#i miss you all like a phantom limb some times

[tollundwoman]

Every fuckup, every ruined bridge, every lost connection, every suicidal day, every scar on my body, every fifth of vodka, every sleepless night, it was all worth it to live to see the day where I start to accept myself.

[narxcisse]

★ — Taste

Pairing: JayVik x GN!Reader

CW: explicit, i wrote this while i was drunk listening to Taste in loop so It probably has spelling mistakes or idk dude, MDNI

English isn't my native language

Viktor's room smelled of oil and steel, a signature aroma of his restless tinkering. Yet tonight, there was something else-something softer, almost floral. The faintest reminder of you. Jayce noticed it the moment he stepped inside, his brow furrowing, a pang of familiarity stirring deep within him.

"You changed your scent," Jayce said, an almost playful edge to his voice, though the weight of the memory dulled it.

Viktor didn't look up from his desk, the ever-present glimmer of his cane leaning against it. "I didn't," he replied simply, his tone even, almost detached.

Jayce's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "It's them, isn't it?"

That made Viktor pause, his fingers halting their meticulous work on a piece of hextech.

His amber eyes flicked to Jayce briefly before returning to the device. "You shouldn't assume such things."

Jayce stepped closer, boots clicking against the floor, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. "I don't have to assume," he murmured, lowering his voice as if the room itself might overhear.

The ghost of your touch lingered on them both.

Weeks ago, your body had fit perfectly between theirs, tangled in a bed of limbs, whispers, and fleeting moments that felt like eternity. You had been the bridge between their differences, the storm that ignited their otherwise controlled flames.

Jayce had been rougher, his hands desperate, like he feared you'd slip through his fingers if he didn't hold tight enough. Viktor had been the opposite, calculated and intentional, savoring every shiver he could pull from you. They were opposites, and yet you had brought them together-briefly, beautifully, and entirely on your terms.

When you left, you didn't just leave their bed. You left your mark.

"Jayce," Viktor said softly, pulling the man from his thoughts. He was standing now, his limp noticeable as he stepped toward the taller man. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Jayce swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the way Viktor moved, deliberate and unhurried.

"To talk."

"About them."

"About us," Jayce corrected, though the truth was murkier than he'd admit.

Viktor's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"They're still here, you know," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. He stepped closer, close enough that Jayce could smell that faint floral note again, stronger this time. "In every breath, in every touch."

Jayce's breath hitched, his hand twitching at his side. It had been weeks since you left, yet here he was, standing inches from Viktor, feeling you between them like a phantom.

"Do you miss them?" Viktor asked, his gaze piercing, unflinching.

Jayce didn't hesitate. "Every damn day."

A charged silence hung between them before Viktor closed the gap, his fingers brushing Jayce's arm. "Then let them stay," he whispered, a challenge and a plea.

When Viktor kissed him, it wasn't just Viktor. It was you-the taste of your lips, the memory of your laughter, the way you had pressed kisses to Viktor's neck and whispered secrets into Jayce's ear. Jayce groaned against Viktor's mouth, his hands gripping the smaller man's hips, pulling him closer as if that might somehow bring you back.

And in a way, it did.

Every touch, every kiss, every moan-they were all laced with the echoes of you, binding them together in a web of shared longing. Neither of them could forget, and neither of them wanted to.

Because some things linger. Some things stay.

And you-oh, you were unforgettable.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[princesssmars]

thinking of morning sex/sucking the strap with abby 😵‍💫 nsfw.

it was just like any other weekend, waking up to the light in your eyes and the soft sheets underneath you. the only thing missing was the familiar hand of your girlfriends arm wrapped around you.

checking the time on your clock, you figure she’s gotten up earlier to hit the gym to get some extra sets in. while you understand she hasn’t been able to workout much because of her schedule, you pout at not being able to spend a few extra hours with your girlfriend.

but you can work with with you’re given, deciding to give yourself a self care day. you take a nice bath, exfoliate and moisturize as needed, before putting on a nice new face mask you had yet to try out. it’s a nice morning of relaxation, interrupted at the shock of seeing abby walk into your apartment as soon as you enter the living room.

“jesus christ abby, you scared the shit out of me!”

“sorry, sorry!” she laughs, setting down some grocery bags on the kitchen island before rushing around to give you a peck, pouting when you eat your finger and point to the face mask. “seriously?”

“yes, seriously. what’s in the bags?”

her mood perks up again, going into the details of her morning, how she woke up about two hours before you did and wanted to rush and hit the gym to be back and make you breakfast in bed, but there was a backup because of an accident on her usual route so she had to find a different way but her stupid phone kept fucking up so she got lost and-

your hands find her shoulders and start to massage, trying to help her calm down as she rants while taking all the missing ingredients for your favorite breakfast out of the bag. she doesn’t notice as your eyes sweep over her body; the stray hairs flying out of her braid, the glow of her face from a post workout shower, the loose shorts you bought for her when her last ones got a hole. you try not to let it show on your face when you notice the slight bulge.

“anyway, luckily it’s still early enough for it be considered breakfast, so you can sit your cute self on that couch while i make these pancakes.”

god, she’s adorable. you can’t help but press a quick kiss to her cheek, loving the little smile she makes before you give her another, and another, before trailing them lower and down to her neck.

“baby, cmon, what happened to no kisses, huh?” her voice is breathy as she very pitifully tried to push your face from her neck, lashes fluttering at the subtle nip you leave on the last one.

“you’re so sweet, y’know that?” your compliment makes her flush like it always does, big girl so fond of praise but so shy about it. “always helping me and caring for me, wanna return the favor.”

she nods her head, breathing out a quick “yes, oh my god please.” when you tell her you need words. you make quick work of giving her some affection on her face, neck, and chest before dropping to your knees, slowly pulling down the waistband of her shorts and trying not to giggle at the way her eyes nearly bulge out of her face.

this was something neither of you had really talked about, but you could tell the blonde had wanted to try it since she’d heard about it. it’s made evident even further by the way her hips buck when you take her strap into your hands, spit dribbling from your lips and onto the head. you want to tease her some more but if there’s one thing you both have in common it’s that you can’t hear the other beg too long without giving in.

you can already tell this is going to quickly become a favorite of both of yours. it’s a repeating cycle of you getting off to her faces and moans like she can feel the toy down your throat, and her thinking she’s died and gone to heaven with the sight of you sucking her off.

while the phantom limb is so strong it’s a bit scary, every time you gently bring your face forward to deepthroat the strap it pushes up against her clit, bringing her closer and closer to her orgasm. her hands are twitching as they grip the counter, unable to grab your wrapped up hair or the sides of your face. but of course you can see her restlessness, gently guiding one of her hands to the back of your neck as the other grasps hers in a tight embrace.

she tries her best to be gentle, timing the thrusts of her hips with the back and forth motion she’s controlling of your neck. her minds running haywire as she admires the plumpness of your lips around her, your pretty eyes staring into her soul as you moan around her and holy shit-

your hands rake up and down her thighs as she cums, drinking up her moans and grunts and “love you, oh my god i love you”’s.

when you can tell she’s finally come down you slip her out of your mouth with a pop, biting your lip at the abundance of your saliva on the shaft and the visible cum running down abby’s thighs.

“you did so good for me, abs. but yknow if you would’ve just told me you wanted this earlier-���

“please stop talking, jesus christ,” her chest moves up and down with heavy pants, her palms covering her face. “i don’t even know how i’m standing right now. i don’t think i can make your breakfast right now. give me ten minutes.”

“the fact that you still want to makes me wanna suck you off again.”

“babe, please.”

you love mornings with abby more than anything. well, almost more than anything.

ong my sims twitter mutuals had her sims sucking strap so i thought of this. immmmm doing Normal.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 .

# with akagami no shanks.

the captain was drunk — and a bit self-conscious. not to fret, for you were his favorite entertainer.

KINKTOBER, day ten. smut (mdni!). strip-tease. lap dance. masturbation (reader!receiving). thigh riding. dry humping. usage of conqueror’s haki. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 1.9k.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm.

upon his return to the wild seas of the new world, those had been the most frowned upon words. the fearsome captain, the unmovable force, somehow would miss a limb forevermore. the reactions were but a divergent cacophony. fear — for what human could achieve such a feat? was it even a human? if not so, how close was the beast? if it had been enough to face him, what chance did the commoners have? anger — for mihawk no longer had a worthy rival. it would be far from honorable to face in combat a swordsman whose dominant arm was gone. and, at last, curiosity — for why was the truth hidden? one did not brag about a loss, but aside from overused jokes, shanks refused to spare a single word. who was he protecting? it was hilarious to witness the fuss as part of the select number of people aware of what had, in truth, happened.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm. and you had been the one to hear his puns ever since.

of course, he faced decent struggles. waking at night phantom pain; forced to master the art of the sword yet again with a hand he had no experience with whatsoever. yet, above the frustration soared an undeniable truth — for luffy, it had been worth it. besides, a decade past and shanks had grew accustomed to the mandatory shifts, living as though had not lost a thing.

however, as it seemed, there was yet one he would never cease to whine about.

the man was drunk — a common occurrence — and awfully clingy — another common occurrence. you had dragged him from the bar, pitying the poor beckman, for the man deserved a break from the captain’s shenanigans, and shanks had been hugging your waist ever since. he sat on the bed, drooling on your flesh, not allowing you to at least go fetch some water. his grip was a prison of itself on usual hours, but it did not help that you, too, were a bit intoxicated, swaying to the sides and failing to pull his face off your body.

“dooooooooooooll,” he drawled out, hiccuping. “i miss your ass.”

shanks gripped a considerable amount of flesh, daring to whine. “get over it, you’re a grown man.”

“how mean, i am half a grown man,” he laughed at said joke, biting the bare inch of your waist.

“half a man deserves half an ass,” you stated matter-of-factly, fighting off the urge to let out a hiccup yourself.

“but i miss groping both sides at the same time,” shanks insisted, dragging his nose on your belly, daring to grow drunker on your scent.

“you never had this complaint with my tits,” you pointed out, to which he liked his lips, seemingly aroused all of the sudden.

the hand pinching at your waist trailed itself up to rest on one of your breasts, his once slouched figure straightening up so that he could drag a sloppy stripe across your covered nipple. he had no problem with it whatsoever, for he was a man of considerable height.

“i can tease both of my girls at the same time,” he stated, wetting the fabric of your shirt, grinning at the elicit expression. “i can’t slap both your asscheeks at the same time anymore.”

your nipple hardened due to his ministrations, all but his for the taking, for you hadn’t felt the need to wear a bra that night. shanks closed his lips around the bud, humming as he sucked on it, spit soaking clothing and skin alike.

“and you like it,” the man teased, voice a bit muffled; rough.

you arched your back with a sigh, gripping locks of red hair, falling prey to his sensual tongue. yet, though your glance was tethered to his face, shanks’ own eyes seemed ever-so-lost, melancholic, even. you caught on the instance he moved his other shoulder, as though aiming to grip your hip with a nonexistent arm — a maintained instinct despite the absence of the limb. shanks laid down, retreating from your figure altogether, explicit vulnerability that would not have been shown otherwise, was he not drunk.

