#this criticism is reserved to /something/ else

[magnusbae]

nothing spites me more than an amnesia trope that is there just because 'i want an amnesia trope tm' and nothing else. like why was it needed? what logical motivation to this choice was there to justify you using it other than wanting to use it? did it make sense? no? then don't.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “WHY ARE YOU CRYING LAIN.” ── .✦ ( what it takes for batboys to cry about their s/o btw I don’t see this as angst!reader but I’m writing a angst fic soon!! )

a/n: this is a request by (here) anyways 620 followers under a month?!?! What the hell tysmm this was shocking to wake up to anywayss um yeah here, I genuinely think this was like only a general hcs of what only batboys cry over but I turned it into like a s/o hc too so sorry tags: ( batboys x s/o )

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Losing You, Even Momentarily: Dick is the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the idea of losing you whether you’re hurt, missing, or even distant emotionally breaks him in ways he doesn’t know how to hide. If you were ever critically injured during a mission or got caught in the crossfire or a health scare, he’d hold you in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he begs, “Don’t you dare leave me. I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me.”

When You’re Hurt Emotionally: Dick is empathetic to his core. If he ever caught you crying, struggling silently, or feeling like you couldn’t talk to him, he’d break down too. “Why didn’t you come to me? You’re not alone—you’re never alone.” His voice would crack as he hugs you, feeling helpless because he wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

A Fight That Goes Too Far: Dick hates arguing, but sometimes even he loses control. If words were exchanged that hurt you, he’d cry after you left, clutching his face in his hands because he knows he messed up. He’d spend the entire night trying to fix it because the thought of you being upset because of him kills him. (He has a bit of people pleasing tendencies like me 😭)

JASON TODD ── .✦

Thinking He Doesn’t Deserve You: Jason has deep-seated feelings of unworthiness, and if he ever felt like you deserved better or like you might leave because he’s “too broken,” he’d quietly lose it. You’d find him sitting on the edge of the bed, tears in his eyes as he mutters, “Why are you even with me? I don’t want to ruin you too.”

You in Danger: Jason prides himself on protecting the people he loves, but if there were ever a moment where he couldn’t save you where you were hurt or out of his reach he’d shatter. Holding your unconscious body, he’d whisper through gritted teeth and tears, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m sorry—I should’ve been faster. Stronger.”

Fighting and Losing Control: Jason fears becoming the worst version of himself. If you ever fought and he lost his temper, saying something he didn’t mean, he’d be crushed afterward. He’d cry silently in his room, replaying the fight over and over in his head, scared you wouldn’t forgive him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

You Pulling Away: Tim doesn’t always know how to balance his work and love for you. If he noticed you drifting away or feeling neglected because of his vigilante life, he’d hit a breaking point. One night, he’d find himself sitting alone, staring at his phone, tears silently falling as he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do better—I promise.”

When You’re in Pain: Tim’s logical brain often protects him from his emotions, but seeing you in pain—physically or emotionally would be his undoing. He’d try to keep it together for you, but once he’s alone, he’d sit at his desk, head in his hands as sobs wrack his body because he hates seeing the person he loves suffer.

If You’re Gone (Even Temporarily): If you ever went missing or were presumed dead, Tim would break in ways no one else would see. He’d bury himself in work, desperately trying to find you, but in the quiet hours, he’d collapse on the floor surrounded by papers and maps, tears streaming down his face as he murmurs, “Please come back to me. Please.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Failing to Protect You: Damian is fiercely protective of the people he loves, and if you were ever hurt on his watch, it would destroy him. He’d stay at your bedside, barely speaking, but his tears would fall silently as he holds your hand and says, “You are strong so much stronger than me. I am sorry I let this happen.”

Realizing You’re Hurt by Him: Damian doesn’t always know how to express himself, and if he ever unintentionally hurt you—through sharp words or coldness—he’d crumble. He’d isolate himself, his back to the door as he mutters to himself, “I am unworthy of their love. I am no better than the monsters I fight.”

If You Were Gone: Damian doesn’t cry easily, but if he lost you, he’d lock himself away for days. No one would hear his sobs as he grips something of yours—a sweater, a necklace and whispers, “I failed you. I should have been stronger. I would trade anything to bring you back.”

GENERAL ( WITHOUT LOSING YOU OR GETTING HURT YK? ) ── .✦

Dick: He’d cry watching you do something incredibly mundane—like laughing at a joke or helping a stranger because he realizes how lucky he is to have you. The thought of a life without you, even for a second, shakes him to his core.

Jason: He’d cry when he thinks about how you’ve accepted him so completely. “You don’t look at me like I’m broken,” he’d say through tears, pulling you into a hug. “You love me. No one’s ever loved me like this before.”

Tim: He’d cry in relief after a near-miss—maybe you were almost hurt on patrol, but you’re okay. He’d break down in your arms, holding you tightly. “I can’t lose you. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Damian: He’d cry quietly while watching you sleep, overwhelmed by how much he loves you. He’d brush your hair from your face and murmur, “You are my heart, beloved. Without you, I would have none.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The Fear of Losing You: Bruce has already lost so much his parents, allies, and people he couldn’t save. If you were ever gravely injured or put in harm’s way, he’d be stoic at first, tending to your wounds or making sure you’re stable. But when the danger is over and he’s alone, the walls would finally break. He’d sit in the Batcave, hands trembling, staring at the blood on his gloves and whispering, “I can’t lose you too. I couldn’t survive that.” His tears would fall silently because he rarely lets himself cry but for you, the thought of losing you would be unbearable.

When You Break Down First: Bruce is emotionally guarded, but if he ever saw you crying really crying because of something he caused or something he failed to protect you from, it would destroy him. He’d pull you into his arms, his voice shaky as he mutters, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear on everything, I will never let this happen again.” When you’ve fallen asleep, he’d sit beside you, quietly crying to himself because the person he loves more than anything is in pain.

During a Rare, Heated Argument: Bruce doesn’t lose control often, but when he does, his words can cut deep. If a fight escalated to the point where you walked away, leaving him standing there in silence, the guilt would eat him alive. He’d find himself sitting alone in the dark manor, hands in his hair as he whispers, “I can’t believe I let that happen. I promised I’d be better.” He wouldn’t hesitate to apologize immediately, but he’d cry later when he realized how close he came to pushing you away.

Realizing You’re the Light in His Life: Bruce is haunted by his past, and sometimes, the weight of his mission makes him forget the beauty in life. But when he sees you—laughing, smiling, or simply existing—he realizes you are the brightest thing in his world. He wouldn’t cry in front of you, but in a rare, quiet moment alone, he’d sit in his study with tears in his eyes, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve them. But I won’t let anything happen to them. Ever.”

If You Were Gone: Bruce would completely unravel. He’s already built his life around loss, but you? You were his hope, his reason to believe in something beyond the cowl. Without you, he’d wander the manor like a ghost, sitting by your favorite chair or staring at a photo of you for hours. In the dead of night, when no one is around, he’d finally let himself grieve—hands gripping the edges of a desk, shoulders shaking as he whispers your name like a prayer. (Madonna ref?)

MOMENTS WHERE BRUCE GETS EMOTIONAL ── .✦

Seeing You Safe After a Scare: If you ever came home late or after a dangerous night out, Bruce would hold you tightly, kissing the top of your head and murmuring, “You’re home. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” His voice would crack slightly, betraying the emotion he tries to hide.

When You Remind Him of His Humanity: Bruce isn’t always good with words, but when you’re there—kissing him goodnight, teasing him about his brooding, or cooking something terribly but with love he remembers what happiness feels like. He’d quietly brush a tear away as he watches you, thinking, “They make this life worth living.”

If You Call Him Out on His Guilt: If Bruce ever tried pushing you away because he thought you’d be safer without him, and you confronted him with a heartfelt speech about loving him no matter what, he’d break. He’d pull you into his arms, tears falling as he whispers, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I can’t lose you. I need you.”

[livwritessometimes]

Where's the Trophy? He Just Comes Running Over to Me (Part 1)

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, and Lewis Hamilton

: Part 2

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - Let me know if you guys want a part 2 with other drivers.

...

Lando Norris

Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads

(Miami Grand Prix, 2024)

He did it! Lando finally got his first win. 

Years of doubt, years of criticism it didn't matter now. He finally was able to win for him and McLaren. As soon as he got out of the car, he was greeted by loud cheers from everyone there. On his way back to the team, he saw almost every single driver in the grid waiting there to congratulate him. 

"I'm so happy for you, Lando," said Carlos as he pulled in Lando for a hug. 

"Bout time, huh," said Max bumping into Lando as soon as he was done getting his weight measured. 

"I am so happy for you, mate," said Charles as he passed by Lando.

"You did great, man," said Oscar, who saw Lando enter the area where the team was eagerly waiting for him behind the barricade. 

Upon seeing the entire team waiting for him, Lando could not help it; he immediately took off to where they were standing. As soon as he reached them, Lando dove right in. 

The entire area was filled with the team cheering and chanting 'Let's Go, Lando' while carrying him over their shoulders. During that time, Lando's eyes landed on Y/n.

