knew existed until now. And somehow, it felt like that wasn’t the last they’d hear from her. Not by a long shot.

———————-

The Batcave settled into uneasy silence after the mysterious sister’s departure. Dick ran a hand through his hair, still processing the bombshell that just landed on them, while Tim leaned against the workbench with a scowl, looking like he’d been hit by a truck.

Barbara sat back at the console, shaking her head in disbelief. “So, you’re telling me that Talia al Ghul didn’t just have one kid with Bruce. She had two. And nobody thought to mention that.”

“Not even Bruce,” Tim muttered bitterly. “You know, typical Bat fashion. Gotta love family secrets.”

Damian shot him an icy glare. “She isn’t your business. My sister is loyal to the League, unlike certain people.”

Dick snorted, crossing his arms. “Well, she did just waltz into the Batcave, acting like she owned the place. Kind of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“She wasn’t going to harm anyone,” Damian snapped, clearly agitated. “She came to check on me, nothing more.”

“Yeah? Because that’s what people do—check in by sneaking into top-secret caves full of vigilantes,” Tim shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Super normal sibling stuff.”

Barbara leaned back in her chair. “The bigger question is, how did she even get in? We would have noticed if any of the cave’s systems were breached.”

“She’s League-trained.” Damian’s tone was dismissive, as if that explained everything. “If she wanted to sneak in, none of you would’ve known until she was standing right behind you.”

Dick rubbed his forehead, already tired of this conversation. “Okay, let’s take a step back. Who is she exactly? How old is she? And—”

“Her name is not important,” Damian interrupted coldly. “And what you need to understand is simple: she is my sister. My responsibility. Not yours.”

“You know that’s not how this works, Damian,” Barbara said, glancing up from the console. “If she’s aligned with the League of Assassins, she’s a potential threat to all of us.”

Before Damian could respond, Bruce’s heavy footfalls echoed as he approached the group, his expression still unreadable.

“I suggest we leave it there,” Bruce said, his voice low but authoritative. “She’s not here to harm anyone.”

Tim threw up his hands. “Oh, great. Now Bruce is doing the ‘I’m not going to tell you anything important’ thing too. Awesome.”

Bruce ignored the jab, addressing Damian directly. “Go upstairs. Your mother is waiting for you.”

Damian hesitated, but only for a second. With a curt nod, he turned and made his way toward the stairwell leading back into the Manor, leaving the others behind to stew in their confusion.

“Bruce,” Dick said after a beat, “you can’t seriously expect us to just let this go. Damian has an older sister. That’s—kind of a big deal.”

Bruce’s gaze remained steady, but his silence was answer enough.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you known?”

Bruce exhaled as if the weight of the conversation was something he had long anticipated but hoped to avoid. “Since the moment she was born.”

Tim threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. You knew, and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“It wasn’t your concern,” Bruce said calmly, though there was a trace of something weary in his voice. “She’s not part of this life. Not in the way that matters.”

“Then what life is she part of?” Barbara asked. “Because the way she walked in here, it feels like she’s pretty comfortable with all of this.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, the smallest crack in his usual composure. “She was raised to be Talia’s heir. The League is her world. She keeps to her duties there.”

“And now she’s here.” Dick folded his arms, frustration clear on his face. “That’s a problem, Bruce.”

Bruce’s gaze darkened slightly. “It isn’t. She’s not an enemy.”

Tim scoffed. “Not yet, maybe.”

“Enough,” Bruce said sharply, cutting off further argument. “She came here to see her brother. That’s all.”

Dick wasn’t ready to drop it. “And what happens when she comes back next time? What happens when she decides the League’s business is our business?”

Bruce’s silence lingered, heavy and impenetrable.

Barbara shook her head, clearly unsettled. “You really think this won’t blow up in our faces? Because I’ve got a bad feeling it will.”

“Let me handle it,” Bruce said quietly, a hint of finality in his tone. “When the time comes, I’ll deal with her.”

Tim crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Right. Because that always works out so well.”

Dick let out a breath, tension still clinging to his shoulders. “Whatever. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

They all knew what that meant. In their line of work, things rarely stayed quiet for long. And now, with Damian’s sister lurking in the background, things were bound to get more complicated.

Upstairs in Wayne Manor

Talia al Ghul sipped her tea from delicate porcelain, her poise immaculate as ever. She sat gracefully in one of the high-backed chairs in Bruce’s study as if she were a guest rather than a dangerous woman from his past.

