#lately I felt like I'm falling behind my own stuff

[unrelatedsideblog]

Quick redraw (redoodle?) of old Zosan but I went full yuri this time

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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[cjlouwho]

Trust

Yesterday, you guys voted on this poll and decided that Buck and Tommy should have an argument over trust. Here is that argument:

“You don't trust me.”

“Evan, I-”

“I can't believe it,” he huffed, shaking his head. “After all this time y- you don't trust me.”

“I never said that, Evan. You're not listening to me.”

“I told you it was a mistake. Told you he misheard me and once I pushed him away he was embarrassed and very apologetic about it.”

“I still shouldn't have heard it from him!” Tommy exclaimed, his tone causing Buck to step back in surprise. In their three years together he'd only heard Tommy raise his voice one other time, and that was when he was kicking his own dad out of their home.

“I told you, Tommy, I didn't see a real reason to tell you. Vinny's new to your station, he came to the bar late, and he didn't know we were together. We were talking about dung beetles and then he asked if he could kiss me. I said 'I've got a boyfriend' but he thought I said-”

“'If you'll be my boyfriend', I know the story, Evan. I heard it from Vinny while we were in the sky! Nearly crashed the damn bird!” Tommy ran a hand over his face. “You really didn't think, for a second, that maybe you should have told me about this?”

“N- Not really. It didn't mean anything. I want- wanted to protect you.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed bitterly. “Protect me? Why do I need protection, Evan? I'm not a delicate flower. If you would have told me, I wouldn't have been caught off guard and then grounded for the rest of my shift. I could have talked to Vinny about it right as work started so he didn't go five hours thinking I was playing a psychological game with him!”

“I don't really know what you want from me, Tommy! I told you I was trying to do the right thing. I didn't cheat on you, it was a misunderstanding. You're blowing everything out of proportion and making i- it seem like I just hide stuff from you.”

“Can you blame me?!” Tommy asked. “You literally just said you wanted to protect me! So yeah, I do wonder what else you've hidden from me while using protection as an excuse.”

“There's nothing!” Buck yelled, tossing his hands up in the air. “God, this is going nowhere!”

“You're right about that.” Tommy walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up his keys.

“W- Wait, where are you-”

“I'm just going to the garage, Evan. I need a minute to think.”

“We made a promise to never walk away from an argument, Tommy!”

“You broke that promise the night we made it!” Tommy reminded him, walking down the hall and slamming the garage door shut behind him.

*****

When Tommy walked back into the house he was overwhelmed by the scent of sweetness coming from the kitchen. He entered the room slowly.

“You're baking,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

Buck shrugged. Didn't even bother to look up from the measuring cup he was filling with flour. “Force of habit.”

“I didn't leave, Evan,” Tommy said, upset to know just how nervous Buck had to be to resort to baking. Even all these years later, baking was reserved for when he felt like his world was falling apart. “I just needed a minute.”

“Two hours,” Buck corrected. “You were out there for two hours. I heard your truck start and I didn't...” His voice trailed off as he set the nearly empty container of flour on the counter.

“I was working on my engine,” Tommy explained. “Truck's been s-”

“Slow to start this week,” Buck finished with a nod. “I remember.”

Tommy walked around the counter to get closer to Buck. He placed a gentle finger under his chin and guided Buck to look up at him. “It was never about me not trusting you, Evan,” he explained. “I know you didn't want him to kiss you; he told me that. I just wish I would've heard it from you. I was caught off guard. You're my partner. I should have heard it from you.”

Buck's eyes glistened as he stared at Tommy. Tommy could see he'd been crying. It broke his heart. “I know,” he conceded. “I should have told you. I just- I didn't want work to be awkward.”

“Oh, it's definitely awkward,” Tommy replied, which got a brief smile out of Buck. It felt like a victory.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Buck said. His voice was quiet, still a bit unsure. “And I'm not hiding things from you.”

“I know,” Tommy assured him with a nod. “I know. I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

They leaned in for a kiss at the same time, Buck closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

When Tommy pulled away, he kept Buck close, wrapping his arms around his waist. “It's a shame you can never be around anyone at the 217 ever again though,” he informed Buck playfully.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, there was Lucy, me, and then Vinny. It's like you're a drug to that station. Everyone wants a bite of Evan.”

“Hate to break it to them,” Buck replied, his arms draping over Tommy's shoulders, “but you're the only one who gets a bite of Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Not even Franks?”

“Isn't he the oldest firefighter in the LAFD?”

“Hes is,” Tommy confirmed. He pressed a chaste kiss to Buck's lips. “I know you like them older.”

“Hm,” Buck hummed, pretending to think it over. “No, sorry. You're stuck with me.”

Tommy smiled. “Good. I love you, Evan.”

“I love you too.”

After one more kiss, they let each other go. “So, the baking can be done now?” Tommy asked.

“Baking can be done. I was gonna make those caramel crunch cookies you love so much though.”

Tommy perked up at that. “Should we fight about something else so you'll still make them?”

Buck snorted out a laugh. “Get a new container of sugar from the pantry,” he ordered. “You can help.”

[sturniqlo]

WASTED TIME- CHRIS STURN

summary: chris and y/n have been arguing. however one fight triggers her final straw and she breaks up with him.

not proofread sorryyy :((

cw: angst, cursing

masterlist

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

Y/n and Chris have been arguing more than usual these past few weeks. Although Chris has been initiating all of them. And truth be told, Y/n is sick of it. One moment he's lovey dovey, and the next he's screaming at her.

She's nearing her breaking point.

To add on, they live with both Matt and Nick. The couple have talked about getting their own place together since they've been together for almost 2 years, but they never have gotten to it. Besides the point, whenever they argue and Y/n walks up to the living room the boys always ask about it. "Chris again?" They say in unison. "Yup." She sighs, doing her routine of grabbing her keys off of the table to go clear her mind on a nice drive. "I'll be back." She whispers and lets out a faint smile to them.

That's how it always is.

This particular fight was different.

"Y/n back off! Fuck." Chris huffs as he shrugs her arms off. Y/n walked into their room, and wrapped her arms around Chris' shoulders as he waited for his game to start. "What's up with you?" She says. "You don't let me kiss you, hug you, let alone fucking talk to you." She scoffs, plopping herself on the bed. "Shut up." He shakes his head.

"Fuck you." She gets up off the bed and heads towards the door. But before she can reach the knob he speaks. "Where the hell are you going?" He burns his eyes into hers. "Upstairs? You clearly don't want me here." She opens the door. Out of nowhere the door slams in front of her. "Chris." She lets out a frustrated sigh. "You stay here." Chris stands in front of her.

"Oh! So now I can't go anywhere in my own home?" She goes back on to the bed. "Your home? Whose name is on the lease? Last time I checked, it's mine." He spits. "I pay ren- what the actual fuck is up with you." He tries to reply but she cuts him off. "I'm tired of this, genuinely. I hate how you've been acting lately. And you know I hate when people walk over me. And I've been letting you do that to me lately. But it's unacceptable at this point." She's close to his face.

The tension can be cut with a fucking knife. "You. I'm tired of you." He points his finger to her chest. His touch feeling cold. Something she hasn't felt in a week.

A week. It's been a week since she's had any kind of physical touch of his. "You're so annoying, clingy, bossy, and a fucking brat. And I'm sick. I'm sick of you." He breathes hard. She feels like he's suffocating in her hoodie. Her eyes sting. Tears start of fall down. "Fuck you, Chris. I'm- You should've told me this as soon as you started to feel like this towards me. Can't believe I wasted my time on you these past few weeks." His eyes slightly soften at her words. His eyes filling up with tears but he pushes them back.

"Cant believe I wasted almost two years with you." That. That was her breaking point. His words felt like a knife to her heart. "We're done." She says. Pointing to herself and him. Y/n steps away from Chris. She goes to the closet with a blurry vision and starts packing her light purple duffel bag. She grabs some clothes from their shared closet. Some of her belonging from her nightstand, and her skincare from their shared bathroom.

Lastly, she grabs her phone off of their shared king sized bed. During this time, Chris hasn't said a peep. Just staring at her as she packs her stuff in her bag. He's still trying to wrap his head around her words. We're done. But, he's interrupted when she speaks. "I'll be back for the rest of my stuff tomorrow morning. And I'll give you my month's rent since this is your house."

And with that she walks out their once shared room, and closes the door behind. Running up the stairs she sees both Matt and Nick sitting at the table eating Taco Bell.

They both heard their muffled arguing and thought it was just like the others. Y/n comes up, grabs her keys, smiles at them, and reassures them she'll be back. Although she did come up, she came with a bag on her shoulder and tears streaming down her eyes. "Hey, what happened. You okay?" Matt looks at her, then to her bag. "I broke up with him. I just can't handle him anymore. I love you both so much, but he's gotten too much for me." She grabs her keys and begins to walk away. But she turns around to tell them one more thing.

"I'll see you guys around, hopefully." She walks down the stairs to the garage and gets in her car. As she gets down the street. She parks on the side and cries as she dials her best friends number. "Hey, Y/n!" Ruby says as she pick up. "Can I stay the night?" She cries. Ruby knows what happened. Y/n told her what has been going on for the past few weeks. She reassured her she's allowed in her house for as long as she wants. "Of course, drive safe."

Back at the house, Nick and Matt just stared at each other. Hoping Y/n would change her mind and come back in. Or yet, both Chris and Y/n walk in together and tell them it's a prank. They both loved Y/n, they thought of her as a sister. All three of the brother have known her since high school. Matt soon realizes that none of that isn't going to happen. And soon Nick realizes the same thing. He's the first to get up and head towards Chris' room.

Matt follows.

"What the fuck happened." Nick barges in his room. "Ever learned how to knock?" Chris mumbles. He sits on his bed looking at the floor. "Christopher. Why did Y/n walk out saying you two are done?" Matt yells. "She's coming for her stuff tomorrow, you can ask her then." He looks up at them. His eyes are red and his voice cracks a bit. "No. we want to hear it from you."

"We argued, she broke up with me, packed some of her shit and left. Simple as that." Chris shrugs and looks back down to the ground. Nick shoves his shoulder up and starts going off on him. "This was real fucking low of you. Y/n has been telling us how you've been treating her lately. Why are you acting like this, huh? Now you have no girlfriend, she was nothing but good to you!"

"Get your hand off of me! And yes, I know I have no girlfriend now. Why do you guys care so much, this is between me and her. Not you two." Chris yells. "This is unbelievable. I'm out of here." Nick says and walks out of the room. "I thought you were better than this, Chris. Good luck finding your own ride from here until I say so." Matt is next to walk out the room and slam the door behind him.

Once they're out of the room, Chris lets out his sobs. This was all his fault, if only he had told her he'd been feeling stressed, anxious, and not him. This would've all been fine.

THE NEXT DAY

Y/n had been feeling nervous about returning back to the house. She had texted Chris earlier this morning that she would go back to the house and pick up her belongings. He responded with a thumbs up. All she had to get was her clothes, skincare, makeup, and miscellaneous items. Her car was big enough for everything.

Using the garage remote she had in her car she parked her car and left her trunk open so it'd be easier to load her stuff in. It'll be easy considering the fact Chris' room had easy access to the garage. She slowly opened the door seeing Chris' room opened but no Chris inside. She used the opportunity to grab as much as she could.

She put what she grabbed into her car and when she walked back in, she heard Chris coming down the stairs. "Hey." He said softly. "Hi." She said without looking at him. She went back to the closet and grabbed more clothes. Chris didn't know whether or not to help her. He stood around for a bit. But eventually stood up when she was gone and grabbed some of her clothes and took them to her car.

