#let the man feel like a kid again for once

[roturo]

Gojo Satoru who's beginning to fall in love with his sugar baby!

read pt 1 and pt2, before continuing.

Gojo stood outside your door, the weight of every choice he'd made— or refused to make— pressing down on him. He should walk away. That's what he'd always done when things got too real, too messy. But tonight, he couldn't. Not when the thought of someone else touching you, knowing you the way he did, was driving him to the brink.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the sound of muffled voices reached him. His breath hitched when he heard it: a man's voice. Deep, unfamiliar, and entirely too close to you.

His knuckles hit the door harder than intended. Once. Twice. A warning knock, sharp and unrelenting.

When you answered, you were startled, your eyes widening slightly before narrowing in frustration. You stepped into the doorway, just enough to block his view of the inside.

"Satoru," you said, your tone clipped. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze swept over you, lingering on the slight flush in your cheeks and the way your hair was a little out of place. He noticed the faint hum of music in the background, and it made his stomach churn.

"Who is he?" Gojo asked, his voice cold, biting.

You blinked, your expression hardening.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I heard him."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "That's none of your business."

Gojo laughed, a low, humorless sound.

"None of my business? That's funny, coming from someone who let me fuck them like they meant something just a few weeks ago."

You flinched, but you didn't back down. "And whose fault is that, Satoru? You're the one who made it clear this wasn't real. You said it yourself-no strings, no feelings. So why do you care now?"

"I don't," he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw tightened, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his voice dropping. "I just didn't think you'd move on so fast."

Your eyes flashed with anger. "Move on?

God, you're unbelievable." You stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest. "You don't want me, but you can't stand the idea of someone else wanting me either. Do you even hear yourself?" You know you’re repeating yourself, he always knew there was danger in the heat of your touch.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps approached, and Gojo's entire body went rigid. The other man appeared behind you, his figure tall and broad, his expression casual but watchful as his hand rested lightly on your shoulder.

Gojo's eyes locked on the man's hand, and something inside him snapped. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "This guy?"

"This guy has a name," you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Leo. And unlike you, he actually knows how to show up."

Gojo laughed again, this time louder, harsher.

"Show up? That's your bar? Someone who shows up? Congratulations, sweetheart, you've really hit the jackpot."

"Stop it," you hissed, stepping between them. "You don't get to do this, Satoru. You don't get to come here, throw a tantrum, and act like you care. Because if you cared, you would've been here weeks ago."

"Maybe I didn't think you'd be so quick to spread your legs for someone else," he shot back, his voice low and sharp.

The slap came before you even realized you'd raised your hand. The sound echoed in the small space, and Gojo's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging from the force.

"Get out," you said, your voice trembling with rage and something far more fragile. "Go home, Satoru. Wherever the hell that is. Just... leave me alone."

For a moment, he didn't move. He stared at you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. Then his gaze shifted to Leo, who stood silently behind you, his presence steady in a way Gojo's never was.

Gojo's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Fine," he said, stepping back. "Have fun with your rebound." His words were laced with venom, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him.

He turned and walked away, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in his chest. As he disappeared into the night, he realized that for the first time in his life, he'd lost something he couldn't get back.

And it was his own damn fault. He saw forever so he smashed it up.

Gojo didn't go far. He stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with a hand buried in his hair. His mind was a mess, replaying the slap, the way your voice cracked, the sight of another man standing behind you like he had any right to be there.

The image burned in his chest, feeding the fire of his jealousy until it was an inferno. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have cared. But he did. And that was the problem.

As much as he wanted to walk away and let pride win, his feet wouldn't move. Instead, he found himself circling back, hovering near your door like a ghost, the muffled sound of your laughter with Leo scraping against his nerves like broken glass.

He didn't knock this time. Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear the words exchanged between you.

"Leo," your voice came softly, the warmth in it like a knife to Gojo's gut. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't expect him to-"

"It's fine," Leo said, his tone calm, reassuring. "Do you want me to stay? Just in case?"

Gojo's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He could picture it-Leo staying the night, slipping into your bed, touching you like he belonged there. It was unbearable.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, the shared key in his pocket burning like a brand. He shouldn't. He couldn't. But before he could stop himself, the door creaked open.

The room went silent.

You turned first, eyes wide in disbelief as Gojo stepped inside, his figure towering, his presence suffocating. Leo stood beside the couch, his posture tensing as Gojo's icy blue eyes flicked to him, then back to you.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"Didn't realize we were locking doors now," Gojo said coolly, his gaze settling on Leo. "I thought I still had a key."

Leo raised an eyebrow, his expression unbothered but his stance steady. "You need to leave man. You're not welcome here."

Gojo ignored him, his attention fixed solely on you. "Is this really what you want?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "A guy who'll just stand here while someone else walks into his girl's apartment?"

Your mouth fell open in shock, anger flashing in your eyes. "Don't you dare call me your girl. You lost the right to say that the second you decided I wasn't enough for you."

Something in Gojo's expression cracked, the cool facade slipping for a moment. "You were always enough," he said, his voice low.

"That's the problem."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a split second, the tension shifted. His vulnerability shone through, raw and unfiltered, and you could see it—the part of him he always hid, the part that hurt just as much as you did.

But Leo stepped forward, his hand on your arm. "You don't have to listen to this," he said softly, his presence grounding you.

Gojo's gaze dropped to where Leo touched you, his fists clenching at his sides. "Get your hand off her," he said, his voice low and dangerous— this dude clearly didn’t know a shit about him.

The dopamine races through his brain, his hand so calloused from his power, his eyes softly trace hearts on you face behind the black obscure glasses— and you could see it from a mile away, it’s a perfect case for your certain skill set.

He had a halo of the highest grade, "Or what?" Leo challenged, his calm exterior finally cracking.

You stepped between them, your hands outstretched. "Stop.” you shouted, your voice breaking. "Both of you, just stop"

Gojo froze, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, he looked small. Lost.

"You don't want him," he said, his voice soft but urgent, like a plea. "You don't. He can't give you what I can."

"And what's that?" you shot back, tears brimming in your eyes. "More pain? More nights wondering where you are, who you're with? I'm done, Satoru. I'm done waiting for you to figure out how to care about me."

"You think I don't care?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice trembling. "You think I don't hate myself for every second I spent away from you? For every time I chose someone else over you because I was too scared of What you meant to me?"

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over now. "Then why didn't you stay?"

Gojo stood there, his knuckles white as they clenched into fists. The heat of your words— the finality in them-wrapped around his chest like a vice. He was losing you, and the worst part? He knew it was his fault.

"You think I didn't want to stay?" he asked, his voice low and bitter. "I wanted to, but I-" He cut himself off, his gaze darting to Leo like he couldn't bear to finish the thought with him in the room.

"You what, Satoru?" you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with raw emotion. "You wanted to, but you chose not to. Every. single. time."

The sound of your voice triggered a memory, one he couldn't push away.

"Say it," you'd whispered, your breath warm against his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pinned you beneath him on your bed, your bodies tangled in the sheets. "Tell me I mean something to you."

Gojo's laugh had been low and soft, almost tender. "You're trouble, that's what you are," he'd said, brushing his lips against your collarbone. But he hadn't answered—not the way you wanted him to. Instead, he'd kissed you, slow and deep, swallowing the words he couldn't say.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "You don't get it," he said, his voice cracking. "I wasn't enough for you. I'm still not. You deserve someone better than me."

"You don't get to decide that," you snapped, your voice shaking with fury. "You don't get to break me and then act like it's for my own good."

The weight of your words hit him like a punch, but he didn't back down. "I was protecting you!" he shouted, his frustration spilling over.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

"Protecting me? Is that what you call it?” You know you can handle a dangerous man. “Leaving me alone in bed while you text other women? Making me feel like I was just another name on your list?"

You'd been straddling him on the couch, the glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. His hands gripped your waist, his lips devouring yours like he was starving. "You're addictive," he'd murmured, his voice husky. "You're going to ruin me."

"Then let me," you'd whispered back, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, his eyes had softened, his walls crumbling just enough for you to see the man underneath the bravado. But by morning, he was gone, leaving only a note and the faint scent of his cologne.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Gojo said now, his voice softer, like he was trying to reach the part of you that still might care. "But I didn't know how to keep you without losing myself."

You swallowed hard, the rawness in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But before you could respond, Leo stepped forward, placing a hand on your back. The touch was steady, grounding, and it pulled you back to the present with a disgust, not because of the memory, but because it wasn’t the touch you desired.

"She doesn't need this, man," Leo said, his voice calm but firm. "You've done enough."

Gojo's eyes snapped to Leo, his anger flaring again. "And what exactly do you think you are to her?" he asked, his tone sharp and biting. "Some knight in shining armor? You don't know her like I do."

"Don't hide from me," he'd said one night, his fingers trailing down your bare spine as you lay together in the dark. "You're beautiful, and you don't even see it. It drives me insane." His lips had brushed against your shoulder, his breath warm as he whispered, "Let me show you."

And he had-slowly, reverently-his hands mapping every inch of your body like he was memorizing you. In those moments, he'd been yours entirely. But they never lasted.

"She's not yours anymore," Leo said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "And maybe she never was."

He looked at you, his eyes pleading. "Tell him he's wrong," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell him it wasn't all fake. That it wasn't just some... convenience."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Because it hadn't been fake-not for you. But how could you say that now, when he'd already torn you apart?

Gojo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Do you remember that night at the lookout?" he asked, his voice desperate now. "When you told me you'd never felt that way about anyone else? You meant it. I know you did." Handcuffed to the spell you were under, for just one hour of sunshine.

You'd been sitting on the hood of his car, the city lights stretching out below you.

He'd stood between your legs, his hands on either side of your face, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're dangerous," he'd said, his voice low. "You make me want things I shouldn't want."

Months of labor, locks and ceilings— In the shade of how he was feeling..

"Like what?" you'd asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Like keeping you," he'd replied, his forehead resting against yours. "Like staying."

You took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't keep hoping you'll stay when you never do."

Gojo's face crumpled, his mask shattering completely. He reached for you, but Leo stepped between you, his stance protective.

"She said enough," Leo said firmly. "It's time for you to leave."

For a moment, Gojo looked like he might fight back, his hands trembling at his sides.

But then he took a step back, his shoulders slumping.

"This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse.

"I'll prove to you that I can be better. That I can be what you want.”

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

Didn't expect me to write more about Sol, did you? Honestly, I needed to do more research into his character, after all, since I kinda ignored him in the game as soon as Crowe showed up. Like, no wonder he did what he thought he had to do.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet. I'm still learning about the BDSM community, and honestly, it's been really eye-opening.

A close friend (college roommate: adding on the fact she adores Sol—Sorry not sorry, love) of mine has been super helpful, sharing and explaining things about the BDSM scene to add more depth to my writing.

A lot of my inspiration comes from her, along with the Tumblr fanfic community and the original creator's work. I try to blend what feels true to the characters while throwing in my own twist. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with my man—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. He exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence, though the details are still unclear. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences! 

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache. You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His head teases your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want. Can’t do anything unless you say it. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing lightly as if testing the waters. 