Damian stood near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Y/n leaned casually against the wall beside him, her expression cool and distant. The siblings shared a silent understanding as if words were unnecessary between them.

“You’re staying for long?” Damian asked his sister quietly.

Y/n shook her head, her green eyes flickering with a softness reserved only for him. “No. Mother’s business here won’t take much longer.”

Talia’s gaze remained on Bruce, studying him with that familiar intensity. “You should feel fortunate, beloved,” Talia said smoothly. “Our daughter was quite insistent on seeing her brother.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. “And you let her walk into the Batcave.”

Talia gave a small, amused smile. “She wished to test your hospitality. Clearly, there is room for improvement.”

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he looked toward the girl standing silently beside Damian.

“You know where you stand,” he said quietly. “If you ever need—”

“I don’t,” Y/n interrupted, her voice sharp but not unkind. “I stand with him. That is all that matters.”

There was a long pause.

Then Talia rose gracefully from her seat, setting her cup aside. “Come, children. We have work to do.”

Without a word, Y/n followed their mother toward the door. But just before leaving, she glanced back at Bruce one last time, her expression unreadable.

“Try to keep him safe,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

And then she was gone, a shadow disappearing into the night, leaving Bruce to wonder how long it would be before she returned—and what would happen when she did.

The door to the study closed softly behind Talia, Damian, and Y/n, leaving Bruce in silence. He exhaled slowly, staring at the spot where they had stood moments before, a familiar weight settling onto his shoulders. This wasn’t just a fleeting encounter. He knew it, and so did they.

He remained seated for a moment longer, letting the quiet of the Manor stretch around him, before rising and heading back toward the Batcave. There would be questions, distrust, and arguments waiting below. And this time, he wasn’t entirely sure what answers he could give.

Outside Wayne Manor

The night air was crisp and cool as the trio walked toward a sleek black car waiting in the driveway, guarded by two of Talia’s elite assassins. The League’s presence was discreet but felt, even here on neutral ground.

Y/n walked in measured silence beside Damian, their pace synchronized without effort. They had fought together enough times to move like two halves of the same whole.

“You didn’t have to come,” Damian muttered, his voice low, only for her ears.

Y/n’s sharp gaze flicked toward him. “I always come when I hear you are in danger.”

“I wasn’t in danger.”

“Not from your enemies,” Y/n replied calmly, “but you forget—Mother and I know how this family operates.” Her green eyes, so like his, glimmered in the moonlight. “You are surrounded by people who distrust you. That is danger enough.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew she was right.

Talia, who had been walking slightly ahead, glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “The two of you should remember,” she said in a light tone, “family bonds are precious things. And fragile.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Y/n replied without missing a beat.

Talia’s smile lingered. “Good.”

They reached the waiting car, and Talia turned, brushing a hand lightly over Damian’s shoulder—a rare, fleeting gesture of affection.

“We will speak again soon, my son,” she said softly. Then her gaze drifted toward her daughter. “And you—ensure your brother remembers who he is.”

The young woman gave a curt nod. “I always do.”

Talia’s lips curved ever so slightly in satisfaction. She stepped gracefully into the backseat of the car, leaving her children to exchange one last glance.

“I don’t need your protection,” Damian muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice.

“You’ve always needed it,” Y/n replied dryly. “Even when you think you don’t.”

Damian scowled, but there was something akin to fondness in the way his gaze lingered on her.

“You’ll visit again?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t quite a question—more a statement of expectation.

“Of course.” Y/n reached out, briefly ruffling his hair with the ease of an older sibling who knew she could get away with it. Damian glared, but she only smirked. “I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

With that, she turned and slipped into the car beside their mother. The door clicked shut, and without another word, the car pulled away, its taillights vanishing into the shadows.

Damian stood alone in the driveway for a moment, watching it disappear into the night. Y/n always came when he needed her. Even when he didn’t realize he needed her.

With a quiet breath, he turned and headed back toward the Manor, feeling strangely lighter despite the storm brewing inside the Batcave below.

Back in the Batcave

Bruce stepped down the last stair into the cave, and as expected, the conversation had only grown more heated in his absence.

“Bruce, we have to talk about this!” Dick was saying, his voice raised in frustration. “You can’t just let League-trained assassins walk in and out of our house like it’s nothing!”

Tim shook his head. “For all we know, she’s playing a long game. Damian trusts her, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

“She didn’t come here as an assassin,” Bruce said, his tone calm but firm.

