#nineteen!Scribble

[molagboop]

I just think it would be fun to make Raven Beak smooch Samus' other dads.

[rafesbimbo]

Hiii!! Can I request gynecologist rafe x fem reader that can’t orgasm and he helps her (some smut)

Tysm, love your stories!! <3

warnings: smut, taboo, age gap (19/29), medical kink, orgasm therapy, fingering, dirty talk, dominant!rafe, nervous!reader, lowercase

pairing: gynecologist!rafe cameron x fem!reader

you’re not sure what’s worse—the paper gown, the stirrups, or the fact that the man standing between your knees is painfully attractive.

dr. rafe cameron.

“first time?”

he asks, voice low and smooth. he doesn’t look like any doctor you’ve ever seen. slicked-back hair, perfect teeth, sleeves rolled up to show strong, veiny forearms. his gold watch catches the light.

you nod. “yeah.”

his eyes flick down to your trembling knees. “nervous?”

“a little,” you whisper, even though your heart’s beating so hard it’s making your chest ache.

he hums, scribbling something on the clipboard.

“you’re nineteen. no birth control. no active partners. but you made this appointment yourself. so what’s goin’ on, baby?”

your cheeks burn.

god.

this is so embarrassing.

you look down at your hands, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“i… i can’t finish.”

his brow lifts. “what do you mean?”

you hesitate. then, in a small voice, “i’ve never had an orgasm. not with someone. not by myself.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t make a face. he just stares at you for a second like he’s reading you.

“how long you been tryin’?”

you shrug. “a couple of years.. i thought something was wrong with me.”

he steps closer. “nothing’s wrong with you.” a pause. “some girls just need a little help.”

your breath catches. “you mean…?”

his voice drops. “i mean, if you’re open to it, i can do an internal evaluation. a hands-on assessment. we’ll go slow. see if we can figure out what’s keepin’ you from letting go.”

you blink up at him, wide-eyed. “that’s… allowed?”

he smiles. “with your consent? yeah, baby. i’m licensed to make you feel good.”

you shiver.

he helps you lie back on the table, spreading your legs gently into the stirrups. the gown falls open. you’re bare under it. skin prickles as the cool air hits your center.

his eyes drag down your body, hungry. “pretty little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder, “i’ll start with just one finger.”

you nod, breath shaky.

he gloves up, squirts a little lube onto his fingers, and presses one thick finger inside you. slow. smooth. your body clenches around the intrusion, and he pauses.

“tight,” he murmurs. “you ever use toys?”

you shake your head. “just fingers.”

“makes sense.” he pushes deeper, his other hand resting on your thigh to keep you still. “gonna feel around a little. let me know if anything feels good.”

you can’t speak—you’re already panting. he curls his finger upward, and your hips jolt.

he smirks. “there she is.”

he presses again. and again. and each time your back arches a little more. you’re gasping now, whimpering when he adds a second finger, stretching you wider.

his thumb brushes your clit, slow and steady. “you’ve been waitin’ for this, huh?”

“y-yeah,” you breathe.

“just needed someone to show you how your body works. someone who knows how to make you cum.”

his fingers speed up, thumb rubbing harder. your thighs shake, breath ragged.

“rafe—i—”

he mumbles low. “that’s dr. cameron to you, baby. say it.”

“dr. cameron,” you whine.

“that’s right. say it again when you come.”

your whole body is burning. your hands clutch the paper beneath you, hips grinding into his palm. it builds so fast you almost don’t believe it—your first real orgasm crashing through you like lightning, loud and hot and blinding.

you moan his name as you fall apart, legs trembling. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, too sensitive to take it.

he finally pulls out, fingers glistening. he watches the way your pussy flutters, still clenching around nothing.

“fuck,” he mutters. “we’re definitely gonna need a follow-up appointment.”

[obsessiveloveistheonlylove]

Yandere bruce wayne with neglected!daughter reader

Seen a bunch of neglected reader fics recently but I haven't seen one of a Reader who slowly starts to take advantage of the situation and uses batfam for their money and connections so here's this! This only focuses on Bruce for now but if anyone is interested I'd be willing to do some for the other batfam members + hcs for when/if they snap and kidnap the reader. 

Was suppoused to headcanons but ended up more as long rambles than anything lol mainly set up for later posts detailing the situation

Pt1 it got too long, word count ; 2461

Unedited

___

Bruce is absolutely the most susceptible to this behavior, he feels the most guilt about the situation (as he should for being a neglectful father) and he is not going to lie to himself to try and save face and make himself feel better and if he does it's only for a short while before reality slaps him in the face and he has to see the truth. The truth is that there is no one to blame but himself.

When he first noticed your disappearance it had happened slowly… entirely too slow when he really took the time to think about it. You had been gone for a full year and he hadn't even noticed? Were you even old enough to be on your own like that? Something he felt ashamed that he even had to ask. When Alfred informs him that you're nineteen just this month he's shocked not only that you're an adult and that he didn't even realize your birthday had passed but that he couldn't even remember your face. He searches his memories for your Visage but all that he can recall is murky; he can't even remember the correct shade of your eyes or your hair and it startles him how long has it been since he took the time to properly look at you? 

It takes some time but eventually he remembers your face with sudden clarity, he hadn't seen it in a while and the only image he could conjure up was when he first saw you, a small helpless looking child left on his doorstep by commissioner Gordon.  your eyes held the same dull glassy look that his did the night his parents died, you had lost your mom in a similar vein he felt he could relate to at the time. he remembered seeing you and feeling sad for you but not in the way a father does for his child the way he felt was the same way he felt as Batman seeing victims in Gotham streets you didn't deserve this life but you weren't anyone close to him. 

His chest aches and he remembers the way you'd clung to him your first week in the manor and then the way you wilted when he shut that down, it wasn't like he was trying to hurt you but he couldn't have you following him around everywhere especially not when gothams crime was getting out of hand even with the other members picking up his slack. So he reprimanded you, way too harshly now that he looks back on it he knows he only meant to keep you from discovering his secret but he could have worded it better instead he made it sound like you were a burden. Maybe you were to him at the time he thinks and is disgusted with himself for even letting the thought cross his head. 

He reads your diary page after page until he reads through the whole thing. The first few pages are hopeful but solemn detailing how much you missed your mother but you're glad that you have a whole new family and you hope that they will like you, it's heartbreaking to read that kind of childish hope turn into sadness and then hate. You detailed how no one would make time for you that you'd tried everything to get their attention but you'd get blown off by each one it turns into rants about you asking what was wrong with you and why no one ever spent any time with you the writing was scribbled on so he knows you did it in a hurry just to vent out your frustration. The part that hurt most were the pages about him, you had nothing good to say about him in fact in one of the pages you had written that you didn't have much to say about him at all that you hardly knew him and barely saw him once a month and couldn't even call him your father. 

Surely that couldn't be true right? He's not the best father figure by far but he always tried to make time for dick, Tim, Jason, Steph, Damian and Cass ... .surely he did for you. 

He tries to find memories of him being a good father or at least trying to be any kind of father figure to you at all but he can't he can only see the times he rejected your pleas to spend time with you for things he deemed more important than you he sees it clearly each time he rejected you how you got sadder and sadder how you seemed to wilt at each and every rejection until you stopped asking. 

he tries to tell himself that he did it for your protection that he just didn't want to get you involved in the crime fighting scene and since gothams streets were never without crime he spent an exorbitant amount of his time as Batman down in the batcave or out fighting crime with his other children and that's why he couldn't spend time with you. And that's why he seemingly had so many memories with them in the recent years; hell even in the recent weeks he has more memories with dick and the others than he ever had made with you. he tries to use it as an excuse to mask the truth; that you didn't matter in the grand scheme of his life, at least not then but he's going to do everything to make this right.

You'll be surprised to suddenly get a ton of texts from an unknown number even more so when you find out it's from bruce. Suddenly he's asking you how you've been, how was the move, are you in college right now, what major did you take? Obviously you're taken aback when the man who acted like you didn't exist suddenly wants to know everything about you. You would think he'd needed something but you know better than that what could he possibly need with you now? You don't have any money and he wouldn't need that anyways. Maybe he's dying and needs a kidney or something…whatever you don't care that man can rot. 

You leave his messages on read of course, because you don't owe him a response and well maybe to be a bit petty and give him a taste of his own medicine. You don't know how bitter the taste is in Bruce's mouth, he knows you've seen them so why won't you respond? Bruce usually isn't a multi texter but he'll send more and more trying to get any kind of response out of you, he's constantly checking his phone hoping to see three little dots appear and he's noticeably slightly more angsty when out patrolling with the others. 

The texts were annoying but you could mute his notifications and after the first few weeks you basically forgot about the texts going about your normal life until he started calling. It seemed like he was always calling Day in day out, you blocked his number because of how annoying it was but he always just gets a new one leaving the same text “ hey your name its dad” and then the calling would resume. 