He immediately started to wiggle out of the team's grip. Everyone was confused as to what he was doing, but as they put him down, they got their answer. Lando sprinted towards Y/n and lifted her off the ground. 

"What are you doing?" Y/n shrieked as she felt Lando's body slam against her.

"Celebrating what else," Lando said as he pulled her even closer. 

"What about the team?" Y/n asked as she let her hands run through his hair.

"They can wait! I wanna celebrate it with you first," Lando said.

"You've been there through all my podiums, all my losses; you bet your ass you'll be there right front and centre through my wins too," he finished as he set her down on the ground.

"You truly are amazing; you know that, Mr. Norris, Grand Prix Winner," Y/n said, smiling up at Lando.

...

Max Verstappen

Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me

(Dutch Grand Prix, 2024)

Y/n was nervously waiting as she watched the race.

4 more laps. 3 more laps. 2 more laps.

That's what she kept telling herself as she watched the bull maintain the lead.

*flashback*

Max and Y/n had spent the majority of their day lying on the couch with Jimmy and Sassy. It was the last day before the race season began for the year.

"I love this," Max stated.

"Love what?" Y/n asked.

"These days," he said. "Where we spend all our time together," he continued.

"And why is that?" Y/n asked as she looked at Max from her spot, careful not to disturb the cat sleeping on her chest.

"It's nice; we are together, and I don't have to worry about anything," Max said. He continued, "I always feel like when I am away for so long, you'll realize that I'm just a loser who is not worth being with, and you'd break up with me."

The sincerity with which Max had said that made her feel bad. Reaching out to caress his cheek, Y/n said, "I'll never leave you, Maxie. No matter what." She added, "Even if we break up, I'd never leave your side. I'll always be the one that cheers the loudest for all your wins."

*present*

True to her words, Y/n was there at every race. Even though Max and her had broken up, Y/n just couldn't break the promise she had made.

The distance this time had really tested their relationship. All the stupid fights finally built up to something that the both of them could no longer ignore.

The past few races had not been good for Max. No matter what he did, he was not winning, and Y/n knew it was getting to him.

Despite the breakup, the two still remained friends; she constantly checked up on him, and she knew that he needed that win. He needed to win.

Finally, as the final lap began, everyone in the Red Bull garage was holding each other's hands for support. It was Max and Lando battling for first place. With each corner they passed, the team grew more and more anxious. Nearing the final corner, Max gave all that he had left to cover the few meters that were left. The car had not been the best; the team knew that; Y/n knew that; Max knew that. So it truly was Max that was making the car special, and he wanted to prove that he still could do it.

With a final push, Max crossed the finish line. Everyone in the garage went crazy. They all started running towards the barricade, waiting for Max.

The moment the car stopped, Max ran. He ran like he had never before. He didn't even bother taking off his helmet. All he could think of was one thing and one thing only.

As soon as the team saw Max running towards them, they started to cheer even louder. Ignoring them, Max ran straight towards Y/n, who was standing amongst the team, and pulled her in for a hug.

"I hate it," he said.

"I hate not being able to spend my time with you. I hate that we fought. And what I hate the most is the fact that no matter what happened, you're still here, and I can't call you mine," he finished.

"Max," Y/n said as she felt her eyes tearing up.

"It was a stupid decision to break up. I want you. Please give me a chance to make things right again," Max said as he pulled away.

"I hated the way things ended, and I want nothing more than getting back together, Maxie," Y/n said, smiling as she kissed Max's helmet.

...

Lewis Hamilton

I haven't come around in so long But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

(British Grand Prix, 2024)

Lewis could not contain his happiness. It was his first win of the season. It was his home race, and man did it feel amazing.

Looking at the crowd gathered around, he could not help but get emotional. Ever since 2021, Lewis has not been the same. He no longer was leading every race, he no longer won, and he no longer was the world champion. He was happy for Max, but it still burdened him. 

These few years had been a tough journey for Lewis. Everywhere he looked, he felt like it was a reminder to him that maybe it's time he quit racing. And usually he doesn't let this get to him; he has Y/n there to always pull him out of his thoughts. But as of late, no matter what she did or what his friends did, Lewis couldn't help but think that his age has finally caught up to him.

This seed of self-doubt had blossomed into a full-grown tree of trust issues and self-criticism. Lewis kept on thinking about how if he can't even keep winning, something he has known for almost half his life, then how can he even be called a husband to Y/n? 

At night when the two would be cuddling, Lewis' mind often drifted to a world where he was still winning, where he could have won his 10th championship by now. Where he and Y/n would have a really happy life—not that it isn't now, but somehow it is better. Where he was a better father to his son.

All those doubts were now forgotten, for a while at least.

"OH MY GOD! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!" Y/n screamed as she ran up to Lewis and tackled him. 

The two fell over laughing as Y/n peppered Lewis' face with kisses. "I am so glad you were here to witness this," Lewis said as he wrapped his hand around Y/n.

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I am so happy for you, Lew," Y/n said. "I know, no matter how much you try and hide it, I can see this has been troubling you. My love, promise me no matter what, you never let these doubts consume you," Y/n continued.

Lewis nodded at her, smiling softly. Of course she noticed; she always knew what he was thinking about.

"I mean it. I am always, ALWAYS here for you. So don't you dare lock yourself up in there every again," she said while pointing towards Lewis' temple.

Suddenly a new weight was added on top of them, and as the two turned, they saw their son had decided to join them on the ground. He wrapped his arms around Lewis and Y/n, "I'm so proud of you, dad," your little 6-year-old said as he pulled you both closer.

It was finally time for the national anthem. Lewis was standing at the top of the podium, looking down at his team and loved ones. He made eye contact with Y/n and his son and sent a flying kiss towards them. He smiled when he saw his son trying to catch the kiss. 

It felt right; standing at the top felt good, and Lewis swore to himself that this wouldn't be the last time.

...

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp

[stove-top96]

Water Colour Eyes

Chapter 01

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring: platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (no Jason in this chapter)

2.3k words

Im very new to tumblr and was recently inspired by @acid-ixx to try writing my own story, please go easy on me but any and all advice will be greatly appreciated. (Im still trying to figure out how this app works but I know the basics). The only knowledge I have of working in a restaurant is bistro huddy.

Rubbing your temples you could just feel the headache forming. It was going to be one of those shifts, the kind that drags on and on. Standing behind the hostess stand shuffling through the reservation book scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Flipping through the pages only pausing once you spot his name “Bruce Wayne”. That name became a fixture in the book, always booking at 6:30 and specifically requesting you as his server. Within the past 2 months he’s definitely become your regular, and although he is technically your only regular, he just has a certain quality that sets him apart from your co-workers regulars. Sure he’s a pleasure to have as a customer, always punctual, kind, and very generous with the tips. There’s just something you can’t quite place your finger on, he tends to get a little personal. He started calling you by your first name, and always asked you about your life. But you’ve always chalked it up to him being a ditzy guy who’s never been told no. Even if he carries himself with a certain air, alluding that he knows much more than he lets on. it seems like no one else questions it, so why should you? Regardless, his tips were good enough to let him call you by your name and ask you about your personal life.

La Vie Royale was always busy on Fridays. Swarming with creeps who always stared too long, and buzzing with heiresses who always had something to complain about. For being Gothams richest they almost never tipped well, and when they did it was some lonely wealthy old weirdo on a date with their sugar baby. Co-workers weren’t much help either, specifically the superiors always criticizing and critiquing never bothering to hide the contempt in their voices when speaking. The Kitchen was like another world, one you weren’t welcome in. The other servers stayed in their lane, and always kept to each other. That’s what it’s like for every newbie who somehow snatches Gothams richest billionaire for a regular. The only saving grace was the hostesses who, like you, were at the bottom of the La Vie Royale food chain.

Glancing at the clock reading 5:47, plenty of time to mentally prepare for dealing with Albertine while you serve the playboy billionaire. Albertine was possibly the worst manager for the night, she’d always get so on edge when she’d find out he was dining here for the evening. Glancing over and you can see her talking to one of the other servers, eyes locked on you. God, you could just feel that headache getting worse, and after a long day of classes you pray he’d be a no show for once. Wishful thinking though, the best you can hope for is getting through this shift without a lecture. Rather than contemplating how dreadful this shift will be at the hostess stand, you might as well look busy and get a head start on your side work.

Once the minute hand hit 30 like clock work, Bruce Wayne walked in. Smiling at the familiar face of the regular, this time he wasn’t alone. Three young men walked in right after. Raising an eyebrow, they were clearly in the same party. Why didn’t his assistant say he’d have guests when they booked him the reservation? Looking more closely at the boys it’s clear they also have that odd quality in common with Mr Wayne. One looked barely out of high school, and had been scrolling on his phone with a smirk on his face. The youngest, likely in middle school, had an aura that demanded a respect unfit for his age. The oldest, probably in his mid twenties, seemed to have a natural charm to him. You had always known Wayne had his fair share of children, he talked about them often although you could never put a name to a face.