When Y/n saw what he was doing, she gave him a soft smile. "Thanks." She thought to let Chris grab everything she had from the closet, so she grabbed her luggage's and threw in everything she had in the drawers in there. After she filled all two luggage's she rolled them out to her car where she found both Matt and Nick had joined Chris. "Hey, Y/n." They both said. "Hey guys!" She said. Chris couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest as she showed more enthusiasm to them than to him.

"Do you need help?" Nick followed her to her once shared room. "Sure, I just need everything I have in the bathroom." She grabbed her many empty makeup bags and book bags she had and gave some to Nick to help her. "I'm sorry about him, Y/n." Nick said as he carefully put makeup pallets in the pouches. "You don't have nothing to be sorry about, trust me." She laughed slightly, which brought a sense of warmth to him.

"Can we still hangout one on one?" He asked. "Of course, I don't have nothing against you. I hope none of this changes anything between me and you."

After twenty more minutes of gathering her stuff, her car was filled to the brim. She excused herself to grab some last things she had on the main floor. Both Matt and Nick followed her upstairs. "Hey, I hope we can still be friends, with everything that has happened." Matt tells her in the living room. "Of course, I let Nick know the same thing." Y/n puts on the backpack she filled up in the living room. "Well, I guess I'll see you sometime soon?" Matt says, "For sure." She hugs him. "Thank you for everything, guys." She tells Matt and Nick.

Back downstairs, she finds Chris shutting her trunk and sighing. She fishes out her keys from her sweatpants pocket and takes her house keys out from the keychain. "This is for you, and this." She hands both the keys and the garage remote. "Thanks." As she gets in her car, she tells him one last thing.

"I hope you find someone that doesn't waste your time like I did." She shuts her door before he can even speak. Chris' eyes only fill up with tears as he sees her pull out of the garage and drives away.

[annab-nana]

After that gut punch of an angsty fic (said with love because it was written beautiful) can we get some fluff. Maybe one where Eddie comes home late and finds us sleeping on the couch because we tried waiting up for him….

Your writing is incredible 💜

aw thank you angel 😍 here is some tooth-rotting fluff for ya

warnings: not proofread, use of petnames (love, angel, sweetheart)

❀ masterlist ❀

you glanced down at your watch for what felt like the twentieth time that night. at this point, you were having a staring contest with the door, but you kept letting it win to check the time.

"’i'll be home by nine’ my ass," you muttered while getting a bit frustrated with the shorthand of your watch. it wasn't that little piece of metal's fault that eddie was later than he said, but the fact that it was almost pointing to eleven annoyed you.

eddie always commented on your stubbornness, and tonight was no different. you refused to get up and go to bed without eddie. you would sit there on the couch, leaning your head on your hand and your elbow on the arm of the sofa, until eddie walked through that damn door.

"she is going to kill me, gareth," eddie said exasperatedly as they loaded the last of the equipment into his van. "do you hear me, man? she will kill me."

"i hear you," gareth commented, tossing a rolled-up aux cable haphazardly in with the rest of their stuff before slamming shut the van door on his side. eddie shut the other. "and guess what? you say that every time you think she's going to be mad at you, and nine times out of ten, you're overreacting. you really messed up that one time at her grandma's lunch though."

eddie's shoulder rose when he took in a deep, steadying breath. "i thought i told you to stop bringing that up."

gareth's sputtering laughter echoed in eddie's ears as well as throughout the back alley behind the venue they were at. "i can't, man," gareth spoke between chuckles, "it's too funny."

eddie cut his eyes at his best friend who quickly straightened up his act before he ran a hand over his face and let out a sigh. "okay," eddie started, "i'm gonna go home. wish me luck."

gareth rolled his eyes at eddie and walked to his own vehicle, shouting to him, "you'll be fine!" over the growing distance between them.

eddie braced himself for the worst when he began to unlock the front door of your shared apartment nearly two and a half hours after he told you he'd be home. he really didn't mean to be this late. his gig started late, which meant that it ended late. then, the place was packed for the band that followed them, so getting their things out was difficult. it already took a little bit to pack it all back up in eddie's van. then, there was traffic getting out of the venue and heading home.

however, when eddie opened the door, he was met with a sight he liked a lot more than he anticipated, even if he was overthinking your reaction. you were passed out on the couch, and he could tell by your position that you didn't fall asleep there willingly. you were sitting up still, but your body was curved over the arm of the couch. your arm on the sofa's was sticking straight out, your hand limp at the end of it. it seemed you were using your bicep as a pillow, and how your neck was bent to achieve such a position was sure to leave some discomfort later on.

as quietly as he could, eddie slid off his shoes and jacket and set down his keys. then, he turned to the adorable sight that was you and made his way over to you. he squatted down in front of you, delicately kissing your cheek with his thumb. in a moment, your eyes fluttered open to meet his and a small smile pulled at your lips.

"hey, angel," eddie greeted in a gentle voice, eyes full of love and adoration for you.

"hey," you spoke softly in return. you picked your head up slowly and reached your arms up over your head to stretch.

eddie felt like his heart was going to burst at the seams with how much he loved you. he didn't know it was possible to feel this much until he met you. his big brown eyes watched you before you let your arms settle in your lap. tenderly, he reached for one of your hands and asked, "you ready for bed, sweetheart?"

"mhmm," you replied in a hum as you brought your free hand to your eye to rub it.

eddie's heart was seconds from combusting, but he miraculously managed to keep it under control. he squeezed your hand in his and rose to stand, you following his actions. he leaned forward to press a light kiss to your temple and whispered against your skin, "let's go, love."

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tag list: @fiction-is-life @jellyfishbeansontoast @daisyridleyss

[goldsainz]

# RAFE CAMERON — IT'S OKAY, I'M OKAY !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ you move away after breaking up with rafe, but when you see him again, all the memories surface back up.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ talks about drugs (being high), toxic relationship, angst.

003. NOTE !

✯ not my best work, but i really wanna post more rafe stuff, besides high infidelity. so i hope you all like this, and don’t forget to like and comment/reblog 🫶 also back to back tate mcrae inspired fics????

word count : 1,5k

You hadn't been back to the Outer Banks in months. The last time you were here, everything felt different. You felt different. The sun on your skin, the salt in the air. But that was before. Before everything went to hell.

It had been months since you left. Months since you packed up your life,, no goodbyes, no explanations. You just... left. Left him behind. Rafe Cameron. Your high school sweetheart. The guy you swore you'd grow old with. The one who somehow turned into a complete stranger.

The breakup had been a mess—dragged on for weeks, filled with drunken arguments, silence that was more suffocating than anything. Rafe, the guy who used to make you feel like the most important person in the world, became this distant shell of himself. Lost in his own head, his own haze. He was high all the time, and his addiction turned him into someone you didn’t recognize. You tried. You tried to hold onto the love you thought was still there, but you couldn’t. It was too much. His unpredictability, the way he treated you—his behaviour hurt, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

So, you left. You packed your things, boarded a plane, and moved across the country. You thought that maybe distance would give you the space to heal, that time would make it easier. But no matter where you went, you couldn’t shake the part of you that was still back here, still stuck in the Outer Banks with him.

You hadn’t planned on coming back—not anytime soon anyway. But when you got the invite for the Midsummer party, something about it made you weak. Maybe it was the pull of the memories, the urge to close that chapter. You told yourself it was for closure. To see old friends, check in on your family, maybe get some peace of mind. You told yourself you could handle it. You told yourself you were okay.

But the second you stepped onto these familiar streets, everything shifted. The air felt the same, the ocean crashing in the distance sounded the same, the people—the ones you used to know—were still here. But something was off. Something was different. And it was him.

You didn’t expect to see him tonight. Not like this. Not with her.

You saw Rafe the second you walked into the bar, sitting at the corner with Sofia. His arm was wrapped around her waist, her laugh filling the air. It was a laugh you used to know, sweet and carefree. Now, it felt like a knife twisting in your chest. You’d always known Sofia had a thing for Rafe. Who didn’t? He was Rafe Cameron—the golden boy, the charming disaster everyone wanted a piece of. But seeing them together, seeing him with her, hit harder than you thought it would.

The memories flooded back, quicker than you could stop them. Late nights falling asleep in his arms on the beach, his head on your chest as he whispered how much he loved you. Days spent walking down the pier with his arm around you, everything feeling like it was supposed to be that way, forever.

And then the bad came rushing in—those nights when he'd come home late, smelling of smoke and alcohol, the arguments that always ended with him promising to change, to be better. But he never did. You remember the nights spent crying, wondering if you were enough, if he even cared about you anymore.

You try to shake it off, to stop the thoughts from overwhelming you. But they don’t stop. They never stop.

Before you can turn to leave, though, Rafe’s eyes catch yours from across the room. His gaze locks onto you like he’s seen a ghost, pulling you in, and for a moment, everything stops. The noise in the bar fades, and it’s just you and him. His expression shifts—confusion, surprise, and maybe something else, but it’s hard to tell. You don’t know how to read him anymore.

You should leave. You need to leave. But before you can make an escape, Sofia looks over too, following Rafe’s gaze. She smiles, polite but cold. It’s the kind of smile that says, I see you, but you're not a threat. You feel the sting of it.

And then you feel Rafe. He's standing behind you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. You want to scream, to punch him in the face, to ask him why he couldn’t just be better. But instead, you swallow all the anger, all the frustration. You can’t stay here. You can’t. The past is too much, the memories are suffocating, and you can already feel your heart breaking again just by being near him.

I need to leave. I have to get out of here before I lose myself again.

It’s a lie. You don’t want to leave. You don’t need to leave. But you know that if you stay, something inside you might crack, something you won’t be able to piece together again. And you’re done with that.

Rafe steps in front of you before you can move, his body too close, blocking your path. His eyes soften, just for a second, but that old coldness creeps back in fast. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands there, like he’s trying to figure out how to fix everything that’s broken. But you know better now.

“Why are you leaving so soon?” His voice is softer than you expected, like he’s genuinely trying to pull you back, keep you here, keep whatever this is from slipping away.

You feel the weight of his words, but you won’t let them drag you down. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your cool, but your heart’s racing. Every part of you wants to scream at him for all the shit he put you through. But you don’t.

“You don’t get to ask that,” you reply, your voice tight. “Not after everything.”

Rafe’s face shifts—confusion, regret, maybe even a flicker of guilt. But it’s gone before you can even process it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. You’ve lived without him for months now. It’s been hard, but better. It’s better.

His hand moves like he's going to touch you, like he's trying to reach you again. But the moment it gets too close, you flinch, pulling away. His hand hovers for a second, then drops, and you can feel the sting of that lost connection. But you don’t let him see it. You can’t.

“We were good together, YN,” he says quietly, his voice almost desperate. “We had something real.”

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You were high. You were always high, and you were toxic. I had to leave. You—you changed.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. He stands there, looking at you, like he’s trying to figure out the right thing to say, the right way to fix it. And you just stand there, feeling the weight of all the lost time, all the broken promises, and you know you can’t go back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. His voice is low, the words sounding... real, maybe. “I’ve been trying to change. I’ve been... trying to fix things.”

But you’ve heard it all before. The promises, the apologies. They’re just words. And you’re not falling for them again.

“It’s okay. Be with her. She’s perfect for you.” you whisper, your voice shaking. You don’t want him to see how much it still hurts. You don’t want him to see the part of you that still cares.

Rafe’s face falls, like you slapped him. But you don’t care anymore. You’ve had enough. You turn to leave, but before you can, he grabs your wrist. His grip is tight, like he’s scared of losing you for good. You don’t fight him. You don’t even want to.