Dick turned toward him, exasperated. “Then what did she come here as, Bruce? His sister? Do you believe that’s all she is?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t shift. “Yes.”

Barbara crossed her arms, skeptical. “Even if that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—what’s stopping her from dragging Damian back into the League’s messes? What happens if Talia decides it’s time to reclaim him?”

“She won’t.” Bruce’s answer was simple, certain.

“And you know that… how?” Tim challenged. “Because she said so?”

Bruce’s gaze was unreadable. “Because her loyalty isn’t to Talia. It’s to Damian.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions, doubts, and frustration. But Bruce knew none of them could fully understand the dynamic at play—not yet.

“You have every reason to be cautious,” Bruce continued. “But she isn’t here to fight us. Not today. She’s here because she cares about her brother. That’s enough—for now.”

Tim looked like he wanted to argue, but Dick held up a hand. “Fine. For now.” He shot Bruce a meaningful look. “But we keep an eye on her. If she comes back, we need to know about it.”

Bruce gave a small nod, though he knew that watching her would accomplish little. She had been raised by the League. If she didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t see her coming.

Barbara sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

“None of us do,” Tim muttered.

Dick glanced toward the empty stairwell where Damian had disappeared earlier. “So, what now? We just… wait?”

“For now,” Bruce said quietly. “We wait.”

————————

Somewhere in Gotham

In the backseat of the car, Y/n stared out the window as the city lights blurred by. Her hands rested calmly in her lap, but her mind was far from still. This visit had only been the beginning.

“I assume you found what you were looking for,” Talia murmured beside her, watching her daughter carefully.

“I did,” Y/n replied. “Damian is… as he should be.”

Talia smiled faintly. “And the others?”

Y/n’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk. “They’ll never trust me.”

“Good,” Talia whispered. “It is better that way.”

Y/n didn’t reply, her thoughts already drifting ahead to the future. This was just the first move in a long game.

She had no interest in Gotham’s petty power struggles. But Damian was part of this world now—and that meant she would be too, sooner or later. Whether the Batfamily liked it or not.

And when the time came, they would see just how far she was willing to go to protect her brother. No matter the cost.

Bonus Chapter:

The lights in the Batcave hummed softly, the enormous space unusually quiet. The others had gone for the night—Tim back to his apartment, Dick out on patrol, Barbara working from her own space. Bruce was still upstairs, giving Damian some time alone after the tense encounter earlier.

But Damian wasn’t alone for long.

He sat at the edge of the platform where the Batmobile was parked, legs dangling over the side, a rare moment of stillness in his life. The cave felt different tonight like something was unsettled, but not in a way that put him on edge. It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm—calm, expectant. He welcomed it.

Out of the shadows, Y/n came, her presence so subtle he almost didn’t notice. Almost.

“You should be gone by now,” Damian muttered without looking up, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. “Mother doesn’t like waiting.”

Y/n’s soft footfalls echoed faintly as she approached. “Mother can wait.”

She sat down beside him, silent for a few moments, her gaze scanning the depths of the cave. “It hasn’t changed much,” she observed.

“No,” Damian replied. “It hasn’t.”

The two siblings sat side by side, neither saying much, but the tension that had hovered over the Batcave earlier was nowhere to be found between them. This was their space—a quiet corner of the world where they didn’t need to pretend.

“Does it bother you?” Y/n asked finally, her voice softer than usual.

Damian glanced at her. “What?”

“Being here. With them.” She didn’t say the Batfamily, but the implication was clear.

Damian considered the question carefully, not out of hesitation, but because it was complicated. “Not anymore,” he answered after a moment. “It did at first. But it’s different now.”

Y/n hummed in acknowledgment, though her expression remained unreadable. “That’s good.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. “What about you?”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” Y/n said with a faint smile. “Though that may not always be the case.”

Damian frowned, sensing the deeper meaning beneath her words. “You’re not leaving the League.” It wasn’t a question—just a fact.

“No,” Y/n confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll always stay away.”

Damian folded his arms, his gaze sharpening. “If the League ever moves against Gotham—”

“It won’t be by my hand,” Y/n interrupted, her voice steady and sure. “Not against you, Damian. Never against you.”

The weight behind those words was palpable, a silent vow spoken aloud. They might serve different masters—Damian, the Bat; Y/n, the League—but their bond ran deeper than any allegiance.