“Wow Mr Wayne, you finally brought some guests with you today” you tease as you greet the group and check them in for their reservation. you hear a chuckle and glance up to see Bruce’s smile, it’s warm and reaches his eyes. “Well I figured it was about time I took my kids out with me”. Giving a polite nod and smiling as he introduces his kids. “I see, your table will ready in a few minutes, we didn’t expect you to bring any guests tonight” Mr Wayne huffs eyeing the oldest “I apologize it was a last minute change in plans, Dick was visiting and insisted on going out” The oldest Dick chimes in “you’ll still be able to fit us in right?” His voice is calm, like he knows the answer and just wants you to hear you talk. “ I’m sure we can, I’ll just have to go clear the table” eyes glued to the reservation book, moving some other reservations around to accommodate the new change. Something a restaurant as refined as La Vie Royale would never do, although Albertine and every other superior insisted that Mr Wayne be accommodated in any way possible. He brought good press, and according to a rumour amongst the staff he even considered buying it a while back. Giving the group a polite nod as you rush off, to clear the other tables. Missing the brief dejected look on the oldest boy's face.

Albertine noticing the Wayne family standing alone makes a beeline towards them. “Have you been helped yet?” She asks in a voice the family could only describe as sickly sweet. “Yes our server is just clearing the table” Tim’s voice monotone, not even bothering to glance up from his phone. Albertine pauses, eyes widening for a split second then back to the false smile “I see” she says as if contemplating something before walking away, sending a sharp glare in your direction as she does. The interaction not going unnoticed by the Wayne’s. “you will be at fault if they get reprimanded” Damian pipes up glaring at Tim. Staring down at the younger Wayne, “she’ll find something to get mad at tonight no matter what” he argues back, knoe he doesn’t have the best excuse. A small feeling of guilt starts to bubble in his chest. Tim realized his slip up too late. It's likely you’ll get yelled at for keeping such “prestigious guests waiting” once they’ve finished with their meal. Glancing at Dick’s and Bruce’s faces, it’s clear they’re planning ways to ease the consequences you’ll likely face later tonight. Tim glances back down to Damian only to find his glare still present.

“Thank you for your patience” your voice pulls them out of their trance, calming down the rising tension. It reminds them of why they came tonight, to see you. Oblivious to their true intentions you smile, grabbing the menus “follow me”. As you lead them to their table Bruce and Tim make note of how many others are sitting in your section for the night, some of them they recognize from galas others are unimportant. however your section is completely full. Finally reaching their table, it isn’t Bruce’s normal table much to his disdain; he doesn't have the vantage point to subtly watch over you. Although one thing he can see from his seat is that horrid woman glaring at you, waiting for the chance to take you away from them only just to scold you. After dropping off the menus and giving a rundown of the night's specials, you leave telling them you’ll be back in a few minutes for their orders. As you walk away Bruce notices your manager snapping with her hands and glaring at you with that permanent scowl on her face. She motions for you to follow her to the back.

After witnessing that interaction the boys are only left to imagine what she’s yelling at you about. Most of the family members are able to hide their contempt after seeing your manager's rude behaviour, the witch’s actions will likely dictate the mood for the rest of the night. Dick is the only one visibly upset, Blüdhaven has been so chaotic recently getting to see you tonight had been the only thing that kept him from falling apart. Now because that wicked witch of the waste is on some power trip, whatever lecture she’s giving you right now will weigh on you the whole night, leaving you to be even more reserved than you already are. How is he supposed to be a good brother to you if you don't let him in?,The rest of the family comes to a similar conclusion. It's clear that this job environment is an unhealthy one, they would rather you work somewhere else, or better yet not at all. The only reason they’ve allowed you to work here for so long is because it’s the most practical way to grow closer to you. Once they’re further along with the plan, you won’t ever have to step foot in this place again.

“Sorry about the wait” your voice soft, eyes not meeting theirs, face carrying a faint frustration. their prediction clearly came to fruition, much to the family’s displeasure. “What can I get y’all to drink” you smile, attempting to remain composed as you take their orders. A quality of yours the family admired, although they often wished you’d take your mask off and allow yourself to be vulnerable around them. But for now they’re your guests, not your family. Writing down their order smiling the same forced smile “perfect I’ll be right back with those” once again walking away. “Why can’t that women understand they’re not meant to handle that much pressure, it’s absurd how she expects them to perform optimally now” Damian voices his opinion, his expression unreadable to most but it’s evident to the family he’s unbelievably angry at just how much you let that women affect you. “Why can’t you just fire her, it would make our baby bird's life much easier” Dick who is also in aggrence, his protectiveness evident in his voice. Dick’s question goes unanswered. Truthfully even if some of the family tries to dénie it, the reason they kept all these horrible coworkers around you was selfish. They wanted to push you to your limits, before they swooped in to save you.

3 minutes is the standard time for a table to wait for drinks. However with the Waynes your managers instilled into the whole staff that they never wait for a table, 1 minute 50 seconds is their standard for drinks and 25 minutes for food. With Albertine breathing down your neck, having 4 other tables to attend too, and a pounding headache. there’s not much keeping you from breaking down. The only thing you want right now is your bed, but that won’t happen for at least another 4 hours depending on when you're cut. At least Roa clocks in at 7:00, which is in roughly 10 minutes. Finishing off the drinks with Bruce’s red wine, you push down your stress and prepare to head over. “Here you go” you place everyone’s respective drinks in front of them. “Is everyone ready to order” hand instivily reaching for your notebook, but remembering what Albertine told you in the back “if you want to look somewhat professional at least memorize their orders, no notepad” you stop yourself, and pray they don’t order anything too complicated. “I’ll have the 8oz steak, medium rare” Burce’s order wouldn’t be a problem, he always got the same thing. “Can I get the Coq au vin” the oldest boy orders, who you’re pretty sure is dick. Tim goes next “I’ll get the boeuf bourguignon”, he has a satisfied smirk, probably because he has the best pronunciation so far. “may I have the ratatouille” The youngest orders, clearly annoyed by his brother’s antics. “Perfect I’ll go ring those in”, mumbling their orders to yourself as you ring them in, thankful they didn’t ask for any accommodations or changes you should be able to remember them just fine.

“They won’t make a mistake will they?” Dick asks, stressed at the fact they didn’t grab their notebook. “They shouldn’t, although if you ordered what you originally wanted they definitely would have” Bruce’s answer’s straight to the point. Although there’s a subtle praise in his wording, appreciating how they eased your workload. “It’s despicable just how much they're overworking them here” Damian's scowl seems to be permanent as he watches you attend to other tables, he knows it’s your job but they’re the Waynes they should be the only table you attend to tonight. That good for nothing manager who cares far too much about their opinion can’t even get that one thing right. “You got that right, and with how the night’s going I bet they’ll only check on us two times, three if we’re lucky” Tim’s voice piss’s Damian off even more, even if it is in agreement. “You don’t actually mean that” Dick pipes in,his voice radiating a sense of distress. “Of course I do, look at them. barely keeping it together” Tim points out. It’s true the tension in your shoulders is evident and your mask is already slipping, the worst part there’s almost nothing they can do besides tip you. Although even that doesn’t feel like enough. The server’s here tip out not only to the hostesses and busboys but also to the back, additionally you all have to pool your tips and split them evenly amongst the staff. This fact does nothing but motivate the Waynes to get you out of here as soon as possible.

23 minutes tick by, as the Wayne family watches you talk to other customers, complete your side work, and narrowly avoid another scolding from that damn manager. It bothers them that Tim was right, accepting that tonight is just an evening of observing you rather than growing slightly closer. It's moments like these that makes Bruce wish his name wasn’t as influential as it is. Thankfully you approach them once again with their meals. Although, the stress on your face is more prominent than earlier, the smile is even more forced, with the way you carry yourself you’re clearly being pushed to the limits. “Here you all go” even your voice sounds so much more tired, compared to when you were greeting them. At least you got their order right, not that any of them would say anything if you didn’t. “Anything else I can grab you?” You ask, so considerate they really should be the ones taking care of you, but all in due time. “I believe we’ll be alright” Bruce replies, not wanting you to strain yourself even more.

Only approaching them once as they ate, only to ask them if everything was to their liking. They knew it was protocol to ask each table that question, but they still wished you’d approach them, and initiate a conversation about anything but the food. As they ate in silence it’s clear tonight they didn’t make as much progress as they’d like. Maybe Bruce should have kept these outings to himself for a little longer. Or perhaps they should go on a day Jacques is the manager, he tends to be somewhat more lenient. Whatever the case may be this evening has been bittersweet for the entire family, and they’ll plan accordingly for next week to make up for the lost progress. Because that’s what family does for each other, they go above and beyond.

Next

[verstappenverse]

From P17 to You

Request by anon: “Could you maybe write something about the win in Brazil?? I'd love to se something like friend to lovers, maybe even Max confessing he's got feelings for her 🥰”

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After a legendary drive through the rain in Brazil Max realises that some things are worth risking, and this time he’s ready to risk it all.

Author’s note: Been working to get this out before Vegas so hopefully you're all still riding that Brazil high! Hope you enjoy anon 🫶🏼

1.9k words / Masterlist

The thunderous roar of the crowd echoed around the paddock, the energy still electric. You could barely keep up with Max as he wove through the sea of people, his hair damp, sticking to his forehead, his fireproofs and suit clinging to him like a second skin. He looked invincible—untouchable, even. The entire race had been nothing short of miraculous, the kind of drive that people would tell stories about for years. No one could quite believe what had just unfolded at Interlagos.