His touch burns like fire, but you take a deep breath and pull away.

“Don’t leave like this,” he pleads, his voice raw.

You look at him—really look at him—and you feel everything you’ve lost. The love, the hurt, the broken promises. And then, with all the strength you can muster, you say the words that are finally going to set you free.

“You don’t get to make me stay, Rafe.”You rip your wrist from his grip and walk away, not looking back. Not even when you hear him call your name. Not even when you hear the pain in his voice. Because no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many times you tell yourself you’re okay, you know one thing for sure—it will never be okay.

[howlingmod]

hello hello! I've never requested stuff before so i hope I'm doing this right lol, I'm wondering if i can request something tender and fluffy for follower sword x reader?

i just wanna hold that man in my arms bro, and your writing is just so peak

summary - follower sword x reader hcs. ur both phighters, uninetionally a little aut4aut coded woops

misc - thank you so much ! im glad you enjoy my writing .. smiles .. apologies if this is a little lackluster or inaccurate, this beast is weird. also yay first request !

-To say dating Sword can be a little unconventional is an understatement. More than once have people shot you a look once you told them who your partner is. Regardless, you wouldn't have it any other way and neither would Sword.

-Usually, people are confused as to how you guys got together in the first place. He's not exactly a social butterfly and he definitely comes off as threatening to most people, but there's no dramatic story to be found here, unfortunately. You just met him during a phight like most other people.

The match had been close, both teams were neck and neck for the point by now. It was a mad dash to get on the point or die trying, leaving more than a few people to try and make a run for it before falling to the other team the moment they were within a few feet. Every route lead to the same choking point, funneling everybody into a sea of flying bullets and swinging blades. Eventually, you noticed the crowd begin to thin as several people traded or finally picked someone on the other side off. If there was ever an opening, this was it. Stealing away from the corner you'd hidden in, you ran for the point, just barely dodging stray attacks before your feet touched the objective. The timer resumed in your teams favor, much to the other teams frantic irritation. A few of your teammates had bullied onto the objective just after you, helping fend off the incoming vigor of the enemy team in a last bid for the win, but it still wasn't enough. One got picked off, then another, and then another after that, then it was just you again. They'd gotten picks of their own and one had traded, but it still left you outnumbered. Given the exhaustion curling up your spine to lay heavy in your head and the dread of an inevitable loss hanging off your hands, you weren't winning this. Someone on the other team pushed towards you. You were slow on the uptake, pulling your gear just a few seconds too late through the fog of weariness. Practically in slow motion, you watched them reel back to swing, made to block it yourself, and a pale blade stick itself in the ground just between you two. With hands already raised, quickly identifing the blade's source, you instead made to cover your eyes before the flashing light could blind you. Where the once constant growl of battle had become ringing in your ears, there was silence. Peeking out behind your arms, there was nobody. It wouldn't last long, you knew that, but you finally felt as though you had a moment to breathe. Just a few seconds left. You could make out careful footsteps behind you, leaving you to whip your head around to the source. Instead of Shuriken or Scythe popping out to break the peace, you saw Sword. You hadn't seen too much of him that match, seemingly being focused on different areas (bitterly, you thought of asking him why he hadn't been helping you with the objective, but a better part of you decided against it.), but you were thanking the Heights he was on your team now. "Thanks for the help, you're a life saver," You hummed, smiling at him. He didn't return the gesture, hell, you aren't even sure he looked at you, given the lack of pupils. Faintly, you picked up some little grunt he made, a show of acknowledgement. That was enough for you. You turned back forwards, vaguely noting how he stopped next to you. Maybe he was tired too? You're sure he was focusing on trying to beat the other team into the ground for the match, so you wouldn't be surprised. The timer reached its peak, signalling your team's win. Neither of you made a sound, even as you picked up on your other teammates celebrating off in the distance. The air stayed peaceful, weight lifting off of you as you stood side-by-side. Nothing more needed to be said.

-Afterwards, you did your best to return the favor, though he rarely needed it. You would provide support in the ways you could, pointing a healer in his direction when he was in rough shape and picking off extra opponents if he was outnumbered. Where you'd expected to just help him out once or twice and consider the IOU paid off, he would return the aid right back. Without thinking about it, you two started to hover around eachother.

-He wasn't sure why he did it, just that, at some point, he began to think of you more than he needed to. It was good to know where your teammates were and what their status was, but he certainly didn't need to be worrying this much over an individual. Nevertheless, he would still check in on you, sending long glances your direction whenever you were nearby as a quick assesment of your condition.

-Even before matches you two would find eachother, sitting quietly as you two prepared for the upcoming phight. Sometimes, you would ramble to him as he listened wordlessly, only humming every now and then to let you know he was still paying attention (a habit he'd picked when his silence had lead you to trail off in the past).

-The first time you'd ever mentioned hanging out with him outside of a phight, he'd declined, if only out of unfamiliarity. He wasn't used to getting such direct, personal invites to be apart of other people's lives like that. It stuck in his head for a few days, the question of why you'd thought to pick him speficially rattling around in the back of his head.

-Eventually, he would be the one to invite you out. It wasn't anything special and, in all honesty, it was probably just to walk around. Nothing all that entertaining, but he didn't care about the activity as much as he did having more time to hear you talk.

-Likewise, the confession (after a long time of him sorting out his feelings, he still didn't totally understand how he felt once you two got together but he knew you were greatly important to him), was pretty mundane. You're probably the one to do it since he's not super familiar with the concept, at least not beyond a surface level understanding of what it looks like for other people. To you two, it's an intimate moment: you trust him enough to open yourself up to rejection and he cares about you enough to make clear he's interested in you as well. To others, it's a very blunt, robotic moment on his part contrasting to your obvious sentiment. Oh well.

-Anyhow, as for how you to interact once you get together, it's more of the same. A lot of the time, you two are just existing with one another. It would come off as uncaring if it weren't for him seeking you out just to be in your company, even if you're not interacting in any way. He just likes having you there, you make him feel whole in a strange way, something about your presence makes him feel like some wrong has been righted.

-He's a little nosy about your hobbies. If you're reading a book he wants you to tell him about it, if you're making something he wants to know how you're doing it, so on, so forth. He doesn't know why, he just likes to know everything he can about you. If we allow the more sentimental wording to fall, you're like a specimen he needs to learn about and put under a microscope, lovingly.

-His love language, other than time, is gifting things to you, actually. Most times it's odd trinkets he comes across that remind him of you, but its the thought that counts. He takes the utmost care for them to not get ruined before he can gift them to you and you can just barely notice him stand a little straighter when you happily take them. If you have a spot for all the things he's given you, he admires it with pride every time, blame it on bird instincts.

-He often just calls you by your name, he just doesn't think any nickname compares to your actual name. That's the title of the person he loves, what else could compare?

-It takes him a while to warm up to physical affection, so give him some time with that. Once he's settled into a relationship with you, he's a lot more open to any touch you give. He most enjoys whenever you lean on him, he enjoys being someone you can count on for support and comfort. On his part, he's a sucker for you holding his face in your hands, something about it just feels so tender. The way your hands cradle his head just feels so soothing.

-The first time he says 'I love you,' is a whisper, but don't let that fool you into thinking their meaning is any smaller. It's a total declaration of his heart to you, how could he not mean it when you're the light of his life?

[yourheartonfire]

Reporter finds out that their city's hero is corrupt, and they make it their goal to expose them to the public. Somehow they fall in love. (Can go plucky reporter who openly confronts Hero, or cautious reporter who knows a corrupt hero is dangerous, so they get close under false pretenses to find evidence.)

Prompt courtesy of @thepenultimateword

"Wait. No. What is...?" The reporter's throat had gone dry as sand. They slapped the composition book shut, thrust it back into the gold paper wrappings. But it was too late. Afterimages of dates and names and dizzyingly high sums danced before their eyes - all in the hero's own neat handwriting.

"It's the proof you wanted, darling," the hero said, a dreamy smile on their lips as they gazed at the reporter through the candlesticks. "All the money I've been extorting from our city's villains in exchange for turning a blind eye to their wrongdoing. Happy one year anniversary."

The reporter stared from the hero's face back down to the gift, so beautifully wrapped. They had gotten the hero designer sunglasses. "You knew," they said. It was meant to be a question but... no. This was not a surprise. Somewhere over the past year, this had become an inevitability. "You knew I was..."

"Investigating me? Seducing me?" The hero chuckled and rose. The reporter managed to quash their flinch as the hero picked up the reporter's empty plate, then their own. "Darling, I spend my life foiling schemes. Yes, of course I knew."

The reporter sat, flooded in an adrenaline rush so strong they wondered if they were having a heart attack. The door to the hero's penthouse apartment was forty feet behind their back. Their fingers itched to grab that notebook and run - but some survival instinct kept them frozen to their chair as the hero prowled the dishes off to the kitchen.

"So," the reporter said evenly. "You've just been... toying with me, this whole time?"

"Toying with you," the hero purred, returning to cock a hip against the table and give the reporter that half-feral smile they had only ever seen behind closed doors. God help them, the reporter felt themselves blush. "Yes. That's a good word. You decided you'd try to seduce your way into my confidence, to uncover my secrets. So..." The hero traced a finger along the reporter's temple, teasing a lock of hair out to run between their fingers. "...I set out to seduce you back. And you win."

The reporter blinked. "What."

"You win." The hero gave a fond little tug to their hair and then let go. "I've fallen in love with you. So."

"You cant love me! I'm here to expose you!" The reporter scrambled backwards, clutching the notebook to their chest as if the hero hadn't just handed it to them, literally gift wrapped. "You've been blackmailing villains!"

The hero shrugged without a blush of shame. "Only those who would have bought their way out of the justice system anyway. Why shouldn't I cut out the middleman and use their money for crime-fighting?"

"Crime-fighting? You're lining your pockets!" The reporter waved a hand wildly at their luxury surroundings as they backed away. "The food, the clothes, the whole lifestyle!"

"And I'm the last hero of my generation still standing," the hero said, calm and steady as they paced forward. "You think that's a coincidence? Or you think it's because you and I both know sometimes doing the right thing means bending a few rules along the way?"

The reporter stopped dead again. "What are you talking about?"

The hero's hand closed on the reporter's wrist and - yanked was too harsh a word. It was a pull and a spin, like the sun dragging a meteorite into its gravity well and suddenly the reporter was wrapped up in the hero's arms. In their lover's arms, their back pressed to the hero's chest.

"This," the hero hummed into the protagonist's ear, swaying them both to the soft music trickling from the hidden sound system. "A year of lies and blurred lines and compromises to get your story. Hardly the stuff of journalistic ethics seminars. What would your friends and colleagues say?"

"So it's blackmail," the reporter whispered.

"If that's what you want. We could destroy each other. Or..." The hero's mouth pressed to the sensitive spot on the reporter's neck. They almost melted. "Or we could see what happens next, with all our cards on the table."

"You can't be serious." The reporter jerked away. The hero let them go. "You want to keep dating?"

"Of course. You're gorgeous, clever, a little reckless, and you have that flexible morality thing. It's like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other." The hero gave them a once-over so blatant the reporter blushed again. But they didn't move to corner the reporter. "Go home, think about it. Take the notebook."

"You won't chase me?" the reporter said before they could stop themselves.

The hero's grin widened. "How about I give you a head start?"

The reporter fled to the sound of the hero's laughter rattling in their chest.