“see, doll? half a man,” he scoffed, to which your eyes narrowed; face scrunching in concentration as you then pondered on how to comfort him.

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants, whistling with faux innocence. shanks observed your approach with hooded eyes, laughing with delight once your chest was pressed against his own.

“my poor, poor husband,” you teased, pleased to witness the sudden shift in his attitude.

shanks and you hadn’t officiated the marriage; no celebration to be seen whatsoever. it had been the initial plan, two years prior. however, with newgate’s death and the aftermath of the war, waiting on a better period was the agreement. that did not mean the titles weren’t used, and shanks, in particular, never failed to be aroused whenever the word husband fell past your lips. a decade worth of lovemaking, too, made you more than attuned to what had him squirming.

“how i hate to see you so sorrowful,” you hummed, kissing the scars etched on the flesh of his eye. “i will fix that.”

“yeah, doll?” he grunted, growing excited when you dodged his advances. “how so?”

shanks sat on the edge of your shared bed, widening smirk and lustful eyes following your every move. you spun around the room, strutting your hips and nearing the corner, positioned far from his reach.

“you’re not allowed to touch,” you ordered, far more daring due to the alcohol. “just watch.”

shanks had his legs spread, a growing erection visible through the thin fabric of his pants. you opened the small, circular window, allowing the music from the outside bar to travel inside. your hips moved accordingly to the beat, an established sensual pace that had your fingers hovering over your breasts as you spun and approached him with languid steps.

you danced around the border of his reach, teasing the thin grip he had on his self-restraint. when he dared move, you dodged with a fit of giggles. “how should we start, sea emperor?”

he groaned at the title. “let me see your tits, doll.”

you hummed, rolling your hips with a languid sensualness born from the usual influence of alcohol. your fingers teased the straps of your shirt, trailing down the fabric until you reached the button of your shirts. rather than listening to his request, you sluggishly tugged down the zipper, perching your ass up as you slowly turned around, movements following the rhythm from the music outside.

the loose piece of clothing threatened to fall, yet you held the hem, controlling the pace of its trajectory, rolling your hips; lowering yourself on your knees. when it was, at last, off, you kicked it away, snapping the strap of your underwear. shanks had a brief sight of your soaked cunt before he was forced to face your front yet again. he cleared his throat, eyes trailed to the lacy, borderline transparent, fabric that left near nothing to the imagination.

“tits?” you mocked, trailing your fingers down your clothed labia.

shanks was left conflicted, his inebriated mind struggling to wrap itself around what to answer. would you concede if he reacted positively? or would you tease him yet again, offering the much desired sight of your intimacy? how could he outsmart that? shanks was far too drunk for an elaborate plan.

“thighs,” he answered smugly, a grin that indicated he felt all much too quirky.

you parted your legs open, pinching and grabbing the bare flesh, mimicking his touch. your lover was drooling, observing the outline of your intimacy; stroking his clothed member. yet again, a temptive roll of your hips deprived him of what he yearned for. shanks gripped his cock, growing out of patience as your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, raising it ever-so-slowly, a languid set pace. you stretched the fabric, biting on it in order to keep your nipples covered, using your fingers to tease said hardened buds, muffled moans and dancing matching the melody of the song.

when the saliva started dripping down your chin; staining your shirt; you removed it, spinning it on your finger until it fell at his feet.

“doll,” he warned, sweat surging on his temples, ceasing the ministrations of his hand on the hardened member. “c’mere.”

“nuh uh,” you sang, turning around on purpose. shanks had the entire sight of your cunt when you lowered down to remove your panties, dancing with it stuck between your teeth, growing hot at the explicit lust on his eyes.

“come to me,” he demanded, the applied pressure stealing your free-will.

your dance ceased altogether, for shanks had dared use his conqueror’s haki to guarantee compliance. your figure stumbled towards the awaiting man, his index beckoning you in a mocking manner.

“sit on my lap,” you conceded, no questions asked. shanks gripped your chin, a lonesome finger tugging at the lacy underwear dangling from your lips. “i want that.”

he opened his mouth, forcing yours to mimic the movement. your panties fell on his tongue, and he moaned at the taste of your essence, the loud slurping causing your walls to clench around air. you whimpered, neglected and unable to move, and shanks all but spat out the piece of clothing, rutting his hips as though a hound in heat.

“turn around,” he instructed, groaning when you brushed against him. your ass rested on his clothed cock, legs spread and back arched, prepared for whatever he had in store. “dance for me, doll.”

the music fell on deaf ears, overthrown by the choir of your moans once you started to move, the roll of your hips teasing your clit, growing swollen due to the texture of his pants. shanks panted, leaning forward. he sucked on your earlobe, twisting one of your nipples as he teased the clothed erection under your bare entrance. the dancing grew sloppy, for he had your back pressed against his chest; his lips latched to your neck. shanks made out with the flesh, spit trailing down your breast, the wetness used to tease your abused nipple.

shanks’ feet sunk down on the ground for further support, and he interrupted the languid roll of your figure on his lap by rutting his hips, forcing his clothed cock to rub itself on your folds. he licked a trail up your chin, biting on the bone, tilting your head with his nose. expert fingers left your breast to dance down your stomach, finding themselves a home amidst your folds. he drew fast-paced circles on your clit, and you closed your eyes, moaning at the sensation. your legs trembled, thighs burning, yet the pressure of his command lingered. you were but a puppet whose strings he pulled, dancing despite your own tiredness.

the growing knot at the pit of your stomach snapped, your orgasm arriving with treacherous swiftness, for the alcohol had done its part when enhancing your pleasure. shanks laughed, shoving his fingers past your parted lips without warning, forcing you to taste yourself; to lick him clean.

he wrapped his arm around your figure to throw you against the mattress. you had but a brief sight of him — removing his clothes, standing in naked glory — before he hovered above you, teasing your slick, sensitive entrance with his leaking tip.

“you were kind enough to dance,” shanks mocked, his lips mere inches away from your own; hot breath fanning over your face. “but the spectacle won’t be complete until i have you singing.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : i’m running out of things to write here omg, happy kinktober? 😭

[angellic4l]

boys, bets, and sobriquets - d.m

in which; fem!bau!reader and derek make a deal that causes an argument 3 months later

content: tw! reader has something similar to an anxiety attack but it isn’t specified as that! flirty!derek, bau!reader, hurt comfort (?), angst, fluff, there’s a ‘bet’ made, reader has a shitty date, swearing/cussing, they argue ofc, one bed trope.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: my first ever request!! i’m so honoured and just happy that someone trusted me with their vision, i hope this is what you wanted angel! kisses!

Faint sounds of the regular office shenanigans danced around the bullpen; soft clicks of computer keyboards, Reid flipping the pages of some obscure novel at a super human speed, Andersen brewing a pot of coffee, and the scrawl of your pen on a case file all coming together to sing the corporate symphony.

One noise was missing though, the sound of Derek’s chair moving side to side as he talks to everyone and anyone possible rather than actually doing his work. His voice rings out from by the glass doors and your head rises from the manilla folder to see what’s going on. His eyes meet yours, an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk on his face, one that tells you he actually got the new receptionist’s number.

Morgan takes his seat across from yours, looking at you expectantly, awaiting your questioning of his absence or why he’s so happy. Instead, you shake your head at him but the smile on your face betrays your mock disapproval. With a soft sigh, your hand loosens its grip around the pen, letting it drop to the oak desk beneath you.

“Alright, I’ll bite. You got the receptionist’s number, I’m guessing?”

“Number? No, no, baby girl, I got a date and her number. You underestimate my charm.”

“Right, I forgot that you were such a CasaNova.”

“I prefer the term irresistible, sugar.”

“This actually works for you? The whole cocky womaniser thing?”

“I’m not cocky. It’s called confidence. And a little sweet talking.”

“Oh, I’m sure they all love your ‘confidence’. I refuse to believe any respectable woman would fall for that,” you tease, tone making it clear you’re joking.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t fall for all of this,” he retorts, hand gesturing from his face down to his torso.

“In all seriousness, I really wouldn’t. You’re not my type, D.”

“Not your type? Sugar, don’t play with me right now.”

“I’m not! I just wouldn’t fall for it, it’s not my thing.”

“Let’s make a bet, then. I flirt with you-“

“Absolutely not,” you scoff.

“Let me finish! I flirt with you, you flirt with me, and we’ll see who falls first.”

You ponder his words for a while, going through it in your head. Morgan’s physically attractive, sure, but almost everybody thinks that. With your time at the BAU, you figure if you were going to fall for him, it would’ve happened already. Fuck it, why not?

“You’re on, Morgan. Be warned, you’re gonna fall in love with me.”

That little bet was made 3 months ago. You remember it like it was yesterday because it was the day you subjected yourself to the worst fate possible. Falling fast and hard for Derek Morgan.

Now, every time he flirts with you and you flirt back, it just stings. It’s like a cruel snippet of what could be if he liked you back, if you swallowed your pride and let him win, if you would just tell him. Instead, you reciprocate the flirting, keep your pride intact by never admitting anything, and keep your feelings for him a secret.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A ringing noise rouses you from sleep, the soft vibration of your phone reverberating throughout the oak nightstand to the left of you. It’s not the sound of your alarm, and based on how the only light your eyes had to adjust to came from your phone, you suspect it’s a phone call instead. Another case, presumably.

Tired limbs scramble to find the phone, your hands fumbling until they feel it beneath them, and you pick up without even looking at the contact name. Sleep has yet to leave your body, still lingering like a phantom, so your voice is groggy when you speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi, angel. You know I hate to do this, but Hotch needs everybody in the office in 30. Urgent case,” a soft, saccharine voice rings out, one you recognise as Penelope’s.

“M’kay. Be there soon, Penny. Love you.”

“I love you too, dear,” she says before the line goes dead, leaving you in silence once more.

As you pull the phone away from your ear, your eyes catch the time displayed on the phone: 2:36 AM. A groan escapes your lips when you realise it had only been 5 hours since you left the BAU, 3 of which you’d been asleep for. Being called in after just coming back from a case was annoying, but this soon was just infuriating.

By the time you were at the BAU, it was safe for anybody to say, profiler or not, that your mood was absolutely sour. Since Penelope had called you back in, your day had only gotten worse. While in a rush to get ready, hands flying everywhere to rag clothes on, you’d managed to lose an earring. On the way into work, someone had cut you off at an intersection, causing you to slam on your brakes, ultimately sending your coffee all over the passenger seat.

Operating on 3 hours of sleep was easy enough, standard for most FBI agents, especially for you. That wasn’t the issue here, no, it was the fact that you’d been called in after just returning from a week’s long case, the act somehow triggering an infuriating chain of events for you, leaving you earringless, coffeeless, and bitter.