It was a win that would go down in history as one of the most legendary drives Formula 1 had ever seen. Starting from P17 and managing a breathtaking, near-miraculous climb to P1 in rain that hadn’t let up once, silencing every critic in one afternoon. Max had won against all odds, and not just won—he had dominated.

You’d been there, every lap, every heart-stopping turn, watching from the pit wall with your fingers practically digging into the table. When he finally crossed the line, pulling a lead that had almost made you laugh in disbelief the paddock erupted. And so did you.

Max Verstappen was a force to be reckoned with. You’d known him long enough to see that. From his early days in karting, to the whirlwind of his rise through Formula 1, and through it all the two of you had been inseparable. You were more than just friends - you were each others constant in a world that never stayed still.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears inside the motorhome. The team was in a frenzy of celebration, and you couldn’t wait to congratulate him. Finally, the doors swung open and Max appeared, drenched in champagne his eyes lighting up in that way that always seemed to make everything else fade into the background. He looked wild and alive, hair still wet and tousled, his suit clinging to him, adrenaline still pumping through him like an uncontained storm. His eyes caught yours almost instantly, softening from the adrenaline-fueled excitement to something more private, a kind of warmth he reserved just for you.

“There you are,” he said, his voice hoarse from exertion, he was laughing as he wiped his face. “Did you see that?” he asked, as if you might have somehow missed his generational drive.

“Max,” you said, breathless. “That was insane. You were incredible out there. I—I don’t even know what to say.”

He grinned, the same boyish grin you always loved. “I was just doing what I do best,” he teased.

In one swift movement, he pulled you into a tight hug. You could feel the dampness of his suit against your skin, but that wasn’t what made you shiver. You could feel his heartbeat thundering through his chest as he held you close, his hand lingering on the small of your back, and when he pulled back there was something in his eyes, a kind of restless energy that had you rooted to the spot.

You shove at his shoulder, “You’re unbelievable, Max. Do you have any idea how many heart attacks you gave me?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “What can I say? I don’t like to lose.”

There's an energy between you that you can’t quite shake off, a tension that’s lingered for months, maybe longer. The air feels thick between you, and your heart races as you search for something, anything, to say that will defuse this tension. Before you can one of the Red Bull crew sweeps him up again, pulling him back towards the crowd.

You spend the next hour caught up in the celebration, in the noise, the laughter, the congratulations that echo around the garage. The afterparty spills over into one of the hotels, with everyone recounting Max's drive from their own perspectives. The energy is high, and the drinks are flowing freely. Max, for his part, looks like he’s on top of the world surrounded by friends, his smile relaxed, his energy magnetic.

But you can’t help but notice the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, even as he laughs and talks with everyone else. Each time your eyes meet, there’s that pull, that spark that’s been simmering for what feels like forever.

Eventually he finds you, catching you by the arm and tugging you into a quieter corner of the party. The background noise dims and it’s just the two of you sitting together in the soft, golden glow of the dim light.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask, a grin teasing at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

Max chuckles, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way you’ve always loved. “Trying too. My adrenaline’s still through the roof.”

“You deserve it,” you say, and there’s no teasing in your tone this time—just sincerity.

He glances at you, his grin softening. “It’s been a crazy day…but it’s not just about the win you know?”

You raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by the shift in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Max shrugs, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looks back at you. “I guess… I had something to prove today. To everyone. To myself.”

“Max…” You paused, unsure of where to go with that. “Today wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. You’ve already done that.”

“Yeah, maybe…but I- ” His voice was lower now, more serious, his gaze locked onto you. “I had to prove it to myself. And—” He hesitated, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were deciding how much to say. “And maybe to you, too.”

The intensity of his gaze made your heart pound as if you were the one who’d just raced through that rain-soaked track.

“Max, you don’t have to prove anything to me. I hope you know that." Your voice came out softer than you intended. “You mean more to me than you probably realise.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and your heart twisted with vulnerability. “You’ve always been completely yourself, Max. That’s what makes you… you. That’s why people love you. Why I—why I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you for a long moment, as if really trying to understand what you’d said. And then he took a deep breath, reaching out to brush his fingers against yours, tentative at first.

“You have no idea what it meant to me to see you there today. To know you were watching. That you’re always watching.”

“Of course, I’m always watching,” you say, swallowing hard. “You’re a lot more than just a driver Max. You’re… you’re my best friend.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, something you couldn’t quite read. “Best friend,” he echoed softly, as if tasting the words, considering them. There was a faint, bittersweet curve to his lips.

The quiet stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words. You were about to laugh it off, make a joke, say anything to fill the silence, but then he spoke again.

“I’ve never really thanked you for that. For everything.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Max’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Maybe. But sometimes…” His voice faltered, and he took a deep breath before continuing, “Sometimes I think I should have said something earlier. Said thank you in a way that actually meant something.”

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his. “What do you mean?”

His hand moved to your waist, his touch now bold, yet gentle. “I think I’m saying this all wrong.” He let out a small, nervous laugh, his thumb brushing the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. You know, after the race. And I couldn’t focus on anything else. Just you.”

He looked down at you. “I didn’t want to tell you before because I thought it might mess things up. But… I’m done waiting.” he said, his voice lower. “I’ve tried to say it a hundred times, but every time, I just… I couldn’t.”

“Max, are you—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, his gaze intense. “I am. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but every time I thought I might, I… well, I was scared I’d lose you if it didn’t work out. But today, I thought if I can pull off something I thought was impossible, then maybe…maybe, I can tell you how I feel too.”

Max let out a low, almost frustrated laugh. “I think about you all the time, This—us. I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. It’s always been you. I know we’re friends, best friends, and I never wanted to ruin that. But I… I think about you all the time. I can’t help it. And today made me realise that I don’t want to keep waiting. You’re worth taking the risk. I want more. I want everything…with you.”

The world seems to tilt. You’re left speechless, his words tumbling over you, breaking down every carefully built defence you’ve put up. And it feels terrifying, this openness, this risk, but it feels exhilarating too, like stepping off a cliff and hoping someone will be there to catch you.

So you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you reach for his hand. “Max… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” you admitted, your voice raw.

He lets out a slow breath, his expression shifting to one of pure relief, a grin spreading across his face. “So we’ve been two idiots, both waiting for the other to say something?”

You laugh, and it feels freeing, like a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Yeah, two idiots. But now we’re here so… what are we going to do about it?”

Max’s smirks, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. His lips brush against yours, soft and tentative, as if he is giving you one last chance to pull away. But you don't. Instead you lean into him, pouring every unspoken feeling, every hidden moment of longing into the kiss.

His hands are on you in an instant, gripping your waist, pulling you closer as his lips move against yours with an urgency that makes your head spin. Soft yet insistent, his hands framing your face. The kiss is slow and desperate, holding you like he can't bear to let go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and aching for more, Max leans his forehead against yours, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

The space between you is still charged. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh?” you tease, your hand moving to rest on his chest,

Max’s gaze drops back to your lips, his chest rising and falling with each breath, “You have no idea.”

His hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. Your body feels like it's on fire as he kisses you harder

He pulls back again, just enough to look at you. “I can’t believe winning wasn’t even the best part of today,” he murmurs.

You laugh softly, running your fingers through his messy hair. “If you’re not careful Verstappen you’re going to make me fall in love with you.”

He smiles, that boyish, confident smile that always managed to knock the wind out of you. “Good. Because I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

[ahqkas]

♯ TEMPI DIFFICILI ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! theo comes to your rescue in the foreign world of english and self-centered gits (based on this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! italian reader, translation of foreign language, fluff, mutual pinning

WORD COUNT! 1.3k

NOTES! part one !

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

MOVING OUT OF AMERICA WAS THE CHANGE YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU NEEDED IN YOUR LIFE. Once you left and didn't look back, the energy in your surroundings seemed to change, shifting from the dull depressions of your previous life to a lively atmosphere. The decision to leave had been haunting you for the first nights at Hogwarts, often ending in you lying face flat against the pillows as you overthought the past few days. To put it simply, the last few days were an absolute hell.

The stone hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry always seemed to be packed with students and stray pets. The ghost made their appearances as well. And the passageways could be pretty confusing, too. Long corridors you could and would get lost in if you weren't in the presence of your new trustful friends or paying enough attention haunted you in your scariest nightmares after you managed to get late to your herbology class. The frown of the professor and the curious stares of your new classmates still appeared in your vision even behind closed eyelids.

The people here were the worst, you decided. Some of them were really friendly and helpful. The majority, however, seemed to carry a veneer of politeness that quickly shifted into judgement. You had been hopeful when you first arrived, thinking that the cultural exchange would be enchanting, that you'd meet more friends and learn about their world. But reality had other plans.

In your DADA class, you struggled to follow Professor Snape's instructions, his voice a low, disdainful drawl that only heightened the level of your anxiety. His critical gaze seemed to linger on you longer than anyone else, making you fumble with your words more frequently. The other students glanced at you with a mix of pity and amusement.