[presleyluvschris]

i got you.

pairing(s): mcu peter parker x fem!reader

desc honestly such a short concept. reader is whimpering/crying about seeing peter getting hurt on the news but he shows up perfectly fine, maybe a few scratches and holds the reader on the floor, wiping her tears.

a/n currently craving comfort like this so i wrote this specifically for comfort. hope you enjoy loves.

creds to @cafekitsune & @valenschmidt for the beautiful decor

warnings grammar, fluff. lmk if i missed anything.

requests | open 💌 masterlist

You took off your shoes at the door, tossing the car keys on the table nearby.

you sighed and went into the kitchen to get yourself a snack before your boyfriend peter came back from whatever he had to do. you always got worried sick about him when he was out at night for so long.

you sit yourself on the couch as soft rain drips down the window, crunching your cheap popcorn and shuffling to find the remote hidden beneath the cushion under you. You turn on the TV to the news of new york, watching all of the dramatic scenes of crime or new updates.

and then, it clicks to spiderman. spidermans news. you shfited your postion to sit up more, you always loved watching your boyfriend get fantasized and loved by the people of your city. But..this time it was different.

The screen flashed images of peter seriously hurt. you felt your stomach drop to the floor as your eyes filled with flashing images of deep wounds and him knocked on the floor. he looked pale, deep purple bruises matched on his face.

your eyes filled with tears and your throat felt like it was burning flames. you hated that peter had to go through this, the one you loved was constantly in danger and it shattered your heart into pieces.

this was the worst you had ever seen him.

tears streamed down your face and into your ears as you go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. you couldn't bare to even look at the screen any longer. you feel yourself sink against the door, adrenaline rushing through your entire head. my peter.

you choke on sobs as you felt something pierce inside of you. you held your phone close to your chest hoping he would call you back. you needed desperately to know he was safe, alive.

Peter was always working. always. till' he nearly kills himself. You knew he was equipped with powers to sustain himself, and you also knew he was peter. you knew he was always strong and he always got up, no matter how hard he got smashed into the ground, over and over.

you close your eyes and matching tears peirce your head as they fall into the floor, choking on your own throat, resting your head on your knees tucked into your chest against the door.

you feel the bathroom door open from behind you and you nearly scream.

"is everything okay? i heard whimpering was that-"

Peter looks down at you on the floor. He was in his suit, holding his mask in one hand. His expression changed immediately when he saw your red eyes. you looked like you had been crying for hours. he knelt down next to you.

"im so sorry- did i scare you? whats going on?" His eyes were filled of worry as he held you in a hug.

you sobbed into his chest. "What the hell peter i thought you we're dead!" You whimper as you cling to his suit.

"What? No! Of course not- Why- Why would I be dead-" he breathes out, wrapping his arms around you as he feels his suit begin to get wet with your tears.

"You didn't anwser you phone.." you try to catch your breath, pulling away from him with a sniffle, checking him for any sign of wounds.

"Im so sorry y/n, i-i got out late." he rubs your back as he rests his chin on your shoulder, you crying into his.

your voice breaks, "i-i saw the photos on the news- t-they looked so terrible a-and-" tears roll down your cheeks.

"oh" he wipes your face, holding it with his hands as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "The news shows stuff like that all of the time, they probably edited it or something, i'm okay, i promise! Mr. Stark just needed some back up, everything is fine now.."

"I got you." he leans his head against yours and turns his face slightly to press a kiss to your lips, you breathe in and pull away, he wipes your tears with his hand.

you're chest feels warm with the same feeling of home again. your heart starts to swell.

he reaches for your pinky layed beside you on the floor, as he intertwines his into yours.

"i pinky promise, okay?" he pulls you in a hug as he caresses his thumb against your hand, still holding your pinky.

you nod gently, and rest the side of your face on his shoulder, letting yourself relax again.

he gently rests his chin on the top of your head. "im not going to leave you." he nearly whispers.

you nod slightly. "okay."

He helps you off the floor and leads you back to the couch, handing you a glass of water, sitting next you. you feel him wrap his arm around you.

"are you okay?" he asks slowly as he looks at you.

"yeah of course." you breathe out shakily as you take a sip of your water.

sighing, you set the water beside you and snuggle up to peter.

"im sorry you had to see that." he looks down. "i promise it wasn't real."

you nod and he holds your hand.

"what do you wanna do?" he looks at you softly. "i could get you something, or we could go out to a park." He holds his breath, making a puff in his cheeks.

you shake your head. "i just want you right now."

He nods and presses another kiss into your forehead.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" You ask gently, looking up at him from his chest.

His lips curve down as he shakes his head. "No, not at all." He smiles gently.

"Okay." You press your lips together and wipe your face.

You rest your head on his shoulder and he leans against the side of yours, folding his fingers into your hand.

[bluesylveon2]

When You Wish Upon a Star (based on Disney 100)

Summary: Its late at night and Grim wakes up to Yuu singing

Note: Yuu and Grim being a family. Platonic

Warning: not beta read and possible ooc characters

Word Count: 571

Masterlist: here

When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires

Will come to you

"Yuu?" Grim asked, causing Yuu to stop her singing. The cat monster climbed up the armchair to sit on Yuu's lap. "Why are you awake?" He asked as Yuu pulled her blanket to cover him. 

"I couldn't sleep." Yuu smiled and scratched behind Grim's ears. "Did my singing wake you up?"

Grim nodded. "Was that song from your world? I never heard that tune before."

"It is. I heard it from an old movie. People say that if when you wish upon a star, your dreams will come true."

"Like in the Starsending?"

"Yes, except we don't have Wish Stars or Ortho to bring them to space. It has its own kind of magic."

The two sat in silence as the wind blew around the dorm. It was quiet in NRC, with everyone fast asleep in their dorms. Meanwhile, Yuu and Grim gazed at the brightest star in the sky. 

"Hey, Yuu. Do you wish to go back home?" Grim asked, turning his attention away from the star and up at Yuu.

Yuu sighed. "I do. There are days I miss my family a lot. Yet, I will miss everyone here like you, Ace, and Deuce."

Grim frowned slightly. "But what about when I become a great mage? My henchman won't see how cool her master is!"

"True, but as a great mage, you can find me a way to visit you. That way, I can see how much you've grown."

Grim felt touched by Yuu's words, and his eyes began to water. It took all of his willpower to not let a tear fall. Instead, he hid his face with his paws. 

"Are you crying?" 

"No!" Grim said. Yuu could tell he was lying because of the tear falling down his fur; she did not comment.

"Grim, I might not be here long, but I want you to know I will enjoy my life here until I go.

Grim turned so he could bury his face in Yuu's shirt and wrapped his front legs around Yuu as best as he could to hug her. "But then I will be lonely when you leave."

"You will have Ace, Deuce, and the other guys. You won't truly be alone." Yuu waited for Grim to say something before continuing. "Do you want to know one of my wishes?"

"What is it?" Grim asked, looking up at Yuu. 

"It's for you to be the greatest mage in Twisted Wonderland. I may not be there to see it in person, but I will always be right here." Yuu pointed at Grim's heart. "Your henchman will be proud when the day comes."

Grim turned away, but he could not hide the smile on his face. "Quit with the sappy stuff! And you know I will be the best! No one can beat the Great Grim!"

Yuu laughed as she pulled the cat closer close to her. "Hey, Grim, do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

Grim nodded and snuggled up to Yuu. "I'm allowing you to since you are my henchman. Don't go around singing lullabies to others. Ya hear me?"

Yuu smiled and petted Grim's fur. "I won't."

Like a bolt out of the blue,

Fate steps in and sees you through.

When you wish upon a star,

Your dreams... come... true!

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-23. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

[moodybluezzz]

Sleepover - Rohan Kishibe x Reader

[Content: SFW, fluff, gender neutral Y/N, warning for description of nightmares/night terrors, fear, and Kira being creepy]

[Word count: 2.7k]

How did I end up here? Standing on a mangaka's porch in the middle of the night?

You had lived in Morioh for your entire life - content with your peaceful, albeit lonely, routine. You found it surprisingly difficult to make friends in the small town, spending most of your time reading and drawing on your own instead. That is, until a year ago, when you crossed paths with a peculiar cast of characters and your life changed. You had recognized a few of the boys - Josuke, Okuyasu, and Koichi - since they attended school nearby and frequented many of the same shops and restaurants as you. However, your interest in the group spiked when you began hearing mutters of a killer on the loose, and strange beings known as "Stands" that held powers beyond your imagination. After running into the boys so many times, it began to feel as though fate was bringing you together somehow. One day you mustered the courage to start a conversation and managed to befriend the rowdy teens. From there you became part of the group, helping out however you could despite your lack of a Stand. As a result you also became familiar with Jotaro Kujo, a stoic man visiting Morioh to investigate the Stand Users, and Rohan Kishibe, a stubborn mangaka, each possessing Stands of their own and aiding in the mission.

From the start you couldn't help but find yourself drawn to Rohan, not only admiring his abilities but also seemingly tolerating his bold personality more than the rest of the group. Though you could admit he was a prick sometimes, you longed to get to know him even just a little more and felt comfortable around him nonetheless.

Now you were at Rohan's doorstep at 3am on a cold fall night, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you hoped that he heard your knocking. Ever since the fateful battle with Yoshikage Kira, you found yourself plagued with nightmares and a general nervousness about the town. It was as though Kira's evil spirit itself was haunting you. Tonight your nightmares were worse than usual, waking you terrified with no chance of falling back asleep. You hurried to the one person who was guaranteed to be awake at this hour - Rohan. Glancing nervously around the dark, you shuddered at the thought of some twisted Stand User leaping out of the darkness to torment you like Kira did to so many others. You knocked again, this time more frantic. Just as your mind began playing tricks on you in the darkness, Rohan opened the door. You leapt through the doorway, nearly into his arms, and he stepped back in surprise with an annoyed look.

"There must be a slumber party at my place tonight, did I miss the memo? Seriously, what are you doing, Y/N." He crossed his arms.

"I-I'm sorry, Rohan! It's just… I had a nightmare…"

"And you came here why?" Rohan stared at you skeptically.

"I thought… Maybe you would be able to help make sense of these dreams… You're into scary paranormal stuff, right?"

"Scary paranormal stuff. Right." He rolled his eyes. "Look, just close the door and come in." He sighed and started walking through his lavish living room and toward the kitchen. "Let's just sit down and chat." You followed carefully behind Rohan; All the lights were off due to the late hour. You had been here a few times before with the others but the mansion still never failed to impress you. You felt a brief wave of pity for Rohan, wondering if it ever got lonely living alone in such a big house.

At last you arrived at the kitchen, Rohan motioning for you to sit down at a candle-lit dining table. His sketchbook sat open in the flickering light - he must have been drawing before you arrived. He sat across from you, the warm light illuminating his face. He leaned down, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand.

"So, tell me about these nightmares."

You did your best to describe the dreams, starting vaguely in worry that Rohan might not take you seriously. However, as you went on his expression changed to one of concern, inviting you to open up. You told him all about the horrors you faced at the hands of the Stand User in your dreams, the sleepless nights and the anxiety that washed over you as the sun set on Morioh each day. You stopped and sat in silence, shaken up by the mere memory of your nightmares. You fidgeted your hands nervously on the tabletop, before glancing up and meeting Rohan's deep green eyes. The candlelight made them shine brilliantly, and you couldn't help but get lost in them. You wondered what was going on in Rohan's mind as he stared into your soul. After a long moment you snapped out of it, averting your gaze and blushing.

"Stay here for the night." Rohan spoke firmly. "We can't have you running off in the middle of the night again. We have to get this fear out of you." You were shocked at his willingness to help you and ever-so-slightly excited. Rohan continued. "Your fear isn't irrational per say. We all remember what Yoshikage Kira did. But it's been a year since then and this paranoia can't go on. Maybe it'll help to get some rest knowing there's a Stand user in the house." He stood. "I'm going to make tea. If you want some, you can."