One day you pick up and Bruce sounds so relieved when he says your name into the receiver you figure he might really need that kidney if he sounds this excited to see you.

When you answer back he knows you aren't excited in fact you sound completely disinterested in him which takes him by surprise, isn't this what you wanted? What you cried for in your diary begging God that your father would notice you. You're older now so maybe you just aren't looking for that kind of attention anymore, the thought haunts him the idea that he could never truly make it up to you still he pushes through his voice sounding nervous as he starts to tentatively ask about your day. You cut him off with a scoff after some terse conversation telling him to just get to the point already and stop wasting your time. 

The silence is deafening and you almost hang up before he croaks out a response “sorry name, I just wanted to know what you were up to I know we uh.. haven't talked in awhile I just wanted to hear from you and know that everything was alright”  could this really be your father? He sounds so pathetic to you at that very moment, nothing like the confident man you saw on television often nor the man you saw taking care of everyone but you. 

And no nothing was alright you were working a job you hated in some shitty little apartment in Gotham that you had to fear if it would get broken into or not because the damn landlord wouldn't change the faulty locks a rage takes you and you just let it all fall out cursing him for your shitty life and the shitty apartment and for being a shitty father letting all that rage out until you're left heaving.  its silent after your outburst you think he might have hung up but after a moment he offers to pay for a new place and offers to pay your current rent until you can break the lease and that he will take care of you and not to worry about anything financial telling you to quit your job and to send him your bank so he can get things sorted out.  

At first you wanted to vehemently deny this, wanting to prove to yourself that you didn't need him or his help but something In the back of your head tells you to accept it, that if he expects anything back for it then that's his fault for assuming. So you tell him and soon there's a large sum of money in your account more than you have ever had in there. For once you can actually afford to treat yourself instead of eating shitty microwaved ramen, and so you dine out in a nice reasonably expensive restaurant with your friends and you enjoy yourself. 

A week passes in silence and then he's sending you pictures of luxury apartments telling you to pick out any one you want and that he'll get everything settled and you almost can't believe this. Would he actually pay for something so outrageously expensive? You almost doubt it but once your lease is up Bruce is at your door helping you move out any furniture you wanted to keep which was almost nothing seeing as everything was already worn out anyways. 

You didn't say much to him and he seemed to realize you were in no talking mood so he allowed you to be quiet and told you about himself instead talking about the boys and what he'd been working on recently, it feels like what he should've been for you years ago an interaction you'd have killed for when you were fourteen and it just pisses you off so you turn on the radio instead to drown out his words. You don't care how he's doing, you don't want to hear about dick or damian, you're only accepting his help because you're tired of living in that shitty apartment. The ride is otherwise silent except for the annoyingly upbeat pop music which would probably make Damian or Jason have an aneurysm if they had to listen to it. 

The goodbye is  awkward. You can tell Bruce wants to come inside and talk more but you thank him for helping you move in the furniture and shut the door. 

He buys you new furniture without you asking and sends it in by the second week you're in the apartment. You don't realize that he stalks your posts and that he saw one of you complaining about the lack of good furniture.

Life has never been better for you, you live in luxury and can go on shopping sprees literally whenever you want and Bruce sends you a random stream of cash whenever you start to get low and you're definitely not going to look a gift horse in the mouth not when you enjoy every luxury you are afforded. 

Life is good until a certain black haired prick starts inserting himself into your life and this time it isn't bruce, nope it just had to be your annoyingly bubbly, touchy, and all too friendly ‘stepbrother’ dick grayson.

___

So yeah all in all Bruce has the capability to recognize your strained relationship is all his fault and that he never should have ignored you and how selfish he was to put his duties as Batman above his duties as a father to you. He realized he didn't even try to balance the two. 

And Despite himself he ended up hurting you and neglecting you so he feels he owes it to you to make things right even if 'making things right' entails him buying you a luxury apartment or purchasing the latest phone or new car. The best part is that Bruce will not demand time from you (yet) because of his guilt.  He simply suggests that maybe you should come out with him saying that he planned a whole day for the two of you but the ball is in your court since whether or not you ever accept his invites he will continue to be your cash cow to absolve himself of his guilt. 

It's fun because now you get to watch him wilt everytime you reject his attempts at reconnecting, you get to have your petty revenge watching as a part of him dies inside each and every time you ignore the conversations he tries to start when pulling money out of the bank,  you get to watch how he seems to lose all of his luster when you leave once the cash is in your hands without so much as a thanks. Bruce isn't stupid he knows this dynamic is unhealthy and recognizes it for what it is but this is the only way he can get you to talk to him or to even look in his direction. He has his limits though eventually you will talk to him whether you want to or not 

[ds-angel1]

strawberry!reader x high school teacher!rafe

because sometimes the sweetest things are the most dangerous. nineteen. held back a grade. too soft for her own good. he’s her teacher. too drawn in to care about the line he’s crossing. secret. wrong. everything they both crave.

strawberry!reader who... always sits in the front row, scribbling in pink ink and decorating her notes with little hearts, not for any boy in class, but because she knows he notices. she smiles when he leans over her desk to explain something, heart hammering like he’s whispering a secret only she gets to hear.

high school teacher!rafe who... tells himself he's just helping her out, that she’s a struggling student and it’s his job, but the way his eyes linger when she bites her lip, the way he memorises the shade of gloss she wears, betray him every time. he’s not watching her like a teacher. he’s watching her like a man who wants things he shouldn’t.

strawberry!reader who... blushes when he calls her “sweetheart” but leans in every time he does it anyway.

high school teacher!rafe who... gives her extra credit assignments just so she’ll stay after school with him.

strawberry!reader who... bakes him things, banana bread, strawberry cupcakes, cookies with heart sprinkles, and leaves them on his desk with a shy little note that just says “for you :)”. she watches his face closely when he takes a bite, and the way he looks at her afterward almost makes her knees go weak.

high school teacher!rafe who... let’s his hand linger too long on her back when he says goodbye after detention.

strawberry!reader who... always brings him homemade muffins and giggles when he teases her about trying to “butter him up.”

high school teacher!rafe who... keeps a drawer in his desk with little things she’s given him, scraps of paper with doodles, a birthday card, even a hair tie she left behind once. he tells himself he’ll throw then away. he never does.

strawberry!reader who... wears strawberry scented lip gloss and lets it smudge on his collar when she hugs him a little too long.

high school teacher!rafe who... always has an excuse, “she needed help,” “she stayed late for tutoring,” “I was just making sure she was okay.” he’s built a fortress of justifications around himself, but every time her fingers brush his when she hands in an assignment, the walls crack a little more.

strawberry!reader who... might look soft, but who has that quiet, desperate need to be wanted, and knows exactly where to find it.

high school teacher!rafe who... knows it’s wrong, but keeps a photo of her tucked into the back of his planner anyway.

strawberry!reader who... wears oversized sweaters that fall off her shoulders, her skirts just a little too short when she leans over his desk to ask a question she already knows the answer to. she’s innocent on the surface, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. part of her craves the way he loses composure.

high school teacher!rafe who... has never felt this kind of possessiveness before. he’s rougher when he knows she’s talking to other guys. he keeps her after class, close and quiet, thumb brushing her lips like he’s daring her to ask him to kiss her again. and she always does.

teachers little pet.

[g1rld1ary]

overheard that she was nineteen - james potter x reader

wc: 1058

cw: nothing, one swear, reader is sad on their birthday, implied fem!reader but i don't think any pronouns

chat how many aura points do i lose for crying in the literal first 20 minutes of my nineteenth birthday :/ don't think about this fic too hard or you'll see it's more of a diary entry than work of fiction oopsie :')

You weren't feeling very special. To be quite honest, your day had been totally shit. It was your birthday, your nineteenth birthday and everyone had forgotten. Well, that wasn't true exactly, but nobody cared. Your parents had barely said 'happy birthday' when you called them, and only one of your friends had texted you. A sweet message, but still kind of depressing.

You knew it shouldn't have been a big deal, no one cared about nineteen, right? Eighteen was the big birthday and you'd had a good enough day last year, so you weren't really sure why this year had brought you down so much.

Maybe it was just because your love of birthdays was never reciprocated. A person's birthday could be the most exciting day of the year, and you were of the opinion that it should be, if possible. You were the one who showed up with a hand-baked cake on your friend's doorstep, without fail. It was something you enjoyed doing undoubtedly, you spent ages picking out which colour the icing should be and what edible decorations should go on top.

On top of that, you considered your defining talent to be writing cards. It was something you took pride in, penning almost-essays that encapsulated the breadth and depth of your love for your nearest and dearest. Proclamations of never-ending adoration, gratitude for years of friendship, the insides of your heart and soul sitting amongst fresh ink and scribbled hearts. You signed your name with a heart and a flower every time. Plus, you made particular efforts to come up with a creative pun or doodle for the front, just to keep things interesting.