During meals in the Great Hall, you found a quiet seat for you to sit on, your plate filled with unfamiliar dishes. The food was decent, but you missed the flavors of home. Conversations around you flowed with topics you couldn't quite grasp, from Quidditch matches to obscure magical theories. You tried to join in, but your attempts were often met with puzzled looks or polite nods, the conversations quickly moving on without you.

Theodore Nott befriended you when no one noticed your lonely presence. He had been protective of you. He admired your resilience, moving from sunny Italy to rainy England, where everything seemed different — from the weather to the culture and especially the language. Hogwarts was a maze of new experiences, and despite your best efforts, the British slang and unfamiliar dialects sometimes made you feel like an outsider.

One dreary afternoon, you found yourself alone in the courtyard, your nose buried in a book as you tried to acclimate to your new surroundings. A group of students, Gryffindors from the look of their crimson and gold ties, approached you with their looks full of curiosity and amusement. At first, they seemed friendly enough, their smiles warm and inviting as they asked casual questions about your home and how you were settling in. But the conversation quickly took a darker turn.

"Come on, say something in English," one of the boys jeered, his tone mocking now. "Or is it too hard for you?"

You flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger coiling in your chest like a fierce snake. You felt your heart rate quicken as your mind scrambled for the right words. "I . . . I can speak English," you stammered, your accent thick and your voice shaking as your anxiety skyrocketed.

Another boy snickered. Cruel. "Barely. It's like listening to a baby."

The laughter that followed after felt like a knife twisting in your gut. Your hands trembled and you fought the urge to turn around and run. The words you wanted to get out got tangled, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Your cheeks burned crimson.

"What's the matter, witch? Cat got your tongue?"

But before you could respond, you heard a familiar voice cut through the air.

"What the hell are you doing?" Theodore's voice was sharp, his eyes blazing as he approached the group.

The Gryffindors turned, their expressions shifting from the cruel amusement to frightened caution. The Slytherin stepped between you and the boys, his posture rigid and protective.

"Mind your own business, Nott," one of the boys muttered, but the confidence in his voice wavered as Theodore Nottingham towered over them menacingly, his dead eyes low and casting a glare one wouldn't wish to receive.

"Theo," you whispered, tugging at his sleeve, but he ignored you, his focus locked on the boys.

"Non ho intenzione di lasciare che vi prendiate gioco di lei," the boy snapped, his voice quiet and dangerous as the anger flowed through him. ("I'm not going to let you make fun of her.")

"What's he saying?" one of the boys asked, looking uneasy.

Theo switched to English, his words cold and precise. "I'm saying you need to back off. Now."

The Gryffindors exchanged glances, the bravado seeping out of them. "Fine," one of them grumbled, "we're leaving."

They shuffled away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. As they disappeared from sight, Theo turned to you, his expression softening instantly. He reached out, gently intertwining your fingers with his.

"Stai bene?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. ("Are you okay?")

"Grazie, Theo," you gave him a gentle smile. ("Thank you, Theo.")

"Non devi ringraziarmi, bella," he said softly, pulling you into a comforting embrace. ("You don't have to thank me, beautiful.")

You clung to him, the safety of his arms easing the hurt from the Gryffindors' taunts. Theo stroked your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Non permetterò mai a nessuno di trattarti così," he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. ("I will never let anyone treat you like that.")

Standing there, wrapped in his embrace, you felt the weight of your struggles lift, if only for a moment. Theo had always been your protector, your anchor in this foreign world, and his fierce loyalty made you feel seen and valued in ways words couldn't express. The lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of the Hogwarts hallways, creating a comforting cocoon around you.

As the moments stretched, you found solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reminder that you weren't alone in this daunting new chapter of your life. The initial rush of anxiety and embarrassment began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude and warmth.

Theo gently pulled back, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as though he could see right through to your soul, understanding every unspoken fear and insecurity.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips that made your heart swell. "Andiamo," he said softly, taking your hand in his. "Lasciamo che questo posto sia un po' meno freddo." ("Let's go. Let's make this place a little less cold.")

Walking hand in hand through the corridors, you felt a renewed sense of hope. The cold, intimidating walls of Hogwarts seemed a little less daunting with Theo by your side. Each step forward felt lighter, the path ahead brighter.

As you reached your next class, Theo squeezed your hand one last time before letting go. "Ci vediamo più tardi," he said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. ("I'll see you later.")

"Ci vediamo," you replied, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him walk away. ("See you.")

Entering the classroom, you felt a surge of confidence, bolstered by Theo's unwavering support. No matter how challenging things might get, you knew you had someone who believed in you, someone who would always be there to stand by your side.

And as you took your seat, ready to face whatever came next, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this foreign land could start to feel like home.

[astra-ravana]

How To Amplify Your Magick

✵Accept That You Do Not Know: It's okay to not have all the answers. You don't have to be certain all of the time. Magick is the realm of the unknown. If it was ultimately knowable, then science would have already measured and verified it. On the other hand, things that would have once been considered magick are now common technology. So, there is a spectrum from useless knowledge to solid fact. It's up to you to decide which is which and keep a sharp, critical mind.

✵Think For Yourself: Anything that someone else has figured out , you can figure out too. The human mind's potential is illimitable. But we are continually duped into believing that we can't do it, that someone else should do it for us. Unless you're ready to think for yourself, you'll end up as a fake, or worse, someone else's pawn.

✵Keep An Open Mind: You have to be open to new ideas. An open mind is half closed, so they say. A door that is half closed is still open, and it's much the same with the mind. Don't accept as truth anything you hear, only accept the possibility that it may be. You'll have to rigorously seek out truth for yourself with a critical mind. The emphasis on truth is essential. Illusion is based on deceit, real magick on truth.

✵Reduce Your Assumptions: An assumption is basically just a guess. We make a lot of guesses in life from if gods exist to whether the floor will be there when we get out of bed in the morning. Guessing is a psychological reflex and its unlikely that we can ever fullybe free from it. The more you can manke conscious your unconscious assumptions, the more you will notice strange and magickal things about yourself, others, and the Universe.

✵Judge Not: Judgment of others clouds your awareness. Like assumption, it's a reflex. Try reserving judgment when you can. Allow yourself the patience the gather more knowledge and insight into matters. If someone seems like an idiot, ask them genuine questions. Get experience with why others think and act the way they do. Whenever you avoid judging others, you can gain wisdom.

✵Shed Expectations: Another habitual block to your magickal potential is your expectations. Our imagination is always in use, whether consciously or unconsciously. Things are going to be as they are, whether you like it or not. The thing about expectation is that people see not what they want to see, but instead what they expect to see. Projecting our image of things on the present moment or into the future is an unnecessary expenditure of energy that can be freed for authentic magickal experience.

✵Stop Labeling Everything: What is our obsession with classifying things? As soon as we have a word or a name for something, we believe that we understand what that thing is. We can't help this, it's just how our minds work. Try to notice when you are doing this. Naming can be a very powerful magickal act, but only if it's conscious. Habitual labeling will actually end up as an obstacle to true understanding.

✵Surrender To What Is: This is about allowing the present moment to just be. We tend to believe that the present is similar to the future, in that we can change it. But the present is more like the past, in that once it's here, it's here, real and unalterable. If you don't accept that, accept that you can't accept it. Look at what is around you and see that is is how it is.

✵Cultivate Courage: Courage is essential in many traditions, and the Universe rewards courage with 'Hamingja', a form of luck or charisma. It goes by many names in many traditions, but the basis is simply that courageous acts are rewarded by the Universe. Start small and work your way up. You may not br able to start with your ultimate fears, but tackle what you can and you will get there in time. The more courage you possess, the greater your magickal ability.

✵Trust The Universe: If you only have faith in one thing, have faith in this... Ultimately this Universe is here for you to learn what you must learn, to face what you must face, and to allow you to find enlightenment. It's not out to get you, quite the opposite. Enthusiasm and playfulness are two of the strongest mindsets with which we can engage in our exploration of magick. Go with thr flow!

✵Meditate: Meditation can be very simple. Sit up straight, focus on your breathing, and the feeling of your life force. Connect with yourself. It will help you master your mind and achieve grounded clarity.

✵Put It Into Action: You can read all the books, attand all the lectures, join all the groups, and talk on and on about magick, but in the end, nothing will happen unless you find some practical means to put it into action. Don't just think, do. Manifest your desires by practicing and experimenting. Learn through trial and error and it will be more valuable and powerful than anything anyone can tell you.

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Turning Point (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - (Y/n) has always dealt with harsh criticism when it came to her work, but that never meant she was immune.

Notes - Sorry for the wait for a new post! I decided that weekends will be my off days from writing to preserve my sanity 💀

Word Count - 2,031

Warning(s) - Bullying, violence, mild gore

Song Inspiration -

Acsida - Privet Privet 2009

(Y/n)’s small living room was dimly lit by soft, flickering candlelight, casting shadows across the walls that seemed to stretch and twist in strange patterns as her TV hummed in the background. She sat on the floor, legs outstretched as her back leaned against the couch, absentmindedly working on a small canvas resting on her lap. 