You watched as he swiftly brewed a small pot of tea, mesmerized by the way his body moved in the dim light. He was wearing a much more casual outfit than you were used to seeing, though it still reflected his extravagant fashion sense.

You wondered how many times he had done this, brewing tea for himself at some late hour to fuel his nighttime drawing sessions. Had he ever wished he had someone to share it with?

Rohan set two elegant teacups on the table and poured out some for each of you. "This will help you relax."

You waited for him to sit back down before taking a sip and sighing.

"This is the best tea I've ever had! Thank you, Rohan… Really…"

Rohan smirked. "It's just tea, nothing special." You were tempted to tell him it was special just for the fact he made it. However, you held back. You finished your tea quickly and Rohan set the dishes aside. "You should get to bed. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes."

You felt ever-so-slightly self conscious. "Where do you want me to sleep? I can take the couch if you'd like-"

"No, no. There's guest bedrooms upstairs. Let me show you the way."

You followed Rohan, hoping to finally enjoy a restful sleep. He opened a door just up the stairs and flicked on the light.

"Go on. Now get some sleep. My bedroom is right next door if you need to know where the bathroom is or something." You thanked him and he closed the door, leaving you alone. The room was decorated plainly yet elegantly, and the bed was made perfectly as though no one had ever slept in it. Maybe they hadn't. You shut off the light and plopped down on the mattress.

It's even softer than I expected!

Rohan was right - you must have really needed to catch up on rest. And you did feel safer knowing he was right next door. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillows.

…

Darkness.

A path lit only by flickering yellow streetlights.

Walking past rows of identical townhouses. This is Morioh.

Your footsteps echoing through the night.

Why are you here?

Footsteps that are not your own.

Running.

Faster footsteps. He's behind you.

Hands grabbing you from behind. Holding you back.

Can't turn around but you know who is there.

The figure of a creature emerging from the darkness ahead. A Stand.

Piercing pink eyes tearing into your soul. Gloved hands reaching out for you.

Kicking, screaming to no avail, screaming for Rohan. Help me, Rohan! He's got me!

He's a Killer Queen

Gunpowder, gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind.

…

"Y/N! Y/N, stop! You need to wake up!"

You finally came to, Rohan struggling to hold you still with a frustrated expression. You were kicking and screaming and begging Kira to let you go. You gradually processed what was happening and burst into tears, giving in and clinging to Rohan desperately. He was silent and still for a moment, before hesitantly resting his arms around you. You buried your face in his chest and gripped his back, not caring if he pushed you away and scolded you. However, Rohan stayed still and silent, taken aback by the sudden contact. He slowly wrapped his arms around you, searching for the right words.

"Just… breathe. You're safe, I promise." Your sobs gradually grew more sparse and eventually stopped altogether. You looked up at Rohan, your face hot and tear-stained. Something in his expression changed as he looked down at you.

Without a word he got up, grabbing your hand and guiding you off the bed and to your feet.

"Come to my room. Let me help you." You rubbed your eyes and followed him out of the room and into his own, looking over your shoulder into the darkness of the house every so often. You could just make out the shape of Rohan's bed in the darkness. He sat down near the pillows and patted the spot in front of him. Once you joined him, he reached out and put his hands on your trembling shoulders.

"I didn't want to have to jump to this, but let me use my Stand to help you. Heaven's Door can erase all of this." You shuddered. You were present when Rohan used his Stand in the past - a clever yet invasive power. He had noticed how much it intimidated you and avoided using it on you until now. You gulped.

"It will only take a moment, and when you open your eyes everything will be okay."

You scooted closer to Rohan and nodded, closing your eyes. He focused his gaze on you and whispered.

"Heaven's Door!"

Your consciousness faded as Rohan laid you down and opened your mind like a book. You felt… vulnerable. But at this point you didn't mind. As long as you were in Rohan's hands, everything was okay.

It felt like only an instant passed before you opened your eyes. Your mind felt unexplainably clearer. You looked up at Rohan, who was sitting beside you, his legs hanging off the side of the bed.

"...I made some edits. I didn't completely wipe your memory of the dreams - I didn't want you waking up wondering how you ended up in my bed. That would've been a pain to explain. But you won't be having any more. Okay?"

You nodded, relieved. It was as though your fear was erased - literally.

Rohan gazed off into the darkness for a long moment.

"...Why are you so intrigued by me?"

In your panic you had completely forgotten that Heaven's Door allowed Rohan to read all of your thoughts - and you had no doubt he did some snooping. You hesitated to answer. There was just something about Rohan - his attitude, his outfits, his talent, the way he directed his dry jokes at you when you were with the others because he seemed to know you'd get it the most. You knew there was more to him than the cold front he put up in public, and you wanted to find it. And you had to admit, he was attractive…

"Heh. I guess I didn't have to ask. I bet right now you're thinking of the very things I already saw." You scrambled for an excuse before Rohan reached down and turned your chin toward him. You blushed hard and stared into his eyes, their emerald hue just visible in the dark. He leaned down close.

"This is what you imagined I would do when we were in the kitchen, is it not?"

He so knew what he was doing to you, though he kept his poker face all the while. You couldn't deny you liked it deep down.

"Tell me." Rohan whispered firmly. You turned, facing away from him in embarrassment. You felt him lean over you, his face mere inches from yours.

"Your silence speaks volumes."

He pulled back and laid down on the other side of the large bed. Your heart raced as you debated whether to turn over and try to explain yourself or leave him be. You decided not to dig yourself into an even bigger hole, closing your eyes and focusing on getting back to sleep instead.

Just as you began to drift off, you felt a weight shift on the bed behind you, followed by a firm chest on your back and arms wrapping carefully around your body. You opened your eyes, wondering if you were dreaming.

"What are you doing, Rohan?" You mumbled tiredly.

The man was silent at first before leaning close to your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your neck - an indescribable sensation shooting down your body. You gasped quietly.

"I'm just going to protect you for the night. Don't get too excited." Rohan snuggled closer, spooning your whole body in his. "Besides, you wanted to be closer to me, right? Well now you are." He whispered smugly, a teasing tone in his voice.

You closed your eyes, taking in the feeling of Rohan's tall, slim body against yours.

You broke the silence. "There's just… Always been something that made me want to be special to you…"

Rohan was silent for a moment.

"You are special to me."

Your heart fluttered as you took in his words. Deep down you hoped he would say more, but he held back. Stubborn as always.

"...Goodnight, Y/N."

You fell asleep to the feeling of Rohan's hands running soothingly along your side, and up and down your arms. You had no dreams that night.

When you woke you were alone in the bed. You could hear the faint sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen downstairs. Rohan must have gotten up before you (unsurprisingly, the guy seemed to never sleep.) You laid there for a moment, enjoying the warm sunlight pouring through the windows and the lingering smell of Rohan's expensive cologne in the air. For a moment you had to ask yourself if last night was a dream. You sat up, realizing you hadn't brought a change of clothes.

Your eyes settled on Rohan's closet.

You opened the tall sliding doors to reveal a walk-in closet packed with designer clothes. You scanned through the shelves - some outfits you easily recognized, others you had never seen him wear at all. You settled on a comfy white sweater and pants to match. His clothes were ridiculously baggy on you due to your height difference, but they were certainly comfortable.

You headed downstairs to find Rohan finishing breakfast, two plates waiting on the table. He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps and his eyes widened.

"W-Where did you get those!?" You couldn't help but giggle at his surprised expression.

"I forgot to bring a change of clothes, I hoped you wouldn't mind," you said in a sweet but teasing tone. Rohan crossed his arms.

"Fine. Just sit down, your food is going to get cold." You swore you heard him mumble: "You're lucky you're cute."

A tense silence filled the room as you ate. How could you have gotten so up close and personal last night but feel so awkward now? Every once in a while Rohan stole a quick glance at you and your outfit; he must have thought you didn't notice but you most certainly did.

Finishing your food, you looked up at Rohan. "Thank you for helping me last night. Really. I slept better than I have in… Well… at least a year." Rohan kept his eyes on his plate, but you couldn't help but catch a blush cross his face.

"...Don't mention it."

…

Josuke and Okuyasu walked casually down the road as they headed home from school. Okuyasu perked up. "Hey, aren't we about to pass Rohan's house? I wonder what he's been up to."

Josuke frowned. "Oh yeah, you're right." I'd rather not know honestly... He quickened his steps before Okuyasu put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oi, Josuke! Isn't that Y/N over there?" Josuke looked up, spotting you walking home from Rohan's house.

Okuyasu squinted. "Since when did Y/N dress so fancy! Wait... Don't those clothes look familiar…?"

The two slowly turned to each other.

[moronwithoutmo]

Dewdrop x Mountain

My first Ghost smut ficlet! I wrote this with my own ghoul designs in mind. You can check that art out on my profile :3

"Early Days" M/M, dew/mountain, implied/referenced dew/aether and mountain/aether, anal fingering, handjob, size difference, first kiss, first time together

link to the fic on ao3

18+ content below the cut!!!

This fic is set in the first few months after Dew, Aether, and Ifrit join the band. Ivy has just left and is soon replaced by Mountain. Dewdrop is immediately dumbstruck by this tall, quiet demon. He finds him devilishly handsome and loves the way he plays drums. They click musically immediately, playing together with ease (and Aether too). Dew is developing a crush, and each time Mountain opens up or he learns a little more about him, he falls harder. Mountain finds Dew energetic and chatty, but with a raging temper, both like a tempest and a flame. As such a reserved person himself, Mountain admires Dew's tenacity and enjoys being around him. He especially loves playing with him; Their musical chemistry is beyond compare. Mountain also enjoys watching their fellow band mate Aether exploring playing with Dew. Mountain can tell these people are going to be an important part of his life.

I wanted to explore the first time Dew and Mountain have a romantic/sexual encounter. Dew has been wanting to jump Mountains bones and climb him like a tree for months, but he hasn't wanted to push his reserved friend's boundaries. Despite becoming closer, there was still so much they didn't know about each other. Dew had a feeling Mountain was open to anything romantically, but he wasn't sure how the other demon felt about relationships with band members. He knew Papa doesn't care (in fact, he encouraged it), but Dew really didn't want to mess this up or make it awkward. He's already explored quite a few things with Aether sexually and found they were very compatible (Satan, that dick...) Also note, this is before Dew's elemental transition.

After a late practice session one night the other ghouls are packing up and heading to their rooms in the abbey, but Dew lingers when he sees Mountain making no move to vacate. He initially stays to make sure his friend was alright, but soon realizes this might be a chance to ask him about his preferences on neutral ground. Somewhere he could escape the conversation easily.

Dew starts casual chit chat about life outside of band activities (not much for either of them), and slips in a comment about him and Aether. That perks up mountains fluffy ears, and he cut his eyes over to Dew questioningly, "You're dating him?"

"Nah, we're just fucking. Besides neither of us really like exclusivity anyway." Dew says as he watches Mountain carefully hoping to catch any micro-reactions from the man. He sees a crease in his brow and then a small smile.

"I'm.. relieved to hear I'm not the only one of us who is polyamorous, or- if that's what you meant?" Mountain stumbles through his question.

Dew chuckles and smiles back, "No, you've got it right. Although I'm sure it's a bit different for each of us."

"So you aren't bothered by having a relationship with a coworker?"

"Oh no, that kind of stuff doesn't get to me. Papa practically begs us to breed after every performance anyway. I'm comfortable whenever my partner is." Dewdrop explains.