So birthdays were things you held in high regard, and having yours seemingly mean nothing to anyone else was a bit of a mood killer if you were being totally honest. Still, what could you do? You picked yourself up, ate an uninspiring breakfast and went to uni.

You felt more anonymous than usual in class. With the semester having started only a week prior, you were in a sea of new people, none of them having any way of knowing it was your birthday, and you weren't quite at the point where you were begging for well-wishes from people you didn't particularly care about. And so you took notes, put your hand up for the participation grade and dreamed of your own cake and candles.

By the end of the day you were exhausted. The classes were long anyway, but carrying around your own personal grey cloud was taking a toll on your body and mind. It was at the car park when your phone dinged; James.

are you coming over tonight?

please

You smiled a little despite your sour mood. Even if James didn't seem like he was fully aware of your outlook on birthdays, being with him always made you feel better.

It'd already been dark for an hour or so by the time you reached the flat he shared with the boys, the winter weather making the sun disappear at four o'clock. You knocked on his door softly, unable to pluck up the strength to even make your presence easily known. James must've been waiting for you though, since you heard the heavy pad of his feet almost instantaneously.

The sight of him nearly took your breath away, though nothing was out of the ordinary. He was still the same old James, his glasses slightly askew on his nose, but he was looking at you with such softness that you felt the tears spike behind your eyes. You tried to push them down.

"I thought we'd have a bit of an early dinner. I know you won't have eaten at uni." He took your bag, setting it by the entry table softly. You managed to nod, hopefully not giving away all your awful feelings. You tried not to be cut up that he hadn't wished you a happy birthday yet.

All of your melancholy had been for nothing, you realised, when James led you to the dining table. He'd gone the full mile, with a cheesy red tablecloth and single candle as the centrepiece.

"Happy birthday, my love," He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help it, the tears rolling down your cheeks before you even realised. Once they started you had no chance, sobs wracking through your body as James stood beside you, bewildered.

"Is this not okay? Do you not like it?" He fretted as you cried, and you rushed to reassure him.

"I love it, Jamie, promise. It's just," You managed a half laugh through your bout of tears, "I thought no one cared. I can't believe you've done this for me." James' brow furrowed deeper than you'd ever seen it before as he pulled you into a tight hug.

"I would do anything for you, love. I mean it."

Once your tears had subsided you had a lovely dinner, James making you double over with laughter as all thoughts of your previous shit day dissolved under the weight of the homemade pasta sitting in your stomach.

Just before the night died down, James presented you with a small box, wrapped in the most beautiful silky ribbon. You glanced up at him curiously, untying it slowly. Inside was the most beautiful bracelet you'd ever seen. Connected with a heart-shaped clasp and decorated with a single charm, a love letter. You were embarrassed by the tears working their way back up to your lash line, but James looked delighted by the reaction, he lived to make you happy.

"Thank you," You whispered, "I love you."

James didn't have to say it back for you to know, but he did anyway because it made him happy.

Maybe your birthday wasn't the flashy event you might've wanted, however deep down, but you were strangely okay with it. Despite the fact that no one showed up to your door with a hand-baked cake or essay-length card, you had James, and James would've pulled the stars down from the sky if he thought it would boost your mood. That was enough.

[cheriecoke]

when nanami dies, there's a box of letters waiting for you.

months pass before you find it. it's not until you're cleaning out his things, wondering if you can stand to get rid of them, that the letters are there waiting for you.

its no bigger than a shoebox, dark wood engraved with an intricate design, one that you're certain kento picked out specifically for you. you've never seen it before, and you open it with shaky hands, tears already pooling in your eyes at all the memories your lover left behind.

inside, there's a stack of letters, each one dated at the top with kento's name intricately signed at the end. some are in sealed envelopes with beautiful stamps. some multiple pages long and include some little haikus that are far too lovely to be about someone like you. and some are just quick little notes scribbled on napkins.

your spread them across the floor, staring down at each of the tiny little hearts he'd drawn next to your name on each note. even though you'd been together for years, you had no idea that he'd been writing all of them—hours of his life dedicated to this little pastime, and you'd been clueless.

they're like journal entires. insights into kento's life and your relationship, both the good moments and the tough ones. he leaves behind everything to you, entrusting you to keep his entire existence safe in your hands.

you read the letters with tears streaming down your face, and you choke on your sobs, trying so hard not to smear the ink from the wetness on your cheeks.

when you pull one out with shaky hands, you realize it's a decade old. the writing has faded a bit, and the paper is yellowing, but it's kento's handwriting, nonetheless.

it makes you near sick to read it. for a minute, you have to set it aside, cry into your knees as you curl into a ball, wondering when you'll ever stop feeling this empty.

this letter is from a sixteen year old kento; a quiet boy who had a silly little crush on girl in his year that was much too pretty for him. and in the letter, he says he knows you're too good for him, but he can't help but love you. he can't help but hope that one day, in a few years, you'll want to marry him as much as he wants to marry you.

it hurts, burns in your chest because even back then, kento had known you were the one. he'd known and he wrote you these letters because he'd felt that his life would be cut short. he'd felt like that since haibara died, and geto left, and it started to seem like the life of a sorcerer was always doomed to be an unhappy one.

kento had been so afraid that his friend died without knowing how much he meant to him, and he refused to make the same mistake with you.

there are letters from even when you weren't together. from the years that you were eighteen, nineteen, twenty, and kento had been so desperate to leave jujutsu behind that it meant he had to leave you too. even then, even when you were nothing more than a shadow from his past, he adored you.

you feel so outside of yourself, nauseous and filled with so much grief that you're not sure where to put it.

sometimes, you’d doubted if kento felt as loved by you as you did by him. but there's pages and pages of him speaking of how special you make him feel, even when you were separated, and he missed you so much that the thoughts of you consumed him.

you spend hours going through the letters, and then, you see one dated halloween, 2018. even breathing feels hard, but you can't stop yourself from reading it, even though you know it will destroy you, know that you won't be able to leave the house for days after reading it.

in the letter, kento says he loves you. he talks about the day before, when you'd convinced him to watch some halloween movies, and though most of them were silly, he didn't care how he spent his time with you as long as it made you smile.

he says that he feels bad for cancelling your dinner plans, and he's going to be thinking of you when he's in shibuya. that it's such a shame that being a sorcerer is so much more fulfilling than a salaryman, because it cuts into your time together, and you’re the most important part of his life.

he says he loves you again. that he really hopes he makes it back from shibuya because even though he's never told you, he wants a family with you.

he says he’s decided he'll bring it up when he gets home safe and sound. he’s not sure how you’ll feel about it, but you better know that he’ll always love you no matter what you decide, even if what he really wants is a little girl that looks just like you. and lastly, he hopes that you don't stay up too late waiting up for him—you’ve been so tired lately, and it’s making him feel bad.

his name is at the bottom with another little heart.

you let the letter fall from your hands.

[babyboywilson]

wilson found house in the nurses break room, the tv running an old episode of ‘prescription passion’ quietly in the background. but house wasn’t watching the tv. he was lying down on the couch on his back, a notebook on his chest. his left sleeve was rolled up and there appeared to be notes written across his forearm.

something about the scene sent a crashing wave of understanding through wilson. slowly, he eased himself down into an armchair positioned across from the couch.

he didn’t speak. wasn’t the one to break the silence between them. he waited, knowing something monumental was catapulting around in house’s brain.

a minute passed, then two, before house finally spoke.

“kid picked up my ball and started bouncing it off the wall exactly like i do,” house said.

wilson waited a beat, and then gestured at house with his hand in the universal sign for ‘go-on.’

“smart, too. super witty. followed along with my differentials. read my team like he was reading a book.”

wilson gathered house was talking about his current patient. a nineteen-year-old boy whose case had been transferred to house the day before yesterday.

wilson motioned towards the notebook, seeking house’s approval.

sitting up, house tossed the notebook over towards wilson. wilson caught it and skimmed over the points that house had been scribbling down.

patient:

-dislikes changes

-lacks connections to others

-difficulty communicating

-repetitive motions

-routines

-highly intelligent with specific areas of focus

-lacks impulse control

at the bottom of the page, a sentence was underlined three times.

behavior patterns repeatable in gregory house

wilson cast his eyes up to house and found house was already looking at him.

“kids autistic,” house said, tapping at the writing on his forearm where more symptoms were scrawled out. “he even pointed out when i was out in the hallway twirling my cane as i was thinking.”

taking a slow breath, wilson said softly, “stimming. repeated movements to focus or to express emotions.”

house nodded once, then dropped his head back against the couch arm.