Art lounged on the couch behind her, his head tilted as he silently browsed through channels, glancing down at (Y/n) and her work occasionally. His now pristine hand played with her hair mindlessly, combing his fingers through it as he found the texture satisfying. 

(Y/n) didn’t mind, though. It made her aware of his otherwise silent presence, which she had come to call home. It soothed her and kept her relaxed as she worked. 

Through their time together, they soon found that regardless of nearly being polar opposites, her more calm and reserved demeanor greatly complimented his boldness and chaos. Their shared interest in death was what drew them to each other, but everything else just seemed to perfectly fall into place for them. 

Art surprisingly came to respect her personality as she respected his. It was refreshing for him, in a way, which he never thought was even possible until she proved him otherwise. 

It started out as curiosity, wanting to understand how someone with such interests could be so tame. That curiosity then grew into an obsession, taking note of her smallest behaviors. Whether it was the way her nose twitched when she didn’t like something, or simply her breathing patterns. He knew everything there was to know about her. 

She dabbed her brush into a deep crimson, dragging it across the canvas in harsh, deliberate strokes. (Y/n) could feel Art’s gaze lingering on the piece, and for a moment, she wondered what ran through his head when he saw her art. 

“You like it?” She asked, her voice soft and curious. 

Art didn’t respond with words, as usual. Instead, he sat up, his silent movements almost ghostly as he leaned over her shoulder. His head cocked from one side to the other as he carefully observed the piece. He then grinned with a thumbs up, patting her shoulder in approval. She placed her free hand over his.

“Thanks.” (Y/n) giggled.

“I just don’t understand how someone would  think it’s appropriate to ever publicize something like that.” 

The laughter stopped, both of them looking up to the TV screen settled on a talk show. 

“I mean, think of the children! They could run into it on the internet and be traumatized and need therapy.” 

(Y/n)’s gaze hardened, heart beginning to race as she took in their insults. She chewed her lip as she watched, nearly drawing blood.

“Trust me, I don’t think they’re the only ones who need therapy -“ 

The channel suddenly changed, remote in Art’s hand as he frowned at the screen and waved it off in distaste. He then looked down at (Y/n) who began to calmly clean up her area. 

Too calmly. 

She stood up, taking her supplies with her as she made her way to the sink to clean everything off. His eyes followed her carefully, paying attention to every minor difference or change. As soon as he caught her mouth twitch he rose from the couch. 

He walked over to her, or rather stalked, and slapped a hand on the counter beside the sink as he faced her, leaning against it. She didn’t look at him until she was finished cleaning, drying her hands and giving him her best smile, albeit fake. 

His grin was wide, encouraging, and he motioned for her to do the same with his fingers. When she didn’t and simply giggled half heartedly, his smile dropped and he tapped his chin in thought. 

Art’s expression then turned mischievous, baring his teeth again with a Cheshire smile as his hands slowly reached for her, his fingers wiggling menacingly. 

“No.” (Y/n) pleaded at first, taking a hesitant step back. “No - Art!”

She shrieked when he snatched her, holding her against him as he tickled her relentlessly. He laughed silently as she squirmed and cackled, using all of her strength to try and worm her way out of his grip, but they both knew he was far too strong for such a feat. 

“Okay! Art, I’m fine - I’m okay now!” The clown stopped tickling, but still held her. He peeked his head from around her to watch her face to determine if she was lying or not. 

As (Y/n) caught her breath, she looked up at Art with the usual glimmer in her eye that he so adored and he firmly nodded before letting her go. 

She sighed dramatically and he wiped his hands off together proudly, giving her an ‘ok’ symbol with a wink and heading back to the couch with a pep in his step. 

(Y/n) shook her head in exasperation, rubbing at her temple before following him. 

The following day, they both worked in silence at their hideout. Art sat at his workbench, tinkering away while (Y/n) sat on the floor against the stove beside the desk, filtering through her photos on her camera. A small radio played in the background, (Y/n) humming to a familiar song every now and then while Art nodded along with her. 

It was one of their calmer nights, the two of them deciding not to go out and to simply spend time with each other, even if it was just sitting in the other’s company. 

(Y/n) saw Art’s hand motion for her in her peripherals, looking up at him finally. He pointed to her then to the stool left unused, then to the floor and flung his hand out as an exasperated question. 

“I’m comfortable, Art, I promise.” 

(Y/n) giggled when his head ticked at her stubbornness. He then pointed back at the stool aggressively, and then next to the edge of the desk with a determined expression. 

“You want me to be closer to you?” Art nodded and she laughed. “Well why didn’t you just say that?” 

She nearly snorted as she stood up when Art threw out it arms, silently telling her ‘what the fuck?’. She brought the stool over to his desk and sat on top of it, camera in hand for her to resume what she had previously been doing. 

Her laughter died down to a chuckle. “You know I love teasing you, I hardly ever get to.” (Y/n) reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Art rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her before turning back to continue modifying one of his weapons. 

“I personally think she’s just trying to use shock value to get some traction on her work.”

Their ears caught as they continued to work, however Art glanced over at (Y/n) every now and then. 

“She’s trying so hard to shove it down our throats for attention when it’s nothing more than glorified gore.”

“Be glad I don’t shove something else down your throats…” (Y/n) grumbled to herself, the initial pain of their insults gradually seeping through into anger and irritability. 

The clown’s movements froze at her words as he stared at the desk in front of him with parted lips. 

With however long they had been together, not once had he heard her threaten another person, regardless if it was empty or not. She had always kept quiet and to herself when met with confrontation while he was the one who dealt with it accordingly. At least, what he considered to be accordingly. 

Art slowly shifted his eyes over to look at her, seeing her click the buttons on her camera casually as if she never said anything. 

And for once, he wondered if he was going crazy. 

He then looked back at the weapon in front of him, glanced at her once more, then slowly went back to working. 

One night, however, they decided to go out once they began to feel a sense of boredom, something they both passionately detested. 

Feeling particularly clingy, (Y/n) took to latching herself onto Art’s arm rather than just holding his hand. He gladly accepted it, throwing her a giddy smile and practically shaking with excitement. 

As they walked, (Y/n) noticed how much more comfortable she had become walking out in public. Art fed into her confidence, deliberately or not, and she held her head higher. He made her feel appreciated, feel important in a world where all she had before him was herself and the captious stares of those around her.

On the more rare occasions where she walked out on the town by herself to grab a bite to eat or restock on supplies, she crawled back into herself ever so slightly. Regardless, she was still more self-assured than she previously had been. 

“Maybe something with feet? I feel like I don’t focus on feet enough.” (Y/n) thought out. 

Art simply listened from beside her, genuinely intrigued and in his own thoughts about what he could do with his next victim - or victims - for her. 

She gasped suddenly and Art, ever the dramatic, jumped with a surprised expression. “A mouth!” (Y/n) looked over at him with an animated expression. 

Art tilted his head at her with his eyebrows raised, letting her know that he agreed. 

“Mouth it is tonight.” The clown wiggled his eyebrows at her perversely and she lightly backhanded his chest. 

“Oh shit, are you (Y/n)?” They heard a somewhat distant voice express. Ahead of them, a woman leaned against a wall, phone in hand as she waited beside a small food joint. 

Art and (Y/n) shared a suspicious look, continuing to walk until they were close enough to decently communicate. “Yes?” She answered with caution. 

Art made a simple decision from beside her, accepting the woman’s unwilling offer that was too easy to pass as he set down his bag while they talked. “This is so weird seeing you in person. I always hear about you but never thought I’d actually meet you!” 

(Y/n)’s eyes squinted with confusion, unsure of where the interaction was going to lead to. “Thanks? Like is that supposed to be a compliment?” She replied warily, almost irritably. 

“Oh no, I’m not a fan or anything, it’s just weird finally seeing someone you hear about a lot.” (Y/n) deadpanned, a familiar feeling of distaste building in her abdomen. 

Art, however, rather than growing defensive and upset, looked over at her curiously, letting the conversation work itself out with underlying mischief.

“It’s like if you met Jeffrey Dahmer in person, you’d just look at them like what the fuck, because of the shit they’ve done, y’know?” 

(Y/n)’s tongue ran along the inside of her cheek, casually looking over at the clown’s bag on the ground. As the woman continued to ramble, (Y/n) stepped over to it and began to search through its contents.

Art’s eyes widened, a grin spreading wide across his painted face in anticipation. “Like if the word edgy was a person -“ 

The woman was cut off as a shot echoed through the town. 

Art watched as the woman slid off of the wall and thumped onto the ground, then eased his eyes to look over at (Y/n). 

Arm straight out, the gun in her hand pointed at the bleeding woman with an indifferent expression, then lowered with a heavy sigh as she turned to toss it back into his bag after turning on the safety.

“I’m tired of this shit.” She mumbled to herself and rubbed at her forehead then looked up at Art. “Sorry. Let’s go find someone else for you.” 

Art was rigid where he stood, staring at her with an intensity that began to pull her out of her vexed state. He took a step towards her with predatory intent, grabbing the back of her neck and tugging her into him, their lips crashing together unexpectedly. 