"That he does!' Mountain laughs, Dew loves it. "I feel the same way as you. As long as my partner is happy, I'm good to go."

Dew knows this is it, He should make a move now. His heart speeds up and his dark eyes grow starry as he steps toward Mountain. There he sits behind the drum kit confidently, knowing he belongs. Comfort radiates from his posture and Dew feels his pants tighten around him. Satan, he's pathetic. He stops just in reach of Mountain, just staring at him in awe.

The Earth Ghoul reaches at a hand and rests it on Dew's wrist before asking, “Are you comfortable with this happening?”

Dew lets out a burst of air as a wry laugh, "Baby, you don't know now many times I've imagined us doing things like this, and worse."

Mountain smiles wider and says "Well then, after tonight, you'll have to show me what worse is sometime," as he lays a large, gentle hand on Dew's neck to reach his lips. As they share their first kiss, Dew lets out a moan from Mountain’s words. This is nothing like he imagined. It's infinitely better, Richer, more real. Mountain is gentle, his kiss is soft and gritty simultaneously, and warm, earthy breath hangs between them. Dew clambers into Mountain's lap in the stool. Dew whines when he fits easily, supported fully by the vast expanse of Mountains' thighs. They kiss and they kiss and kiss. Out of all the advantages that come with being a demon, not needing to breathe is Dew's favorite at this moment. The kiss they share is sinful, Lust so powerful they could fuel the fires of Hell for weeks. The union between them is for the dark lord, and for them in their greed. Dew instinctively grinds his ass down into Mountain's thigh. He adores this big demon. He relishes lovers with endless amounts of skin to discover. Another reason he loves being with Aether. What the ghoul lacks vertically, he makes up for in muscle and fat. Mountain, however, is pure height and craggy angles. Dew wants to scale him and jump off, only to be caught by his gentle hands, which are now caressing his sides gently, lifting up the hem of his t-shirt. The cool, stale air of the abbey basement reaches Dew's lower back and he shivers. The area is soon covered by Mountain's warm hands as they slip into the band of Dew's sweats. They squeeze the base of his tail and then his supple ass, and Dew let's a wrecked moan separating them from their minutes-long kiss.

Dew jokes breathlessly," Did Aether tell you I liked that?"

Mountain breathes heavily and smiles, "No, it just seemed the right thing to do." Dew squeaks and buries his face into the tall Ghoul's chest, mumbling something about not being able to be more perfect.

Mountain lets out an amused breath through his nose before slipping the water ghoul's pants over his ass fully, letting them rest on top of Dew's thighs, "Commando huh?"

"Don't judge me, I hate underwear. It's restrictive."

"I definitely won't be thinking about that during the next show." Mountain says sarcastically, need slipping through his tone.

Dew whines and bucks his hips at that thought, "Please, Mountain..." he screws his eyes shut against the other man's shirt. Mountain decides not to tease the desperate man lying against him and circles his fingers experimentally over Dew's hole, and finds it dripping wet, "Woah, you prepared yourself before?"

Dew groans and shakes his head, face heating up, "No no, it's an elemental thing..."

Mountain's eyebrows shoot up, "Interesting..." he shakes his head softly before slipping two whole fingers into Dew steadily, Dew keens and bucks back against Mountain's hand.

"Ohh fuck, Mountain," Dew groans.

"What do you need?"

Dew takes a second to respond, caught up in sensation, "Mm-more," is all he's able to struggle out. Where his mouth is inactive his hands are not. He snakes one between their bodies and presses into Mountain's hard-on through his shorts. Mountain groans and his eyelids flutter, causing his fingers to falter inside of Dew’s wetness. When he adjusts to the sudden feeling on his groin, Mountain presses a third finger inside Dew. The water ghoul yells, the sound echoing through the large chamber. Dew is embarrassingly close to climax after that and he desperately shoves his hand into Mountain's shorts, clumsily squeezing his throbbing cock. Mountain moans Dew's name into his long hair, his other hand resting heavily on Dew's back. Dew sobs as he presses onto Mountain's thick fingers as they massage his prostate.

"Mmmmountain..." Dew slurs, drooling on Mountain's sweaty shirt and continuing to stroke his dick. Mountain strains desperately against Dew's slim hand, gritting his teeth trying to hold off his release. He quickens his pace fingering Dew, knowing he can't hold out for much longer. The shorter man tenses his body as his stomach tightens under the growing pressure of on orgasm.

Dew continues moaning Mountain's name and squeezing his cock as he comes in the front of his sweatpants. Pleasure wracks his body, tremors running through him. Mountain follows soon after, releasing all over Dew's hand and his own boxers. Dew lays panting against Mountain as the Earth Ghoul's climax runs its course. Mountain lets out a weak grunt as he finishes, slumping against Dew.

A few moments of sated silence pass before Dew laughs into Mountain's neck and kisses him there. Mountain smiles softly and holds Dew closer, supporting his weight.

"Wow." Mountain breathes out.

Dew laughs before agreeing "Yeah, baby. Wow.” He cuddles closer to Mountain, growing sleepier by the second. "Thanks for that."

"My pleasure," Mountain jokes. "You want to head to bed?" Dew nods and slips off mountain with shaky legs. He winces at his sticky pants and pulls them completely off. Mountain's eyes widen, taking in Dew's sculpted, perfect legs. He feels blood swell in his cock once again, beginning to harden so soon after release. Dew yawns and stretches, shoots a smile of Mountain, and saunters towards the door.

"Night, baby~" He sings as he slips out into the hallway, presumably off to his room. Mountain sits there for a moment, mouth open. He's about to get up and begin cleaning when Aether pops his head in the door.

He laughs light-heartedly and reassures Mountain, "Don't worry, he's just too excited to share a bed right after the first time."

Mountain smiles small; he understands completely. Aether glances down at him sitting behind the drums, half-hard cock hanging out of his come-covered shorts.

"You have fun? Took you two long enough. Dew's been pining for about as long as you're been here." Aether chuckles and grins salaciously, "And, Uh, let me extend my own offer if you're ever interested."

Mountain stands and adjusts himself and his shorts before looking up to address the quintessence Ghoul , "I'd be remiss to turn you down, Aether. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a cold shower." He and Aether turn the lights off and walk down to the dorms together until they reach Mountain's room. They had just replaced the old placard that said Ivy with a shiny new one with his own name. He hopes to see it dusty and dull someday. He bids Aether goodnight and steps into the room he was quickly learning to call home.

[missvelvetsstuff]

With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

NOTES: I'm in the middle of reading Unwanted by @scoonsalicious and am really pissed at that Bucky which made writing fluff a challenge so I hope this came out alright.

LMK if y'all want smut

Chapter 13

Warnings: little angst but mostly fluff

Bucky kissed Rainbow on the cheek as he dropped her off in her room to get ready for their date. Before Bucky even took two steps away from her door, Steve hurried up and started knocking. Rainbow opened the door smiling, thinking Bucky had forgotten something but her face fell when she saw Steve looking at her expectantly.

She sighed "What do you want, Steve?"

Steve smiled at her "I was wondering if you had plans tonight? Maybe we could go for dinner?"

Rainbow shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose "I don't think so Steve. I have plans tonight but even if I didn't, I still wouldn't spend any time with you even if the world was on fire and you owned all the water. Go find yourself a new girl to control and cheat on." She slammed the door in his face.

Steve heard something behind him and glared at Bucky who was leaning up against the wall chuckling at him. "I waited to see if she needed any help dealing with you but it seems like she can handle herself just fine.

And damn pal, the attitude she gave you was hot as fuck."

He slapped Steve on the shoulder "Well, man, I've got a date to get ready for with my sweet Rainbow and I do not want to be late. Catch you later, punk."

Steve just stood in the hallway, seething, until an idea to interfere with their date started forming and he walked away to develop it.

Wanda went to Rainbows room to help her get ready for her date. Rainbow was already anxious.

"I don't know what to wear, I don't have much."

Wanda looked at her "It's just a date, not like you two don't already finish each others sentences all the time. Bucky is crazy about you, he'd love you in a potato sack so stop worrying about it."

Wanda hummed looking through Rainbows closet before grabbing a hanger. "How about this?" She waved a baby blue sun dress "and.......this?" Putting her black leather biker jacket over it. "And some sandals? Light make up and relaxed hair?"

Rainbow laughed and nodded "Yes!" Before sitting down so Wanda could work on her hair.

Rainbow hummed without even realizing and her aura glowed so Wanda giggled "You must not be too nervous because your lights are so light and soft"

Rainbow felt her face heat up and her lights went pink "Why would I be nervous? Bucky and I are already know each other so well. I feel like all the other stuff, you know Strucker, Nat all that bad was there to make sure I appreciate right now. I mean do you think there's something I should be nervous about? Did you see something in Bucky's head? Tell me Wanda please!" She felt her heart racing.

Wanda rubbed her back "No there's nothing,  I didn't read anything it was just your lights were so pretty."

Rainbow sighed and tried to soothe herself. "I'm more worried about Steve trying to cause trouble. He knocked on my door after the meeting and asked me to go out with him. I don't think he's going to back down."

Wanda consoled her "We aren't going to let Steve mess things up for you. I'll keep an eye on him to make sure."

Wanda finished her work and stood back. "Stand up and take a look."

Rainbow stood and looked at herself in the mirror, gasped, then twirled to make sure it was really her. "Wanda, what did you do? You made me beautiful."

Wanda scoffed playfully "No love, you are beautiful. I just helped highlight what you already have."

Rainbow felt her emotions welling up and her eyes felt teary. She fanned her face with her hands "Oh no Wanda, you're gonna make me cry and ruin my face. I just, I don't, I'm, no I can't do this it's too much."

Wanda handed her some tissues "No, stop it. You're just nervous but it's going to be perfect. Trust me."

Rainbow hugged her friend and sat on her couch to wait for Bucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky looked himself over in his mirror, black jeans, button up and leather jacket. Simple and very him. He left his room to pick up the flowers he had ordered at reception and back upstairs to pick up his Rainbow.

He passed his own door to see Steve leaned up against it.

Bucky shook his head "No time for your BS Rogers, find a new hobby."

Steve scoffed "I don't think so. You're nuts if you think I'm just going to stand back and watch you take my girl. I'm not that skinny weakling you used to protect."

Bucky nodded "I agree, that weakling wouldn't have treated Rainbow the way you have."

Steve snapped "Not Rainbow, her fucking name is Y/N and I will get her back." he shoved Bucky into the wall.

Bucky stared at the man he used to consider his brother before setting the flowers aside and cracked his neck calmly. He moved so quickly after that, that Steve couldn't follow his movements and found himself against the wall with Bucky's vibranium hand around his neck. Again.

Bucky held him a moment, breathing heavily before looking Steve in the eyes "This is the LAST time I'm gonna say this. You fucked up and RAINBOW isn't yours, doesn't want to be yours and I'm honestly baffled trying to understand why she won't let me kill you. She's with me now and I'm not gonna fuck up like you did. Now I'm taking her on a date and you are gonna stay here, in the building, and leave us the fuck alone. Got it?"

Steve tried to speak and nod but he couldn't. Bucky chuckled and let up on Steve's neck "Sorry, I guess I'm a little overzealous. Are we clear?"

Steve nodded wordlessly while looking past Bucky's shoulder, seeing Y/N beckoning him and followed her into his own room.

Bucky saw Wanda down the hall, red magic reaching from her hands to follow Steve into his room. She smiled at Bucky and nodded her head towards Rainbows room.