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His grin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears on your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb, slick with your tears, slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly. Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special. So sacred. There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Every tender smile, every soft whisper... and every shadowed obsession that came with it. 

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[cjlouwho]

For tommy&rocker twins- Someone from SWAT seeing Tommy w Buck on their day off and thinking ???rocker has a secret boyfriend???

Hondo cannot believe his eyes.

He supposes he shouldn't be too surprised. Deacon and Rocker's relationship did start as cheating... for a year and a half. So, maybe that's just part of who Rocker is. Now that he has Deacon all to himself, the thrill is gone. Now that Deacon has set his whole life on fire, divorcing a woman he was married to for nearly 20 years and working nonstop to repair his relationship with his kids, Rocker is bored and in need of someone new.

And younger.

They look so happy too. Hands intertwined as they walk through the farmers' market, the younger one practically glued to Rocker's side as he smiles up at him.

Then they're looking over the fruits together, and Rocker is scrunching his face up and laughing at something this other guy said. Hondo doesn't give himself enough time to wonder if he's overreacting, because he's seeing a wrong happening right in front of his eyes, and he needs to fix it. Not for himself, but for his best friend! His best friend, who has been so much happier since coming clean about being with Rocker. His best friend who, despite all the issues with the divorce, says he feels freer than he's ever felt before.

He walks up to this "happy couple" and taps on Rocker's shoulder.

"Hey," he begins, expecting Rocker's eyes to widen once he realizes he's been caught.

Instead he gets a confused smile. "Hey. Sorry, are we in your way?"

"Are you..." Hondo huffs out a breath, shaking his head. He turns to the younger guy, who also looks confused. "Hondo Harrelson," he introduces, sticking out his hand.

Buck shakes it, hesitant. "Evan... Buckley. Buck's fine though. This is Tommy. D- Do we know you?"

"No, no, you don't. This guy here does," he says, placing a hand on Rocker's shoulder. "Tommy?" he questions. "Really?"

Tommy nods. "Really." He glances over at the hand that's still on his shoulder. "You might have me confused with someone else."

"I just don't get it," Hondo says, dropping his hand as he glares. "Deacon upended his life for you, Man, and you go and do this? This isn't who I thought you were."

"I'm not- Wait, Deacon? Who-"

"Does Buck know about Deacon? Or are you leading him on too?"

"Yeah," Buck says, tugging at Tommy's hand. "You just leading me on too?"

And if Hondo wasn't pissed before, he certainly was now that this Buck had the nerve to be smiling!

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Evan," he groans before looking back at Hondo. "Hondo, right?"

"Seriously?"

"Okay, Hondo, you must work with my brother, Donovan Rocker?"

Hondo's face relaxes slightly. "Brother?"

Tommy nods. "Identical twin brother."

"Oh... Oh, man I didn't know-"

"It's fine," Tommy interrupts, giving Hondo a smile. "Not the first time it's happened."

"I didn't know Rocker had a brother," Hondo starts to explain. "I just saw you and I jumped to conclusions. I'm sorry, Tommy."

"Not a problem," Tommy assures him. "We don't really see each other much. Hell, we don't even share a last name. It's an easy mix up."

"Well, I'm sorry again, both of you. I will, uh, I'll let you get back to your day. It was good to meet you both." With a quick shake of both of their hands, he's on his way.

As soon as Hondo is out of earshot, Buck eyes Tommy. "Okay, so Deacon?" he questions.

"Did not even know Donny was into guys," Tommy says, already pulling out his phone and dialing his brother's number. "We are having dinner tonight, whether he likes it or not."

Buck grins, excited for whatever Tommy-family news he's about to learn. "I'll bake bread!"

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

"Gingerbread Houses" -HCs

Finals did not, in fact, kill me. Anyways, depending on how things go this may be my last real post of this year, so happy holidays and happy New Years if I don't see y'all til January ^^ --------------------------------------------------------

Heartslaybul

Riddle

He's never made a gingerbread house before OTL and his perfectionism will be his biggest pitfall. At least he's using Trey's cookies and icing so that it's not a matter of the quality of materials, but it's still something he's going to spend HOURS on, making sure every line is perfect and sharp. He's seen the sets before in stores, so he will pull up a reference photo on his phone to try and match the box as closely as possible. By the time he's finished, he's a mess. There is icing everywhere. He is ready to pass out. His hands hurt from piping. And he realizes too late he could have decorated the inside just for fun. He still enjoyed it, but he's going to aim for an easier design in coming years. He also only takes a few pieces of candy and a gingerbread man, before letting the first years eat it. (He got a picture before it was devoured though).

Trey

Oh he's so tired of baking. Are you kidding me. This time of year COULD be fun but he has finals on top of being resident big brother AND BAKER to a dorm just to go home and be Big Brother with his siblings. He's so tired. He will bake everything off for people after they submit what shapes they want/need for their creations and then while everyone is making their gingerbread creations he's going to his room and taking a fucking nap. Good for him. He'll munch on left overs if he feels like it, but he knows there's going to be mom and dad's baking at home so he'll just wait. Once he does go home though, it's a competition, half the family against the other half to make the largest, most impressive gingerbread creation. They may involve the community to vote on which one is better, and then they just let the elementary school kids in the area eat them both.

Cater

He buys one of the boxed ones just to put it together for the sake of social media. Makes it all cute and near perfect, it takes significantly less effort for him to do so than Riddle, mostly because he has some artistic background. He knows between that and Trey's baking, nobody is really going to want to eat it so he brings it to PMC for Lilia lmao. He already knows he's going to do the same thing again when he goes home, so his mom has something to post on social media.

Deuce

He's also never made a gingerbread house! His mom didn't have the means to buy all those ingredients or to buy a set she knew he wouldn't eat, so they always made stuff out of rice krispy treats. They're easier to mold into the shape you want anyways, especially when they're warm, so it prevented tantrums when he was younger too. He still does it, not just for traditions sake but because gingerbread just...isn't his favourite flavour.

Ace

Growing up, his mom was the only one really capable of cooking or baking, so when she passed (HC), his brother would just take him out to the dollarstore to buy a SHIT TON of different wafers and candies. They would make a candy wonderland of sorts before gorging themselves on their creations. Ace doesn't mind gingerbread all that much, but he likes how stable the wafers are in comparison when it comes to attaching them with icing. Sometimes he'll build a foundation with wafers and then attach the gingerbread to the wafers so it has something stable to lean against. It's really just an excuse to eat more candy. He also decorates the inside of his builds, usually using gummy bears as people. When he was a kid he used to bite off their heads and then scatter them around the build 💀

The rest are under the cut!!

Savannaclaw Leona

Could not give a flying rat's ass about gingerbread creations. The closest he gets is Cheka spamming his texts with pictures of his creation. Leona ends up paying Ruggie to make one so that he can send one pic back and the rugrat will stop bothering him 💀

Ruggie

They never really made anything like sculptures. Latino Ruggie is real in my heart, so Christmas time is when they would have saved up as much as they could to have a massive feast with the community. That being said, he can't exactly build with them but empanadas, you know the plantain ones with custard filling and a sugar coated outside??? Those ones? FUCK ton of those. Sometimes though, when Sam has leftovers in January of the kits, he'll take the kits back to the kiddos to enjoy.

Jack

Oh his family loooooves making gingerbread houses, the only rule is, no rectangles are allowed >:) (squares are technically a form of rectangle too) so every year his mom heads up the competition. Jack tries to help his younger siblings but he tends to break things by accident and they get mad at him lmao. He never makes a house himself, he just grazes on the candy, and eats his siblings houses after they've picked them clean of candy, leaving him with plenty of cookies to eat. His siblings also use a lot of coloured icing to decorate the "lawns" outside of their houses. (His mom always includes "ducks" on hers)

Octavinelle

Azul

Having been from under the sea, he hasn't made them before either, nor does he really want to. To me, he does not like the texture of icing. I think that would be gross to him. And why would he want to eat all that candy? He would rather go home and eat a dessert Nonna's whipped up, or even attempt to make cannoli's on his own. He may host a competition at the mostro lounge with a bring your own supplies event and whoever wins a competition gets free meal vouchers for a week.

Jade + Floyd

They also have not made gingerbread anything before, but wHEN they do. Jade meticulously puts his together, every detail, every drop of icing, everything is planned. He has a sketch he did in a planner next to him and he's GOING to replicate it. He's grumpy at Floyd because he's eating gingerbread over his shoulder and it's crumbling and falling onto his work space and into his shirt but if he acknowledges it he knows it's going to get worse. Floyd does not have the patience to put his together. He essentially makes it one giant cookie/poptart thing and layers candy on top. He does ask if he's allowed to break Jade's when he's done (they will brawl after when Jade says no and Azul has to rescue Jade's creation for the sake of keeping what little semblance of peace he has.)

Scarabia

Kalim

The concept is new to him but once he's introduced to it - he loves it. And not a surface is safe from flying icing. He wants icing in every single colour and all the candies from all over the world. He'll try dipping gingerbread in eggnog. These traditions aren't widely celebrated back home, so he's going to make the most of it while he's with friends! He ends up eating so much candy he throws up rainbows. Sorry.

Jamil

He has no interest. You thought Leona was disinterested? No, Jamil is. He'd rather be doing nearly anything else.

Pomefiore

Vil

When he was a kid, it was tradition for him and his dad to decorate lebkuchen together. He looks forward to it more than he'd care to admit, because it's the one constant date he knows both he and his dad work to ensure they have free. Neither of them are very GOOD at decorating, but it's more of an excuse to catch up with each other. The nostalgia also just generally helps Vil show a little more holiday spirit and loosen up a little bit.

Rook

:) He and his sister never really got those kinds of things, but they loved making paper snowflakes together.

Epel

He never had the patience for gingerbread houses when he was a kid, so his meemaw would only make gingerbread men for him while his parents built a house. He would squeeze icing bags so hard they popped, and layer on the subsequent icing in a thick, uneven swab to the point when he went to go eat it it made him sick. He loved it though. Nowadays he tries a lot harder to make them pretty just because he thinks it's a fun activity, like apple carving, where every little detail can make a huge difference on the overall composition. Meemaw's baking is peak, and not even Trey can beat it.