(Y/n) froze at first, caught off guard by his behavior before she slowly began to melt into it, cupping his jaw in her hands. She gasped breathlessly for air when they parted as he silently heaved. 

“Does that mean I’m next?” She whispered. He flashed his teeth sadistically, leaning in once more.

Tag list: @callsignwidow

[see-arcane]

You can’t make people ship ships the way you want to ship them though. People can ship Orlok and Ellen in any way and under any lenses they really want to. Also judging by how interviews of cast and crew go they also wanted people to ship these characters and don’t view Ellen as abuse victim or CSA victim. It’s indeed kissy kissy vampire movie in a way as Ellen literally kisses Orlok on the lips and they have quite sensual vampire sex. I understand you can have frustration with some shipping or shippers and you are free to vent but you can’t change that people ship things or how they view and ship these things or how they view movies. People don’t look at movies and world with your eyes nor should they.

Don't want this to turn into a Thing, so I'd like to cap the topic off here.

I do not have a problem with people shipping Ellen and Orlok, or Thomas and Orlok, or Ellen and Thomas, or any combination thereof. Same goes for the actors/director who clearly wanted an element of attraction happening in the dynamic(s). It is gothic horror centering around the amorous and fucked up triangle these characters make. Ship happens.

What aggravates me is not just the bleaching and rose-colored glasses phenomenon with some folk's very literal non-joking interpretation of Orlok's attentions as purely ribald-romantic, but how it locks into a much longer, much more headache-inducing tradition that keeps getting grafted onto a very Specific kind of relationship in stories like this.

Red Riding Hood and the Wolf. Persephone and Hades. The last living wife standing and Bluebeard. Mina Harker and fucking Dracula.

Every time. Every single time that there is a Girl and an Aggressive Admirer/Predator involved in an original telling, it gets garroted, dragged through a Valentine Card printing press, and spat out the other side, either in genre-blind reinterpretations of every violent act or full-on spinoffs as Beauty and the Beast-flavored naughty xxx romance 😜 (Don't worry, she totally wanted it, she was just playing hard to get uwu)

When the girl is hunted. When the girl is imprisoned. When the girl is raped. When the girl has her life and the lives of loved ones threatened in order to make her compliant with what her attacker wants. No matter how much slaughter or entrapment or physical or psychological abuse is branded into the mythology or book or film, the rosy romantic revamp keeps happening.

I'm not going to sit down and go full hack psychology about the mechanics of forbidden fruit/desire/escapist kink involved in people's enjoyment of these stories. I love those stories! Can't get enough of the fucked uppery involved with narratives that take something like Love or Desire--traditionally upheld solely as Virtues reserved for curing a villain of their evil or firing in a glittery beam from some magical high schooler's wand--turned into something dangerous, maddening, and horrific. I eat that shit up.

What annoys and worries me is the lack of comprehension, or else outright ignoring, of the bare minimum of reality within a story in favor of sanitizing and filigreeing it into 'Just a naughty ;) romance~' wherein the Aggressor was definitely for real just a misunderstood suitor the Girl wanted all along..! as long as we ignore all the bodies and the repeated assaults and the bodily chucking her when she said a thing he didn't like and the point blank gaslighting and the attacking and entrapping her as a teenager as she screamed and went into the first of many many seizures and the fact that she was willing to die in order to kill him

Obviously I can't stop people from seeing what they want to see or thinking what they want to think. Imagination Land has no borders and folks can do whatever. I'm not going around with hardcover editions of Dracula, pummeling errant shippers for their transgressions.

I am just venting. Because venting and languishing and praying for actual critical thinking to make a comeback in media literacy is all I can do in the face of so many people reinventing the Coppola Wheel and stapling it over a work that is itself hammering the audience over the head with a plot about coercion and twisted relationships and murders committed en masse to make a girl put out for her stalker

Give it five years, we'll see Nosferatu: A Love Tale in theaters, directed by Luc Besson, in which the tragic Prince Orlok pines for the time displaced period piece goth girl, Ellen Murray, who is so very sick and tired of her boring boorish throwaway fiance, Thomas Hutter and longs for Orlok's leather clad embrace.

[hoesandnuggs]

One Of Us - Leah Williamson x Reader

(Not my image)

Based on the song ‘One of Us’ by ABBA

———

Arsenal wasn't Arsenal without you.

Since 2006, when she arrived at Arsenal, still only a girl, she'd had you.

Even in 2014, when Leah had been promoted to the senior squad, you'd been right behind her. It was only right you made your debuts together, as best friends.

There had always been something more than friendship there. Being young, you'd both been to blind to see it, until Jordan Nobbs had made a pass at Leah at one of the famous Arsenal Halloween parties and you'd lost your head.

"I don't get what your mad about!" She'd chased after you once she'd seen you storm out. You'd argued on the way back to your shared apartment, about 10 minutes away from the house you'd been at.

"You really don't get it?! That I've been in love with you since before I even knew what love was. That it's always been you, that it always will be you. And I fucking missed my chance to tell you because I didn't want to ruin a 10 year friendship!" You shouted.

She didn't respond, only placed her lips onto yours and promised you that she felt the same way.

Life was good. Playing together, going home together, being together. It was all you'd even known, until one day it wasn't.

Whilst Leah broke through into regular minutes in the first team, you struggled immensely. You and Leah both played in the midfield, and with the senior players he already had in that position, he really didn't need two of the exact same player coming in. Leah's connection with the team landed her in favor, she'd always been the one to make friends on behalf of the both of you, and in this case your quietness had been the reason for your downfall.

As a result, Pedro frequently criticized your playing style, and began not even listing you as a substitute.

You felt your world falling apart, Arsenal was all you had even known, Leah was all you'd ever known, but you knew you were better than a reserve player.

He called you into his office after a particular good training session, but had quickly ruined your mood.

"I only need one player, between you and Leah, you need to fight and prove to me why it should be you. The January window is fast approaching, don't let it be you I sell."

You arrived home in despair. Leah was quick to comfort you, asking what was wrong, but you were in no state to tell her about the conversation you'd just had.

She held you that evening, lips brushing over your cheeks as she whispered sweet nothings over and over again.

And so I dealt you the blow

One of us had to go

Leah's expression was unreadable at breakfast. The revelation of your conversation with Pedro had hit her. She enjoyed her life, playing for her childhood club, whilst also being with the love of her life every day. She didn't want things to change.

That week she'd been quiet at home, and distant at practice. Everyone else had noticed the shift in dynamic between the two of you too, eyes watching both of you.

By Friday you'd had enough, entering Pedro's office after training to tell him that you'd be looking for a new club in January, and that you'd made his decision easier.

To say Leah was upset was an understatement.

"Why wouldn't you talk to me before making a decision like that! This isn't just about you, this is about our future too!" She yelled.

"I did this for you! So you didn't have to leave the club you care about most! I don't want you to resent me for being the reason you leave."

"No instead I resent you for leaving me!" She screamed.

Now it's different, I want you to know

She could never resent you, not really. Even though she might have hated you in the moment, the minute your stuff was out the door and you were gone, she regretted every word she said.

You hated the way you left, the veil of darkness that cloaked every corner of your house in awkward tension. Leah barely spoke a word, watching as you gradually packed up your things. She knew she couldn't be in the house when you left for good.

Leaving your key on the table you walked away. And when Leah came home to find it, she knew it was the end of everything.

One of us is crying, one of us is lying

In a lonely bed

Staring at the ceiling

Wishing she was somewhere else instead

6 months was not enough time for Leah to get over you. She put on a front for her teammates, acting like it didn't hurt to partner up with Jordan for passing drills, or seeing the new signing with your number on her back.

Your cubby hadn't stayed empty for long either, a reshuffle in the locker room had meant the new signing sat where you used to. Leah couldn't even look over there, the fact that your eyes wouldn't be looking back at her in reassurance.

For a while Leah couldn't go home. It felt empty without the little bits of you. Leah hated the way you'd leave your keys on the counter instead of on the hook by the door, but now she wished she was able to complain as she put them on the hook herself.

After a while, your pillow stopped smelling like you too. Before she'd cry into it, the smell soothing her into a false sense of security, one in which she could pretend she was in your arms.

Instead, she was alone. The bed seemed bigger without you. She was just a body. Staring at the ceiling as she wiped her tears, wishing she was wherever you were, next to you.

One of us is lonely, one of us is only

Waiting for a call

Sorry for herself, feeling stupid, feeling small

Wishing she had never left at all

The move was tough. You'd moved out of the country, to a club where you couldn't speak the native tongue. It was hard fitting in, making friends. You'd never been good at it, not really. All your friends had been Leah's, she was always the one who introduced you to new people, knowing just how shy you were around everyone other than her.

Maybe Leah was right, maybe you should've stayed, figured something out together. Your solution had left you feeling more alone than ever, going home to your own pity party after practice.

You were stupid to think Leah would call, but still you sat by the phone hoping that every notification that pinged would be one from her.

They way you left should've been the first sign, you knew it was over, you knew she was done. But still you hopelessly pined over her, hoping she missed you just as much as you missed her.