Bucky smiled back, dusted himself off, picked up his flowers and hurried to Rainbows door, knocking quickly. When she opened her door his jaw dropped, making her giggle.

"Hi Jamie." She took the flowers he held out for her.

"Damn doll, you get prettier every time I see you."

She smiled and felt her face heat up, hoping he wouldn't notice. "You look very handsome too. Let me put these flowers in some water and we can go."

Bucky took her hand after she took care of the flowers and led her to the entrance of the building.

When he opened the door for her, Rainbow gasped to see a horse drawn carriage waiting for them.

She looked over at Bucky who shrugged "It's incredible what you can do when you have Tony Stark backing you up." He held his hand up to help her step into the carriage.

They rode all the way around the lake and came back around to the end of the property stopping at a spot with soft outdoor lights and a blanket spread out topped by an assortment of pillows. Soft jazz music seemed to come out of nowhere.

The driver stopped the horse and Bucky helped Rainbow out of the carriage which went far enough away to give them privacy but close enough to be there when they were ready to go home.

Rainbow looked at the setting in awe "It's so pretty Jamie, I love this!"

Bucky stared at her with a smile on his face "Absolutely beautiful"

Rainbow looked at him, realized he was looking at her then felt the butterflies explode and leave a tingle in her core.

Bucky smirked and kissed her cheek before offering a hand to help her sit and get comfortable on the blanket. She giggled playing with them until she was comfortable.

Bucky poured wine and put out a dish of fruit, veggies, cheese and crackers for them to snack on. They talked and laughed, quietly watched the sun set in each others arms, then talked more until Bucky leaned over and kissed her. He was soft and slow to start, gently nibbling her lower lip until she opened up for him and their tongues danced together. He pulled her closer and ran his hands all over her body until they both needed to come up for air.

Bucky caressed her cheek with his flesh hand and smiled when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He gently grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into another kiss. She kissed him back with all the love and passion she felt. She felt his vibranium hand tighten around her waist until she could feel his erection pushing into her center and moaned into his mouth.

He smiled into the kiss and moved his hand down to grab her ass and grind into her.

He pulled back to check on her, looking into her beautiful eyes "Are you ok doll you let me know if I'm going too fast, yeah?"

Rainbow nodded "I will but you aren't. I want you Jamie. I need you."

She reached down to barely run her hand over his straining cock. Even through his clothes she made him feel like nothing he remembered.

He grunted, his voice husky "If you keep that up I'm gonna make a mess in my pants like a teenager."

He pulled away a little "Maybe we should cool off? Maybe a walk along the lake shore?"

Rainbow pouted and shook her head before rubbing him a little harder, nibbling on his earlobe and whispering in his ear "Maybe, we should get back to my room so I can show you what I meant when I said I need you."

Bucky kissed her one more time before grabbing his phone and texting the coachman to pick them up.

He looked at Rainbow and winked as he pulled her up to stand "Then let's get out of here, doll."

Chapter 14

Smut? Or no smut?

@vicmc624

[guywithananimepfp]

“I don't understand it either, Babybird”

(to be continued)

⌜ A Keigo takami x GN!Villian!Reader story ⌟

⌜ angst 🕊️🥀 (?) ⌟

⌜Summary; Hawks falls in love with someone who he knew he has to turn in. He doesn't understand his feelings with you⌟

⌜ ex; this isnt really a fic, but a writing practice to show people how I write and stuff. ⌟

“It shouldn't have been you of all people. It couldn't be. It just wasn't possible. Right? Of all people in the world, why would I love you?”

“what was so special about you that made me stop that day. What made me hesitant to turn you in? what was it?”

...

"I knew I would get you someday, babybird. it just seems that today was that day. Huh?" Hawks said with a grim tone. His wings still expanded as he made a landing only a few feet from where you were standing. The ground shook slightly once his feet touched the road of Musutafu. There were sirens everywhere. villians on attack which made Japan the main target for danger. which was obvious by the gecko once Japan got it's first bomb threat not long back. The only problem was this was so sudden, nobody saw it coming. Even the Heros of the U.A. hawks noticed you kept quiet, which made his eyebrow twitch into a furrow. making his expression turn from stern to anger. "well, you're just as quiet as I remembered you babybird.. it's a shame really." He hissed between his teeth. It was obvious he was holding back from himself lashing out at you. He was on edge, so of course he was pissed off. You remained silent, as the only thing that filled the air was the sirens and distant screaming of the heros. Hawks stood there with a stern expression while his hair flew with the air that went past the pair. His index finger twitched as he began moving towards you. "..Now, I'm sorry to cut this short, however, you are a danger to society. Just like the rest of the league of villians." He sighed. "So, it'll be easier for me and you to just, let me turn you in. you're under arrest." He said solemnly. This was the final twig that broke your anger, before grabbing a handful of sand from your bag. Which Dabi filled it for emergencies like this one. Without a moment of hesitation, you threw sand into the man's eyes. in which it worked just as you hoped for. Hawks hissed, letting out a screech while the sand burned his eyes. He stumbled back, grasping his face trying to get the substances out his eyes. You took this as a cue to run before Hawks got back up. "Ugh. why can't I use my quirk?.." you hissed under your breath. Shigaraki said that because of their little 'Plan' they were obviously trying to put into action, your job was to not kill anyone. or even injure them. You just had to keep the heros away from trying to stop the gang from making their plan a success. As you ran, Hawks was already in the air. making you his main target. And let me tell you, he wasn't happy. Hawks flew into the air while his wings almost taking up the street's passageway. Your eyes darted everywhere you could see; trying to find anywhere you could hide before hawks found you. It was too late however, just as you were about to make a turn you felt a weight on your figure. Hawks grabbed your shoulder, making his nails dig into your neck and shoulder blade. He shoved his whole weight on top of you, making the both of you to collapse into the street. Hawks got on top of you, making sure you were down before he made the arrest. His wings folded behind his back while he kept his boot firmly against the back of your neck. He couldn't help but chuckle. He remembered how much you boasted that the heros could never get you, yet.. here he was. making you eat your own words. You struggled under his weight, trying to wiggle yourself out from underneath the hero. But it seemed that he got the upper hand rather quickly which made you feel pathetic at your job. How could you have easily been knocked down by a hero? You couldn't even use your quirk if you wanted to. Hawks' left hand slowly traveled to your hands, pinning them down to the cold concrete. As he kept them in a firm grip, his other hand went to his pocket trying to find his handcuffs. As he did, Hawks noticed how much you gave up trying to resist. You both knew there was no use to fighting as it'll make things a lot worse. He let out a quiet sigh before chuckling again. "Sorry babybird.. but it seems that I've.. won this time." he grinned, oh how bad you wanted to slap that grin right off his face. He found the handcuffs and immediately used his teeth to open them from their latch. When successful he locked your hands together. He grabbed your chained hands and slowly put them behind your back. Keeping them secure.

[aphroditesswan]

Thanks!

So I have a black butler idea that you probably won't like cause it is sabciel BUT it's completely platonic like it's a father figure situation and not romantic at all

I was thinking about Ciel having a nightmare and waking up and screaming or something and sabastian helping him calm down and stuff? I'm really bad at explaining things

little person

ciel & sebastian

warnings: night terrors, sebaciel shippers dni i will actually starting rolling around on the floor if those nasty proshippers start following me 

summary: ciel has always woken up from nightmares, usually falling asleep just a couple minutes later, but this time was slightly different.

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff ish

notes: i honestly did not know how to write this but this pushed me out of my comfort zone n it was so fun ALSO SORRY IVE BEEN LATE TO GET TO REQUEST my personal life is extremely busy, especially with family and school but i have this and another fic coming in 🙏🙏 

Being the Earl Phantomhive wasn’t easy. The only (living) person who could speak from experience is of course the Young Earl, Ciel. He hadn’t much experience, but he was determined. 

Determined and had his own help. 

Restless nights were nothing to Ciel. Ever since his parent’s passing, waking up in a cold sweat is nothing new to him. In fact, he’s rather surprised if he manages to get a good nights rest. 

He’s tried everything you could think of. Counting sheep, glasses of warm milk and tea to relax him, going through immense activities throughout the day to tire him. These all do nothing but make him wish for the bed that he so dreads sleeping in every night and curses in the morning. 

Now was one of those nights. Thrashing, shaking, shivering, throwing around the blanket, tossing and turning in every way he could on the ginormous mattress in a room that didn’t belong to him a couple years prior. 

His late parents room was a drastic change from his own. 

It was certainly larger. Which meant more space. More cold, empty space that he never knew how to fill. Being head of the household wasn’t easy, you weren’t a child anymore, you had no reason to fill your desolate room with little toys and fun nicknacks from various corners of the world. 

This nightmare, this one particular nightmare, haunted him like no other. One where he watches his parents, his home, everything he’s ever known burn to the ground. He dreads this dream, he waits eagerly for his body to wake itself up like it usually should. But it never does. 

He continues to watch his home burn and collapse, the smoke from the flames going into his lungs and making it hard to breathe, even in the dream. He can feel himself choking, gasping for air, sweating and panicking with every crackle of the oversized fire engulfing his manor. 

Suddenly, his world started shaking. His body, the trees around him, the entire scenery in his dream. 

Then he woke up. Finally, he thought. He was sweating, the chill of his still cold and empty room not providing any aid to his already chilly state. But he felt a hand on his shoulder, a gentle one akin to his father’s. 

“Young Master,, are you alright? You seem a bit shaken up.” 

He looked over, squinting his eyes to see the figure of his butler looming over his bed with a candle where he sat. 

“I’m,, I’m fine Sebastian.” He whispered out, for a moment forgetting this was his own manor where he could do what he wanted and speak how he wished. 

“Come with me, Young Master.” Sebastian stood up straight, walking a bit then turning to face the boy, waiting for him to get up and follow suit. 

For some reason, he wanted to, and he did. He stood up and walked behind Sebastian, following his own butler all the way down his own stairs. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that this was all his, that all of this was now under his name, not his father’s or grandfather’s or even a distant uncle’s. This was all his. 

He found himself in the kitchen. Looking around, watching Sebastian pouring a glass of warm chamomile tea. 

“Sebastian you know that’s no use.” He scoffed, all of this just a waste of time to him. “Now My Lord, we might as well try.” 

The young earl took the cup reluctantly, drinking just a bit of it. He felt his butler just gazing at him, so he drank more out of pure awkwardness. Not because he wanted to, not because he butler had graciously added sugar to his tea, not because he had faith he wouldn’t go to sleep just to wake up to another nightmare, but because his butler annoyed him with the staring. 

“There. Are you satisfied?” “Are you?” That was unprompted. What did that even mean? Ciel took a minute, just staring down into the cup with the tea leaves. Supposedly, they could read your future. He didn’t see much, he wasn’t trained in that field. He had also never believed in superstitions, even though an entire being whose existence defies humanity was standing only 3 maybe 4 feet in front of him. 

“Yes Sebastian, I am. Now take me to bed.” He huffed, setting down the cup onto the counter. “Are you positive, young master?” “Don’t question me, Sebastian.”

“As you wish, my lord.” He walked Ciel up the stairs, following two to three steps behind him with a candle and standing by the door once he got to his room. 