Ignihyde

Idia + Ortho

When they were kids, they loved the pomegranate smashing tradition their dad used to do. Their dad would also make kourabiedes - while not exactly ideal for building with, they were delicious. Instead of building things out of food, they would build a "karavaki" (wooden boat) out of scrap metal as a family instead and decorate it instead of a tree. It's been a long time since Mama and Papa Shroud have managed to convince Idia to celebrate...anything with them, but this year they started a new tradition with Ortho, with high hopes for years to come. This year, they designed and built a cat cafe gingerbread house, just for the fun of it, but there were still plenty of kourabiedes to go around. (Mama Shroud is NOT allowed in the kitchen but she would make little reindeer button cookies if she could. However, that is one field of chemistry she just can't seem to handle OTL)

Diasomnia

...uh

Diasomily

Because of Lilia's many travels, he picked up on different traditions and cultures over the years. As a result, every year (that they've all been together), they celebrate a different tradition from around the world. Yes they've made gingerbread houses before. Malleus has gargoyles on his. Lilia's is completely inedible. Silver has icing on half his face bc he passed out. Sebek essentially made a giant cookie-face of Malleus and got pissy when he ran out of black licorice to make his horns. They're so sillayyyy

------------- LMAO I lost the plot about half way through but we bring it back

anyways

@nemisisnemi @fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain @distant-velleity @elenauaurs @lumdays @starry-night-rose @theleechyskrunkly

lmk if you want to be added/removed

happy holidays and please take a fat nap on my behalf at some point lmao

[dcxdpdabbles]

NOTES FOR BAKER'S KID

Bernard/Tim, but Bernard has known Tim is Red Robin for years and is waiting for his BF to tell him. Tim has been making excuses for years

Bernard runs a small bakery. He opened it after the pain cult because the pastries were one of the few things letting him feel happy

Danny is de-age to ten and thrown into Gotham. Dimension travel. He quickly finds out being younger means his control on his powers are as bad as when he first got them. Also people don't like him for being "meta"

Danny wanders into Bernard's bakery (pending name but maybe a pun on Red Robin). Where he tries every free sample as a means of food

Bernard catches on quickly the kid is homeless and starts preparing full meals as "samples." He even makes small sandwiches and asks Danny to fill out a form to get feedback. Danny thinks he's a food tester.

Bernard asks Tim for his card to buy a bunch of plain furniture. He then changes one for the storage rooms into a generic bedroom. One night, when there is a big snow storm, it convinces Danny to use the room and head "home" when it clears. Bernard pretends to sleep in one of his booths.

The next morning, when Danny asks how to pay him back, Bernard has him help make muffins. He tells Danny to come back of he ever feels like helping again because he's super good. He is lying. Danny sucks but he'll teach him

Tim thinks it's strange how obsessed Bernard is with going back to the Bakery and always making excuses. Damian plants the idea that Bernard is cheating/getting bored of him

He drops in as Alvin Drapper- brown hair, overly hippie costume- and finds Bernard teaching a little ten year old how to properly make fudge. He falls in love again.

Bernard tells Danny about the pain cult when he catches him using his powers. He suspects Danny is just as intelligent as Tim (He's not he's just deage)

Tim and Bernard talk about Danny and both agree that they need to convince the boy to get off the streets. He's easy to trick. Anyone from Gotham can tell

Tim has the entire top floor of the Bakery turned into living space. During that time, Bernard convinces Danny to help Tim at WE to make up for the clothes and shoes they got him.

Tim tells him to take notes and make copies. Danny thinks he's a PA and everyone at WE thinks Tim is just babysitting.

Rumors spiral when someone spots the three visiting schools to put Danny in. They ultimately choose home schooling.

The Waynes think Tim, either A) Kidnapped Danny. B) Made a clone using his and Bernards DNA or C) Bernard bought the kid from the pain cult.

They are very excited for a nephew/Grandson/great grandson no mater which of the options it is.

Danny's DNA has been unable to be processed because of the Ectoplasm. Though the Waynes don't have a name for it. They just assume it's his Meta gene.

Danny is unaware Tim is Red Robin. He thinks Bernard can do better then a man that disappears for days without reason.

Tim is devastated that Bernard's unofficial son hates him. He tries to spend more time with the kid but unknowingly brings Vlad vibes to the function.

Bernard and Tim are 20 in this.

The Waynes swing by to hang out with Danny. He loves them. It makes Tim that much more desperate to get Danny to like him.

Bruce: Danny is as smart as you. Tim tell me the truth....is he your clone? We talked about this Tim.

Danny decides not to tell them he's from a different dimension. He assumes that if meta powers are hated for being a human mutation, then someone from a different place might not even have human rights. After that's what Ghost are in his home.

Danny is mentally 14. He has a crush on Jon whenever the super is around Damian. Jon and Damian are 15 so they think it's cute that Danny has a OBVIOUS crush, they think it's a little kid though and that it will pass.

Out of all of Tim's siblings, Danny's favorite is Steph. He calls her the only cool aunt.

Danny, once he heard about Bernard's parents, has a burning hate for them. He encounter them once. He threw mud at them using a sling shot while riding passengers in Jason's car. Jason peeled away while the Dowds were acting like they got shot. Jason and Danny were cackling the entire drive back to the Bakery.

[dood-itsradical]

Same Difference.

Pairing: Jake Kim x F!Reader

Summary: Never the one to speak of your father, Jake beat you up to it. Finding the irony of the situation.

Genre/Trope: Fluff, established relationship, friends to lovers.

Details: 1.1k words, tomboy!reader, f/name stands for father's name, reader's dad is gen 0 hotshot.

A/n: It's only been two days since I last posted. I'm just itching to write/post and not doing it actually makes me tweak. I love feeding y'all 😔 As always I don't do requests.

Masterlist

"Hellooo...! Earth to (Name)."

The snapping finger finally released yourself from your daydream.

"Huh?" You turned to Jake. "Oh, sup J." You brushed your hair back.

"You alright? How far are you?" He leaned on the desk to your side. You shake you head, ignoring his question. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"Right." He nodded, decided not to pry on you further. He gestured the boxes and files, "You were helping me getting rid of these junks?"

Giving him a weird look as you put two and two together since it's obvious that he could've just given this task to anyone.

"If you wanna hang you could've just said so, you know." You deadpanned.

He shrugged innocently, "Guilty but I wanna be careful. See if there's some stuff I might wanna keep."

You grimaced, pulling a grin. "Might."

"Might." He cringed. "Because see this." He pulled out old photos to you. Most of them were Gapryong Kim, no doubt. Few were him with other folks.

You took them from his hand, looking closely for yourself, "What are you hoping to find? I thought you hated the guy."

"Can't a guy look around without feeling bitter? I ain't a sissy."

His casual reply made you rolled your eyes. But you get him. And good for him for getting over the grudge. Or not. It's no rocket science that he's just hiding it for the sake of his image. Especially to you. To anyone, really.

"Huh."

"What?" You turned at him.

"Didn't know he and (F/Name) knew each other. Not surprised but, damn."

Your brows lit up but luckily he didn't notice. You leaned closer towards him to take a good look at what he meant. And well what'd you know? His old man and your old man standing together.

"You...know him?" Jake nodded, "Not much. But I heard enough. I always wanna learn (F/Name) fighting style. That fist. I just couldn't get it right." He formed his own fist, demonstrating his failed attempt.

Your gaze trailed at his body posture curiosity. You take notes to what he lack. Almost as if you're be able to scan him right here and then.

"Like this." You instead automatically showed him how it's done without feeling like you're showing off. You aren't. You're just show what you know. So forming a fist of your own, you leaned your upper body forward slightly and push the air, mimicking a subtle punch.

"This?" He followed you, again still getting it wrong. You shook your head, scratching your neck, "It's a bit complicated. I don't know how to explain."

Jake grinned and relaxed his body once more. "Don't be like that. Teach me. You know didn't you? I've never seen you kick ass up close before, it's not fair."

You only chuckled and continue with the junks. But does he stop talking about (F/Name) after that? No. And it confuses you. What did he see in your father that you don't? To you, he was just a guy with knowledge to pass down before he grow old. But an old fashioned influencer? You legit thought the guy was a nobody. He was an isolated man. Respect or feared by many. Never in your life thinking he'd get out there. Let alone having friends. Friends are too generous. Colleagues are more like it.

"Does he...have any kid?" You didn't know why you asked that, but you were mindful enough be vague about it. You were quite curious now that you know your pop was, or still is a big shot. Might as well use the privilege by hearing it from Jake.

He nodded, tossing the papers into the burning barrel. "One. A son. Never seen him. People said he's good too. His first kill was when he was nine."

Your face hardened. First kill. Nine years old. You really didn't wanna hear about that. Seems like words do come around here. And a son. People refer you as 'the son'. It makes you wonder if that's what your father rather see you as or you just look like one. Besides, you hardly get by proper friends back then. Son or daughter, same difference. They were all afraid of him. The thought still makes you slightly somber. Your movement slowed.

Jake notices but continue, "Got something you wanna share? I won't bite. I'll get it if you have a bitter pasts with him. Consider how knowledgeable you are." He tossed the last one in his hands then sit down on a portable chair. "But I'm curious about what you've learnt. Hell, I'm not gonna lie, I'm very curious. So...why not be a doll and share it? With your favourite boy Jakey?"

Your solemnity faded, replaced with a snicker, "'Jakey'? You really know how to persuade me. You persuade better than girls do."

"Yes, well, it's part of the big deal." He lays out his one-liner like winning an award. You laughed, tossing the papers towards him but missed completely as they flew to the opposite direction. "Oh my God. You're not gonna stop using that, are you?"

He laughed with you, leaning back only to lose his balance and landed his back on the ground. You both shared another round of laughter.

"Okay but seriously. I can't know?" He kept himself laying on the ground for a bit, eyes stayed on you.

"I never said that. I'll be honoured to teach you." You sighed, stretching your arms. "Besides, I hate to keep you in the dark. We're friends-"

"Boyfriend and girlfriend." He quickly corrects you.

"Right, sorry. And I'm too guilty for not telling you that (F/Name) is actually my dad."

He nodded, "Yeah, I totally get that. I'd be to- wait." He paused, "...What??" now standing up to look at you properly. He comes forward and grasps your shoulder firmly with intense eyes. "Please. Teach me."

Save to say he took it pretty well. And as promised during your spare time you spar with him by teaching him what your father had taught you. Seeing him so concentrate surely piqued your interest. You have so much to focus on. From fixing his postures and techniques to his constant shirtless, sweaty, covered-in-tattooed self.

"That's it for today." You exhaled, wiping your sweat with a cloth.

"You go ahead, I'll meet you inside later." He insisted. But you didn't leave yet. "You could use the break too. I hate to...hit the shower alone." You muttered, hoping he didn't hear that part. But he did, now staring at you like a deer caught in a headlight. Now you feel embarrassed. You're no better than him. Flustered as he is.

"Nevermind, um, forget I said that." You turn your head sheepishly. He was quick to catch up with you. "No, no. I'll come too."

"No, it's fine-"

"I'm coming, no take backs. You, me, shower. Yes? Yes. Okay." He fastened his pace, pulling you by his arm effortlessly. He's totally gonna be the death of you.

[acupofinkedblood]

Biografts and Blackrock worker reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Working in Blackrock isn’t the best type of work for those who wishes to socialize and encounter more interactions with other fellow demons. And certainly when you are stuck in the robot manufacturing and inspection area — especially when it’s your job to keep an eye out for the Biografts before sending them away to be tasked with their assigned duties — and that just makes you even more lonely when the entire facility is almost all yours. Sure, there are still other managers like you in different parts of the department, but they have their own issues to get over with. That alone has summed up your current situation, no?