“i’m on the spectrum,” house muttered, as if it was a revelation. something he hadn’t thought about before but had suddenly become aware of after seeing it reflected back at him.

wilson considered standing up and sitting down next to house. debated opening up the conversation to go into further details about autism and what symptoms house now saw in himself. but that wasn’t what house needed.

instead, wilson locked eyes with house, nodded once, and replied, “hungry? we can get dinner.”

an acknowledgement, an understanding, but not pushing house to talk more until he wanted to. wilson had found him after all. and when house was ready, he’d come find wilson in his office and he’d sprawl out over wilson’s couch and speak his mind. but house wasn’t ready for that yet.

house pushed his sleeve down and nodded. “starving.”

wilson snagged the cane, stood up, and held it out for house to take. when house reached out to take it, their fingers brushed. neither of them pulled away. house’s eyes met wilson’s.

they were good.

house gave wilson one of his rare half-smiles.

wilson held the break room door open for house.

everything in house’s head was tilted on its axis, backlit in a new light as he reevaluated his mind.

but nothing had changed between them.

[thecheshireprincess]

I Promise

A Pre-Borderland One-Shot Set in The Game Itself Universe (AU)

Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) - platonic relationship at this point in time

Content Warning: Mentions of an abusive father, Reader had a tumultuous childhood and is traumatized, atypical/non-nuclear family, maybe a few curse words (you should know that by now if you read my work)

A/N: I've found it a little bit more challenging than I thought I would to write chapters that have Reader's father in them (because of my own bs), so I thought I would break up the pain with a few little fluff bombs like this! As you know, several of these one-shots were already in the works anyway, so if you have an idea or a moment that you'd like to see expanded on in a one-shot like this, please let me know! This promise will come up again in the main story very soon, so it will be fun for you to have some context. Chishiya and Reader are about fourteen or fifteen in this story, making Niragi nineteen or twenty.

Find the main story here.

Monday. Arguably the worst morning of every week. Even the sun seemed to think so today, tucking itself behind the foreboding gray clouds hanging oppressive and angry in the sky over Tokyo. You aren't surprised when they crack open, allowing a slight drizzle of rain to patter against your window as you reach your arms above your head in a silent stretch.

This particular Monday was slated to be even worse than usual, that little fact being the main reason you were delaying the inevitable in getting up. Kaori, your bright-eyed and always impeccably dressed social worker, would be joining you at school today for your annual check-in. Your brother has had full legal custody of you for a year now, and though your visits with Kaori were much fewer than before, this would be an important milestone. Your performance would be everything, the magnitude of this moment weighing on you more heavily than a ton of bricks. Akin to an old rotting building, you could feel yourself crumbling from the inside out under the pressure.

You'd spent the entirety of the past weekend with Niragi breathing down your neck, drilling you with practice questions and reminding you of what behaviors the woman would be scribbling notes on in her leather bound notebook. Of what would be on the line if Kaori didn't think you were "thriving" in his care.

Your anxiety had cast a suffocating blanket of doom across your mind all night, planting sickening thoughts in your head and causing you to toss and turn for hours. Niragi had come in at least twice, straightening the blankets that had fallen to the floor as you squirmed around in the bed, desperately trying to coax you to sleep. Please sleep, Koko. You can't look tired for Kaori, what if she thinks you never get sleep here?

You groan loudly to yourself, knowing that you definitely did look tired. Your burning eyes had finally grown heavy right as the sun was peeking out across the horizon, being afforded just a brief window of slumber before Niragi was gently shaking you awake again. It had felt like you'd rested for mere seconds; you were not prepared at all for what today would bring.

It's been about half an hour since then and you still haven't moved, wanting desperately to take a page out of the sun's book for the entire day. You roll away from your window and the now steady drum of the rain hitting glass, covering your fatigued eyes with the only silky pillow that hasn't escaped the bed and hit the floor. The gloomy weather was just so convincing, today should be a day to stay in bed.

A faint knock on the door downstairs signals that you are running out of time to remain concealed between your tangled sheets; Chishiya is here. It would be only a matter of time before Niragi came up to get you, and you haven't even considered getting dressed. You can hear the man bustling through the lower level of the apartment, the clatter of dishes and occasional click of a drawer closing making it apparent that he's packing lunches and trying to clean up before everyone needs to leave. His movements are more frantic today, allowing the cabinet door to slam shut or setting a silvered utensil down just a little too aggressively - he's on edge too. Not as on edge as he's going to be when he realizes that you haven't even gotten up yet.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three separate knocks indicate that your best friend is the one standing on the other side of the door. Your time is up.

"Come in," your drowsy voice calls to him, speaking outloud for the first time today. The door creaks open slowly, Chishiya peeking around the door with an arched eyebrow, searching for you around the room. Certainly not expecting to find you still in bed. When his gaze lands on you still ensnared among the lavendar colored sheets, his eyes widen and lips part a little in shock as if silently wondering what the hell are you thinking?

You can sense the weight of his scrutinizing gaze on you, despite having your face still covered with your fluffy pillow. You let out a pathetic whine, "Stop judging me, Shiya. I really can't do this today."

Chishiya pushes the door nearly closed before walking fully into the room and whispering, "Have you lost your mind? You haven't even started getting ready?" The blonde leans casually against the edge of your desk in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. Analyzing you, always analyzing.

"I'm sick, I can't go to school," you say in a brittle voice, making your friend's lips curl up in a smirk and blink at you in disbelief. "You really think Niragi is going to buy that today? Don't be an idiot," the boy scoffs. Chishiya is, nonetheless, entertained by your pathetic attempt at an excuse. You finally sit up, ready to throw your only remaining pillow at him to disrupt the Cheshire grin that is gracing his annoying face, but are interrupted before you can.

You panic inwardly and shoot an anxious look at your friend as you both register your brother's urgent footsteps rushing up the stairs and stopping outside your door. Chishiya's grin spreads across his face mischievously, knowing that this is about to be quite the show.

"Koko, it's time to go, are you almost ready?" When you don't answer, he pushes the already cracked door open slowly, glancing around anxiously to find you, just as Chishiya had just minutes before. He gasps - obviously stunned - when his eyes meet yours, still sitting with your blankets pooled around your limbs where he'd left you almost forty minutes ago. His jaw clenches in frustration, causing you to instinctively curl in on yourself, making your body smaller. Preparing for him to yell at you the way you know you deserve.

But Niragi has never and would never yell at you. Your brother sees your body's natural response to his irritation and his heart constricts. He refuses to make things worse for you. A deep, exhausted sigh escapes his lips, head slumping forward in concession and shoulders sagging as he comes to sit gently at your side. No matter how annoyed your brother is that you've chosen today to be difficult, he knows that yelling would do nothing but cause a rift in your carefully built relationship. There's a reason you're behaving this way, not generally an openly defiant person, but he has very little time to try to fix it. The man removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "You're still in bed. Why are you still in bed? We really don't have time for this today," he says in an even tone, peering at you expectantly.

You flop back down onto your pillow, allowing your reddened and fatigued eyes to look up at him. "Niragiiiiii," you whine exaggeratedly, "I think I'm sick. It's really bad." Your brother clicks his tongue, deciding it's easiest to play along with your game. "Really?" he questions, affectionate eyes inspecting you as he gently presses his cool hands against your face, "This is a very well-timed illness." You nod almost emphatically, giving him the most pitiful look that you can muster.

Niragi stifles a laugh, eyes shining now in amusement. "Well if it's that serious, I should probably take you to the doctor. They might even need to give you a shot," he muses, hand rubbing his chin in mock consideration. You stiffen a little, you hate needles. You look pleadingly at your brother, don't do this to me.

He sighs again. "You know on any other day I'd gladly let you play sick, but this is too important," Niragi says, brushing some hair out of your face, "You can either tell me what's really going on so I can help you, or we can talk about it later but I really need you to get up and get ready to go. Please?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You know you can't tell Niragi the truth because it will just make him feel worse. That he's already under enough stress as it is. It's too much pressure. Your hovering has been stressing me out. I don't want to embarrass you. What if she decides to take me away? What if I have to go back to Dad?

No, you choose instead to keep quiet about your fears and finally push yourself up and out of bed. You pad grumpily across the room towards the bathroom, stopping along the way to yank your meticulously ironed uniform off the hanger.

You survey the dark, angry circles under your eyes in the mirror as you restart the French braid in your still partially tangled hair for what must be the third or fourth time. Your hands are shaky and simply won't move the way you need them to in your hair, and you don't have the patience right now to brush it all the way through. You grumble incoherently in exasperation, slamming your brush down on the granite countertop in front of you.

Chishiya pushes off from his observation point leaning on the doorway to approach you cautiously. "Let me help," he offers offhandedly, having learned how to braid your hair from Niragi just a few months earlier. The blonde picks up the brush that had just offended you, gliding it easily through your sleep-tangled locks.

"You're falling apart," he observes pointedly, causing you to chuckle an empty laugh in response. Of course you're falling apart. This process with Kaori is interesting, to say the least. You've never understood why the system wants to analyze every miniscule detail about your home life now that you're safe and happy with your brother, but were fine with looking the other way when you both were drowning in the depths of your father's abuse. A broken system for an even more broken family.

"The pressure is crushing me. I know I can't mess this up for Niragi; he's sacrificed so much for me and my safety. He's given everything to get us to this place," you finally substantiate your fears with words.