“Good night, my lord.” “Good night, Sebastian.” Ciel laid down, turning away from the door where Sebastian stayed for a moment, only a moment, before placing the candle down on the dresser. He bowed, although Ciel couldn’t see it, and shut the door. Ciel listened for the footsteps, hearing the clicking of shoes descend the stairs. He sat up, looking at the candle through the corner of his eyes. He wondered how such a small flame, something so minuscule compared to his still small stature, could take away everything he had ever known. He was there when his parents had passed, and there will be someone to watch him die as well.

im so sorry my req have been taking so longgg i’ve been so busy with christmas shopping and finals and studying but consider this and another fic that’s coming out BEFORE CHRISTMAS as a present 🥲🙏

[corrodedseraphine]

perfectly wrong | #5 you are not alone

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

chapter summary: Although you are annoyed by Steve's attitude, you feel safer with him than in your own home. Unexpectedly, a concerned Robin appears, which makes you decide to reveal the truth.

TW: mentions of: pregnancy, domestic violence, bruises, blood (let me know if I forgot about something!)

The story is also avaliable on ao3

previous chapter | masterlist | steve harrington masterlist | general masterlist

What can I say... It's been a while. I am sorry and thank you for still being here and reading this chapter.

The Harrington residence was huge and filled with luxury, but this could not mask the feeling of cold and emptiness you faced as soon as you entered. You didn't have much time to look around though, Steve immediately led you to one of the guest bedrooms saying that from now on this was your room.

"Here are your clothes for change." he said looking into the dresser. "Robin left her things here because she often stays overnight, I think she won't mind if you borrow something for tonight. Tomorrow we'll go and get your stuff."

"How do you imagine that Steve? I'm just going to walk in there, pack up and leave?"

"Exactly like that." he replied dryly.

"What if he won't let me?"

"We'll go when he's not home."

"It's not that simple…" his attitude irritated you.

"Of course it's simple. We go in, get our stuff and leave. Just like that." saying this he snapped his fingers.

"Steve-"

"I swear if I hear my name pronounced like that again I'll go crazy!" He didn't let you finish. "You can always go back there, but expect Hopper to be at your door later tonight.

"This is called blackmail!"

"I don't care!"

"You can't just make me stay here!"

"Watch me!" he looked you straight in the eyes. Aside from the irritation on his face, you could see something else. Something the sight of which was extremely rare and confusing. Worry.

After a moment of angry silence, he spoke up in a softer tone. "Are you hungry?"

"No." You answered.

"That's where the bathroom is, and you also know where the kitchen is. I'm going to sleep, and you do what you want." he said quickly and left closing the door.

With that, you were left alone in the big bedroom. Resigned, you walked over to the bed, and slowly sat on it, holding your stomach.

When did it all become so complicated?

There were many conflicting emotions in you, on the one hand, just a few days ago you were sure that getting rid of the baby would be the best decision, but now, when you almost lost it, you felt that you had to do everything to protect it. That's why deep down you felt grateful, for Steve's attitude. Here you were safe. Despite the fact that you considered each other enemies by his side you felt safer than in your own home.

Slowly, you felt your emotions leaving you and being replaced by fatigue. Wanting to take advantage of the comfort offered to you, you simply laid down wanting to fall asleep, hoping that at least in your dreams you will be able to feel calm for a while.

It's been more than a dozen hours since Steve left you alone in your room. He knew you needed a rest, which is why he didn't even knock on the door to check if you were okay, since he guessed you were probably asleep. That didn't change the fact that he still felt anxious and worried. The darkest scenarios came to his mind.

What if you lost consciousness? What if the bleeding occurs again and this time it's too late?

Every now and then he passed by the room listening, but all he was met with was deafening silence. Finally, unable to stand it, he quickly prepared some sandwiches, put them on a tray, and next to them the medicines they prescribed at the hospital. Using that as an excuse, he knocked on the door.

"y/n? can I come in?" he asked.

"Yeah." he heard from behind the door. Your sleepy voice was a relief to him.

When he opened the door, the sight of you in the big bed in his house made him feel a strange sting in his chest. However, it was not the sting of hatred that very often accompanied him when he saw you. This time it was something that made him feel…emotional.

"I brought you something to eat and medicine. Don't forget to drink water, it's important." He said and put the tray next to you on the bed.

"Thank you." you replied quietly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

"How long did I sleep?" you asked.

"Several hours."

"Oh my God…"

"What?"

"I didn't go to work! Robin is going to kill me!" you abruptly jumped out of bed.

"Hey!" he grabbed your hand and stopped you before you reached the door. "Are you crazy? You're supposed to rest not work! Robin can handle it, I'm sure she's already come up with at least five excuses on how to cover for you from the manager."

"But-"

"No. No buts or what ifs, go back to bed and eat." he said before you had time to say anything.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" you asked feeling irritated.

"Are you really going to argue now?" he crossed his arms over his chest without taking his eyes off you.

"I need money, Steve. To have money I have to work! Is that so hard to understand?"

Before he answered anything he looked at his watch and then at you. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway." he said.

"What?" you asked confused.

"Look behind you." He pointed to the clock on the wall. "Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago."

"Damn it!" you cursed and resignedly sat back down on the bed.

"Listen, if you don't want to do it for yourself… do it for the baby. Eat the sandwiches and take your medicine, in the living room I've put some clothes for you, and towels if you want to take a shower." He said and walked out of the room leaving the door open.

Only now did you realize how hungry you were. Looking at the food you once again felt like refusing his help and telling him that he could go to hell, that you could manage on your own. Unfortunately, deep in your heart you knew this would be a lie. With difficulty you had to admit that you were grateful for his care and help.

Pushing your stubbornness aside, you began to eat. Although they were simple ham and tomato sandwiches, they tasted incredibly good. You couldn't remember when was the last time someone prepared something for you to eat.

Just as you were finishing eating, a loud knock sounded at the door in the house, and a second later someone opened it and walked in.

"Steve!" shouted Robin. "Steve, this is important!"

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"It's about y/n." you could hear nervousness in her voice.

Hearing your name, you walked closer to the door so that you could hear everything. Your first thought was that she came here to start complaining that you didn't show up for work and didn't even let her know. She had a right to be mad at you.

"She didn't come to work today."

"So?" Steve tried to pretend to be unconcerned about the situation.

"She didn't even let it be known that she wasn't coming!"

"So what?"

"Listen, I know you don't like her, but I'm really worried and I have no idea what to do about it. She's been behaving really weird lately. She's late for work, she locks herself in the bathroom during breaks, I've had a feeling for a long time that something was wrong, but today I got confirmation."

You felt your heart go up to the hail with every word she said. You really tried to hide everything from her, unfortunately it was Robin. Robin who will catch every detail and nothing can be hidden from her.

"Can you finally say what happened?"

"Travis came looking for her. He was drunk started a brawl and threatened that if he found her she would regret not being home when he returned. Fortunately, Mr. Munson was there and helped me get rid of him before he forcibly got into the back room. I'm telling you Steve, this man is unpredictable, what if he hurts her one day? What if he is already hurting her! What if all those bruises on her body are his fault?"

"Robin…"

"That's not all! Before we got rid of him he said something about the baby. About how she won't be able to raise a child on her own…"

"Ah, fuck."

"You think it's true, you think y/n is pregnant?"

Your heart was beating like crazy, almost drowning out the words that were coming from the other room. Each successive sentence from Robin sounded like a hammer blow, shattering your hopes of keeping everything a secret. You felt a cold shiver run down your back, and your hands began to tremble.

You had to face the truth. You couldn't expect Steve to lie to Robin and take responsibility for your secret. It was time to face the reality you had tried to ignore for so long.

Taking a deep breath you went into the living room holding your hand on your stomach, which very quickly turned into a fist clenching on your shirt. At the sight of you, Robin stood up as if she had been stunned, but Steve looked even more shocked by your appearance there. You opened your mouth to say anything however the only sound that came out of you was a pathetic whine. A second later you were already in your friend's arms crying like a baby.

"Oh my God, y/n, it will be all right. You are not alone."

All you could do was start crying even harder. There was a storm of emotions inside you, sadness, fear but also relief that the truth had come out.

Watching from the sidelines, Steve himself felt like he was about to cry. No matter how unpleasant the relationship between the two of you was, your situation and the sight of you in such a state was crushing his heart. He also tried to ignore the thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wished he were in Robin's place right now. He would also like you to trust him enough to accept his presence and support in these hard times.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" she asked when you had calmed down a bit.

"We need to talk," you said heading toward the couch.

Robin sat next to you, holding your hand while you slowly told everything that had happened. Steve sat across from you, uncertainly looking at both of you. Although his face was full of worry, you sensed something more in his gaze - something that suggested he understood you better now than ever before. However, every time your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have done something about it, found help." she said quietly. Her eyes became glassy with tears.

"I was so scared, Robin, I still am, I am so sorry."

"It's okay." she said and hugged you. "You're safe now. You will stay here with Steven and me. I still think you need to let Hopper know as soon as possible, but it's your decision…Remember that no matter what, I'm here for you."

"I can't stay here."

"You can and you will stay." interjected Steve. "That's not up for discussion."

"Steve-"

"Y/n, no." interrupted Robin. "You know very well that you're safer here. It wouldn't even occur to Travis to look for you here."

"Finally someone agrees with me!"

"I swear to God, Harrington, not now!" Robin roared. "Where are your house keys?" she turned to you in a softer tone.

"I don't have… we didn't lock the door."

"Shit."

"We're both free tomorrow, we'll go get your stuff. We'll wait until he's not home."

"I can't just run away from home!"

"Why not?"

"He'll be looking for me, he'll come to work, he won't give us any peace knowing that you're protecting me."

"I'm not afraid of him, I've fought worse monsters than him."

"Robin…"

"Can you please trust us?"

You could have trusted both of them with your life. Even Steve, who treated you as an enemy saved it more than once. You knew that the only harm he could do to you was in the verbal way. Although he was often hard and harsh on you, over the past few days he had shown that he was able and willing to help you, willing to protect you. Why, you had no idea however, you slowly felt tired of rejecting him over and over again. Robin, as always, was your rock, ready to stand up to anyone who might hurt you.

"Can you please trust us?" Robin repeated, her voice was soft but firm.

You remembered all the moments when Steve saved you, when, against all his faults, he stood by your side. You remembered Robin, always loyal, always ready to make sacrifices.

"I trust you. Both of you." you sighed.

"You are not alone." she whispered in response.

When Robin left, leaving you with a sense of relief, you decided to get some fresh air and go out into the garden. The sun was slowly going down towards the horizon, coloring the sky with shades of orange and pink. You sat down on a wooden bench, and Steve took the seat next to you, somewhat uncertainly. For a while you were both silent, immersed in the silence and beauty of the sunset. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I'm glad you told Robin the truth," he began, looking ahead. "You can't imagine how hard it would have been for me to lie to her."

You looked at him sideways, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Did he really want to lie to her to protect you? "I know, I'm sorry I put you in this situation. It is all so…complicated."

He sighed, combing his hand through his hair. "You don't have to apologize. I understand why you didn't want to tell anyone. But now that Robin knows…it might be a little easier. We're in this together."

"Thank you."

"Just to make things clear… I don't hate you, okay? Let's start over, the more I think about it the more I get the feeling that all this hate between us was somehow one big misunderstanding, I don't even remember why it was all like that."

When you heard his proposal, you felt surprised. You did not expect such a turn of events, but at the same time you felt that this could be a chance for a new beginning. "Let's have a fresh start. It may not be easy, but I think we both need it." He added and extended his hand toward you, as if to seal your new agreement. After a moment of hesitation you took his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his embrace.

When you got home you immediately went to bed. You felt your heart beating faster at the thought of what the future would bring. Your situation was complicated, and living life with Travis had left deep wounds in you. You didn't know if you would ever be able to completely free yourself from them.

Steve, on the other hand, the last thing he thought about before falling asleep was that he was glad that for the first time in a long time he wasn't falling asleep alone in that big house.

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