Damian gave a short nod, satisfied. He knew she meant it. “The others will never trust you, you know.”

A soft chuckle escaped Y/n’s lips. “Good. Trust makes people weak. Distrust keeps them sharp.”

“You sound like Mother.”

“I’ve had good teachers.” Y/n smiled, a rare glimpse of warmth breaking through her otherwise cold demeanor.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment longer, the kind that only siblings shared. No need for explanations. No pretense.

Then Y/n shifted, brushing her shoulder against his in a way that felt oddly affectionate. “Do you want me to teach you something new?” she asked lightly, a playful glint in her eyes.

Damian raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Something the Bat hasn’t shown you yet,” Y/n teased. “Mother taught me a few new techniques you might find… useful.”

Damian’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he ever allowed in front of others. “Alright. Show me.”

They stood together, slipping easily into their familiar rhythm. They’d sparred like this since childhood—silent, fluid, understanding each other’s movements in a way no one else could. For a brief moment, it was like they were children again, back in the League’s hidden training grounds, fighting side by side under Talia’s watchful gaze.

But this time, they weren’t sparring as weapons of the League. They were just two siblings, enjoying a fleeting moment of peace in a world that never gave them any.

The cave was theirs tonight, and for now, that was enough.

Upstairs in the Manor

Talia sat at the window of the guest room, watching the moonlight spill across the grounds. She could hear the faintest echoes of movement from the Batcave below—her children, lost in their own world.

Bruce stood in the doorway behind her, silent, his presence as familiar to her as her own shadow.

“You always wanted them to be close,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. “And they are.”

Talia’s lips curved into a soft, wistful smile. “They are all we ever did right, beloved.”

Bruce didn’t respond. There was no need. In some ways, Talia was right. Damian and Y/n were both products of worlds built on shadows and violence, but in each other, they had found something rare—something unbreakable.

For a moment, the silence between Bruce and Talia was easy, like slipping into an old memory. They had shared countless battles, betrayals, and regrets. But tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about the fragile peace hanging between their children—and the delicate threads of trust that might one day hold them together.

“Will she stay away from Gotham?” Bruce asked after a while, though he already knew the answer.

Talia didn’t turn from the window. “Not forever.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “She’ll come back when Damian needs her. And perhaps, one day, when you do as well.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “That day may come sooner than any of us want.”

Talia rose gracefully from her chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She rested a hand lightly on his chest, just over his heart.

“You raised Damian well,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “But don’t forget—I raised Y/n.”

There was no threat in her words, only a reminder. A quiet acknowledgment that their daughter was both a product of love and war, molded by both of them, yet ultimately beyond their control.

Talia smiled one last time and brushed past Bruce, her scent lingering in the air like a fading dream. “Good night, beloved,” she whispered, and with that, she was gone, disappearing down the hall like a ghost.

Bruce stood alone in the dim room, his gaze drifting toward the window and the moonlight beyond.

He knew, without a doubt, that Y/n would return. The only question was when—and what side she’d stand on when the time came.

For now, all he could do was wait.

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

[rzyraffek]

Could you please do headcanons Slashers (like Michael, Brahms, Billy, The Sinclair brothers) as caregivers for their S/O who is an age regressor

Or headcanons for those Slashers when they find out their s/o is an age regressor?

Okay I acually went and educated myself on this topic for you my dear anon🥰🌼

if your uncomfortable with topic of age regression pls dont read that😭

So basically as far as I understand age regression means that somone acts like child due to some traumatic event??? And like they act childlike and participate in child typical activies (such as drawing with crayons, speaking like a toddler, drinking from bottles ect) if i make headcanon that don't make any sense im sorry! I have no experience with this topic! ALSO this is pure platonic! Age regression isn't a kink or a fetish!!

Slashers with age regressor y/n

Brahms Heelshire

Tbh y/n acting childish kinda woke up his inner child, CUZ HE LITTERALY GOT LOCKED IN WALLS IN AGE OF LIKE 10 so he kinda missed out on some fun stuff

100% plays hide and seek! Or tag! My man loves some good round of hide and seek, this place is huge! *insert british accent* "oh you little scallop... if I find you I will tickle you so hard..."

Question: age regression is like temporary or like forever thing? Like regressor acts like that when they are in bad metal state or just always? Bcs if always then it might be hard with Brahms, see he kinda.... has mommy's issues has huge need to be taken care of, probably similar to y/n's, he kinda wants a person who will just pamper him and make him feel like he's the single child yknow? All the attention on him? Yknow what i mean??