Chishiya continues brushing through your hair, paying cautious attention to the tangles. He hums in response as he listens, knowing there's more to it than that. You recognize the game he's playing here, distracting you by brushing your hair and convincing you to spill your guts without him ever saying a word. He was so good at that.

And so you continue, "I'm afraid they'll take me back to him if I'm not meeting their expectations . . ." you sigh shakily, "I'm not exactly healed, you know? It's not Niragi's fault I'm so broken." Chishiya grimaces at this, dexterous fingers working through a particularly difficult knot with surprising gentleness.

"I hardly think it's fair to expect yourself to be healed from a lifetime of suffering in just three years," he mumbles drily, "Be patient with yourself, it will get better in time." You nod slowly, blinking away the tears that had pooled at your waterline. You were still terrified, all the time. Every night you had nightmares that your father would show up again one day, making his cruel threats and trying to hurt you. Trying to hurt Niragi. Would you ever really be free from him?

Chishiya must have noticed how you still hesitated, curling in on yourself slightly again. "You know I won't let anything bad happen to you, right?" He asks, nonchalant as ever. Your eyes snap to study his face in the mirror, surprised a little bit by his question. No, you certainly did not know that.

"What do you mean?" You ask your friend, certain you misheard him. He was hardly the sentimental type of friend. Though you'd known each other your entire lives, most days you just assumed he stuck with you for the convenience of it. That Chishiya would be fine on his own if something ever happened to you. It didn't really bother you, you still cared about him all the same.

The boy shrugs with one shoulder, starting to move his nimble fingers through your strands as he's finally satisfied that he's gotten all of the tangles out. "I just mean that you don't need to be as afraid when I'm around. I have your back," he says.

You blink once, twice. In shock, because Chishiya rarely talks period, but to make a statement that is intended to comfort you is completely out of his character. And it made your heart soar. "Thank you," you whisper, sincerely. Feeling tears spring up again, but holding it in. The corners of his lips tilt upward slightly, meeting your eyes in the mirror and nodding. A true best friend moment.

Chishiya ties off the braid with an elastic and clips in the emerald velvet bow that matches your school uniform, before moving his hands to squeeze your shoulders lightly once. You got this.

Niragi calls your name from downstairs as you're finishing dotting concealer underneath your eyes, "So help me, Koko! We have to leave, now!" You know he is pacing at the bottom of the stairs, likely wearing a hole in the wood paneled floor. He always does that when he's nervous.

You take one last deep breath in front of the mirror, trying to summon some confidence. Chishiya told you not to worry, that he would keep you safe no matter what. And you really believed him.

You bound down the carpeted stairs, coming face to face and nearly colliding with your grumbling and semi-panicked brother at the bottom. He sighs in short-lived relief, pausing for a moment to brush a wrinkle out of your shirt and hand you your backpack. Niragi scoops up his car keys from the hall table, ushering the three of you out the door to get the day started at long last.

Himari, your next door neighbor, is in the hallway watering the brightly colored begonias she keeps potted outside her door. A radiant smile graces her face upon seeing the three of you, "Good morning! Niragi, when are you going to bring that girl over to have tea and play with the cats?" Niragi smiles lightly as he locks the door to your apartment, "She can come over whenever she wants, except today; unfortunately we're really in a rush this morning." You wave at the older lady, seeing her always brings a smile to your face. You would have to drag Chishiya over there later, Himari always kept his favorite biscuits around. Plus, if you were lucky, you'd be able to find and snuggle with the tabby cat.

The entire ride to school, Niragi peppers you with reminders about how to act and what to say. How to answer the "difficult questions". The interaction does nothing to quell your nerves, honestly making things worse if anything. Chishiya sits quietly in the backseat, watching the Tokyo skyline zoom by while you talk. Your anxious gaze catches his in the rearview mirror and he gives you a tight but reassuring smile. You got this.

You hesitantly wave goodbye to Niragi when he pulls up outside the looming building that was your school, receiving his last minute instructions and assurances before he speeds off. He is definitely late for work now, but you know that is the least of his concerns this morning.

The two of you walk the brightly lit corridor to your classroom, shoes clicking along the freshly waxed tiled floor. Chishiya walks with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, you nervously fidgeting with your earrings. Just as you approach your homeroom where you knew Kaori was waiting to begin her observation, you grip desperately onto your friend's elbow to pull him back.

"Chishiya, I can't do this," you panic, swirling emotions threatening to drown you right here in the hallway, "Let's leave." The blonde that usually flinches away from any contact shocks you again by pulling both of your hands into his own, trying to keep you from fully panicking.

"Look at me," he demands, a confusing mix of emotions on display on his usually blank face, "It might not be easy, but you can do this. You're going to do this. And regardless of what happens in there today or anywhere else any other time, I will keep you safe." Your breath catches in your throat at the sheer weight of his words.

"You really mean that, Chishiya?" you ask, voice wavering just a little bit. He nods, eyes still meeting yours, soft and tender instead of cold and calculating.

"I promise."

That's good enough for you to take the final steps to the classroom, twisting the brass doorknob to open the door and greet Kaori and your teacher.

You're confident now that no matter what life throws at you, you'll always have your best friend on your side to keep you safe.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The Game Itself Masterlist

The Game Itself Tag List: @moonchild323232 @princesskatxo @lovelygias @carlgrimesfuturegf @audiiix @maxinehufflepuffprincess @aeristocrats @unhinged-sorcerer @potato-vagina @kimsrie @mocchii-writes @rillianeswife @baizhumylove @joshuaslv

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) the tag list!

It's also totally fine if you aren't interested in the universe building one-shots! Anyway, ily guys endlessly 💕✨️

[ageingfangirl2]

Hazbin Hotel x Child Reader Series

PART 20 - HAZBIN HOTEL X HOMEWORK

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE

You stomped into the hotel, looking miserable, clutching a stack of homework papers.

Charlie greeted you cheerfully, ‘How was your first day of school?’

You groaned, flopping face-first onto the couch, ‘Awful. I had to sit still for hours, and they gave me this stupid homework!’ They dramatically waved the papers in the air. ‘It's so boring!’

Charlie giggled, ‘Come on, it can't be that bad! Let's take a look!

Charlie took the first worksheet, humming as she read it. Then she stopped. And blinked.

‘Uhhh… Vaggie? Can you come here a sec?’

Vaggie walked over, curious, ‘What’s up?’

‘Do you know how to do this?’ Charlie showed her the sheet.

Vaggie squinted. It was… basic math. Like fractions and word problems. Vaggie frowned, ‘I mean… I think so.’

She picked up a pencil. Then hesitated. And stared harder at the problem. And harder. The kid watched as Vaggie’s expression slowly turned to panic, ‘Wait… what the hell is this?’

Charlie peered over her shoulder, ‘I thought you were good at math?’

‘I was! I just… hold on, let me think—’ She scribbled an answer.

Charlie immediately frowned, ‘That looks wrong.’

Vaggie scowled, ‘You don’t know that!’

‘I do, actually. That’s not how you divide fractions.’

‘Oh, so you know how to do it?’

‘Well… no.’

You snicker from the couch, watching the two go back and forth hopelessly. ‘You guys are hopeless.’

At that moment, Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious and Niffty all poked their heads in, curious about the commotion.

‘What’s all the yelling about?’ Husk grumbled.

‘I brought homework, and these two can't do fractions,’ you say, giggling.

Alastor’s eyes gleamed, ‘Oho! A challenge, you say?’

Angel cackled, ‘Oh, this is gonna be good.’

‘Alright, everyone,’ Alastor clapped his hands, grinning wildly. ‘Let’s see who can solve the problem first!’

And just like that, it became a full-blown competition.

Sir Pentious slithered over to you and shook his head, ‘Are you going to let them do your homework for you?’

You bite your lip at his disappointed tone, ‘Not all of the questions. But it’s funny to watch them freak out over simple math.’

Sir Pentious rolls his eyes and leaves the room, not wanting to be a part of this chaos. You sit back and watch each resident go through their own method.

Alastor doesn’t write anything down at first. He paces the room, muttering something about ‘elegance of numbers’. Out of the blue, he explains an absurdly complicated formula that makes no sense. 

He then draws a voodoo sigil on a napkin, ‘The spirits whisper to me that the answer is seven-thirds.’

Everyone stops and stares at him before Charlie grumbles, ‘Alastor, that isn’t even close.’

Alastor huffed, ‘Nonsense! Maths is subjective.’

Husk takes a different approach, treating the homework like he was gambling. Squinting down at the page as if it had personally offended him, ‘This is why I dropped out of school.’

He starts mumbling about poker odds and writes down a random number, talking about horse betting, ‘Okay, the answer is two-point…uh six.’

You giggle and shake your head, which makes Husk give up and walk back to the bar, ‘Whatever kid, don’t gamble with fractions.’