Once everyone else had arrived, it was clear they could sense the sourness radiating from you, only sharing small greetings instead of sparking up a conversation. Hotch announced the briefing would be done on the plane to save time, prompting everyone to grab their go-bags and start to move.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After shoving your go-bag into the overhead space, more aggressively than needs be, you take a seat around one of the tables and watch as the others follow suit. Everyone seems almost hesitant to sit next to you, hovering before sitting somewhere else, disrupting the order of everyone’s usual seats. It’s sort of understandable, it’s obvious that you’re in a mood of some sorts and they’re probably just trying to give you breathing room, but it’s only annoyed you a little more.

Morgan ends up taking the seat next to you of his own free will, considering there were still 3 empty seats he could’ve sat in. Usually, you’d be happy to have Morgan sit next to you, but most of your conversations involve playful flirting, something you’re not in the mood for right now.

What doesn’t help is your growing feelings for him; on a normal day, playful flirting is hard because you know it doesn’t mean anything, but today isn’t a normal day. Today, you’re pissed off and tired, and the thought of entertaining something that’s only going to make you feel worse is utterly dreadful.

Maybe he’ll spare you, you think, he knows that you’re not in the mood for it, so he might just leave it alone and not say anything. Hotch’s voice steals your attention from the thought, pulling your focus to the case at hand instead.

The briefing moves fast, ideas being bounced around like a ping pong ball being bounced off the pegs in an arcade game, everybody collaborating with different theories, or building on someone else’s. Garcia searches what she can based on the few things you can all profile for certain, but it’s clear that this case won’t be an easy one.

The killer is experienced, that much is obvious, but that means he’s killed before. Where, none of you are sure because VI-CAP doesn’t have a match for the M.O you’ve all decided on. It’s not looking good for the BAU, the case is probably going to span over a week and the thought makes you even more annoyed.

Garcia’s face vanishes from the plasma screen across from you as the team starts to spread out throughout he jet, following the end of the briefing. Majority of the time, you’d sit yourself at the back of the jet and listen to music until you fell asleep, or talk to somebody, but you’re too tired to move from this chair.

Apparently, Morgan shares the same sentiment, unmoving from the spot next to you. Any and all hope of him leaving you alone starts to dissipate, knowing that Derek’s chatty, especially with you, has you dreadfully anticipating his conversation. With your luck, or lack thereof today, it comes.

“Hey, pretty girl. How’s my favourite bombshell?”

“Okay. ‘M just tired.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right, sunshine?”

“Morga-“

“-‘Cause, you haven’t given me any of those sweet names, you’re not even looking at me, and your body language is telling me you’re pissed. What’s wrong, sugar?”

Morgan’s analysis fills you with fear - sure, he’s a profiler and even if he wasn’t, it’s obvious you’re in a shitty mood, but it’s not that - you make sure to hide any tells of the anxiety you’re experiencing. If Morgan can rattle all of that off with so much as one look at you, he’s been profiling you for a while. That means he knows. He knows that you like him. And he still flirts with you anyway?

Even if you didn’t think it possible, you’re even more pissed off with that fact, hell, you’re angry. Who on Earth flirts with someone they know has feelings for them? It’s cruel, hurtful, and disrespectful, none of which you thought Derek was, but clearly you’ve wildly misjudged him.

“What happened to ‘we don’t profile each other’? God, you’re such a dick, Morgan.”

“Hey, what? Mama, what is going on with you?” He asks, clear exasperation and confusion written on his face. You bite down a scoff because of course, he’s playing dumb to it.

“The fact that you’re asking is evidence enough. So obsessed with your own pride that you can’t even see what you’re doing to the people around you? Really? God, Morgan, it’s like you don’t even have eyes,” you snap, tone sharp and cutting.

“Mama, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Back up for a second, obsessed with my own pride? Is this you talking or are you in one of those ‘man-hater’ moods again?”

Morgan’s use of the words ‘man hater mood’ take you back to an incident last month. You bristle at the fact he’s bringing that up, even more so that he doesn’t believe you’re actually mad at him.

It was a Saturday night and you had a date planned, one that, due to the demands of the job, had been rescheduled three times. This time was lucky, though, because you had no case, no paperwork, and no reports due. The guy was lovely, so understanding every time you’d had to reschedule, and he was handsome, too.

Once you’d left work, giddy and smiling to yourself on the drive home, the only thing going through your head was how excited you were for the date. A week before that, you and the girls had gone shopping together, scouring D.C’s small boutiques and high end stores. While with Emily in one of the boutiques, the cutest outfit had caught your eye, it was perfect; your favourite colour, exactly your style, and looked incredibly flattering when you’d tried it on. The girls convinced you to wear it on your date, commenting on how gobsmacked the guy’d be, so you bought it.

After restyling your hair and slipping into the beautiful outfit, you were putting your shoes on at the front door. Midway through slipping your shoes on, your phone buzzed on the side table in the hallway, with bated breath, you crossed your fingers and wished it wasn’t a case. What was on the screen was infinitely worse, though.

date

hey, i don’t think this’ll work. you’re too unreliable for me. kinda crazy you cancelled 3 times for ‘work’ and can now suddenly meet up because we changed it to a restaurant.

To say you were in a foul mood the next day would be the understatement of the century. To cancel because of his reason was insane for many reasons, but the two that pissed you off the most stuck. One - that the date had changed on his accord. The weather wasn’t the greatest, so instead of the picnic in the park that was planned, he’d asked if you wanted to go to a restaurant instead. Two - that he cancelled right before the date, as if he’d just suddenly had a change of heart when he’d clearly summed you up as a gold digger long before.

As you’d walked into the BAU and sat at your desk across from Derek’s, he didn’t notice your mood straight away because he hadn’t looked up yet. So, he operated as usual:

“Good morning, angel. How’s the prettiest lady in the whole FBI?”

“Ugh, don’t even. I’m really not in the mood today, D.”

With that he looked up and his brows immediately furrowed in concern at the annoyed expression on your face, dark circles under your eyes, and the way the light in your eyes had dimmed.

“What’s up? Someone I have to beat up?”

“I hate men. Fucking hate them. They’re all so grimey and disgusting and fucking horrible.”

“Don’t generalise us, sweetheart. What have I ever done to you?”

Instead of giving him a verbal response, you just shot him a glare before turning on your computer and carrying on with your day.

Contrary to your own belief, you could get even angrier than you were, even more annoyed than you thought possible for the already shitty day you’ve been having, and Morgan’s the main reason for this revelation at the moment.

He’s still looking at you, awaiting your answer to his question with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, you turn your head to look at him, tongue poking the inside of your mouth in some futile attempt to control it. It doesn’t work.

“Wow. You genuinely don’t believe that I could be mad at you, that it’s some other guy’s fault, huh? I’m not in a ‘man hater’ mood, I’m just mad at you! You don’t see what you’re doing Morgan, you’re oblivious to it, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Baby gi-“

“-Just leave me alone, Morga-“

“- Fine.”

A scoff leaves your lips, bitter on your tongue as it escapes because you know you shouldn’t have said it. You know you shouldn’t have opened your mouth, told him how you feel in such a snappy way. You’re in a bad mood, having let the small things get to you, and you like Derek so much that his pet names and his flirting spark fire where they should leave warmth.

As if on cue, he rises from the seat next to you and walks down the aisle in a huff, sits down in an empty seat, and shoves his headphones in. Great. On top of your so-far shitty day, you’ve managed to push away the one person who makes everything instantly better. Probably squashed the tiny chance of him ever liking you back, too.

A sharp pang in your chest leaves you feeling sick, the hurt manifesting itself as something physical deep inside, and you wish you weren’t so difficult. Instead of talking, just simply saying today was going horribly and it had affected your mood, you’d let your astringent tongue take over.

The child inside of you wants to curl up in the fetal position, cry a million rivers over a boy, feel sorry for itself while simultaneously picking at every insecurity she harbours. Instead, you opt for sleeping, a temporary escapism from the shitty position you’ve put yourself in, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After landing in Montana, you’re woken up by Emily’s gentle hand on your shoulder, shaking you ever so slightly. The rest of the team was already making their way off of the jet, go-bags in hand, walking off in a line due to the small aisle. Once your limbs were a bit more awake, you stood up and followed suit.

The team went from the jet to the SUV’s, making their way to the Livingston police department. Your car was semi-silent, the only noises to be heard are the small murmurs of Reid and JJ in the back of the SUV and silent melodies from the radio.

You’re in the passenger seat next to Hotch, while Morgan sits to the left of JJ and Spencer. Usually, he’d be involved in their conversation, cracking jokes and laughing his ass off with them. Instead, he’s silent. The absence of his voice rings loudly in your ears, guilt taking root in the ashes of the previous anger that once burned. It’s your fault he’s not being himself, you just had to open your mouth when you were in a mood, didn’t you?

Eyes watch him discreetly through the rearview mirror, his arms crossed over his chest, half sunken into the leather seat, brooding. Derek’s demeanour and body language is far from how he usually is, distant and angry instead of present and bubbly. He looks so different when he’s like this; distant and angry, far from his bubbly self.

For the rest of the day, it stays the same, Derek seemingly not himself, the same surly expression on him all day. Every time you look at him, it hurts - knowing that it’s because you couldn’t control yourself, you let your emotions take over rational thought - and the pangs of guilt become excruciating by the hour.

By the time Hotch decides to call it a night and have everyone head back to the hotel, your heart physically hurts with all of the guilt that’s pressing on it and the longing tugging at it. All you’ve wanted for the past 3 months is for the flirting between you and Morgan to be real, to have him feel the same way about you as you do him. At some point, the flirting started to weigh you down, leave you with an empty feeling in the deep pits of your stomach, and a yearning so strong that it seemed pathetic.

Realistically, the silly ‘bet’ was only ever going to go one of two ways. The pair of you would have distanced, one of you would’ve pushed the other away so that you didn’t have to experience a taste of what could be before it was ripped away from you. Alternatively, all restraint one of you had would’ve snapped, the fight to not let the other win, the pride you both held so dearly would’ve lost i’s fuel, resulting in a confession from either side. In some weird, twisted way, it’d managed to be both of them on your end.

Without realising, a sigh escapes your lips as you walk in a huddle with the team into the hotel’s lobby, pulling you out of your own thoughts. Head snapping up from the red carpet beneath your feet, your eyes lock with JJ’s, who’s giving you a questioning look. You find yourself responding with a shake of the head to tell her it’s nothing, then averting her gaze before she can tell that something’s up.

The group of weary, exhausted agents make their way to the front desk, all of you moving in a similar fashion to that of a pack of zombies.

The view would be funny if all of you weren’t aching for some much needed rest. Majority of you collapse into some couches while Hotch and Rossi go to get the keys from the front desk.

Both men return to the waiting area in the lobby after about 5 minutes, 4 sets of keys in hand. When you finally look up at them, your face contorts in confusion as to why there’s only 4 sets of keys when there’s 7 of you. As your lips part in anticipation to start asking questions, your brain answers them for you, recalling the information that was relayed to you all on the way to the airstrip, seemingly forgotten in the haze of your guilty, self-deprecating thoughts.