• At your first day at work, you can help but feel so out of place. The only time you can have a proper conversation with a living being is when your boss is telling you how to do this or how to deliver that, basically just tutoring you for the basics. You are presented with a newly created Biograft that is supposed to require your primary source of attention. It’s simple, your job, I mean. You are the inspector, it’s your job to make sure all the Biografts are properly functioning. And to do that, you just need to run a few tests in order to note down their responses as well as see if any of them needs a quick fix or a reboot

• Once you grasp all the things that you should know, your boss just hasta la bye bye you almost immediately without a trace. The way you are being left alone in the middle of a new environment by your boss like how one leave a kid in the daycare without looking back is absurdly hilarious to some extent, but once you get back to reality, it’s just you for now

• Only the sound of the mechanical automatic production line and the sound of your own breathing is available in the moment. And of course, the Biograft in front of your eyes. The people who are supposed to deliver it are outside. And honestly, they won't even bother to chat with you. That's how quiet people are in this specific department, expect for the big boss that is obnoxiously loud that you wish you don’t have to cross path with him twice because goddamn- that man literally speaks like a glitchy speaker that doesn’t know how to shut up

• Anyway, back to the Biograft. You always know the drill: It’s just a cold machine that is awaiting for your orders. You did what you were told: Run the tests, check up their parts, call the transporters as the Biograft has passed the trial and then another Biograft is sent to you. Again and again, batches over batches, your day just passes like that before your shift is up

• Soon enough, you don’t bother to look up at the transporters and wave them a goodbye like you did before since you know too well that they just walk away without a single thought. Hell, they are even more automatic than any other machines you have come into contact with, and the fact that they are still alive living demon is just- damn. You just stick your eyes into the files and the Biografts. You honestly feel like this repetitive task you are supposed to do everyday will probably lead you down to the path of self-isolation

• That is until you have enough of talking to yourself internally like a schizophrenic patient at work. You desperately yearn for some sort of interaction with a proper acknowledgement, not just a nod and go on anymore. Maybe you’re just too bored at this point, because then you start to think that maybe you might as well just go ahead and talk to the Biografts that are under your inspection. I mean, they do know how to respond to your words and all, technically that is enough for you to cling onto your last hope of interacting with someone or something that isn’t just your imagination

• You know that the Biografts can speak through a secondary function that lets it mimic the speech patterns of demons, and it can even copy your way of speaking or even other’s voice. That is a part of your trial to test their functioning abilities, aside from their obedience and their accuracy when performing a certain mission. That means they aren’t just a bunch of metal that will stay quiet all the time. Although you are probably the first person they ever interact with in a proper way, you have your hope up for their default setting. And that’s how you throw away all the other doubts and just strike a conversation with some of the Biografts

• It’s not like you have any reputation left to lose. This whole facility is all yours and others are too busy minding their own business rather than paying attention to your odd behavior. And hey, talking with killing machines casually isn’t that bad like some people think!

• You have spoken to a lots of them in the previous trials before, certainly when some comes back for inspection, they remember you. That just fuels your will power even more at the goal of befriending the Biografts. Thankfully that their data allows them to learn and to speak with certain calculations, it does resemble a normal conversation somewhat. Although it’s pretty simple, the way they talk since most of the time they just state their presence or answer your questions dutifully. But well, you can live with that

• It is a good thing that it’s the Biografts’ nature to be curious about its surroundings, which includes you and some of your actions as well. They watch over everything you do like a hawk, careful pay attention to you as a source of new knowledge to be aware of. They don’t have an actual personality, you know it well. The artificial intelligence inside their chip allows them to get access to a certain fields of knowledge from continuously learning new information each days. The Biografts can even form a beehive type of mindset, when a Biograft can exchange the thing it has learned to another Biograft through collective messages. It’s their nature to continue to learn and to adapt, mostly for combat-related situations

• Nonetheless, they have proven to have little a sense of self which is portrayed through the way they view the world around them. Curiosity is such a miracle in which it can achieve the impossible, and the same principle can be applied to these Biografts. They do notice at you too, and wonder the thing that is related to you. You are their inspector after all. Moreover, you are probably one of the only few person who they spend a time with after being born into this world

• While running through some tests for them, you will be faced with certain questions regarding of what are you doing. What is the reason for you to want them to do this or do that? What do you mean by your choice of words? How do you do this specific thing that seems new in their minds? Questioning is a form of self-taught, that’s why they can’t help but to question you. Your gear is also on the topic, whether it’s for combat or not. Sometimes they might even ask why are you so insistent on having someone to talk to. You just shake your head with a slight grin at how embarrassing your reason sounds like

• Of course, you can speak to them freely and will be given an answer for everything you have mentioned. You can just talk about your days to them, tell them about your personal opinion of some certain topic or just mess around with them jokingly. Although asking them tricky questions are highly not recommended unless you want to see their data going overloaded because of what you said. You don’t want to accidentally make them shut down just because you have asked them what is the color of an electric sheep, right? It won’t be a pretty sight to the eyes

• One thing that you shouldn’t do too obvious is to try and get them to understand the concept of freedom or life or basically anything that will jam with their whole purpose of existence to serve in war and conflict. You are the inspector, yes, you do have quite the impact on them. Though if you still want to do that, just do as you wish, but keep it subtle. There are still cameras that can record your voice in its database. Surely Subspace won’t like it when you try to get his creations to oppose him, he isn’t going to let it happen. You might even get the warning from the Biografts themselves to be aware of your words. So just a head up, it’s a risky thing to do

• You adore all of them. Growing fond of a bunch of Biografts really mess up your mind. You don’t just give them nickname, oh no no, that’s too common and you don’t have that much nicknames for over a thousand Biografts out in the wild. You literally call them by their series number in details without biting your tongue. SFOTH above, you have mesmerized all of their series numbers by heart. Every single one of them, there is no way for you to ever forget which one is the one you are looking at in the moment despite them being all identical

• The way you’re so focused on the Biograft as if they are an actual living demon is almost absurd. Yet that’s still what you do, no? To think that you even recognize each of them enough to the point that you have pick out some of them to be your favorites, that’s definitely some unique talent you have there

• It’s ridiculous when you see them as some sort of individual with different purposes. Some you see as friends — who you can chat the days away before they have to leave after you have done inspecting them — that title is usually used for the Biografts that you have known before and had the chance to see them again, either while they are being maintained or sent back to you for certain reasons. Some you see as your children, which are usually referred to those who you have only met the very first time before while doing your job. Of course, you don’t baby them because that’s just weird, though you do look out for them more than usual

• The Biografts aren’t exactly dull on its own. They have grown familiar with your presence aside from their creator. You hold an important position in each other their mindset, someone that isn’t just a typical demon. Although they will always see Subspace as the top priority since he is their cereator, his orders will be the upmost command that none dares to oppose. Still, they do view you as someone who is somewhat as equally significant as their creator. You’re just a tad behind Subspace, trust me. They are — for the lack of better words used specifically for robots — congenial, around your presence. Easy to talk to than others, at least

• You definitely get questionable looks from other managers when you waving the Biograft a ‘bye bye’ like a parent sending their child away after they have grown up. People might start a rumor on how you seem to lose your sanity quicker than anyone else in the division, but you don’t give a damn anymore. You know that you care for them a bit too much, then again, what else are you supposed to do?

• You know that they are just heartless machines, yet you can’t help yourself but grow attached to all of them. They provide you better company than any other demon in the division can ever imagine. You have found comfort in seeing them, talking to them everyday at work like they are alive in flesh. From friends, children and family — the Biografts manage to fill all the important roles you need in your life: You talk to them like how friends do, you care for them like how a parent would to a child, and you form a deep connection with them like they are actually your family. Is that odd? Definitely. Do you need a therapist? Maybe. Will that stop you from enjoying their presences? Hell no

• Sometimes you just wish that you can keep at least one of them beside you for company on the daily basis. Of course, there is no way Subspace will grant you that privilege. You can only dream about it whenever you take a break from your shift. Seeing them surely makes you feel better. For the time being, you just need to look forward to seeing the Biografts again when a new day comes

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: There’s not much I can write about the Biografts, so sorry for the limited quality(๑•́ -•̀)

Note 2: A friend from afar of mine is calling me to listen to his gossip with his friend to make me feel better, it works because the tea is HOT

[thehomophobe]

Making Out 😏

🐻 Freddy: It was late. The Pizzaplex had already closed, meaning you had to stay the night again. Totally worth it, you thought, 'cause this is the only time you get to stay with Freddy. With being the main man of the Mall, Freddy gets no time for you at all. From shows to playing Fazerblast with the kids to meet-and-greets; you could never be a kids' mascot. Nor a pop star.

The couch creaked underneath the weight of his synthetic muscle mass and your body. You sit on his lap, your thighs straddling his waist comfortably. Grinding your hips with his as you trail kisses and love bites from his lips to jaw down his neck. 

"Mmm~...superstar..." He moaned. You knew just where to bite and lick, massaging the reddening splotches with your lips while your hands roamed down his chest and up again. The feel of his muscles tensing under his tight jumpsuit had your own legs going weak. You kissed him yet again, a moan muffled by lips. He's so sweet, so warm, so loving and caring. No wonder he's the star, he attracts all the attention.

🐔 Chica: A real cutie that's for sure. A smile with a wink and a giggle just emits her playful energy so well with laconic gestures. Energetic, bubbly, quirky Chica was all you thought as you shook your head mirthfully when she squawked about something random that just popped into her head.

So when she pressed up against you in a dark of the kitchen, you sweated. It was cute at first. She’d pepper sweet, chaste little kisses on your cheeks and nose before finally pressing her lips to yours. Everything in the beginning was slow, warm, and pure to a nauseating degree. Over time, however, that changed. She became rough, swallowing your plush lips as she gripped your shirt, almost ripping it.

Mind you, you're 5'6.

She's 5'9. 

For her to tower over you by three inches made you feel suppressed. And it didn't help that her endoskeleton, along with pounds of synthetic flesh, pressed over your body. You moaned, helplessly; she tastes like savory pepperoni with a hint of sweet fizzy-faz. Limited edition peach flavor, you're favorite. It's like she planned this to happen: You, pinned against the cold fridge door cooling whatever mystery meat was inside, moaning and needy. She, relishing all of it, cradling your waist and gripping the shirt collar as she bites and nips your lips until blood leaks so she can lick it. No wonder she went on that rant saying she'd wished to know what you taste like.

 Pure sugar and empty calories, like a true guilty pleasure.

🐊 Monty: Wet and sloppy. He loved nothing more than to make a right mess out of you both when you’d find the time to sneak away and see each other. Conflicting schedules and the fact that it wasn’t exactly good for either of you to be seen together in public made meeting up almost impossible if it wasn’t in the dead of night. But when you did finally slip away from your duties, it was a guarantee that both of your pent-up frustrations would be let out all at once.

He would slam you, holding you up by your ass and thighs as he kissed you. Your arms would either be tangled in fake greeny or holding onto his shoulders for dear life. Teeth clashing and spit dribbling from the corners of your lips, it was anything but kid-friendly. Your exposed hips were littered with scratches and blossoming bruises from where he dug his nails into your skin, dragging him closer to hear you whine into each desperate kiss. In response, you grip his hair, pulling it to make him feel the same pleasurable pain you do. Good to know he's got a hair-pulling kink.

“Don’t stop,” you panted. “We don’t have much longer.”