Niffty immediately picks up a pen and a piece of paper and smiles, ‘This is easy. Just multiply by the reciprocal!’

There was just one problem in her rush: No one could read Niffty’s messy handwriting, so they assumed the answer was wrong. But Niffty spent the next ten minutes arguing that she was right.

Angel took the easy way out and pulled out his phone, typing the calculation into a search engine, ‘boom. Done. 0.375. I win.’

Charlie shakes her head and confiscates his phone, ‘You’re out for cheating, Angel.’

Angel pouts, ‘but technically I answered, so I’m still in the running.’

After twenty minutes of pure chaos, you finally grab the textbook, flip to the back, and read the correct answer.

‘It’s 15/8, or 1.875.’

Silence. Then— ‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!’

Angel throws his pen. Husk facepalms. Vaggie groans. Charlie laughs nervously. Alastor just grins, ‘Well, well, well! It seems we’ve been bested by child math.’

You smirk and fold your arms over your chest, ‘Maybe I should be the one sending you guys to school.’

Angel pouts, ‘Oh, shut up, nerd.’

You giggled, satisfied. Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all.

[maegoorskeep]

So Able

summary: What Abby wants, she gets and what she wants today is to get you to the gym with her. You've said no before but you also know that Abs is not taking that shit for an answer.

pairing: Abby Anderson x teacher!reader

word count: 1.9k

content warning: teasing, language, power dynamics, playful but intentional emotional manipulation, established relationship, lightly suggested sex.

A/N: english is obviously not my first language so... yeah.......

Abby has always a way to get what she wants with the people she loves. No matter what it is, she has this way of sounding so good and convincing that most of her friends just abandoned saying “no”. There’s only Mel, but Abby knows how to by-pass her easily. And there’s the pout, the soft pout of her lips that has nothing to do on that tall, stern soldier’s face but that she does anyway.

So, when she comes to you on that very morning of Spring, you already know this will be a battle. Abby doesn’t come to you right away, she’s more cunning than that. She circles around, looks at the kids paintings. One is of her, of course, and it makes her laugh in that goddamn way you can’t quite resist. But you must. Your hand presses your temple while you mark some little work you gave your pupils today, but you can't help to look up from time to time just to see what the hell she's doing. Your eyes shift from the arch of Abby's back as she leans to study the pencil sketch to her shoulder on which her braid falls softly and just as quickly, you get back to work. Or you try at least, which is hard when there's this broad shouldered, muscled armed girl laughing softly to herself right there.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter, pink pen scribbling a little smiley face on the spelling worksheet, hoping the little doodle will, somehow, uplift your own goddamn mood. "You here for a reason, Abby? If not, get out of my classroom, please."

"What? Is it illegal to appreciate my fan art, now?" she asks with a smug smirk on her lips. "Some of us here are local celebrities, you know."

You don't look up from the words written on paper though, trying to control your face as best as possible. Abby is good when she needs something. She perfectly knows that going for it upfront won't be successful. No. It's like war, you need a battle plan for this shit and Abby? She always knows how to pick hers. So, she walks to you and around your desk, her fingers trailing along its wooden edge like she owns this freaking part of the stadium.

"You're so grumpy in the mornings, I swear. You need to sweat it out with me."

There it is, the damn thing she wants. It's not formulated as a nice little request, never, she never ever say please. No. She passes it as an advice when it comes to you because Abs has learned from the time you where flirting around Manny and how he would always suggest you little things like it's nothing. But it's always something with Abby and you always fall for it.

"No," the answer is clear and definitive as you glance up at her through your lashes.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," she smirks, leaning to look in your face and it's very hard not to roll your chair back to put some distance between you and her goddamn beautiful face and those blue eyes.

"You were going to ask me to come to the gym with you, again."

"I was going to ask if you wanted a breakfast burrito with me at the mess hall instead of using your ration tickets," she pauses, waiting for the bait to settle in. She knows she has you intrigued by her words and Abby smile widden a bit. "After the gym, as a reward for your good work."

Of course. You drop the pink pen after trying to write on her face to get her to step back. She laughs again and you can't help the soft smile creeping up your lips. Abby sits on one of the little table, her elbows on her knees and her hands rest under her chin, waiting to hear what the hell will be your excuses this time. She knows it's comming, it always does.

"I have nineteen papers to grade, five kids who still thinks that glue is a food group and Miss Ornella is pretending to be dead again in her cage. I am not going to the gym, Abby." you say again like it's final, your thumb pointing at the little caged hamster sleeping there.

And of course, Abs shakes her head slowly, she always does when she's amused and her eyes creases in that perfect way that infuriates you but you don't say anything more that she could use against you. Instead, you look as she leans in again, hands braced on the desk  and Abby's arm are slightly flexed because of course, she knows. She always do.

"This sounds exactly why you need to go to the gym with me. As a stress relief, you know?"

"It's not how stress relief work," you snort imediately and it makes her smile wider.

"It is, if you let me help you doing it right," she tries again.

"No."

And as you get back to your papers, you think she'll give up because sometimes, rarely but still, she does. But not this time, of course not. She doesn't leave, Abby doesn't leave. Instead, she grabs one of those chair meant for kids, those ones that struggle with their fractions, and she turns it around to straddle it backward like this will be a long fought negociation she's going to win.

"You said no last week already, and the weekend before that. You can't say no everytime."

"Yes I can, consistency is a virtue, Abigail."

"You're governement naming me?" she laughs before leaning her chin on the back of the chair. "You are not consistent. You can't even decide on what to put on your fucking salad. You just like giving me a hard time."

"I just like peace and quiet, your gym bros are giving me anxiety, Abby."

"You like me better."

That, just there, is fucking unfair you are about to tell her. You look right in her eyes before looking back at your work, your pink pen circling a kid's misspelling of Elephant. You try not to look up before stopping again, pinching your nose for just a second or two.

"I tolerate you, Anderson. Now, get out."

"You wish you just tolerated me," she snorts with those knowing eyes. There's something soft in them. "Come on, baby."

"Abby-"

"Come to the gym with me, please."

"No."

And Abby, in all of this, she starts to see this isn't going to work. The pet name doesn't work, the politeness doesn't work, the cheeky comment doesn't work so she sight like all this is a great burden she's forced to bear. She's about to get snarky now, to make you feel like this is the worst thing you've ever done to her, which isn't.

"You know, I really fucking thought you were stronger than this," she says, moving her hand toward your work. "When the fuck did you become the most boring teacher out there, babe?"

The words are harsh, a bit mean also, but you know that this is all Abby trying and being her usual asshole to make you bite back to her and get up to beat her ass at the gym.

"You want me to say something super mean to you, don't you?" you mumble, shooting her a look and she laughs again, bright and unbothered like she never called you the most boring teacher in all fucking SoundView.

"Maybe. Or maybe I want to see that sweet look in your face when you finally give all in. You always cave in the best, y'know."

You roll your eyes, but she's not wrong and you know it. Abby has a way of breaking people down to the core, not with brute force even though she's got plenty of that, but with sheer persistence and you have to give it to her : it's a fucking skill. The teasing, the grinning, the charming, the little pinches of meaness, it's all weaponized and wielded like a a damn scalpel she knows how to use better than anyone. Most people fold, too scared to be cut. You've seen it on friends and foes alike. Hell, you've done it yourself when the night is at its darkest and Abby at her neediest. When she gets into your room like a damn thief to make you panting against her shoulder.

"I've got work. Fuck off, please."

She stands. For a second, you think maybe it was a bit too much to talk to her like this. Abby always does it to you, but she doesn't like to recieve in return. But of course, as she starts to get to the door, she changes her mind. You start to pray all the gods to help you because this can't be good. It's not. Abby grabs your chair, rolling you backward a little bit before crowding your space again. She stands there, between you and your desk like she had enough of this little game but Abs is never tired of it.

She can go for hours, days if she must. Her strong arms are crossed over her chest and at first, her face is unreadibly neutral until the pout. She doest that stupid little pout that unravels you every time and your breath catches. It bearly fits her, that stone-carved soldier woman with shoulders that could carry a truck and that Isaac wield like his fucking golden ticket to make the world a better place. She looks like a fucking angel of destruction ready to make you ploy.

"Please, Abs, stop this?" you start to give in, your legs twitching between her knees.

"I want to train with you, you never give me attention, I'm going to die," she comments, her hands resting on the back of your chair to lock you right there.

"That's not fucking fair. You're the one-" you start but she cuts you immediately.

"Life's not fair, grab your shit, we're going."

"No," but you're unsure now.

She frowns in that unyielding way, stern as fuck. The pout is all gone now, it's only Abigail Anderson now and she got enough. You can tell.

"Stop trying to be firm, get your ass up. I said, we're going."

"Hey, I am firm."

"As firm as your non-existing biceps. Now shut up and get up on your feet."