Shit.

Considering the case was so last minute, there were only 4 rooms available at the nearest hotel, so Hotch let everyone know they’d be sharing. To avoid any arguments and prolonged delay to sleep, everyone had agreed to pair with the same person as the last time you’d all had to share rooms. Hotch and Rossi, Emily and JJ, Spencer got his own room because of his aversion to germs, and you and Morgan.

You and Morgan. In a room together.

Clearly, the universe wasn’t done with sending you a chain of awful events today, because this had to take the fucking cake. Being in a room with Morgan has never been a bad thing, but you’ve also never argued with him and basically confessed that you like him. The words never explicitly left your mouth, but surely he’d figured it out a while ago based on your body language, right?

Hotch distributes the keys to someone from every pair, snapping you out of your thoughts once more as he holds a pair out to you. Tiredly, you take it before standing up and grabbing your bag with your other hand. Today has been long, excruciatingly so, you can just go to the room and fall asleep in your own bed. You think, an attempt to ease the unease that’s residing within you.

A gloomy Derek trails behind you, almost reluctantly if your profiling skills were still intact while being this tired, the sight sends another agonising sting of guilt through your heart. As shitty of him as it was to have profiled how you felt and still carry on flirting, he isn’t the only one who has blame in the situation - you agreed to the bet, you could’ve called the whole thing off, confessed your feelings and let him win, but you didn’t - you had your share in the whole thing, too.

The door lock clicks when you turn the key, opening the door to your new home for god knows how long, but you drop said keys on the floor when you get into the room. Similarly, Morgan comes to a stop behind you when he takes in the sight before you both, silence enveloping the room as you both remain still.

In the middle of the room, in between two windows, stood a double bed with an oak headboard. Not two single beds, or two twin beds, hell not even a bunk-bed like the one you’d both had to share in some dingy motel, no, it was a double.

Sharing a room with Morgan was okay before, you’d done it plenty of times in smaller towns or when the coordinator messed up the booking, but the pair of you had never shared a bed. It was even worse now because you weren’t on speaking terms, now that you’d basically confessed your feelings for him, now that you’d figured he profiled it a while ago.

When you realise you’ve been standing eerily still for a while, you can’t move to break it. Fear consumes your limbs, blocking any and all signals from your brain to the central nervous system, keeping you in place. The only thing you can think about is Morgan’s reaction to this; what does he think about it? Is he mad? Is he gonna walk out? How does he feel about what happened on the jet?

Suddenly, you realise you haven’t even thought about his reaction to anything you’d said, only going as far as to read his body language and determine he wasn’t acting like himself. You hadn’t thought about whether it’d be the end of your friendship, that he’d stop talking to you every day, and everything the two of you were would just fade into the background.

Unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking, induced by the onslaught of thoughts swirling in your head, trembling by your sides as if in a deadly chill. Morgan, however, notices the tremors of your hands almost immediately and steps in front of you before dropping his bag and taking your hands into his.

“Hey, hey, angel girl, I need you to breathe with me, okay?” His voice is soft and soothing before he mirrors a deep breath, exaggerating the sound and movement of his chest to draw your attention.

In response, you nod your head before taking a shaky breath in unison with Derek’s strong ones. Something wet rolls down your face, a tear escaping your lash line that you hadn’t even felt forming. Your hands stay in Morgan’s as you take deep breaths together, the raggedness of yours drifting away with each new intake of oxygen.

Once Morgan has deemed your breathing to be stable enough, he drops one of your hands before lifting his, now free, hand to your face, thumbs scooping away your tears.

“You’re okay now, sweetheart. You’re okay,” he almost whispers, voice so soft and sweet it might make you start crying all over again as the previous guilt kicks in once more.

A sniffle comes from you while he walks you to the bed, hands still intertwined, which he uses to gently pull you into a sitting position next to him. His thumb caresses your knuckles, running over them in a soothing motion, soft skin on top of yours grounding you.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you now, sweetheart?”

“Are you gonna stop pretending that you don’t already know?” You quip, turning your head to the side to look at him.

“Y/N, I am telling you, I really don’t know. It’s been racking my brain all damn day. If I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Another quip is on the tip of your tongue, but as you look into his brown eyes, really look at them, you realise he’s being genuine. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. Oh god, you owe him the biggest apology.

“You really don’t know?”

“Not a damn clue.”

“God, I feel stupid. This is so dumb.”

“Hey,” he lifts your chin with his fingers, “nothing you say could ever be dumb to me, pretty girl.”

“I’ve had such a shitty day. Like a really, really shitty one where everything goes wrong and I just let it all get to me. And then you profiled me on the jet and I thought you knew, but you don’t know, and I’ve been so, so horri-“

“-Wait, hold on, stop. Know what, angel?”

“..that you won. I lost,” you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting to see the recognition in his face, but it doesn’t come.

“I like you, Derek,” it comes out so quiet and meek, it’d be a miracle if he even heard it, but of course he does.

His reaction isn’t what you were expecting at all, not in the slightest. Instead of some cocky smirk, or an ‘I told you so’, he’s smiling. Genuinely smiling, pearly whites out and all, looking at you like you’re the only thing ever. He laughs and shakes his head before caressing your cheek.

“Both of us won, sweetheart. I like you, too,” he confesses, still gazing into your eyes as if they’re full of everything he’s ever wanted. Morgan tilts his head to the side before asking, “Garcia really didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you shake your head as if to confirm it, and then his words fully register, “Wait, she knew?!”

Before Morgan’s had the chance to say anything back, your hands darted into your pockets, searching for your phone until you’re pulling it out of your pocket. Just as you’re about to call her, Derek’s grabbing at your phone, causing you to wave your arm around to stop him from getting it.

“Hey, no, stop. Don’t you dare. Not yet,” he laughs as he continues his mission to steal your phone from you.

“No, ‘m gonna call her. Would you stop that? Derek!” You manage between giggles.

With both of you moving around so much, he leans too far, body going towards the bed, and wraps an arm around your waist to bring you down with him. Both of you are laughing while fighting over the phone, a fight that you’re still very much winning. That is, until he starts tickling your sides causing your laughter to grow louder and your grip on the phone to grow looser.

The phone falls onto the bed above your head, and he doesn’t even try to grab it, he just resumes his ministrations in your poor sides, tickling away. At some point, he’d end up hovering over you, so when he stops tickling you, you just stare up at him while catching your breath.

Morgan brings one of his hands up to your face, pushing a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear, before caressing your cheek once more. Both of your arms come up, hands locking behind his neck, and the both of you are leaning towards each other. Slowly, he leans down, lips ghosting over yours.

“My pretty girl. It’s about time, huh?”

Without giving you the chance to answer, he captures your lips with his, moving them softly over yours in a sweet, slow kiss. You kiss him back with the same saccharinity, savouring the feeling of his kiss, hands moving from his neck to his cheeks instead.

Due to your previous shortage of breath following his tickling ministrations, the kiss ends sooner than you wanted it to with Morgan pulling away so that he didn’t suffocate you. A petulant pout forms on your lips, to which he just shakes his head.

“Impatient are we, sugar?” He teases, grinning down at you, eyes full of adoration for you.

You hit his chest softly, pathetically really, considering you’re trained in hand to hand combat but the intention was never to hurt him. It serves as a warning, followed by a verbal one, of course.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me, not be mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m not being nice because I want you to breathe? That’s some pretty good logic there, sugar.”

“You know, you haven’t actually asked me to be your girlfriend yet. I could find someone who’s nice to me, instead.”

“Don’t you even think about it, silly girl.”

When he sees the determination on your face he drops his head down a little bit and sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before he lifts it again to look at you.

“Do I really have to ask? That’s so high school.”

A scoff leaves your lips before you deliver another soft hit to his chest, seemingly shocked at his words.

“Yes! If you don’t ask, it’s not real. Did you even watch rom-coms?”

“Alright, alright. Baby girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Morgan’s hands move to start tickling you again, prompting you to backtrack quickly.

“Morgan, no! Stop! I was kidding! Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend, now stop!”

A shrill shriek can be heard from somewhere in the room and you both jump up, bodies going into fight or flight. Morgan’s just about to reach for his gun in the holster when-

“FINALLY! OH MY GOD!”

Penelope’s voice comes from somewhere on the bed, loud and excited, but not loud enough to say she’s in the room with you both. Evidently, you remember faster than Morgan does because you pick up your phone from the bed to see that you had, in fact, called Penelope and she’d been on the line for 5 minutes. With a resigned sigh despite your smile, you and Derek just share a look that says; ‘Tomorrow’s going to be fun.’

taglist: @i-padfootblack-things (requester, ily), @floraisunwell (proofreader, ily!!), @darkmatilda

[maxlarens]

hi lilli!! i heard angst and i came running, how about searching for each other in crowded rooms, finding each other everywhere with logan or oscar, whoever sparks the most inspo, but plot twist—not being able to be together for some reason (the why is totally up to you, feel free to ignore if this isn't your cup of tea). thank u thank u <3

kait!!! hello!!! thank u for sending this in!!! im gonna do oscar 😁 it genuinely hurt my feelings SO BADLY to not have them make up at the end of this. so i sympathise with everyone that im about to make sad it was a bad time for me too❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

It's familiar, this feeling.

The squeeze of your chest, the grieving, panicking thing climbing up your throat. You've been feeling it a lot lately, every time you catch a glimpse of someone with hair the same colour as Oscar's; wearing clothes you swear that he has; a person with the same shoulders, the same gait.

You've been seeing him everywhere. You just think you have. Monaco is small… not that small apparently.

When it had first happened, at the beginning of summer break, you’d half expected to be back together within a week. For Oscar to message you and half-beg to talk to you again. In your dreams, you’d both come grovelling back to each other, apologising for cruel words, making amends for various mistakes. Then you would kiss him and you’d tell him how much you love him and things would get better.

Instead, you’ve spent weeks of your summer break totally and utterly miserable. Missing Oscar like a phantom limb. You reach for him, he’s not there. You go to text him, find a thread of messages discussing the logistics of returning the other’s belongings.

You sit in your flat and you watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy twice in a row twenty two hours and forty-four minutes because it doesn’t remind you of Oscar and it occupies your time in a way nothing else can right now. You cry until your eyes are puffy and you write in a diary you’ve never touched before, because it needs to go somewhere. The feeling stuck in your throat needs to be written down said out loud and you can’t say it to Oscar, who you would usually tell everything, because he needs “distance from you right now”.

Briefly, you convince yourself that “right now”, indicates that there still might be a later for the two of you. That this thing between you that’s fallen to pieces might one day be salvaged. In the quiet moments of Lord of the Rings you spiral down a rabbit hole of ways to get Oscar back, pathetic fantasies of how you might convince him to talk to you again. Then Arwen says, “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone” and you cry for two hours straight.