If y/n draws him something nice, dude will put it on a fridge with a magnet and be proud

If thats like temporary thing, he acaully will ask a lot of questions: how should he act? Do you remember anything? How does it work? Can he get some cuddles? Do you still love him while regressing? (Ofc you do, but he doest understand)

Billy Lenz

You guys vibe

Dude won't see any difrence😭

Yay one more reason to watch cartoons together! (His favorite ponny is rarity and fluttershy)

If y/n babytalks and uses toddler-like vocabulary... dude will mimic it😭 he just thinks that will help with communication😭 its not like you guys struggle with it or anything, Billy is just build like that

Yall draw together, his artstyle already looks like toddler drew it (not in cute way)

Plays dolls with y/n (but he acually makes it interesting! Like he makes it all dramatic and the tea is just jawdropping)

Also don't bother explaining what is age regression, just say "sometimes I act like kid to cope"😭

Micheal Myers

Judges

But kinda likes it, not in weird way! He enjoys taking care of y/n, but he has his own ways of doing so

He won't play with them or let them cuddle him too much

But he accepts little drawings and stickers that y/n gives him

He is still stalking them, making sure noone tries to bully them or anything

He is very protective, for example if y/n cuts their finger while making food, dude is all over them: Oh no no dont cry! Uhhh.... uhhh oh! See a pretty bandage? With puppies! Pls dont cry...

On rare days he is acually around (phicially i mean, cuz hes always around just not interacting with y/n) and it happens for him to be in good mood too, he will let y/n nap on him or put some stickers on his outfit- he never takes them of btw, the only reason that stickers wash of is the field he 'works' in? Yknow a lot of mud blood and water. He also holds y/n hand if they are spooked

And he fucking loves fluttershy and applejack

Steals some cute shirts and socks for them!

Sinclair Bros

Bo is the least understanding, tbh he will lisen to y/n only if they have very good relationship

Vince is just 👍

And Lester is acually very open to the idea

Drawing and playing dolls with Vincent

Going on cool drives with Lester

And napping with Bo

Whole fridge is covered in drawings and cute magnets

All Vincent's notebooks and Lester truck covered in stickers

Even Bo gun didnt escape the sticker apocalypse

Vince made special wax figurines for y/n

Lester calls them "kiddo" 😭😭

Bo puts his hand on their head and rubs it till their hair goes all puffy

They all act like older brothers who have to take care of younger siblings while perents are away😭😭

Vince acually vents to regressing y/n and they are just like: "man I just wanna pet the dog"

Bonus round! Added few more!!

Bubba Sawyer

Bestie vibes

Yall just spend time playing with dolls and drawing together

Absolutely lets y/n nap on him

He totally combs their hair and puts them in nice bun (or if y/n has short hair he will just brush it)

He kinda sees age regression as lil break from reality? Like you two can just vibe and act they way you want to😊 he enjoys, cuz tbh he do be acting like child(not in bad way!) And his happy that you both can do all those child-like activities without being judged by other person

Bit y/n once

Asa Emory

Ew a child

I mean

Idk he gives me "the dad that never has time for u cuz he has too much work"

Like yep he will read y/n a bed time story and he will tell them all about bugs and nature. But hes busy most of time

OMG ABOUT BED TIME STORIES Asa will read you one but he is so exhausted that he acually falls asleep first

He trusts them and knows that even whilr regressing they wont do anything dumb, but he still bans them from his 'workroom' theres... well some photos and drawings of victims and i doubt y/n wants to see it

Lets them sit on his lap while he reads newspaper like middle-aged man he is

Gives lil head kisses before sleep

Bug themed plushies and figures

Makes y/n watch animal planet and bbc nature with him

When he's out for longer periods of time he will buy them McDonald's as an apology

Welp

Done. I hope it makes sense! I never witnessed anyone age regress so idk how relatable it is!! I used x reader tags only to reach bigger audience

[reverieblondie]

*slinks back into your asks* Um... Hey... 👋😅

"... I really want to do a Rolan and scratch drawing!"

One, that sounds adorable. Two, does this mean Scratch would get magical doggie-doors to teleport him around the tower? Three, why do I get the feeling that Rolan would be a 'I don't want the stupid dog' person who ends up spoiling said dog?

~Sweet Anon

aHHHHH!!!!! yEss!