For all your trying, the words as you both shuting up and standing for her, so close that you can smell her and that stupid cotton shower gel she uses. You whimper a little bit like she hurt you with her words but Abby doesn't give in at all. Told you, she's good at giving, not at receiving that treatment she gives people around her. So, with no kiss and no encouraging words, you open the locker in the corner of the classroom on which you keep your favorite drawings of the kids and you get your gym bag from it.

"I hate you," you tell her.

"No you don't."

And just like that, all of Abby sterness is gone and she has her arm around your shoulders. There's this cocky look on her face again because she always win against you and somehow, you're not that mad about it when she presses a kiss on your head. Goddamn her.

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

eris. whimsy!reader

୨ৎ

eris who doesn't have all their boxes in order up in the attic (aka their noggin). not the smartest person to ever live, but that's okay— they've got the spirit! hooray! yippee!

eris who's always doing some kind of art. whether that be photography + film, painting, sculpting, dying hair, scrapbooking in their junk journal, collecting stickers, scribbling with oil pastels until you finally draw schlatt's mutton chops right, or whatever else.

eris who is the biggest lady gaga/kesha/chappell roan/charli xcx fan of all time. a huge partygirl who quite honestly ends up so drunk they can't remember their own name or favorite color every other outing. even if they're sober (which they probably aren't!)

eris who worries schlatt like it's their job. they were demoted to having to give him their life360 because of too many nights where they ended up sleeping at a friends but their phone was dead— but too late, because he'd already started sending out the search parties and put up the missing posters :( ... (you were devastated to find out you were serving bleh in your missing poster.)

eris who has a aural fixation (got you freaks there). they always need to have headphones in, blaring music that their phones warns them is gonna make them go deaf, or someone talking to them, or listening to a podcast— their version of hell is a white room with no noise. genuine torture device.

eris who has their little quirks. puts googly eyes and glitter on everything. collects stickers + dum dum wrappers. puts their ear to seashells on the beach and swears they can hear the ocean. drinks more lemonade than water. overall, a train wreck. a hot mess. emphasis on hot. but a mess.

fics under whimsy!reader:

nothing comes close to the golden coast

she was nineteen, she's got a fake id and a nose ring

how could you joke at a time like this? (pt.1)

screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain (pt.2)

[albatris]

“So what time should I start counting the till?”

Nat, chewing on the end of his pen, looked up from his checklist and over to Seo-yoon. “It’s supposed to be around 6,” he said. “But honestly, you can just do it whenever there’s a break in customers.”

“Right,” she said, and returned her focus to sweeping the floor.

Nat added this to his list. Count till at 6. Or whenever you want. Caleb wouldn’t approve, but what Caleb didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He frowned down at his page of scribbles, meant to be a guide, and resigned himself to redoing it later. He kept thinking of new things and everything was out of order.

The new girl was tiny and wiry, Korean, looked a bit like a coat-hanger someone had twisted into the shape of a human person. She was young, too, younger than Nat had anticipated. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen.

“What do I do if there is no break in customers?” Seo-yoon asked.

“There’s always a break,” Nat said. “It’s the night shift. Sometimes there’s hours between customers.”

“But if there isn’t a break?”

Nat narrowed his eyes. “Okay, so, really, you can just flip over the CLOSED sign whenever you want,” he said. “You want a break? Just take one. An hour. Two hours. No one's gonna know.”

Another scribble. Take break whenever you feel like it for however long you like but don’t tell Caleb.

idk what it is abt me and writing scenes of protagonists training people at shitty jobs but there's one in ATDAO too. only where tris earnestly does his best nat just makes stuff the fuck up

anyway call this a belated snippet sunday

snippet smonday

[leorioscanonwife]

♡ “Hunted Hearts” ♡ (A Leorio x Jolie fanfic)

✎ Comedy, Fluff, Hunter x Hunter Fanfic, Leorio x OC, Leorio x Self Insert

✎ Phase 3 of the Hunter Exam

✎ 700 Words

The forest buzzed with tension. The sun was high, casting patchy shadows through the trees, and every rustle, every snapped twig could mean a hunter or hunted.

Jolie crouched in the bushes, wide orange eyes locked onto a tall figure in a blue suit as he tiptoed past a tree—badly. He wasn’t her target. Not even close.

But she had emotionally tagged him with her Nen days ago—and she’d be damned if she didn’t use that for something fun.

She scribbled in her sketchbook while keeping one eye on him, tongue between her lips in concentration.

Stalking Leorio Log, entry seven: Still clueless. Still hot. Still walks like he’s never seen a forest in his life.

Leorio, meanwhile, felt like he was being watched. Again.

“…Weird,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Probably a squirrel.”

He turned back around and nearly jumped out of his skin when Jolie popped out from behind a tree right in front of him.

“Hi!” she chirped.

“AH—!” Leorio flailed back. “J-JOLIE?! What the—How did you—?! Are you following me?!”

She smiled so sweetly it was alarming. “Maaaaaybe.”

“…Am I your target?”

“Nope!”

He blinked. “So you’re just stalking me… for fun?”

“Uh-huh!” She gave him a thumbs up. “You’re cute.”

Leorio stared at her, at her little heart stickered cheeks and innocent grin, and felt something stir deep in his soul. It was protective instinct. Probably. Or something like it.

“You are… too sweet to be out here alone,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everyone else is going full bloodthirsty-mode and you’re out here being adorable and drawing people. You’re gonna get hurt.”

She tilted her head. “Aw, are you worried about me?”

“Of course I am,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re tiny. You sparkle when you walk. You look like you wandered out of a magical girl anime and into a murder game.”

“That’s kinda the vibe I’m going for, actually.”

He sighed. “Alright. I’ll protect you.”

Jolie blinked. “You will?”

Leorio nodded, serious now. “Yeah. I mean it. You’re sticking with me from now on. Anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to go through me.”

Jolie’s eyes sparkled. “That’s so romantic.”

“It’s basic human decency.”

She leaned in, pouting slightly. “Still romantic.”

Later that evening, they found a quiet spot to rest under the trees. Jolie curled up beside him, legs tucked under her, sketchbook half-finished in her lap. Leorio yawned and sat down beside her, stretching out.

“I’m just saying,” she said dreamily, “if we were the last two people in the exam, I’d totally let you win.”

“…You would?”

She nodded. “Yup. But I’d cry about it later.”

Leorio stared at her again. She was just too much. Way too cute. Her hair reminded him of cotton candy and her laugh made his brain short-circuit.

“Hey,” she added suddenly, “I never told you—I turned eighteen right before the exam started.”

Leorio blinked. “Oh… nice. Happy birthday, I guess?”

She giggled. “Thanks. I mostly just said it because I thought you were like… thirty.”

Leorio made a choking sound. “THIRTY?! I’m nineteen!!”

She stared. “…What.”

“I’m nineteen!” he repeated, face red. “Nineteen!”

Jolie slumped dramatically. “Ugh. That’s so boring. I was really into the whole ‘older mysterious man’ thing…”

Leorio looked personally offended. “You wanted me to be thirty?!”

“Well, yeah,” she said, matter of fact. “Sad older man energy is hot.”

He covered his face. “I’m literally still a teenager!”

She poked his shoulder. “At least you look older. That helps.”

Leorio groaned into his hands.

Jolie yawned and leaned into him, head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I still like you.”

“…Why?”

“You’re cute when you panic.”

Leorio opened his mouth to argue, but she was already dozing off beside him. He sighed—and, unable to help himself, leaned just the tiniest bit closer and took a slow, sneaky sniff of her hair.

Strawberry.

He grinned. Then immediately panicked.

She didn’t move. Then, just when he relaxed—

“You’re sniffing my hair.”

His soul left his body. “I—what? No. That’s crazy. Who would—”

Jolie opened one eye. “You’re weird.”

“Are you mad?”

“Nope,” she murmured. “I like weird.”

And just like that, she snuggled closer to him, making Leorio feel like he was absolutely doomed.

[prettymuchpotter]

One of the things that hurts the most in SPY is the end where Nancy finds Kate's letter to her in Ewan's hideout. I may have spoken about this before so forgive me, but it's weighing on me tonight so I gotta yap to yall about it. Spoilers, okay? I know SPY has been out forever, but just so yall know I talk about the end of the game a lot here.