You sob, your face in your pillow and you think that was supposed to me! That was supposed to be us! And maybe it wasn’t, maybe you’re not an elven maiden giving up her immortality for a mere man, but you love Oscar. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Oscar. And now… now…

Well—

It is the waiting that’s the worst.

No texts, no calls. Lando sends you a few, but you can’t bear to hold a conversation with him, knowing he’s playing both sides. And anyway, you’re just thinking about Oscar. Is he there? Is he reading your texts? Seeing the pathetic selfies of you on your couch in days-old PJs? Is he staring at your stagnant text thread just like you are? Has he blocked you?

Your every waking thought is consumed by him. You drag yourself out of the apartment for coffee down the street and you wonder what he’s doing. Has he been rotting at home like you? More than likely he’s been doing things. Playing padel with Lando, going out for lunch, training at the gym, FaceTiming his family.

You feel sick to you stomach. You can list on one hand the activities that you’ve done since Oscar broke up with you at the beginning of the month:

Sleeping, crying, watching Lord of the Rings, ordering takeout, training because you have to. Going for coffee had been a big step out of your current comfort zone. You’re wearing pants that aren’t sweatpants… you’d even showered properly for fuckssake.

You got your most noise-cancelling headphones on, blasting sad Taylor Swift (who you don’t even like. It’s just something to fill the void) and staring down the barista so you can lip-read if they’re saying your name or the words Large Oat Latte. And then—

Then. The barista is mouthing Oscar and your stomach lurches as the exact object of your ire temporary depression walks to the counter. You try to convince yourself it’s not him, you keep seeing him places but it’s never really him. But it is, that’s his burgundy shirt, his swoop of hair, his knobbly little ankles.

You release a ragged breath that you hope isn’t too loud. You duck your head, try to avoid his gaze as he turns, pretending that you haven’t seen him. Try to look occupied by your phone though you’ve only had time to open to your home screen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you blink furiously, trying your best not to fall apart in this coffee shop.

At least he’s not with someone else, you think as a tightness crawls up your throat to settle at the base of your tongue. But he looks happy, he looks fine, he looks better than you feel right now. God, what if he’s better off without you? What does it mean that you don’t seem to better off without him?

There’s something wet sliding down your left cheek and then you see Nike trainers entering your vision, still directed firmly downward. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder— you don’t jump but it’s a near thing. You reach up to slip your headphones off, wiping the tear discreetly as you go. Then you look up and it’s him, it’s Oscar.

He’s holding out a paper cup labeled, Oat Latte and smiling at you tightly.

“They were calling your name,” he says by way of explanation.

“Right,” your voice is shaky, weak, “Thanks.”

He nods, you take the coffee, careful not to touch his hand. You’re trying to swallow down the lump in your throat that’s rising rising trying to claw its way out of your mouth. You blink away the tears filling the corners of your eyes. You can’t look at him.

You’re looking up at the ceiling instead, biting the inside of your mouth. Breathing in and out, in and out.

He says your name, and then, “Do you want to talk?”

You feel like a tonne of bricks has just hit your chest. Knocking the wind out of you. Tears, hot and wet, are slipping down your cheeks. You can’t speak, you turn around and leave the coffee shop without saying anything because surely you’ll just start crying if you open your mouth. Oscar finds you again across the road, in a dark cobbled alleyway. The heel of your hand is pressed to the middle of your chest, you’re hiccuping, trying to stifle heavy sobs that you’d much prefer to let out in the privacy of your own apartment.

“Hey,” he says, gathering you into his arms before you can push him away, “It’s okay.”

You whine, collapsing into his chest, face pressing into his shoulder, “No, it’s not.”

You cry loudly, trying fruitlessly to keep the sobs in. Oscar’s hand rubs comforting circles into your back, which makes it better until you realise it’s Oscar, which makes it immediately worse. You stay there a while. Until your eyes are puffy and your throat sore.

“Better?”, Oscar asks, the crease between his eyebrows prominent.

You sigh tiredly, shrug, “Sure.”

Your coffee is cold now, your chest feels void, hollow.

You shake your head before Oscar can say anything further, before you’re set off on another fucking pathetic crying fit in the arms of your ex-boyfriend, “I can’t talk, Oscar. I really can’t.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding and swallowing some lump in his own throat.

You bite down hard on your tongue. Turn to leave the dark alley to go home, your back prickling with Oscar’s wet brown-eyed stare on you. He lets you leave. You spend the ten minute walk wiping tears before they fall and itching to run back, to kiss him, to pour all the emotion in your chest into some physical action.

There’s an awful grieving ache in your chest that’s carving out your insides and when you check your phone after walking in the door there’s a text from Oscar that reads:

I miss you. I’d really like to talk to you soon.

not sure if it was weird but the lord of the rings Mentions were kinda about how you’re in such a fragile state during a breakup that something as irrelevant to your break up at lord of the rings will make you cry for hours for no real reason. (and not to expose myself but after a break up i did watch the lotr trilogy two times in a row. told my friends and got a text from one of them asking if i was depressed 😭 like yes… temporarily alright)

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. pls check if my requests are open first 💖

[moonstruckme]

ok i have a request/idea: gf reader on tour supporting bf rockstar!sirius but she starts to feel homesick being on the road for so long <33333 just feel like sirius would be so comforting and caring

I feel the same babe! Thank you for requesting <3

rockstar!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Even after months on tour, you don’t understand why rockstars need to smoke indoors. You’ve found a corner of refuge in the stranger’s house, siphoning fresh air from an open window, but you feel for James, grinning and bearing it while he talks to another band that performed tonight and makes nice with groupies while showing off pictures of his girlfriend back home. 

Part of you is still a bit awestruck that you get to go to these things, another part equally mystified at how routine it’s come to feel. During the first several nights of the tour, you’d been endlessly dazzled by the wealth you were suddenly surrounded with, the vibrancy of the people around you, the novelty of it all. The world had suddenly become so much larger, and everywhere you and the boys went everyone wanted to talk to them, buy you all drinks, invite you to parties and afterparties and after-afterparties. 

Sirius bears it beautifully, like this was always his destiny—in a lot of ways, you imagine it was—but sometimes when the two of you are alone he’ll confess to still feeling giddy that he and his friends have made it this big. You wonder if it’ll ever feel normal for him, the hugeness of it. You can tell by now that it never will for you. 

You’re still very impressed by the glamor of touring, you still have a good time on these nights out, but lately you’ve started to feel the distance between where you are and your real life. It’s almost as if before you could feel something invisible connecting you to home and, somewhere along on the road, it severed without you noticing. Now it just feels like a phantom limb, and when you try to recall the scent of you and Sirius’ kitchen or mime the way you have to jimmy your key to unlock the front door, you can’t manage it. 

You’re still thinking of the scent of your kitchen when it sidles up next to you. 

“You smell like garlic,” you tell Sirius, not without fondness. 

“God, it’s that potent, is it?” Your boyfriend’s tone speaks to a chagrin entirely unlike him, and he corroborates its falsity by caging you in his arms and touching his cheek to yours. You don’t mind, as he knew you wouldn’t. “I was given a choice, gorgeous, and I took a gamble.” 

“Mm. What was that?” 

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

You turn in his arms, tangling your fingers behind his back so you’re holding him as he is you. People start to give you a bit of berth, as one does for couples at parties, and selfishly you enjoy it. 

Touring is non-stop motion, a blur of people and places and sounds, and you miss the slow, quiet moments you and Sirius used to have more of. You’re with him all the time, but it doesn’t always feel like it. It hardly feels like you’re with yourself. Not his fault, not anyone’s, but not ideal. 

“It’s hardly one,” you say. 

“Which means” —he drops his lips to your eyebrow, speaking loudly to be heard over the music but just soft enough to have goosebumps skittering down your arms— “the fast food places will be closing in an hour. Fancy some grease, my love?” 

You tilt your chin up, pecking him on the lips. Truly, you don’t mind the garlic as much as you suppose you ought to. “Sure, let’s go.” 

Getting to the door is a melee, several people stopping you to try and pull Sirius back into conversation or ask if you’re going to the next party and such-and-such’s place in a couple hours, but when you do make it out the noise deadens and the air tastes clean. 

It’s a pleasant night, just cool enough to raise the hair on your arms and refresh your energy. Somewhere above you, the moon is hidden behind clouds, but still it’s bright enough that it casts a silvery glow in the areas not lit by streetlights. 

You make it a few paces down the block before Sirius is fisting his hand in the material of your shirt, spinning you around to face him. 

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” 

Only thrice between the hotel and when he went on stage. “No.” 

“Liar,” he says lovingly, leaning in to give you a kiss. 

You expect from his mood for it to be hot and indelicate, and you’d hardly have complained, but he closes his lips around yours softly. His hand loosens on your front, coasting upwards to cup your cheek, sweet and savoring. 

“Garlic knots,” he says as he pulls back. 

You’re unjustifiably breathless. “Hm?” 

“That was the choice I had to make. One of Ricky’s friends heated up garlic knots, and I wagered you’d prefer kissing someone who tasted like garlic over someone who tasted like cigarettes.” 

“It’s not just someone.” You grin at him, turning and taking his hand to keep walking. “I’ll always prefer kissing you. I would’ve done it either way, you know.” 

You can hear Sirius’ smile in his voice, your favorite sound. “Yeah, but I chose right, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” you confirm, and he gives your hand a triumphant squeeze. “I have no idea where I’m going, by the way. I don’t know why I took the lead.” 

He hums. “Do you ever think you might have one of those honing instincts? Like, the way bees are to their hive, that’s how you are with fast food. My honeybee,” he says it drawn out and extra saccharine, knowing you’ll hate it, and laughs when you let go of his hand and make to walk away from him. 

Sirius grabs for your hand back, tugging you close enough to get his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. You don’t put up much resistance. 

“You’re spot on, sweetheart,” he says. “I clocked a McDonald’s just a few streets down when we were driving here.” 

A buzz of excitement goes through you. “Why are you so keen on McDonald’s all of a sudden?” Sirius is as happy with fast food as the rest of you, but you know he’s been enjoying the lavish meals the boys’ new manager pays for and having room service sent up at your hotel. “We can always have that at home.” 

“You’ve been talking about milkshakes for a couple of days now,” he says, “and you’re getting quiet. I recognize that mood. I missed home last summer, too.” 

“Really?” This is the boys' first big tour—they’ve already been on a shorter, less grandiose one you hadn’t come along for—but it’s hard for you to picture Sirius ever not enjoying it. He’s not someone who sets down roots, and with the way he talks about where he grew up you’ve never thought of him as getting particularly nostalgic for any sort of place. “I figured you’d feel most at home wherever James and Remus are.” 