Rolan for sure is the I don't like dogs person before he actually gets a dog. And when I tell you I have been thinking about this a lot, I mean I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS NON STOP!

Picture this, Rolan and Tav are new to their relationship and Tav is still doing side adventures for people, well lets say for some reason Scratch can't join for this mission so Tav comes over to ask their darling bo Rolan if he can watch scratch while they are gone. on the inside Rolan is like 'ugh, dogs...messy smelly drooly...' but Rolan really likes Tav so he agrees.

Cut to Rolan in sundries with scratch at his side and Rolan looks down at a so excited they are wiggling Scratch and Rolans just like "hey, don't drool on anything...and use the portals to get into the tower."

I should say Rolan is never mean to scratch but he's just not used to dogs at all. so lets say Cal and Lia really take to Scratch letting him follow them around and sleep in their bed but Rolan is the one who feeds scratch. For some reason I see scratch really trying to get Rolan to like him but Rolans just kinda missing the signals. UNTIL ONE DAY!

One day Rolan is laying on his bed not feeling well part he's worried Tav has been gone for a week and half that man works himself to the bone. So as Rolan is laying their Scratch nudges through the doors and he sees Rolan. So being the Good boy that he is he hops on the bed with Rolan. Rolan is all "Oh No, No dogs on the bed. Off. Down." but scratch ignores him and cuddles up to Rolan laying his head on his chest staring at him. Rolan is slightly peeved but this is kinda nice...

"okay you can stay...just this one time...and don't lick me." Scratch immediately licks Rolans face and Rolan just laughs, "Your just like Tav, they like to mess we me too."

So Tav comes back to collect her dog and when she comes back she sees Scratch glued to Rolans side and rolan is all smiles and Petting him. and Scratch like has a job like Rolan will be with a customer and Rolan will go "Scratch we need one feather fall!" cut to scratch trotting up to Rolan with the scroll in his mouth to give Rolan and receiving all the praise from Rolan, "Very good Scratch, someone is well on their way to star employee of the month."

Cal Yells, "HEY! I though i was getting that this month?"

Rolan Yells back "If you would stop sneaking off to make out with Lae'zel you could have! try being reliable like scratch."

Tav just laughs and gives her two best boys a kiss upon her return.

The end of the trip Rolan tells Tav he can watch scratch anytime, and he even sets up a Portal doggie door from tavs place to the Tower so Scratch can come to work (might I add always on time) everyday.

And finally when tav and Rolan move in together Scratch sleeps at the end of the bed every night as they lay their head in Rolans tail.

[tangledinink]

So does swanatello have a different fighting style than Donnie? If so what’s it like? Does he still use the techy aspect of his Bo staff?

:''') I tried to answer a bunch of asks (mostly swanatello related) together in a lump but tumblr had some sort of error and deleted a bunch of them as I was doing so. So I have all the ANSWERS that I wrote out,,, but not most of the asks = 3 = So??? Answers under the cut, and my best approximation of the lost asks! If yours isn't in here, I'm almost certainly hoarding it so I can draw an answer later on!

His fighting style is similar, as the foundation is still the same, but with a ballet flavor! His movements tend to be very graceful and 'swoopy' now, though he also tends to be a lot more aggressive in his attacks. He unfortunately lost his tech bo, along with his headset and tech gauntlet, during his transformation and his family has not yet been able to locate them. He is also currently unable to access his ninpo, so the integration of tech, mystical or otherwise, is missing from his combat style at the moment. He is, however, able to manipulate both light and the water of the lake (think waterbending style) when fighting-- or is it the lake fighting with him...?

The Lake's Curse affects his memory. Anything that might detract from his ability to serve as the Lake's Guardian is obscured-- such as his family and details of his life before. They're not entirely GONE, Swanatello just has... a hard time accessing them sometimes. When his brothers are around, he has something to latch onto and has an easier time accessing obscured memories. But when they leave, the Curse works very hard to wipe them out again.

[ Ask was basically just a lovely compliment that I very much enjoyed, mentioned heartbreaking and had a sparkle heart emoji in it which is my fav <3]

Thank you! ; w ; I'm glad you like them!!!

[Ask was encouraging me to watch Princess Tutu!]

IT'S ON MY TO DO LIST... ; w ;

[Ask was inquiring if there was anywhere in particular where Swanatello likes to spend his time on the lake when his brothers aren't around.]