Monty groaned as he ground his hips against yours, his lips brushing down your cheek and leaving a wet trail of kisses across your jaw to your ear. “Don’t need to tell me twice, cher.” He licks your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. You've got about what, ten minutes until the next show? A lot could happen in ten minutes doll.

🐺 Roxy: You are nothing. Nothing to Roxy. How the fuck did she tolerate you for so long?

These thoughts swirled into her head as she tried so desperately to cling to you while she held you close. She wanted to despise you. To push you away. If she could, she’d go back in time and tell herself to never give you the chance to worm your way into her heart. And yet here she is, on top of a flesh bag full of bones, blood, and blasé benefits.

How could anyone love you? How could she love you?Despite showing you everything, even the darkest corners of herself, you come back. And you never plan on leaving. 

She kissed you roughly, biting you in the neck and jaw, then soothing them with her lips. She would play with your boobs, but her hands are currently occupied. Someone's gotta keep those grubby hands in check while she maims you. The small whimper you gave when her hold on you tightened was swallowed by her onslaught. She was trying to drown her thoughts of you so she could be free of them. And at the same time, she craved more from you. To listen to your litany of whines, gasps, and moans she drew from you until your throat went raw. Glory, power, control whatever it's called. She needed to get her frustration out.

What better person than you?

☀ Sun: “We-We can’t do this here,” he whimpered. You chuckled at his worried form; you know he wants this, he's been craving this for a while now. A smirk grew on your lips, that mischievous glint in your eyes meant you were up to no good, and he was your prime target. Hands strangled the bells on his cuffs to muffle their jingles. Sun's back was pressed against the Lincoln log doors as his legs were pinned under you. 

"There's no one here Sunny. The kids won't come back until tomorrow." You purred.

"But--" You shut him up. Sun's eyes were wide as red exclamation points blinked on them. Distress then turned into bliss as he melted into the kiss. The exclamations shifted into pink hearts. Steam whistled from his ears and a blush crawled on his cheeks. His chest ran hot, the fan churned trying to keep up with the rising heat. You pulled away for breath, smiling at the poor man as you leaned forward. Eyes glazed over and lidded, an intoxicated smile, he looked shit-faced, positively divine. He giggled drunkenly, idolizing the pretty lady above him.  

“Let’s see how long I can kiss you before you either combust, or we’re found.” You purred.  Sun groaned into your next kiss. Porcelain clashed with calcium like two toy teacups. You pampered him, taking your time to show how much love you had for him. 

🌑 Moon: Swimming and slithering in sheets and blankets, you gently hold his waist as you leave kisses over his face. Bright red eyes glowed in the dim light of the tent, peeking through his thick, dark lashes that fluttered with every impatient nip you took at his sensitive skin. It was cute how you continued to press closer, practically laying against his chest. Feeling the cooling fans run underneath the hardworking mechanisms of his body.

Oh how mighty and brazen he was when he carried you from the desk into the tent after urging you for a cuddle session after you denied him multiple times. Look at him, he's all hot and bothered by your usurper, pecking his nose randomly, then his cheeks, then his lips and finally pushing him to the padded floor to continue your attack. His eyes were still a deep red but soon grew little hearts beating with love. 

“You’re beautiful…” You whispered, breaking Moon from his lustful haze. That fuzzy feeling spread all through his chest with your words. Beautiful, that's the last thing anyone would call him. 

“I...think you’re far more beautiful, Star.” He gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face. You smile softly, sealing your love with another deep kiss as the nightlights flicker with merriment.  

[blehblehbleh735]

Get to know rapper!chris x singer!reader!!

SINGER!READER

Genre: pop, indie-pop

Similar artists: Madison Beer, Sabrina Carpenter, Billie Eillish

Albums and covers (coming soon)

Gained Fame: In 2021, Y/N started making music after her boyfriend cheated on her and their messy breakup, she put all of her feelings into songs and decided her new life started at that moment. She tested with sounds and one day she randomly posted them out of nowhere. Her confidence, however, skyrocketed when she only got maybe 1000 monthly listeners after about 3 months. She gave up and continued with life as if nothing happened.

In 2023, a beloved artist named Gracie Abrams, noticed her pathetic music and reached out. Y/N, much to her dismay, of course said yes when Gracie asked to do a collaboration with her. The song blew up on tik tok and other social media platforms and Y/N’s 6 songs soon started rising. Rooftops, a song about her ex, was #14 on the top 200 in the US. Gracie and her became good friends and Y/N got into song writing again.

Cute little headcanons:

Singer!y/n, who doesn't pay attention to rude or sexualising comments about her body but Chris does. When they're out in public and Chris hears someone say one thing about her, he’s practically on top of them and he’s not scared to beat the shit out of them.

Singer!y/n, who keeps a notebook full of random lyrics inspired by overheard conversations, half of which make absolutely no sense at all, but are oddly poetic

Singer!y/n, who insists on hand signing fan’s posters because it's more “personal” even if it takes hoursSinger!y/n, who will stop a concert mid way if she sees a sign or an outfit that she loves just to compliment that person.

Singer!y/n, who loves making up dumb tik tok dances to her songs just for funSinger!y/n, who’s fans are called the most ridiculous name. It started as a joke but now it's a part of her brand.

Singer!y/n, who takes a polaroid picture with her team before every show

Singer!y/n, who gets nervous before award shows, so Chris shows her his “pre game hype” which consists of terrible dancing and a not so helpful pep talk in a mirror

RAPPER!CHRIS (CHRI$)

Genre: hip hop, rap (obviously)

Similar artists: Playboi Carti, The Kid LaROI, Lil Skies

Albums and covers (coming soon)

Gained fame: Chris started his career more recently at the beginning of 2024. Because of the youtube channel, Chris didn't need to be famous for his music. About mid 2024, his music started to get recognized by more than just Sturniolo Triplets fans. Playboi Carti actually liked Chris’s music for what it was.

On Carti’s tik tok, he posted a video with one of Chris’s songs as the sound. Don't know how this made Chri$ more popular but his listens blew up hours later. 11 million monthly listeners quickly went to 30 in less than a month.

Cute little headcanons:

Chri$, who always kept his word, and has never done drugs, drank alcohol, or smoked a vape or cigarette in his life.

Chri$, who’s concerts are the most wild and fun thing ever. The energy in the sold out stadiums is exhilarating and the fans in the front row will probably not be able to hear anything else for days.

Chri$, who makes sure that you are always comfortable and happy no matter what you’re doing.

Chri$, who has your stuff scattered everywhere. He’s got hair ties on his wrist, your hairbrush in his car, and your clothes are all over the place.

Chri$, who once hung a pair of your panties on the rear view mirror in his car because the color “complimented” the vibe

Chri$, who never lets you pay for anything. This man will do everything and anything to make sure your card never sees daylight. Sometimes he steals your wallet before you even leave the car.

Fics to look forward to: (I obviously have not been busy)

Sleepytime - Chris asks Y/N to sing him to sleep one night

Model - Y/N’s manager needs to meet with her about upcoming tour outfits but Chris is not having it with her leaving

Noise Complaints - Late night studio sessions in Y/N’s apartment lead to awkward run ins with the neighbors

Pink Sweater Season - Chris borrows Y/N’s favorite oversized pink sweatshirt for a music video and the internet has questions.

Off Key Apologies - After a heated argument, Chris writes a very pathetic song as an apology but Y/N doesn't want to hear it

Mute - A mic on a live stream reveals way too much about how Chris feels about Y/N

Paper House - The power went out and the house is quiet so Chris and Y/N decide to build houses out of cards.

Stage Left - A surprise performance during Chris’ tour has the crowd cheering—and Y/N wondering where she stands with Chris

Signs - Chris finds an old playlist you made for him and realizes the feelings were there all along—he just missed the signs.

Second Verse - Chris struggles to finish a song about…love and how he hates to admit how much the second verse sounds like you.

REQUESTS!!

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 4

Summary: after spending some days apart, you and Negan finally find a way to sort out your differences, and it involves a whooooooooole lot of balls

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, friendly competitive games, sexual innuendos

Word Count: 7.3k (I'm sorry, idk how tf this is getting so long)

Michonne likes her job. It’s cushy, which isn’t what most people would assume. But being principal of Alexandria High is something she fought for and something she earned. In many ways, it’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

Not only that, but she gets to be closer to her kids. For the first time, Michonne can embrace the role of the classic mom—carpooling with her children, loudly saying “I love you” and reminding them not to forget their lunch as they all walk into the same building.

Carl doesn’t mind it much. At this point, he sees it more as an inside joke between himself and his stepmom.

Judith, on the other hand, still squirms every time she gets out of the car with Principle Grimes, her eyes darting around to see if anyone is taking notice. 

Michonne doesn’t take offense though, she knows it’s because Judith is still adjusting to “big school”, eager to make a good impression during her first year.

She had to deal with a blunder last week between Gregory, Rosita and Sasha. Once again, it was up to her to clean up Gregory’s incompetence while he played victim. 

If Michonne had her way, firing him would have been her first decree as principal. And he wouldn’t have been the last to be fired either. Michonne can think of a few she would’ve picked off straight away if it wasn’t for unfair dismissal laws. 

Saying goodbye to both of her kids, she makes her way down the corridor, pretending not to hear the students going wild in some of the classrooms as they let out their energy before classes start. They’re more hyper than usual for a Monday but since this is the last week of classes, she understands the excitement.

Strolling into her office, she comes face to face with another ‘if only I could fire them without lawful reasoning’ candidate.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, no way Ricky Dicky got you this weird ass piñata for Christmas,” Negan giggles when she walks in, holding up a gift she got for her birthday.

“Carl, actually,” she corrects him, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t drop the statue “and it’s a unicorn he and Judith painted, not a piñata”.

With raised eyebrows, Negan gently places it back down on the desk. “Well, shit, ain’t they… creative” he treads carefully, not wanting to piss her off.

“Is there a reason you’re lurking in my office?” Michonne gets straight to business, making her away around the desk and to her chair. 

Negan sits opposite her, making himself comfortable “Well, it’s about the Christmas party”.

Michonne debates hiding her smirk but she can’t help it. Negan’s a man that always chooses to be cocky, so why shouldn’t she when she knows something he doesn’t?

Reading her smirk, Negan can’t help but scoff at himself. He’d been expecting a reaction like this. 

“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid,” he mutters.

Michonne twirls a finger in the air, gesturing to her grin. “Oh, this?” she says, her smirk widening “It’s not because you think this whole thing is stupid. It’s because I know exactly what you’re about to say”.

Negan shifts in his seat, caught between feeling a little embarrassed and strangely intrigued. He crosses one leg over the other.

“Is that so?” he says, his tone casual but curious.

“I had a certain English teacher in here on Friday,” Michonne keeps her information vague “she may have mentioned the staff Christmas party as well”.

“Did she mention how she can’t keep her damn mouth shut? Or that she’s the control freak?” he interjects “actually, no I want to hear what she’s said about me and how she’s spinning this whole thing”.

Michonne huffs “Funnily enough I could say the same thing to describe you”.

He rolls his eyes, trying not to mumble anything under his breath in case she hears.

“Actually, she explained everything, from the text message to you deserting her. In fact I think she told me too much, usually when you bunk off your job, you don’t tell your boss” Michonne says, her tone level.