“Yeah, but we’d left you behind. I was torn in two, gorgeous.” Sirius’ tone is doing that weird thing where it’s teasing but not. You can hear the sincerity lining his words. He mashes a kiss into the side of your head. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” 

“Because.” You take his hand where it’s draped over your shoulder, your fingertips dancing in between his own. “It’s not the sort of mood I’d like to give into if I can help it, and I’d rather be here with you than at home anyways, so it’s pointless. There was nothing you could do, baby.” 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” Sirius gives your fingers a playful squeeze. “You should always assume there’s something I can do, haven’t we been over this? Right now, I can get my girl a milkshake and some fries, and then I was thinking we could go find a park to eat them.” 

That sounds so unbelievably nice. You turn your head to smile at him, and find he’s already looking at you with a similar expression.

“And if more things come up that would make you feel better, I can try to make those happen. How does that sound, lovely girl?” 

You steal a kiss to his cheek, but Sirius doesn’t let you get away with just that, stopping to hold you in place so he can peck you properly on the lips. The neon sign of the McDonalds is close enough now to cast you in its glow. 

“You woo me more every day, do you know that?” 

“Yes, well,” says Sirius, wrapping his arm around you again to lead you the rest of the way, “I do have to prove myself better than home somehow, don’t I?”

[wandixx]

"There is only so much you can for the dead" part 2

continuation to this, I should probably make an original title at some point

trigger warnings: graphic describtion of Danny's death

Moments of blissed, deadly stillness felt unfairly short. It was less than blink of an eye, less than a drop of darkness after he asked Team for the last time to leave and before he woke up, in exactly same state that he was when portal spat him out. He could barely perceive his limbs, and what he could, was consumed by agonising pain.

Fuck, he hated Death Days. Absolutely horrible experience.

His nerves were on fire, electricity dancing and burning across them. His veins and lungs and nostrils and ears and stomach and eyes and mouth and every little crevice of his body was filled with ectoplasm, like liquid fire and evaporated ice, drowning him at every attempted breath. He was crushed by an unimaginable weight, at the same time as his body exploded. He was just coherent enough to feel his bones breaking, cells bursting, his very molecules being rearranged and destroyed and rebuilt but not coherent enough to tell if his scream was anything louder than a whimper.

He was in the middle of the crowd that screamed louder than he could handle, as if every person who ever got to Ghost Zone used this exact moment to let out all of their anguish, hands dragging and pulling and squeezing and brushing at every inch of his skin. He was alone like no one was ever before, in silence that was deafening. He could be stomped to death any second without anyone turning his head, and so separate from everything that he could be only existing being.

He couldn’t help but wait for Death, merciless and brutal, whose twisted children invaded his bed time stories since he could understood words, whose corrupted children he was taught to hate. She was hideous and horrifying, but against everything, she was familiar and he wanted, needed, to see one intimate face in the situation that was so wrong, wrong, wrong. He waited for her to rip his last breath away so everything would stop.

If he had a scrap of himself that could feel worse, it’d cry when he felt her getting away from him, slipping between the fingers that were both tense and limp, impossible to control but possible to feel, broken and twitching. She was getting away but pain wasn’t lessening, maybe even getting worse, to the point where it was only thing that filled his brain.

And then it all stopped. No pain, not even any left over typical to how injuries worked, just a moment of weird pressure against his palm (just like the button), that soon stopped too.

He was in his human form, but in the hazmat he wore just before the accident. Something was wrong about it all. Something in his body made it feel like not his. Something in his chest was too light and too quiet and some intrusive thought made him want to claw on his rib cage until he ripped it open and realized what was missing.

Breathing seemed to easy, enough that he got lightheaded. It got a lot harder when he realized.

He couldn’t feel his core.

Before he managed to come to terms with that, there was a gentle pressure on his hand again.

And the pain returned.

*-*-*

Danny didn't wake up abruptly, with a choked scream and phantom burns. He also didn't wake up slowly, not in the nice, relaxed way at least, when the line between dream and reality is blurred beyond recognition. He woke up in pain, feeling like he wasn't even sleeping before, just… somewhere else while his body was destroying itself again for what felt like decades.

It took some effort to connect with his body after he woke up. To be able to move even a finger. Even longer, to open his eyes. Actual ages to sit up without urge to scream.

After seeing the absolute wreckage of the room, he kinda wished it took him longer. It looked like a warzone. Electrical burns on the walls and ceiling, random puddles of bubbling ectoplasm eating away anything they touched like an acid, and what little stuff there was before, was almost all broken beyond recognition, either by whatever force was doing its thing during his death day show or ecto. When he looked at it a bit more, it seemed to go in spiral around him.

It was kinda sad that the cookies went to waste like that. He was curious who brought them in though.

Thank fucking Ancients that Team listened to him and nobody was there when the whole mess was going down. They would probably join him on the other side of the veil otherwise.

He saw it all only because of his ghost enhanced in dark vision (thank Ancients he stayed in the ghost form) because apparently his Death Day shorted out both main electrical circuit and the emergency one. Thankfully, according to his ears, it only reached this and rooms next to him, instead of the whole Mountain.

Fuck. He really hoped Robin gave him some sort of back-up back-up room because otherwise he was dead. Or well, dead-er.

He rolled out of the bed, barely catching himself from smacking on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Though some would argue he didn’t catch himself if only his face didn’t fall to the floor like the sack of potatoes.

Only then he caught sight of big, ecto-green circle that embed itself into the wall right over the bed. It had familiar vibes. Really familiar…

He had to tell the Team about it yesterday.

*-*-*

M'gann was sitting on the needles, just like everyone else. Sure, Phantom asked them to forget about him and essentially ignore whatever was happening to him, but there was no way they'd actually be able to do it. Case in point, first time alarms about shorting out of the electrical circuit in the room. They run there so fast that they had door open to see what was wrong before the absolute onslaught of electricity and ectoplasm and something else turned off the alarms thirty seconds later. Truth be told, they couldn’t do much, not without risking becoming second ghostly member of the Team, they’ve been there and ready. Conner tried to come in anyway, with his invulnerability and such, but they had to drag him out when despite extensive dodging he got hit five times by the time he got two steps into the room. Also, there wasn’t really anything he could do to help.

So they just spent last almost twenty hours alternating between different things to keep themselves occupied enough to not fall asleep and distract themselves from quilt but not enough to not be able to drop it at the moments notice if it was needed. First plan was to nap in shifts if it was necessary but it quickly became apparent that sleep was impossible with how worried everyone was and when M'gann proposed to just shut down their brains with her powers, everyone got really defensive. Well, no was no. So they just sat, at the moment in awkward silence because every topic that wasn't Phantom felt too inane and every topic that was Phantom felt too… just no. No name for why, just no.

M'gann was about to get up to make another batch of peanut butter and oatmeal snacks that took few minutes to make and could be dropped at any second, when Conner practically jumped in his seat, tilting his head to hear better. Robin perked up from whatever he was doing on his wrist computer at the same time.

"Phantom left the room!” they exclaimed at the same time, jumping out of their seats.

This head start didn’t matter by the time everyone ran or flew out to the corridor, racing against clock to the room where they left Phantom. It didn’t seems so before, but now M’gann just cursed their past selves for not waiting somewhere closer. There wasn’t really any place where they could stay instead, unless they set camp right outside his door, but it still. They should be there five minutes ago, like Wally, who obviously run off.

They heard Wally speaking before they’ve seen him.

“Hey, hey calm down. It’s fine, they’ll be there in a second, just chill. They’re right after me, whatever happened, we’ll help you in just a moment, you don’t have to run. You’re barely standing. Phantom, calm down”

M’gann barely made it around the corner and she thought she had seen Kaldur actually smacking into the wall. He brushed it off.

Phantom looked beyond rough. It seemed like Wally, who had ghost’s arm across his shoulders, was only thing holding him up. His feet were firmly on the ground, not in his usual way, when he looked just a breeze away from flying, but in this fully human way, which was unsettling. His face was gray instead of his usual almost tan, eyes wide and terrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, not looking at anyone in particular “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

“Phantom, it’s fine. It’s fine, we know about the room, it’s fine,” Robin said, trying to placate him. It didn’t quite work. Ghost was on the verge of hyperventilating, which was a bit weird to see on someone for who breathing was voluntary.

“It’s not about room”

“I’m sure it’s fine anyway”

“It’s anything but. I’m sorry-”

“Shut up and tell us what happened if you’re so sure we will be pissed”

“Artemis!”

“Portal”

“What about it?”

“Portal is what killed me.”

M’gann didn’t like how the whole situation looked before, but it suddenly became much worse.

“My Death Day made another one”

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 36

X

Imagine dis…

No this is not the app-related prompt…

I had just introduced my youngest brother to the original Ben 10 and worked our way to the latest to show him what he was missing, so when I saw that episode…

It immediately went to Danny…

…

Danny was falling, a normal Wednesday for us readers but not normal for our resident ghost boy.

To cut the flashback short, he had just been pushed by Clockwork, to where you ask he didn’t know.

It had been a while since he had permanently entered the Realms to learn to become a king and an Ancient. An Ancient of what you ask, Space, he was a newly formed which made the other Ancients namely  Undergrowth, Frostbite, Vortex, and so on…

They were ecstatic as it had been a while since they met a new Ancient in the making, thus leading him to be pushed by CW to a space for him to not only practice his powers as an Ancient but also practice his newly formed title can help him heal his two packages. Namely, Ellie and Dan previously inhabited a clone body made by Vlad but due to its imperfections led to an early melting form. To gain a stronger body that can wind-stand their ever-growing powers, they both needed to grow into a body aka letting Danny incubate them like some sort of MPREG situation that he accidentally saw Dash’s notebook containing his fantasy writing about him and Phantom, it was a very dark day that was, it could use some work but the fact that he improved due to his sister’s tutoring, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Now he found himself in the middle of nothing with both cores in between inside himself. At first, he didn’t know what to do, the word space kept floating in his mind so stars? He asked himself, and so the first stars came forth. He was hesitant of course, usually whenever he had to use new powers usually under duress or even sometimes instinctively so now he had the time to explore his newfound powers he didn’t know where to start.

But slowly he let his instinct control his actions creating, with a flick of his writs galaxies formed, a single blink black holes were formed, a twitch here Pulsar were made, and so on… Each move and each breath made way to a new formation creating the former vast emptiness into a thriving space life with various life forms that have come first in the race of evolution. They first stayed within the confinements of their homes and in time they began reaching for the stars.

Throughout the years Danny also began to change, Danny, in his new form, is an ethereal being with enormous power. His skin is a deep, inky black that resembles the immensity of space, with constellations and galaxies quietly dancing across it. His eyes, unlike his former look, he has now customary pitch-black voids, gleaming a vivid, intense emerald that exudes alien intensity. These penetrating green eyes appear to reflect the force of the universe, continually moving and pulsing as if they hold the secrets of existence themselves. 

White accents run throughout his physique like celestial ribbons, following his limbs, torso, and face. These streaks shine like stardust, with a faint glow reminiscent of a faraway nebula. The highlights are flowing, almost as if they are shifting and moving like stars in the night sky, creating a captivating contrast against his body's deep black color. His silhouette, while humanoid, seems almost unreal—tall, imposing, and continuously emitting the faint hum of cosmic power.