He usually spends most of his time alone dancing on the surface of the water-- or, if not this, he very much enjoys the willow trees the grows by the bank.

[Ask was inquiring if the Lake has ever felt the need to intervene directly rather than just affecting Swanatello's memory]

Not yet, at least...

Yes. :)

[Ask was inquiring if Swannie views the lake as a deity or entity.]

Basically, yes. He views it as a living, sentient thing. And to be fair it... kind of is.

His family, without a doubt. But his room, his lab, and the internet are a close second...

[Ask said 'since I can't boop Swanatello, can I get a fist bump?]

He's going to bite you! Be careful!!!

[Ask about whether or not I've seen the new Mutant Mayhem trailer with the turtle tots!]

Yes, they're very cute! <3

[skylarsblue]

Hii! I would like to ask for Sinclair brothers with a gn s/o who struggles with an ed? Preferably anorexia, but you can make it unspecified if that'll work better for you ^^ Thank you so much and if you need any closer info, I'd be happy to help!

(Hope you're doin' alright and sorry this took so long!)

✦Struggling With An Eating Disorder✦

✦I make this a bit more subtle but please proceed with caution. If you're struggling, there are places to reach out. Including hotlines.✦

✦GN! Reader, unspecified race, height, & body type, again, proceed with caution✦ ✧Vincent; He/They, Bo; He/Him, Lester; He/Him. Bonus: Carly; She/Her, Nick; He/Him✧

✧Vincent Sinclair✧

Vincent's the most emotionally competent of his brothers, which comes with being an artist. They also understand being physically insecure, and wanting to change those aspects of themselves. Vincent will be the one to notice signs even if you haven't said anything.

He's hesitant to actually approach you with his suspicions, but his concern will eventually overtake the anxiety of being wrong. It's hard to be verbally gentle with sign language but they do their best. If you struggle to admit it and start crying or getting upset, they'll do their best to express that they aren't upset in anyway. He's just worried.

Victor was a medical doctor but had some books on mental health, which Vincent has read, and he will go back and reread them if he thinks they'll hold anything that'll help. The information might be outdated but he'll take whatever he can to ensure they know everything possible they can do to help.

Keeping up with a therapist is hard out in Ambrose, and all the brothers are hesitant about you leaving on the chance you let something slip. But, when trust has been built, Vincent will pressure Bo to let you go. If Bo doesn't take you, Lester will. You're likely to miss appointments but Vincent does their best to keep up with it.

They're not good at cooking or with food in general. They don't have a disorder but they forget to eat often. Still, he does his best to eat with you so you don't feel alone with it, assuming that's what helps. In their mind, making it more of a social things leaves less room for your mind to wander and make you feel bad. He'll even take his mask off for you.

Vincent's got a plethora of markers and paint, and they will absolutely go in on everything Bo brings into the house and cross out the calories. Even if that means painting over an entire package.

They enjoy drawing you frequently, and the way they do is always so honest and surreal. If you see his drawings of you, you might ask why he chooses you. Every time they'll respond with a genuine, from-the-heart sentiment. "You're the best muse I could have." "I want the challenge of capturing your beauty." "Every artist needs something beautiful for reference."

Vincent means it every time.

✧Bo Sinclair✧

Bo's really not emotionally intelligent. He's harsh and rough and approaches everything in life with a hardened expression. But not with you, not after you've wormed your way into his heart and made yourself at home in his ribs.

He's not gonna understand at first, not if you put it in simple terms at least. He's never had that problem. But when he sees how it affects you on really bad days, it'll start to dawn on him that it's not an easy fix. You can't just pick something up and eat it. It's a battle all the time. This is when he starts to soften up and treat it more delicately, as delicately as he knows how anyway.

If he can't find a working pen, he'll tear/cut out the calorie counts on foods & drinks. And if he's taken you out somewhere, he'll reach over and cover calorie numbers with his hand. If it's a big sign over the order counter, he'll simply tell you to go sit down while he orders. You might think Bo doesn't notice, but he'll know all your favorites by heart.

He's gonna ask you what he can do to make it easier. If you say you don't know, he'll throw out options until one seems to stick. And then he'll adopt it to his routine religiously. Forming habits is easy and he knows this. Adding another step to his general day routine is nothing for him.

Bo's hyper-protective of you. It shows in his reluctance to let you leave the town, to be involved in the process of wax figures, even climbing on the counter to grab something high up. Lester says it's the older brother in him, Vincent once called it "dad instincts". Ironic, given Bo hated his own father the most. So if he hears a single comment about your appearance from someone else, and it's not a compliment? He's immediately throwing hands.