Negan nods knowingly “She has a tendency to keep running her mouth, even when she shouldn’t”.

“And she also asked if the staff party could be held somewhere other than the sports hall, since she tells me it’s essentially your hall,” Michonne continues  “Which is odd, because I’ve never seen your name above the door”.

“It is my hall,” he snaps, his chest puffing out “everyone knows it is. My office is right next door —which has my name on the door— and out of all the coaches, I’ve been here the longest. So, yeah, my hall”.

Michonne just watches him, silently grateful she doesn’t have to deal with Negan more often. “Well, the party will still be held there, and when it comes to the two of you constantly clashing, I’ll say to you the exact same thing I told her”.

Michonne pauses, making sure Negan is actually paying attention.

“Whether you help plan the party while she doesn’t, or she plans it while you don’t, or both of you just plan the damn thing,” she says, speaking slowly, hoping it’ll sink in “I. Don’t. Care.”

Negan clamps his mouth shut, holding back a curse. “That’s your big advice?” he questions, incredulity in his voice. “Seriously?”

He’s met with a flat look “Negan, it’s a Christmas party. Let’s not overcomplicate things ”.

Leaning back in her chair, she glances over the paperwork she should be working on “I’m not going to force you two to work together. If you’re not that interested in helping, then don’t and let another coach help when it comes to setting things up in the hall. Simple as that.

Michonne picks up a pen and begins writing on one of the pages in front of her, giving him the sign that they’re done here.

This is easier than Negan expected. Where’s the whole “you need to work together for the sake of Christmas party magic” speech? The guilt trip about teamwork and holiday cheer?

He expected more pushback, more of Michonne’s insistence that they both need to cooperate and sing kumbaya. 

But instead, it’s just… simple. She doesn’t care.

And, sure, they both irritated the hell out of each other, but now that they’re not being forced into the same space, he finds himself missing it a little. He had started getting into a rhythm—annoying her, sparring with her and slowly picking up on her banter. 

It had become a game of sorts, and he’d almost gotten good at it.

But then again, he did walk away from her. And she never came crawling back with an apology, so maybe this is for the best. Neither of them had the patience to stick it out.

After a few seconds, when Negan doesn’t move, Michonne stills her movements. “I can hear you breathing,” she comments, keeping her head down and reading through the sheets on her desk.

“So?”.

“So, I’m busy? Go get ready for class— oh, actually, while I have you here,” Michonne looks over at him and Negan can see the shift from bored principal to fiery mama bear. 

He stands, getting ready to leave. 

Pointing her pen at him, she keeps her voice calm and steady “You make fun of Carl’s eye again and I’m giving the Coach Smith that actually does his job, your office”.

Negan knows better than to test her, or to even let a word alip about how Coach Mark Smith is off tanning in Jamaica, something he definitely doesn’t consider “doing his job”. 

Straightening up, he gives a quick nod and mutters a simple, “Yes, Ma’am,” before hightailing it out the door.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

What’re you on now? Plan C? Or D?

Plan A went out the window with your pettiness, when you decided to plan the Christmas party just to spite Negan.

Plan B, trying to work with Negan, crumbled and left you stranded at Target. You owe Carol big time for driving out and collecting you. Although you hope the amount of cookies you baked with her afterwards means that you’re both even.

Plan C… well, that hasn’t technically failed, nor has it gotten you off the hook, thanks to Michonne being indifferent either way. 

And now that's brought you on to plan D, which so far has been giving constant reassurance to a fully grown man.

“I don’t think I should be doing this,” Joey’s bottom lip wobbles and for a moment, you genuinely believe you’re about to see a tear roll down his stubbled cheek.

“Joey, you’re just helping me measure” you reply, holding onto the other end of the measuring tape as the wary man makes his way down to the other end of the hall. 

You came to work today with a plan. After avoiding Negan for the remainder of last week and having the weekend to get your shit together, you’ve decided that you’re going to continue planning this party. 

The major difference now?

You’re doing it from your own free will, not letting accidental texts or pettiness be the driving force… although in saying that, you also didn’t want to deal with Gregory’s passive aggressiveness.

So after a quick stop at Negan’s office before he arrived, you side-stepped into the sports hall next, and found your new helper, Joey.

“Yeah but…” he hesitates to even say his name “Negan doesn’t know you’re here, and if he finds out I’ve let you in here…”.

In a sense, you feel bad for Joey. It’s his first year at Alexandria High too but he’s already been indoctrinated into the Negan cult, which consists of Negan, Joey and whoever Negan’s trying to swoon for the week.

“Classes start in twenty minutes, he isn’t even here yet,” you attempt to comfort him for the fourth time this morning “besides, you’re just helping me get measurements, this isn’t the end of the world”.

“Yeah, but I don’t want Negan to think I’m betraying him by doing this, or that I’m choosing your side over his,” Joey babbles and you try not to take offense “I asked him last Friday how the planning was going for the party and he— jeez, if you saw the look on his face when I mentioned you!”.

Gulping, you shift slightly and try to change topics “Are you at the end of the hall?”.

“Oh!” Joey stoops down and presses the end of the tape to the wall “Ok, ready!”.

You write down the measurements in your notebook before calling Joey back. 

Unfortunately, he continues to ramble. “I mean, it was like his whole face changed when I mentioned your name! I was just asking about it cause I was wondering if he got into your pants yet but damn, you must’ve turned him down bad!”. 

You wonder if this is how irritating you sound when you ramble.

As Negan walks down the hallway to his office, he lets out a long breath. No more Christmas party for him. It’s someone else’s problem, whether or not that be his favourite love-to-hate and hate-to-love English teacher. 

He tunes out the chatter coming from the sports hall, not in the mood to deal with teens who’ve sneaked in before class for a quick game of basketball.

He enters his office and takes a moment to drop his bag onto the chair, releasing a long sigh. Like shit he would ever leave Michonne give Mark his office. At this point, Negan’s sure he has squatters rights. 

He removes his winter coat and casually tosses it over the old coat rack. Despite the cluttered state of his desk, it's organized in a way only he seems to understand. Negan knows exactly where everything is but something’s… off.

Something’s different.

His gaze shifts to the small pumpkin statue from Target, its green stalk hidden beneath a tiny Christmas hat. Negan frowns, frustration creeping in. Dammit. 

This guilt-tripping crap shouldn’t work on him. And it won’t. You can buy him the pumpkin but it doesn’t change how you have a bad habit of blurting out the wrong thing at the worst possible time.

Still, he can’t remember the last time someone bought him an actual present. His colleagues never get him anything, unless you count glares. His students skedaddle out of his class the second they have the chance, his only gift there being the peace and quiet they leave behind. 

It must’ve been Lucille who last got him a gift, years ago. His leather jacket to be exact. He rarely wears it to work, not wanting some kid’s dirty paws to taint it. 

That’s just for him. 

After he walked out on you at Target, you’ve both kept your distance, neither one willing to make the first move. But now, it's a new week, with the staff party only a few days away. 

And here sits a little pumpkin on his desk, it's Christmas hat perched jauntily on top. With a low hum, Negan flicks the hat of the pumpkin as he heads out of his office, his sixth sense tingling. 

Letting the other end of your measuring tape zip back into place, Joey strolls the width of the hall back to you.

“So, you not a fan of the lanky type?” he asks, shrugging with as much nonchalance as he can muster “Since you rejected Negan and all”.

It's a real talent suppressing your cringe that fast. You force a tight-lipped smile, trying to set the record straight. 

“I never rejected— I mean, I would have if he—look, Joey, I don’t judge people or decide whether I’m attracted to them based on their—"

“Prefer them with some meat on their bones?" he cuts in, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when you can't come up with a satisfactory answer.

You’re about to let out a defeated sigh but then you wonder if you can use this to your advantage. 

"You know what really gets me going?" you ask, the words alone making Joey’s face go bright red. "A guy who isn’t afraid of what others think, who’ll help people without worrying if it pisses off... oh, let’s say a meaner, older man”.

Before Joey can even respond, a suspiciously cheerful voice cuts in from the doorway.

"There ain't no way I've just walked in on some dirty talk," Negan grins, leaning against the frame with that trademark smirk of his "And to make it even better, you're describing me, sweetheart! Damn, I didn’t realise I turned you on so much”.

Your jaw clenches but you try to keep things cordial. “Negan,” you give a small nod in greeting “I was just leaving”.

He glances over at the numbers written on your open notebook. “Oh, very busy, I see,” he remarks, before deciding that’s enough small talk “how about we have a chat?”.

“About what?” Joey asks, still standing there.

You glance at Joey, but it’s Negan’s pointed look that makes him realize he’s intruding. 

“I’ve got a class in here in about…” Negan checks his watch “ten minutes. How about you head to the storage room, grab whatever balls are in there, and line them up for me? I’ll let the kids blow off some of that pent up Monday morning energy with a game of dodgeball”.

Before Joey can protest, Negan tosses him the keys. Joey fumbles, barely catching them as he hurries off.

“You got it, si— bos— I mean, Negan!” he takes off down to the dusty storage room on the far side of the gym.

“Jesus Christ,” Negan lets out a low chuckle “I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to call me Daddy yet”.

A disgusted scoff leaves your throat and you grip your notebook a little tighter, ready to leave. And yet you want to stay, just to hear what Negan has to say.

Negan crosses his arm, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance as Joey unlocks the storage room and disappears inside. You stay in your spot a few paces away from Negan, feeling the weight of the silence pressing on you, unspoken words hanging in the air.

After a long pause, he speaks in a much more serious tone “You know, you’re really good at pushing buttons”. 

Putting a hand up to stop him, you quickly clarify “The pumpkin is just a peace offering. I’m not expecting us to get along but I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats for the rest of the school year either”.

Joey hurries out of the with some basketballs and places them in a line along the centre of the hall before going to get more. 

“I get it, I’m not your favorite person—hell, I’m not anyone’s favorite person,” Negan continues once Joey’s gone “but at Target… damn, you don’t have to go there. Not like that”.

Sighing, you avoid eye contact. The words still feel fresh on your tongue but you know you have to face them. 

“I didn’t mean to go there,” you reply “I just… I imploded and I don’t want to excuse it by saying you pushed me to it… I could’ve been more careful with what I said”.

Your stomach drops when you hear him laugh bitterly. There’s no real humor behind it and your defenses go up in an instant. The warning lights are starting to light up in your head. 

“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing that,” he pauses, biting back something sharper “It’s… it’s not that simple for me and I get it, I’m an asshole. But to bring her up when I take it too far? Or piss you off just a little too much?”.

Some footsteps echo behind you as Joey drops more balls down in the middle of the room, heading back into the storage room and not noticing a battered handball roll over to join your conversation with Negan.

You watch as it rolls closer.

Shifting from foot to foot, Negan folds his arms. “I mean, shit, I know I shouldn’t have driven off without you but what do you expect me to do after you said that?” he asks.

A flicker of that well known frustration bubble before you sigh. “Maybe I expected you to—I don’t know—talk to me instead of running away every time things get tough? I don’t say these things to be a jackass to you, Negan, I say it because… well, yeah I’m pissed off but also because no one else has the balls to say it to you”.