Danny Phantom—now known as Alien X dubbed by the Green Lanterns who were lucky enough to witness him at the rare times he ever so twitched—floated serenely in space, his visage as unreadable as it had always been. The once-human ghost-boy had evolved into one of the universe's most powerful entities, capable of altering reality with a single thought.

During the thousands of millennia that he spent his time crafting and perfecting his new powers came with a very heavy headache. In all the time that he had spent filling the space, he had gathered enough energy for the two to create new bodies that could accommodate their growing powers, both Dan and Ellie kept on arguing inside his head about what they wanted to look like, like some sort of demented sims game. Always arguing which would look great on them, how this piece fits them better than the other.. and so on…

…

Did you ever have the instinctive feeling that something new is happening somewhere that you can't explain? Today was that day. The silent space around him was abruptly filled with the wailing of two babies. Danny had given birth, causing shockwaves throughout the universe. Alien X, as the Lanterns dubbed him, was not intended to change or reproduce. Yet here he was, cradling two small, glowing children in his arms, their bodies moving between colors and shapes, a clear indication of their limitless potential.

And the relief of Danny as the two finally settled on a form and agreed on something.

The Lantern Corps was the first to notice. The Guardians of the Universe had long feared Alien X's might, and now, with two offspring whose talents remained unknown, they were on high alert. Every Lantern, from the enraged Red Lanterns to the hope-filled Blue Lanterns, was summoned. The stakes were too high; the children had the potential to become the universe's greatest protectors or its most terrifying adversaries.

Hal Jordan headed the Green Lantern Corps, his emerald light shining through the blackness of space as he interacted with his fellow colored Lanterns as the Green Lanterns' primary representative.

Trouble had already arrived. Darkseid, the dictatorial ruler of Apokolips, and Trigon, the demonic conqueror of universes, have established an unusual alliance. Even beings of enormous strength found the promise of possessing the power to modify reality too appealing. They each coveted one of the offspring, knowing that having even one would give them an advantage over the entire cosmos.

The Lanterns fought bravely, their united lights creating a stunning display of force. Hal solicited every favor and ally he could get. Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and even Larfleeze, the ruthless Orange Lantern, heeded the summons. The battle was intense, with cosmic energy crackling across the starry sky. However, for each wave of adversaries, they vanquished, more appeared, drawn by the irresistible power and potential of the 2 new offspring of Alien X.

As the conflict continued, the Lanterns beheld something they had never seen before. Alien X moved. Danny, who had seemed unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding him, switched his attention to the fight. His normally expressionless face softened as he stared at his children, who were now cooing in his arms, unaware of the battle raging on top of his own hands.

Danny's palm began to glow, and to the surprise of all the Lanterns present, his fingers curled into a protective ball around the infants. The difference was slight yet profound. Alien X was operating independently, free of the never-ending internal argument that had before crippled him. His hands, capable of wiping out entire galaxies, were now a barrier, protecting his children from the evil that loomed over them.

Now, both enemies and heroes are trapped together within Alien X’s hands as they all watch in fascination as two beings are now being formed before their very eyes.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[veryace-ficrecs]

TimKon Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

pain is cold water by sleepdeprivedphilosopher - Rated T

“Kon is getting an apartment,” Tim says and his fingers are digging into his lifeline. “He needs a roommate.” He doesn’t, but Tim prays he won’t mind. “Where?” Dick demands then winces at his tone. “San Francisco,” Tim answers. Tim was never meant to be a permanent part of the Batfamily. He took on the role of Robin because Batman needs a Robin, but Batman has a Robin and even more people in his corner now and he doesn’t need Tim. or Tim is used to putting his wants up on a shelf in favor of what the people around him need, but maybe it’s time for him to take them down, dust them off, and see what’s inside.

Top Shelf Goods by JpegDotJpeg - Rated T

“You know,” Conner started after licking his thumb and trying to rub off the near illegible numbers scrawled onto his inner wrist. “If my sixteen year old self heard me say this he’d have a conniption, but I’m getting really tired of people trying to hookup with me.”

“Well, I’d offer to pretend to be your girlfriend, but I actually am trying to get laid tonight,” Cassie explained, then drained the rest of her glass.

“Don’t worry, Kon,” Tim said, without putting an ounce of forethought into it. “I’ll scare them off for you.”

Or, Tim pretends to be Conner's boyfriend, just to help him avoid unwanted attention. Because that's what friends do. Pretend to be romantically involved even though they are definitely not interested in each other in that way and it would totally never happen. Definitely.

Fetching by Salmon_Pink - Rated E

Krypto likes to take care of Kon as much as Kon likes to take care of Krypto. When Kon is hungry, Krypto fetches him food. When Kon is sleepy, Krypto fetches him blankets. And when Kon is horny, Krypto fetches him Tim. Which leaves Kon the not-so-fun job of awkwardly explaining to Red Robin why he's been dragged to Smallville in the middle of the night by a well-meaning superdog.

The Dating Habits Of Batfish by Calamityjim - Not Rated

Tim and Conner spend some time together.

fill in the blanks by mindshelter - Rated T

“You?” Tim blurts. Holy shit. “You’re Kon?” A nod. “Are you in any pain?” he asks again. Kon’s skin is sun-kissed, cheekbones dusted with a fine smattering of freckles; he is, without exaggeration, the prettiest person Tim has ever seen. “No, I’m—great,” he says, fidgeting. “Do you, uh, come here often?” Kon raises a brow. “To the medbay?” he intones. “Definitely more often than I’d prefer.”

And I'll Tell You No Lies by caecily - Rated G

In a universe where you can't lie to your soulmate, it doesn't take long for Robin to run into trouble with Superboy.

time flies by by Laroyena - Rated T

Jon Kent is Superboy. Tim's gut instinct tells him that's wrong. (Timkon fix-it where reboot!Tim misses Kon like a phantom limb. And then he gets him back.)

there when the light comes in by shipyrds - Rated E

“Well, that was fun,” Tim said, his hands shoved into his pockets. “It was a nice plan, but you know us. We can just drive back to San Francisco and I’ll get a flight.” Kon looked at his posture, the quintessentially Tim tilt of his head. “No, dude, are you kidding me? You’re gonna deny me this rite of passage? Get back in the car. It’s gonna be epic.” Tim had smiled, a big bright thing that lasted all the way until they got back on the highway and Kon tried to fight him for the aux cord because like hell was he going to listen to the same Marina and the Diamonds EP for 57 hours. — tim and kon go on an epic cross-country road trip and have some realizations!

Obligatory Nap Time by egg_thief - Rated G

“I know what you’re doing,” Tim says with a sigh, wrapping his arms loosely around Kon’s waist as he feels himself relaxing against his will. “It won’t work.” Kon hums. “You sure? Your heart rate is slowing. And your breathing is evening out.” Tim curses under his breath. “I’m not gonna fall asleep though.” “Sure you aren’t,” Kon murmurs, still softly petting at Tim’s hair. Or: Tim hasn’t been sleeping lately. Kon’s determined to at least get him to take a nap

apple cider blues by merils - Rated T

A farmer's market rolls around in beautiful autumnal Smallville. Kon asks Tim to be his pretend boyfriend for the day, in order to stave off some old ladies who, upon finding out that he's gay, have been trying to set him up with their bisexual grandson. And surely the matchmaking grannies are the only reason Kon wants Tim to be his date at the farmer's market. It's too bad, because Tim would really love it if this was a real date, but... it's not like he'd ever say no to Kon, not when Kon asks him with those big ol' Kent family puppy-dog eyes. So here he is. Pining. At a farmer's market. (...Someone should probably tell Kon that this date is fake.)

I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship by LilliputianDuckling - Rated G

Kon-El is a clone of Superman, grown in a lab with implanted memories of whatever a bunch of scientists decided was important information.

Seeing Robin today, there seems to be a gap in his education.

Superboy discovers he likes boys

there you were by mindshelter - Rated T

“You know, the cool thing about me,” Tim says, voice gone quiet and petal-soft, “is that even when I didn’t care whether I lived or not, I was pretty goddamn hard to kill.” Kon sighs, eyes glued to his feet. His hand is still encircled around Tim’s arm, trailing up to the bend of his elbow. “Also, who has the worse track record with dying, between the two of us?” Well, Kon thinks, that’s—that’s rude. “For fuck’s sake.” Kon throws his head back and groans, but it’s nullified by the upward twitch of his mouth. “That was terrible.” And definitely meant to lighten the mood. Tim is playing him like a harp, and he knows it; he grins back, wriggling free to knock Kon on the shoulder.   or; in the wake of a suck-ass year, kon and tim gravitate back together.

His Tiny Person by awhitehead17 - Rated G

"Kryptonian's have something called soulmates and every single Kryptonian has one. We know who our soulmates are because mini versions of them manifest to us. To begin with you won't recognise them, or even know their name, until you actually meet them in person. You will meet, you are destined to, but whether you get along or not is another story." When Kon finds a tiny person hanging around him he's extremely confused but comes to adore him anyway. However its still a complete shock when Kon learns that he's known his soulmate for years and has just never realised it.

[flamingpudding]

New Power unlocked: Shapeshifting

A/N: I was remembering that Dan could shapeshift while writing on something else and then this idea took form... just shapeshifting into a cat was to boring for my taste tho... so Danny gets stuck in a little bit of a different from...

Today had to be one of the worst day's in Danny's life. First he forgot about the English test from Lancer and was pretty sure he bombed that one. Second the moment he stepped out a Ghost Alarm blared and Skulker appeared because he was finally going to get 'Danny's pelt' for his wall. Once he finally got him souped his parents and the GIW arrive at the scene and his mom was on blaster duty today.

Meaning after an already exhausting fight he spent the rest of the day dodging them and then finally at the end of the day when he thought he could maybe get some rest for the rest of the weekend, freaking Walker had to appear with some nonsense of him having broken some other law he definitely did not know about.

And what did Walker do? Fucking drag him into the Ghost Zone when he was about to sent Skulker there and chase him around. He didn't even had the time to alert Jazz or his friends about this.

So now he was flying high speed through the Infinite Realms chased by a pissed Skulker who is competing with a pissed Walker, in who can catch the Phantom. Of all the rogues he had he had never thought that these two would team up in some weird competition like way.

Fuck that was his shoulder!

Danny swirled as he clutched his shoulder that was oozing ectoplasm from a wound. Maybe he shouldn't get distracted, but in his defence he was fucking death tired after the day he had. Death get it? He chuckled to himself. If he could just somehow hide from them to catch his breath it would already be great.

Maybe he would get some nice and useful last minute power again to help is situation?

Another blast barely missed him and Danny took a sharp turn around a floating rock. Maybe on second thought better not. Who knows what kind of power he would get stuck with then, worst case it could be something like shapeshifting, which probably would be sort of usefull and help him hide. Maybe.