Nancy, after being falsely dragged to Scotland (I used dragged loosely, I KNOW she went willingly, but she went under false pretenses. She was manipulated into going, and I can yap about that another time), basically dredged up her entire childhood trauma. I'd say Nancy is a pretty well adjusted adult (again, I know she toes the line between being a teen and an adult, but in my head she's like eighteen-nineteen years old, so an adult, but like. baby adult. you feel me?), but you can see through her flashbacks that her memories of the time leading up to Kate's death was pretty traumatic in itself, with hearing her parents fighting (especially the moment where Carson says "What should I tell Nancy, huh? That- That her mom doesn't care about her enough to stay?" [paraphrasing, I may have misremembered the exact wording but the sentiment is the same]). In Scotland, she's continually learning about the things that lead up to her mother's death. From Moira's deception to Kate (IE; guaranteeing her protection despite knowing that there was no backup for Kate) to how Kate was involved with Cathedral, it's a lot of information to be suddenly dumped upon someone, even if they're actively seeking it out. Nancy learns about Revenant, and their plans for the world, and how Kate sacrificed everything in an attempt to keep the world safe, both for Nancy and for everyone else. Alright, alright, I know I said the letter to Nancy, I'm getting to it, I swear. At the end, when Nancy finds Kate's letter, that's when it hurts the most. The whole game really hurts, if I'm honest (especially with my emotionally unavailable mommy issues), but the moment when Nancy sees the letter, and Ewan has scribbled all over Kate's final words to her daughter, it just rips my heart out. Kate talks about Nancy's silly horse shirt, and how stubborn of a little kid she is, and how much she just really loves her daughter, and the whole thing is just marked up by a basement dwelling creep. There was no EARTHLY REASON for Ewan to both keep the letter and write all over it. None. The letter provides no information about Revenant that he could have used to replicate the virus that the organisation created. It was a letter from a terrified mother to her soon to be grieving daughter. I'm literally tearing up writing this, LOL. And the worst part about it is that Ewan had no real reason for doing what he did. He only turned to Revenant "because he could". Nancy speculates that he felt small and wanted to feel powerful, but that's not confirmed by him. His only reasoning behind his actions is because he could. That's it. For some reason, that makes the entire game hurt so much worse. Everything about the game is painful to me, especially the parts where you can hear how scared Carson is for Nancy (I mean, I would be too, he probably spent the whole time worrying that he was going to have to go through that grief again of losing someone who was only trying to help others). I'll wrap up my yapping now, but feel free to add onto this if I missed something, I'm just in AGONY over my favourite Nancy Drew game again :')

[whysodelirious08]

Dealing Out Agony Within - E.M Short

Hurt/No Comfort - Any gender (I think)

Please reblog with hastags! It helps a bunch! 💗

You held the aged envelope in your hands. Every year you looked at it with the intent to finally gather up the courage to open it. But you never did. Try as you might, the pain, like a lake, would whirlpool beneath you and drag you under. Until you put the letter back in the box. Back under your bed. Waiting for the same time next year. But this year it remained in your hold, your glossy eyes looking at the haphazardly scribbled letters of your name, slightly smudged, mostly worn.

The rain, the thunder, it seemed to claw and howl at your window just like it did back then. Perhaps a sign. Now was the time to summon up all that courage. That strength. See what Eddie had left you.

The letter had come after you heard of his death. It was bittersweet. A final gift. The last of a long collection of letters between you both. You were both so young. You were just nineteen then. 39 years later and you still sat there just as fragile as you had then.

You took a breath. You gently turned the envelope around and carefully, so carefully opened it. Taking your time. Bracing yourself. Once you had opened it, there was no going back, there was no undoing the last bit of Eddie you had been holding onto. As if he were still here. Unable to accept the truth.

As you pulled out the letter, you saw something else tucked within, but you turned your attention to the letter first. The bad handwriting, the scribbled doodles, the change in pen when clearly one had run out.

"OK. First off you're wrong about Critters. It was a cool movie and you don't give it enough credit. And I don't want to hear how I'm wrong and how it was, by your words, "an unconvincing comedy horror that could barely keep a kid entertained". - again. And I didn't just enjoy it because I have the humour of a child. I know that's what you would say and you're wrong."

You scoffed at his words but enjoyed them nevertheless. Seeing at the end of that section there was a drawing of a face with his tongue out. It wasn't a bad movie, you had just loved to wind him up and annoy him.

"Fun fact from Professor Munson-! The Longest length of sword able to be "swallowed" by a practiced exponent, after a heavy meal, is 27 inches". Or at least according to the Guinness book of world records from 1978. I found it at a yard sale. Now I have way more facts to give than you.

...and I could swallow more than 27 inches, I'm sure. wink wink."

He was always so immature but you found yourself cringing and laughing at the comment. You unfolded the last bit and noticed how he had changed his pen for a red ink.

"I know you probably thought I forgot but unfortunately, for you, I am still holding you to your promise. So pack your bags! Metallica Damage, Inc Tour; here we come! And only the legend himself. OZZY OSBOURNE is also playing. Keep hold of the tickets for me. Wayne doesn't know. Our secret!

Catch you next month for movie night

- your humble servant, the awesome, the one and only, Eddie Munson of the no.1 touring band in the world- Corroded Coffin!"

And in the envelope sat tickets. Two. For a show played 39 years ago. You didn't get to see it with Eddie. But you sure as hell know he was watching from above. And rocking out.

You had long left Hawkins behind but every year you felt a tug to go back. Perhaps you owed Eddie a trip. At least, one last time. Make amends for wasting those tickets.

[allykatsart]

Hiiii, hope you're well ally ^-^, Purely curious and it's cool if not, will we get to see or learn more about pec's childhood at some point in the story?, ik it was mentioned as an idea he might of been kidnapped or adopted by a person in the cult at a young age, if i remember correctly (to be fair i have the memory of a goldfish), are there any stories from when he was a kid in it? (i won't lie part of this is I'm curious what little kid pec looked like)

Who is Peccantum?

Heya! Nice to see you again! Thanks for letting me yap about my boi for a bit X3 unfortunately, I don't have a lot of art to add, but I do have this.

I actually have solidified his background a bit more since then (mostly through RP's with friends). I don't think I'll make a whole comic on it, not yet. But I did end up writing some stuff that I want to expand on here.

(TW for violence, murder, child manipulation, death, rituals and sacrifice)

Peccantum's Memories

He is four. A child with fingers full of baby fat. There's a woman, with a gentle smile and golden freckles. She presses ribbons of magic into his palm and he giggles as they circle his hands. Sparks of magic travel across his skin. She hums an almost forgotten tune.

He is six. He is surrounded by people he would come to know too well. He is scared, though he does not remember why. He draws a circle in sidewalk chalk, adorning it with scribbles like the runes the adults keep showing him. They tell him he has a gift. They tell him he can be a part of their family. He is sure no one else will love him.

He is eight and he holds a dagger in his shaking hands. The adults whisper to him that they know it's scary, but it's needed to be a part of their family. It will be over quick. He just needs to prove himself. Just do this one thing for them. A stranger lays in front of him. He plunges the weapon down and is covered in something red, wet, and warm. A unholy baptism of blood.

He is nine. He starts his training. Unrefined power is woven into delicate silks of magic. The head of the family takes notice, swiftly taking him under his wing. Dolf's teaching methods are... harsh, but they work. He learns quicker than ever before, devouring the knowledge like he is starving.

He is ten. He is yelling at his teacher. He knows he shouldn't but he is just so angry and exhausted and Dolf just won't listen when he says it's too much. He sees Dolf's hands flex and that is the day he learns to fear his teacher.

He is twelve. The fight in him has not yet been quelled. Frustration bubbles under his skin. Two adults corner him, jealous of his position. They spit vile words at him, calling him things that make his anger reach boiling point. A snap of his fingers later, their tongues are cut off. They will never speak again. Somehow, his teacher does not punish him for this, but praises him. He feels better afterwards.

He is fourteen. He is well behaved, and Dolf is pleased with his progress. Dolf moved on from teaching him magic to teaching him how the cult runs. He assures the boy that they are special, they know the truth. They are to keep everyone else in line for their grand plan. His smile turns wicked. He enjoys their suffering now, because he thinks knows he is above it. Above them. Better than them.

He is sixteen and he is sent on his first solo hunt. His prey is a runaway, a traitor to the pack. An easy test, though there would be more difficult ones to come. He kills them, of course, he's been trained for this. But he does not escape unscathed, deep red welts where their fingernails dug into his skin. He bleeds for his success. Dolf praises him, and he greedily drinks it in, thirsty for his approval.

He would never betray his master.

He is eighteen, almost nineteen. He has earned the trust to explore the mountains to his heart's content. He has killed many people, by this point, some he had known all his life. Some were twice his skill and age. Not all of them are runaways. He leaves the bodies for the dogs to eat, the wildlife gets whatever is left over. There is a strange place, hidden in the mountains, that he finds. He finds a book there, one that has him endlessly curious. He sneaks off to read it often.

He is nineteen.

He's just nineteen...

Rough hands against his wrists as he screams his throat out. Forced to the ground by people he had known all his life did they know too?! A boot against the back of his head forcing his face into the dirt. A spell, and then he felt a part of himself being torn away did it hurt this much when he did this to others?

There is talk of sacrificing him to complete the ritual. But he is clever, and for the first time in his life, he chooses his fate.

He is running. He knows it is fruitless. He knows there's miles and miles between him and the next town. He runs anyways. He hears the sounds of dogs in the distance.

They have caught his scent.

He is found, back against an old tree, limbs shaking. He stares up at a face he had always known, and sees death in its stead. He begs for mercy. Pleads for it.

It never comes.