The handball nudges your shoe.

“No pun intended” you add, a thought springing into your head.

You can see your walls going up, and the same with Negan. It’s a toxic cycle of annoying each other and then escalating it whenever you try to hear the other person out. You can tell he’s getting annoyed again just by rehashing it.

Time for Plan E… which you may or may not have just made up now impulsively. 

Getting restless, Negan switches to putting his hands on his hips “I do talk, damn it, but you just—”.

WHAM!

Before Negan can finish, a handball comes flying from your direction, slamming right into his chest with a loud thud. He stumbles back, eyes wide in surprise.

Negan doesn’t have to feign any shock. Not when that’s just happened. But he’s not angry about it. If anything, the random ball attack has made him break his serious streak. 

“Goddamn, woman! What the hell was that for?!” he looks at you, bewildered.

You let your notebook fall to the floor and take a few steps back, edging towards the centre of the hall. 

“Ever since you deserted me, you’ve been dodging me so I figured you’d be good at dodging that too” you shrug.

Placing a hand dramatically over his chest, Negan glares at you, though the playful anger in his eyes betrays any real frustration. “Really? A damn handball?” he tuts “The one time I’m tryin’ to be serious, and this is what I get?”.

You stop when you feel a soccer ball nudge the back of your shoe, letting you know you’ve successfully made it to the halfway mark of the hall.

“You piss me off,” you state the obvious “I piss you off. We piss each other off so fucking much and I am sick of it! Talking it out is just making us both angry again and that’ll lead to one of us saying something stupid – again”.

To show you mean business, you pick up the soccer ball. Joey, confused as ever, just continues with the job Negan gave him. 

“We both fucked up, I get that and I am sorry, Negan,” you say solemnly before huffing “but fuck! You just annoy me so much! And ’cause of that, I think we should just get this out of our systems… so, you game?”.

The hint of a smile creeps up on his face, playful offence melting into amusement.

“Y’know when two people need to get something out of their system, this ain’t the kinda balls that’re involved, sweetheart,” with a grunt he bends over and picks up the handball. 

You don’t move, fingers strumming against the soccer ball. Joey inadvertently fills up your supply of ammo by bringing out a few more balls out. 

“Are you seriously gonna make me play dodgeball to work this out?” Negan calls your bluff, narrowing his eyes at you as he rolls his shoulders.

“Unless you’re too scared”.

Damn you. Negan smirks, knowing full well you know he’s not about to turn this down. His eyes gleam with mischief  “Scared? Hell no, I just—”. 

Hoping you wouldn’t be expecting a ball hurled at you mid-sentence, Negan throws the handball, narrowly missing your head. It smacks off the ground and you gulp, releasing he’s not about to take it easy on you.

“…I just needed to warm up. Let’s do this,” Negan swings his arms to the side, stretching “Joey! Throw a few down this direction”.

As if signaling the start of a war, three balls roll past you and come to a stop at Negan’s feet, their new commander in chief. The second he bends down to grab one, you seize your chance. 

Without hesitation, you send the soccer ball hurtling through the air.

What follows is pure chaos— dodgeball in its most frantic form. Balls fly in every direction, slamming into walls, ricocheting off bleachers, and nearly knocking over everything in sight.

You dive to the side, narrowly dodging one of Negan’s throws, which sails through the air and wallops against the wall.

Neither of you is holding back now. Negan cackles, the sound of his laughter filling the hall as he effortlessly dodges another ball. 

Joey, meanwhile, has wisely retreated to the safety of the storage room, peeking out from behind the door.

He cowers, half-hidden, making sure the door doesn’t slam shut and trap him in there, caught between wanting to stay out of the chaos and not wanting to be accidentally locked inside.

Negan laughs in between throws, his enthusiasm spurring you on. “Goddamn! This is one cruel and usual punishment, doll” he pants, a wide smile gracing his face.

It’s odd to see him so happy. Not smirking or smiling just to get under your skin. He’s like a dog that’s finally been let out to run wild, truly in his element.

Trying a new tactic, you throw a ball low to the ground, hoping to get his legs but Negan effortlessly leaps over it. 

“Well, if you didn’t cut our argument short then you wouldn’t be getting a face full of balls” you throw another, aiming for his head. He dodges it, bouncing his own ball off the ground as he readies his aim.

Negan grins before tossing the ball straight at your chest. You barely catch it, smiling back at him triumphantly.

“I get it, alright? I was being an ass leaving you stranded… and for trying to wind you up so much beforehand,” Negan shockingly gives a genuine apology “But you can’t just throw stuff at me and call it a ‘game’!”

Bouncing on your heels, you think carefully of your next move. Sure, you’re a little out of breath but this is the most fun you’ve had all month.

“I can if it makes you listen,” you quip back before issuing another apology of your own “look… I didn’t mean for what I said to be so harsh, okay? I was just mad. I don’t want to be that person, but sometimes you’re so damn stubborn… it gets under my skin”.

Negan slows his movements, watching you carefully for a second. The playful energy fades just enough to let sincerity peek through.

“I’m sorry, you’re sorry, can we go back to planning this awful party now?” he asks, surprising even himself by still wanting to help with this damned thing.

Throwing the last ball at him, you manage to catch Negan off guard and hit him square in the shoulder. “One condition, you actually put in some effort” you reveal your single demand.

“No promises but I’ll try. Alright?”.

With a half-hearted laugh, you step away from the ball and approach your opponent.

“Alright” you stick out your hand. Negan looks down at your hand, back up at you and finally, he shakes it.

There’s a moment of quiet, both of you catching your breath as the ridiculousness of the game breaks the tension between you. “I gotta say,” you pant slightly “you’ve got one hell of a throw”.

He laughs, nudging one of the balls to roll back toward the center of the room. “What can I say, I’m good with my hand” that familiar smirk is back, but surprisingly, it doesn’t irk you as much as it did before.

Still, you can’t resist sending a playful glare in his direction. Just to keep him on his toes.

Joey hesitantly steps out from the storage room, glancing around nervously. You watch as he clings to the door, ready to duck and dive at the slightest threat.

“Is it over? Who won?” he asks, his voice cautious.

Negan looks over at him, a grin still on his face. “The school did,” he calls out “considering it’s still got us two fucks planning this party”.

You glance back at Negan, finding his eyes still locked on you, studying you with an intensity that makes something stir in your chest. 

His voice lowers, smooth and almost too casual, as he asks, “If I call you later, will you pick up? To talk about the Christmas party, of course.”

You let a slow smile spread across your face, leaning into the moment. “I might reject your call, just out of instinct,” you tease, feeling the playful tension in the air.

Joey, clearly happy the dodgeball war has finally ended, at least for now, yells over with a grin, “You should definitely pick up!”.

You raise an eyebrow at the advice but there’s a warmth in your smile. “Like you said,” you nudge Negan lightly, the hint of something more lingering in your voice “no promises, but I’ll try”.

And with that, the mood between you both lightens, the game being an unexpected but fitting resolution to all the unspoken things between you.

From the doorway, Negan’s class of teens wait, unsure whether this is something that should be interrupted. 

A mixture of horror and amusement is plastered across their faces. “You owe me ten bucks,” Ron leans over to Carl and whispers “I told you they’re definitely banging”.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Alexandria High’s Teachers Midlife Crisis Support Line keeps you entertained after school. You had a few last minute presents to pick up and get ready for shipping, hoping an influx in gifts back to your parents will ease the blow of you not being home this Christmas. 

It’s a topic you try not to think about, let alone mention it to any friends you have here. And by ‘friends’ you do mean work colleagues , considering you haven’t exactly done a lot of socializing since you moved here. 

Reading the steady flow of messages helped ease the guilt of not travelling home though. And, you were actually given a reason to interact and send in some of your own messages! 

Most of it was you letting the others know more details about the party; what time to be there, dress code, are plus ones allowed.

Bustling up to the door of your apartment, you quickly send a text saying the party will start at 6 as you make your way inside. 

You don’t even have time to shut the door behind you when your phone pings with a private message.

Negan: isn’t 6 too early?

You: I thought it was a little late actually 

Negan: sounds like you’ve been to many parties

Negan: lol

Asshole. Ever since group chat started buzzing with life, Negan has been sharing his running commentary with you.

He still hasn’t sent a text into the group chat but seems to have no problem reading what’s being said and sending his thoughts to you in private messages. 

Kicking off your shoes and turning on the lights to your place, you decide to leave him wait for a response. Right now, your main priority is getting a well nourished dinner… which means microwaved popcorn and watching whatever Christmas movie you can find on Netflix. 

Poking the time into the microwave, you wander from room to room; going into the bedroom and quickly changing into some pyjamas, going to the bathroom to snag a few wipes for your make-up, before heading back to the kitchen, just in time to stop the microwave. 

You: wow I didn’t realize you were aching for another round of balls being thrown at you 

With your Christmas lights on, snacks at the ready and big glass of soda, you settle in for the night when… ping!

Negan: for that, you’re not getting your Christmas present until after the break

You debate throwing your phone onto the other side of the couch and simply ignoring him but he is unfortunately entertaining.

You: your the literal grinch, I know you didn’t get me anything 

It may have taken a while but you can finally feel yourself relaxing when it comes to Negan. Maybe all you both needed was the game of dodgeball to get past all that previous turbulence. 

You’re understanding his sense of humor, how he’ll flirt just for the hell of it and how he’s all bark and no bite. If you don’t fall for his charms and throw yourself at him after his first few attempts, Negan just flirts for fun.

Holding your phone in one hand, you use your remote to navigate through the tv channels with the other, stopping when you get to the Netflix app. With a ping, your attention is back to your other hand.

Negan: are you asking me to roleplay? ;)

First off, ew. Secondly, what the fuck, why does he have to make it weird? Well, maybe that’s the winky face’s fault but either way, you sneer at the message. You keep your response short, sweet and to the point.

You: perv

He responds immediately.

Negan: That’s not a no. I’ll even bring my santa hat

You: you’re right it’s not a no, it’s an absolutely NOT

You: and a Santa hat isn’t grinchy enough 

Getting flooded with notifications, your attention is briefly brought back to the teachers group chat.

Glancing at the top of your screen, you catch fragments of the ongoing conversation. Eugene and Aaron seem to be deep in a back-and-forth, trying to settle what the true definition of "casual attire" really is.

Negan: yes it is, he wore one in the movie

Negan’s private message grabs your attention and you try to ignore what’s happening in the group chat, for now.

You: still not grinchy enough 

You stare at your phone for a few moments but there’s no reply. Oh well. Directing your attention back to the tv, you open Netflix and begin browsing for some stereotypical Christmas romance. 

Across town, Negan picks up his controller again, his eyes locked onto his tv screen as a new team deathmatch begins.

His fingers work swiftly, selecting his loadout with practiced ease. Negan’s character moves forward, entering a tornado of bullets and death. 

He takes down two players in quick succession but before he can reload, some idiot with a rocket launcher blows him to pieces in a fiery explosion. Frustration bubbles up as he watches his character's remains scatter across the screen.

“Fuckin’ ass” Negan mumbles, checking his phone as he respawns. 