As luck would have it. Thinking like that Danny pretty much jinxed himself.

Because one second he was in his ghost form dodging ecto-blasts from two of his rogues, the next second he was a snake nearly not getting the curve, then a a bird and smacked ainst a rock because how the fuck do you adjust form having limbs to not having limbs to having wings.

A second later he was a cat and pushed himself of the rock to restart flying away only to end up as a crab somehow aimlessly floating unsure how the fuck he was supposed to move now.

Thanks to the constant size changes Walker and Skulker were missing most of their shots at him. Also Walker was yelling something about unauthorized shapeshifting. Like what the hell man? Danny groaned which sounded like a meow as he smacked into another floating rock his form once again changing.

Panic sized him as a blast hit a little too close, in a panic he pushed himself with newly gained limbs that definitely were paws away from the rock, was he in some feline form again? Either way it didn't matter he needed to get away.

He turned his head for just a moment to see how far away his two rogues were, but that only turned out to be a mistake as Danny did not notice the natural portal opening in front of him.

The next thing he knew was normal gravity taking awakes and his body loudly crashing into metal as clattering filled his ears. In that moment everything hurt and Danny curled up the natural portal closing just as quickly again as it closed. He felt disoriented and he could feel the exhaustion trying to stake claim over his body.

Yet his eyes snapped open on high alert and he sprung to his feet(?). Something was not right.

Wait he was on all four. Danny turned his head to get a lock on himself. He hissed as that caused some pain to jolt but he stubbornly looked down at his arms being… claws… his legs… paws…

What in the name of the Ancients of Time….

He tried to glance over his shoulder but only got a glimpse of what he presumed were crow wings. Okay so his new power appears to have become very wonky too. He had claws, paws and wings. Now he was only missing to check if he had a snake tail and what his head looked like. Then he would probably look like some mythical creation Lancer had told them about when they worked through some old classic texts in school.

That aside he looked around and realized he had no idea where he was, the trash cans he had crashed into did look a whole lot bigger than the ones at home.

"Oh you poor thing." A young sounding voice suddenly spoke and his head snapped towards it. "Don't be scared. I will not harm you."

Wide eyed he stared as he came face to face with a kid that was wearing a Domino Mask? What? And why was he so big, no better question, why was he so tiny?! How tall was he right now?!

"Robin, don't fucking run away just because… what the fuck is that?"

Another voice appeared and Danny stared wide eyed at the even bigger guy with a red helmet. Wobbly he backed away but a pain in his back made him hiss. His panic was probably turning into shock right now because all he could do was hiss more as he suddenly got picked up by the kid, who was handling him surprisingly carefully.

"This appears to be a small chimera-like animal that obviously needs our help. It is injured."

[stormikitty]

Vaggie having lost her wings has me thinking about things that could've happened before the other characters found out she's an angel.

........................................................................

Vaggie: *in pain*

Someone: what's wrong?

Vaggie: you know what phantom limbs are? When someone who's lost a limb feels like it's still there and is in extreme pain? That. That's what's wrong.

Someone: but you're not missing any limbs?

Vaggie: do you know how many people have more limbs in the afterlife than they did in life? Just because I have the basic number of limbs that a human has doesn't mean that's all I ever had.

........................................................................

Vaggie: I used to only be comfortable wearing backless or low-backed shirts and dresses. I wonder if not doing that anymore would have been easier or harder to get used to if there was less going on at the time. I mean, that was 1 of the smaller changes I made as a result of what happened just an hour or maybe a few hours before I met Charlie. And some of the bigger changes were less things I had any control over or choice in and more things I had to deal with...

Charlie: .... I'm sorry you WHAT?- *gay thoughts*

Charlie: WHY'D YOU STOP THO?!?!

Vaggie: I got a couple of ugly scars on my back that I didn't want anyone to see...

........................................................................

Someone: why do you like climbing and parcour so much?

Vaggie: *misses flying* ... uh

[thehypnone]

HI HYPNONE !!! I hope youre doing well !!!

We have a headcanon that Aeon/Phantom is blind and missing a limb due to a summoning accident ,,, do u have any thoughts or ideas about this at all,,,

first ficlet of 2025! i focused on the blind part because i also love @midnight-moth's headcanon where bug kinda sees with his quintessence, so here's my take on him learning to do it

“Now focus,” Omega tells him quietly, so as not to break Aeon’s concentration. “Get the quintessence out and feel the world with it.”

The younger ghoul takes a deep breath and when he releases it, his magic starts radiating from him and spreading around the small room they’re currently in. As it settles on some items placed here and there and the walls, Aeon starts feeling them; though he can’t quite make out what is what or where just yet.

He needs it if he wants to perform on stage as he was summoned to do.

Yes, he could learn to function being blind—and missing half a leg and most of his tail—but it would not only take him long, but also wouldn’t suffice for touring. Aeon is determined and him being a quintessence ghoul is a blessing in disguise in this situation; knowing it’s possible, Omega has offered to teach him a skill that could make up for the sight he’s lost during his summoning.

“Let it settle like dust over everything,” the older ghoul advises, “let it hug everything and then you’ll get it all mapped out in your mind.”

Aeon tries; he pushes more waves of magic out and wills them to do what Omega’s just described. He can feel the quintessence thickening and starting to collide with different things and they do start taking shape in his brain, making him break into a smile.

“Don’t cheer just yet,” Omega gently scolds him, but he’s happy and proud of the other, too. He’s been working so hard and it’s finally starting to take effect. “Don’t lose focus, push it more.”

The younger ghoul keeps smiling, but his brows draw further together in concentration and determination. He obeys and presses on with his mind and then–

“The guitar!” he exclaims. It makes the whole thing drop, but Aeon doesn’t care. “Omega, the guitar, it was there, I had–I saw it!”

Omega chuckles as he reaches out to pat the other on the back, “Good job, bug. You’re doing so well!”

“Does it work the same with people? With faces?” Aeon asks eagerly, with his smile so bright Omega might just tear up. He’s so incredibly proud of him.

“More or less, yeah,” he replies and the other’s smile grows impossibly.

“I want to see you! Can I see you? Please!!!” Aeon begs, his nub of a tail wagging. How could Omega decline?

“It’s a bit trickier, but yes,” he says, “I believe you’re capable of that, you just need to focus really hard.”

“Okay! I can do it.” The younger ghoul decides and then shakes the excitement off of himself, making Omega chuckle—he’s not unlike a wet dog shaking off water. He needs a moment to get rid of the excessive emotion before he can ground himself and properly focus again, but after a couple minutes he’s ready.

Aeon gathers up his quintessence before pushing it out again—except this time he directs it all in front of himself, at Omega, instead of all around the room. Slowly, the older ghoul’s body shape starts appearing in his mind and it grows sharper and sharper until he’s not a blob of purple light anymore, but…Omega.

Aeon tears up as he looks at the face of his mentor for the first time. He’s smiling with pride at him and that makes it even better—even though Aeon doesn’t yet know how to recognize the emotions on others’ faces, he can feel them strongly.

“I hope I am not ugly enough for you to regret me being your first ever seen face Topside?” Omega jokes—he can see his lips moving—and tears start falling from Aeon’s sightless eyes before he throws himself forward, into the others’ arms.

“You’re g–gorgeous,” Aeon sobs into his chest as the image from his mind starts to fade—he mourns it already, but it only makes him even more determined to master this skill. He wants to see his packmates. He needs to see them.

“Oh, kiddo,” Omega coos; also quite moved. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood again, “Wait until you see Cumulus’ boobs.”

[doumadono]

Hiiiii! I am squeezing into your inbox to

1. Congratulate you on your achievement. You deserved it sweetheart and I am so happy for you (maybe even a lil jealous! Hihi). Keep up the wonderful work and keep bringing joy and comfort to other people!

2. To request something!

I want some Vanilla-Mango ice creams in a cup with Maple syrup.

All of this for my one and only bunny Mirko! 🐇🤍I love ya girl!

Stay awesome!

A/N: thank you so much, honeypot! Your support means everything. I hope you'll like this short piece, and please forgive me if the character isn't quite right — it's my first time writing for Bunny Hero Mirko! ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the city, painting the buildings with shades of gold and amber. You were walking through the park, lost in thought, when you spotted Mirko sitting on a bench, her prosthetic leg resting beside her. Her expression was distant, her eyes fixed on something far away.

Approaching her, you noticed the faint lines of pain etched on her face. You knew about her recent struggles with phantom pains, the cruel reminders of the limbs she had lost during the war. "Hey, Mirko," you greeted softly, taking a seat beside her.

She glanced at you, offering a small, weary smile. "Hey, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Is everything alright?" you inquired, concern coloring your words as you noticed the faint lines of strain etched upon her face.

Mirko sighed, her gaze returning to the horizon. "Just another rough day, I guess," she admitted, her fingers tracing the contours of her prosthetic leg. "The phantom pains have been acting up again."

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rumi. That sounds really tough."

She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "It is," she admitted. "It's like… I can still feel them, you know? My missing arm and leg. Sometimes, it's like they're still there, and it hurts so much…"

You squeezed her shoulder gently, offering your support. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must be for you. But I'm here for you, okay? You're not alone. You never were, sweetie."

Mirko's eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, finding solace in your presence. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You hurried to a nearby store to grab two bottles of water and some mochi. When you returned, you paused behind a large tree, watching Mirko.

She was someone you deeply admired, one of the few people who truly inspired you. Her toughness was unmatched, and secretly, you yearned to possess even a fraction of her spirit, to be as brave as she was. She was your role model.

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Mirko, talking, laughing, and sharing stories, sitting on that bench. You listened as she opened up about her fears and insecurities, her dreams and aspirations. And through it all, you were there for her, offering words of encouragement and comfort.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, Mirko turned to you, her eyes shining with gratitude. "You know," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "even on my darkest days, knowing that I have you by my side makes everything a little bit brighter."

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with warmth. "And you make everything brighter for me too, Mirko. You're strong, resilient, and incredibly brave. I admire you so much."

Mirko's smile widened, and she reached out, taking your hand in hers. "Thank you," she said softly. "That means the world to me. After Jaku and the war, things really shifted," she said, her brow creasing slightly. "It's not like it broke me, but I've been feeling more uncertain. About everything, really. Even my own abilities."

You met Mirko's gaze with a gentle smile. "Rumi," you began softly, squeezing her hand in reassurance, "you have no idea how many lives you've touched with your bravery. In the chaos of Jaku and the war, you were a beacon of hope for so many. Every leap you took, every punch you threw, they weren't just acts of courage — they were beacons of light in the darkness for all those who lost their hope. You saved countless lives with your unwavering determination and your indomitable spirit. Never doubt your abilities, my dear Rabbit Hero Mirko," you urged gently, your words a steadfast anchor amidst the uncertainty. "You are a hero in every sense of the word, and the world is a brighter place because of you. The echoes of your courage will never fade."

Mirko leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. "I think that's exactly what I needed to hear today."

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.