He'll pick up photography again, a gesture he hopes silently conveys how he sees you. Every camera click and slide of polaroid film is him trying to tell you how he sees you, since he's not that good with words. He'll pin them up in the garage and certainly keeps more than one in his wallet.

Bo will rip the size tags off your clothes. But, he'll remember it, so that way he can buy your clothes. You don't have to worry if you no longer fit in a medium, large, or small. He's got it logged in his head. If he really isn't sure, he'll try to subtly measure your waist with his hands, acting out physical affection while gathering the data he needs. Just to avoid even the concept of you worrying about that letter in the back of your jeans. His physically affection will also double. Naturally, he's a horny bastard, and he'll try to show you he finds you attractive by using stuff like sex. But if you aren't up for it, or the insecurity is just a bit too much, he'll certainly settle for holding you on the couch.

And honestly? He'll bring back his old poem hobby, write you a sonnet, hoping the words on paper will translate how they do in his brain. "It's not that good but...ya know, the meanin's there." He's a bastard because it's an absolutely beautiful poem and it's definitely gonna make you cry.

✧Lester Sinclair✧

Lester's more in touch with his feelings and the emotions of others than Bo, but he's not as in tune as Vincent. Still, Lester is very observant of things like body language and voice cues. If he sees enough signs, he might not know it's an eating disorder, but he will eventually ask if you see yourself negatively. It breaks his heart when you admit it and part of him will wonder if he contributed in anyway. He's relieved when you say he hasn't, but it still pains him.

If your problems with food stem from things like childhood trauma or parental pressure, he's gonna have a murderous rage for those people, but you won't ever see it. The only Lester you see is charming lover with the patience of a saint. And terrible puns.

He'll probably talk to his brother Vincent for advice since Vincent's the one that was ever interested in mental health and psychology. He wants all the information he can get so he can support you completely. Lester thinks of himself as an idiot, but he's not gonna let that stop him from keeping you happy.

Lester rarely goes to grocery stores and tends to make all his meals from scratch. But, still, he'll cover calorie counts on anything he needs to buy in. Sometimes he'll move snacks into new containers because he couldn't find a marker and he couldn't tear that portion out. He won't even throw the package in the house trash, he'll put it in the outside one.

He drives into the city most frequently and he will absolutely go off his work route to drop off/pick you up from therapy. No matter how expensive the appointments are too. He makes decent money and he's got a pretty cheap lifestyle, but even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. He'd simply pick up a second job to cover the cost.

Lester's cooking skills are actually rather impressive, and he eats surprisingly healthy meals. (excluding a lot of salt & using roadkill meat) If that's the kind of thing that'll help, then yeah. He'll even help you start a vegetable garden. Anything to help you and hey, acts as bonding time.

If anyone makes a single comment about your size or weight, he'll honestly kill them on the spot. Lester is the kindest of the Sinclairs, and he is the most sane, but he's not above chucking a body into the roadkill pit. If there's anything left to dispose of anyway. He'll get it done quickly & ruthlessly, then come home to you with a grin and a hug with your name on it.

Lester isn't good with words and he's not always sure if he's helping, but he makes it clear he's trying. You're his special person, if anyone's gonna make sure you know that, it's him. No matter what it is. He'll bend over backward without your request because he feels that's the bare minimum, to keep you as happy & healthy as possible.

✦Bonus✦

✧Carly✧

She understands the pressure of needing to maintain a certain weight. Society is a bitch, after all. But Carly ain't about that, and she'll support you with everything she's got. Whether it's chucking out calorie numbers or being with you for every meal. She'll do her best to encourage you to eat at least once a day, even if it's hard. And if you're struggling to the point of tears, she'll hush you and give you gentle words of encouragement. She's extremely proud of you every time you make a breakthrough.

✧Nick✧

He's an asshole a lot of the time, but he cares, he honestly does. Hearing you have that kind of struggle with your body is, well, it makes him angry. Not at you, but at the fact he can't fix it for you. So he'll speak to you softly and express his adoration for you as best he can, even if he's real rough around the edges. Even when he and his sister are on rocky ground with each other, he'll drop his pride and go to her for advice if he's left unsure what to do. Nick feels like you're the only good thing that's ever happened to him and he's fucked up enough in his life. He's not about to let you struggle with something alone.