Normally, Negan would have his headset on, letting the pent-up frustration of the day spill out as he argues with whatever tween is shrieking down their mic. But tonight he’s opted to go for a quiet evening. 

Instead of unleashing his usual barrage of insults, he mutters them to himself under his breath.

As he fumbles to quickly type a message back to you, a smirk creeps across his face. He knows your reaction will be priceless. The way your eyes narrow and that subtle flush creeps up your cheeks whenever his teasing or flirting goes just a little too far.

You glance down at the message, and for a brief moment, your heart stops. You quickly look away, eyes darting to the search bar on your TV, trying to focus on anything else to steady your racing thoughts.

But after a deep breath, you force your gaze back to the screen, almost afraid to read it again. 

The words are unchanged, still sitting there, but your mind can't seem to process them. It's the same message, and yet, you find yourself unable to believe it.

Negan: What if I bring my green fursuit? Is that good enough?

Weird message, sure, but that’s not the shocking part. Swiping open the message, it doesn’t bring you to your private conversation with Negan.

No, instead you’re taken to Alexandria High’s Teachers Midlife Crisis Support Line, where Negan’s message is there as clear as day. 

Oh my god.

You can’t control your reaction, immediately going out of the group chat and to your contact info on Negan. Without a second thought, you hit call.

It rings once, twice and on the third ring, he answers. It’s like you have no autonomy anymore, simply letting your body work without any consultation with your brain. 

Negan is in the midst of trying to figure out of to delete a messages when your call comes through. When he answers, your name alongside his note of (good ass, weird at flirting) which he will have to change later to (good ass, great throw) lights up as you laugh down the phone to him.

“Oh my fucking god!” you basically squeal “how the fuck did you do that? Oh my g-”.

You can’t finish your sentence before your own laughter cuts you off again.

He stays uncharacteristically quiet but that doesn’t hinder you. With your other hand, you have to drop the tv remote to clutch your stomach, a pain beginning to linger from the laughter. 

“Now that, that has made my Christmas” you try to quieten your laughter and on the other end, you finally hear a chuckle.

“I mean, a green fursuit? Where the fuck did you come up with that?” you have to wipe a tear away.

“That’s the shit Jim Carrey had to wear,” his voice seems a little tight but he’s still chuckling “fuck’s sake, that’s it, I’m switching schools”.

Your laughter simmers down to a giggle “Quick, just delete the message before anyone else sees it!”.

“But how the fuck do I do that?” he blusters, a strange mix of self-assertiveness and panic coating his voice. 

You know you should stop laughing by now but everytime you can feel yourself gain some control over your laughter, you think of the situation at hand and lose it again.

“Just… just hold down on the message and… and wait until the different tabs pop up a-and then… you just have to tap delete” you struggle to get the words out, holding your nose in one hand to stop yourself from snorting.

Now that’s something you know Negan would pick up on, immediately directing all attention to that instead of his hilarious blunder.

“Fine, I’ll try that” he says gruffly before hanging up. You continue to laugh the second he’s gone, flopping onto your side and burying your head into the couch cushions. 

You drop your phone beside you, but only so you can stuff some popcorn into your mouth. Going for the phone again, you swiftly go back to the group chat to find the message has disappeared, and in its place a simple yet ambiguous message from the service provider.

*This user has deleted their message*

Before you can even tap out of the group, the phone starts to ring in your hand. You doesn’t waste any time answering, especially now that your giggles have subsided. 

“It’s gone,” you tell Negan, trying your best to sound serious “now all it says is that you deleted a message”.

“But does it say the fuckin’ message?” he asks, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“I literally just said it doesn’t,” you reiterate “do you listen at all?”.

Negan huffs loudly, muttering something under his breath. “And what was that?” you ask pointedly, wondering why you even answered the phone again. 

His huff turns into something of a chuckle “My ears must be fuckin’ deceiving me cause it just sounded like you used your teacher voice on me”.

“And what if I did?” you challenge.

He chuckles again, before letting out a teasing scoff “How the hell am I the one getting scolded? Shouldn’t you be tryin’ to comfort me for that shit? I mean, I’m fuckin’ traumatised over here”.

“You’re not the only one traumatised, did it say who saw the message?” You pop some more popcorn into your mouth.

“How the fuck would I know that?” Negan asks, leaving the lobby he’s in and going back to the game’s home screen.

“Damn, your age is really showing now,” you mumble but make sure to say it loud enough for him to hear “you swipe the message and it shows you who’s read it and who hasn’t yet… but you can’t do it now since you deleted it”. 

You may or may not have gone up an octave when you said that last part just to tease him.

“Well, that’s dumb. What’s the point in knowing how to do that when I can’t do it now?”.

“Because I thought you’d have the initiative to check before you deleted it,” you goad “jeez, how old are you? You really know fuck all about technology”. 

Negan retorts an equally goading reply, causing you both to quickly fall into their routine of bickering back and forth. “How old am I? I think that only matters if you have a thing for older men” he quips back.

“Only for older men in green fursuits” you tease.

“That can be arranged”.

Staring at the search bar, your perfect romantic Christmas movie so close yet so far away, your attention drifts away from the TV as you prop your feet up comfortably.

The next half hour slips by effortlessly. The conversation flows easily, a mix of casual banter and more personal exchanges, the kind of talk that somehow feels natural between you two. Time seems to slow as you get lost in the rhythm of the conversation, the world outside fading away for just a little while.

Negan raises an eyebrow, balancing his phone between his shoulder and neck.

“And should I even bring up the staff party?” he asks with a grin. Another round of gunshots echo in the background but this time, you don’t question it. Negan’s already had to fill you in on his unconventional form of therapy; video games.

“Ugh,” you sigh “I think the decorations are mostly done. I grabbed a few more things while I was out earlier… but honestly, the worst part is going to be setting it all up on the day. Other than that…”.

You think of the list in your notebook. “We still have food and drink to figure out” you recall “we gotta sort out music too but I was hoping we could just use the speakers in the sports hall? Just plug in a phone and turn on someone’s Christmas playlist“.

You hold your breath, bracing for the inevitable disagreement. You can already imagine the gruffness in his voice, the hard veto against it as Negan huffs and puffs “My speakers in my hall?! Never! I ain’t letting their dirty hands anywhere near my sound system!”.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Negan replies, to your surprise.

“Really?” You pause, wondering if this qualifies as a Christmas miracle.

“Uh-huh,” he continues, another round of gunfire crackling through the phone. “The other Coach Smith owns the speakers, so we get full reign of them. Besides, it’s the least he can do while he’s off spending the holidays in Jamaica”.

That makes more sense. 

“So that just leaves food and drink” you smile, feeling a little more hopeful about the party.

Negan lets out a long sigh as the match ends. Getting up, he holds his phone properly as he wanders to the kitchen for a beer.

“Buying the booze will be fine,” he dismisses “we just gotta go clear the shelves of a liquor store, pick up a bit of everything”.

You nod along. “Yeah, the booze will be the easier of the two… but the food, on the other hand…” You trail off, sucking in air through your teeth.

“Can’t we get the home ec teachers to do it?” he suggests casually “Carol’s fine. She’ll be a hardass about it, but she’ll probably do it”.

“I think I’ve run out of favors with Carol,” you admit “she was the one who picked me up from Target after you pulled that whole disappearing act”.

Negan pulls a face despite you not being able to see. “So just cold finger food snacks, then?” he suggests.

“Yeah, that works,” you agree reluctantly, then suddenly remember “Actually! Speaking of food… did you hear about Gregory eating a student’s pancakes?”.

Negan lets out an amused chuckle, taking another sip of his beer. “Jesus Christ, you really are a gossip” he shakes his head, the action more affectionate than he’d like to admit.

You laugh “Oh, shush, you love it”.

By the time you’ve filled Negan in on the school gossip and finally hang up, you’ve finished your popcorn, something Negan quickly caught onto, feigning offense that you were snacking during the call. 

After exchanging a dozen “goodbyes”, you finally hang up, letting out a long breath. 

You glance at the search bar on your TV, offering it a sympathetic look before you turn the screen off, resigning yourself to the fact that it’s time for bed.

Negan finishes his beer, the empty bottle clinking against the counter as his gaming system automatically switches to standby mode. He stretches, then heads towards his bedroom. 

As he pushes open his bedroom door, he chuckles to himself, imagining how chaotic things would’ve been if you were actually here with him and not just a voice down the phone— discussing party plans, laughing over gossip, probably snacking in the middle of it all. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and for a brief second, there’s something deeper in his eyes. But it’s something he doesn’t let himself dwell on. 

The thought of you here, next to him, fills him with a longing he can’t shake and yet he yearns to bury deep deep down. He sighs softly, the quiet of the room settling around him as he pushes the thought away and drifts off to sleep.

[thenecropolix]

Y'all I've had a revelation

Do you think Sasha would like Legos

Like

I feel like that'd be the perfect thing to help him with reclaiming part of that childhood he lost upon leaving his home

Could be that Razputin gets introduced to Legos at the Motherlobe and little man is in love and maybe Sasha sees him playing and listens to him ramble and then Raz gets him to open up a little by asking if he'd like to help him

Just

Sasha finding a love for Legos and him bonding with Raz over it

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[mabaris]

I know it’s probably just my age and I’m Too Young To Possibly Get It and You Had To Be There but I’ve always kinda rolled my eyes whenever people talk about how joss whedon was some titan of nerd media and everyone loved his work

avengers came out when I was 13 and I thought that was. all right. at the time, everyone on the internet was nostalgic for firefly, so I watched that and found it extremely underwhelming, and wasn’t interested in seeking out more of that writing. but it is inescapable huh

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Jason's obsession with Dick and Tim is something I'm thinking about

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

There always seems to be one kid who just screams like a tornado siren, all day long, at any given opportunity. Like, kid, I love you, you are precious and deserve all the happiness in the world; but please for the love of god shut up. There are people trying to learn here and you’re not helping them or yourself.

[thegetdownrebooter]

Tbh in regarding Kendall's gender stuff it's more of a fun HC to me rather than how I actually read the text, but I do feel like he gets some amount of dysphoria from the constant pressures of having to perform Logan's brand of masculinity and would be a lot happier if he didn't think he had to be that. Of course, the likelihood that Kendall as we know him would ever be able to let go of that is pretty low, and even if he got to that point of being willing to explore he'd still be tiptoeing in and out of the closet his whole life. 💔

Okay thank you for sharing that, because i thought there was some particular brand of subtext in the show that i didn't clock lol.

Anyways you're completely right, having to perform and live up to logan's brand of masculinity has taken a toll on kendall his entire life, and the worst part is that he "failed" everytime like, ken wasn't even able to fake it till he made it because everyone and their mother was able to see right through him and he always looked like he was on the verge of tears most of the time.

Of course this doesn't change the fact that he is a misogynistic white man with a lot power and even though he "failed" when it came to being a "real man" in logan's eyes, he sure as fuck does enjoy using that privilege whenever it benefits him or in order to get ahead somehow.

That being said, i think ken could have grown up to be the average pretentious theatre kid if it wasn't for logan and yes he would have been happier if he wasn't forced to live up to that ideal his entire life.