You shouldn't have left. You shouldn't have left her

[tenasz]

Evermore (Satoru x Reader)

By Taylor Swift

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone

Trying to find the one where I went wrong

[…]

Can't remember what I used to fight for

I rewind the tape, but all it does is pause

On the very moment all was lost

[…]

And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for evermore

When love is tested by neglect and pain, even the strongest bonds can break. After taking his marriage for granted, Satoru is forced to confront the devastating reality of losing you, the woman who remains the center of his world. Caught between regret and the fight for a second chance, he learns that true love demands more than words—it demands choices.

paring: Satoru x Reader

Genre: angst / comfort

Warning: mention of faint

Words: 6,3k

a/n: this is the first fic I’m doing based on Taylor’s songs. it’s a project, so more are to come. Hope you enjoy this one!

You felt that something was coming. It wasn’t an abrupt surprise, but that calm unease that precedes a storm. The kind of stillness that makes the air heavy and the sky seem ready to collapse. It was as if the foundations you both had built together, with so much care and over so much time, were about to crumble under an invisible, relentless force.

Satoru was… distant. It wasn’t just a fleeting distraction or a shadow of exhaustion. It was a growing chasm, something you had never seen before, not in all the days of laughter, promises, and glances that once felt eternal. He was there, but he wasn’t. And that subtle absence was like an invisible knife piercing your chest.

The first thought that consumed your mind, so full of labyrinths and traps that he used to laugh at and lovingly call "worms," was an idea that burned like poison: he was cheating on you. A new love, a fresh passion, someone who had sparked in him a fascination greater than you ever could. The image was so vivid it hurt—him smiling at someone else with that same sparkle in his eyes that was once only yours.

You knew it might just be your mind playing tricks, distorting reality based on your deepest insecurities. But what if it wasn’t? That doubt was an internal earthquake, toppling the walls of what you believed to be unshakable.

The breaking point—the critical moment that caused the glass already filled to the brim to overflow and flood everything around you—came on your wedding anniversary. Not that things had been easy before. The distance between you two had been growing like an inescapable shadow, but you kept trying, stitching the invisible threads that still connected you. Fragile threads, almost frayed, but ones you refused to let break.

That day, you decided to fight against the crushing weight of the circumstances. You left Jujutsu school early that day. You didn’t run into Satoru, but that didn’t faze you because you knew he was away on a mission with his students. He had promised he’d be back in time for dinner. At home, every second was spent striving for perfection: the dress chosen with care, the hours spent making your hair flawless, the makeup that concealed the dark circles from sleepless nights. Everything had to be perfect. You wanted him to notice. Not just the effort, but you—as if, for a moment, you could erase all the indifference that had accumulated between you two.

The plans had been set for over a week. The restaurant was reserved, and you were excited to share a sweet moment with your husband. Everything was planned to create a night that would be just yours, a chance to rekindle what had seemed clouded. Every detail was carefully thought out. You rehearsed the words, the gestures, even the small smiles you’d give during the dinner you had dreamed about for days. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe this was the chance to start over.

That morning, before Satoru left, you made sure to confirm the plans. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest as the words cautiously left your lips, almost fearing the response. It was a timid attempt to remind him—without sounding desperate—that the day was special. He mumbled something vague as he adjusted his uniform. You saw his gaze pass over you, like a cold breeze, without truly landing. That was the first blow, but you smiled. Pretended not to notice the emptiness in the gesture. And when he opened the door to leave, there wasn’t even a kiss, a touch, a warm glance, or a “happy anniversary.” Just a hurried wave, as if you were a static presence in the backdrop of his routine. The silence that lingered after was deafening.

Even so, you tried not to crumble. “He’s just in a rush,” you thought, clinging to hope with trembling fingers. “He wouldn’t forget, right? He couldn’t forget.” But deep down, doubt had already planted its roots. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your body and mind. Later, you called Satoru to ask if everything went well on the mission, if anyone got hurt, if he was already on his way back. But your calls went unanswered. Every attempt went straight to voicemail. Messages were sent in hopes of a response, and when it finally came, the weight of worry lifted from your shoulders. He said he couldn’t answer earlier, but everything was fine, and he’d be home soon. A smile of relief escaped you. He called you “darling.” Such a small thing for people who’ve been together for so long, but in your situation, it was a sip of water in the scorching desert.

When you were finally ready, checking the last details in the mirror, a shy smile appeared on your lips. You looked beautiful. No, stunning. The dress, chosen so carefully, hugged your silhouette perfectly, and the subtle shimmer of your makeup enhanced the hopeful look you could barely hide. Nervously smoothing the fabric with your hands, as if you could dispel the growing anxiety, you grabbed your purse and left the house.

Everything had been planned with love. You chose his favorite restaurant—the very place where he had proposed to you. A special place, full of happy memories, where every corner seemed to whisper stories you had shared. Tonight would be different. It would be a chance to rescue everything that felt faded in recent times.

In the car, soft music played, but you barely noticed it. Your hands sweated on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, while your eyes kept darting to your phone on the passenger seat. The screen remained dark, with no notifications, no calls. No message from him. With every mile, the silence on his end amplified your unease.

When you arrived at the restaurant, you were greeted with warm smiles. The waitstaff recognized you immediately, welcoming you enthusiastically. They had always been part of those happy moments, witnesses to laughter, toasts, and declarations. They led you to the table you had reserved—the same one where he had knelt, years ago, his eyes shining with love. Seeing the setting, your heart warmed.

It was perfect. Delicately arranged candles illuminated the space with a soft, comforting glow. Flowers adorned the table, exuding a sweet and inviting fragrance. Among the plates and perfectly aligned utensils, there were Polaroids of the two of you, capturing moments of joy that now felt so distant. You picked one up, smiling at the memory of how he used to insist on capturing even the most mundane moments, always saying, “Every second with you is worth keeping.”

Taking a deep breath, you sat down. Your chest was full of hope despite the anxiety, and a small, nervous smile lingered on your face. You waited, sitting there, until he arrived. You waited. And waited. And waited. But he never came.

As the hours passed, the warmth that had once filled the space gave way to an unbearable emptiness. Your phone remained silent. You tried calling him countless times, but the calls went unanswered. Your heart began to pound erratically, not from anticipation, but from worry. Had something happened? He was Satoru Gojo, after all. He had many enemies, though he always claimed none could measure up to him. This was the only plausible explanation in your mind.

The waitstaff’s gazes began to weigh on you. Their smiles had turned sad now, filled with a pity you despised. The ice in your glass had long melted, and the candles were nearly burned out. Your dress, once so comfortable, now felt suffocating, and your jewelry burned against your skin like a cruel reminder of your vulnerability.

And then, just as you finally stood up, ready to end the public humiliation and go home, your phone rang.

It was him.

With trembling hands, you answered. “Satoru? Where are you? Are you okay?” Your voice was shaky but full of hope.

“I’m fine. I got home a while ago, but my phone was on silent. Where are you?”

Those words shattered what was left of your heart, a sad, painful tightness echoing in your chest. He had forgotten. All the hope you had clung to with so much effort dissolved into tears that began to fall uncontrollably. You pulled the phone away, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs, but he heard them.

“S/N? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?” His voice was filled with concern, but to you, it felt like an ironic blow.

"Now you seem to care, don’t you?"

The words escaped before you could hold them back, your voice laced with disappointment, sadness, and even anger. On the other end of the line, the silence was deafening. He tried to respond, but you cut him off, your pain bursting like a dam that could no longer hold the flood.

"You forgot, you idiot! You forgot what day it is, forgot our plans, and left me here, alone, like a fool!" You practically yelled into the phone, right there in the middle of the restaurant. You could feel the mascara running down your cheeks, mingling with the salty, bitter tears.

His silence was suffocating, but you knew he was still there. Perhaps he was processing your words or trying to come up with an excuse for the inexcusable. You waited for something—anything—that might ease the weight crushing your chest. But for a long moment, all you heard was the muffled sound of your own breathing, broken by sobs.

“S/N…” he began, but the hesitation in his voice felt like a knife twisting in the wound. “I... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize...”

“Didn’t realize?” you interrupted, your voice firmer now, emboldened by the mixture of sorrow and indignation. “You didn’t realize today was our anniversary? That today was the day I was trying to save... this?” Your hand gestured toward the photos of the two of you, which now felt like daggers to your eyes, as though he could see all the effort you had poured into tonight.

On the other end, he sighed. A heavy sound, as if carrying a burden, but the weight you felt was yours, not his. "S/N, I know I’ve been absent. I know I haven’t been what you deserve. But—"

"But nothing, Satoru!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty dining hall. The waitstaff, who had been discreet earlier, now peeked from a distance, trying to appear busy. You felt exposed, like an open wound laid bare for the world to see. “You always have excuses, always have explanations. But what you don’t have is time. Time for us, time for me!”

The line went silent again. In the background, you heard the familiar sound of a door closing. He was moving, perhaps trying to reach you. Perhaps trying to fix things.

“I’m coming there,” he said, his voice steadier now, as if he could resolve everything by simply showing up.

“No.” Your response came quick and sharp, cutting through any possibility. “Don’t come, Satoru. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to come because you feel guilty. I wanted you to come because you wanted to be here. But I guess that was asking too much.”

He tried to protest, but you ended the call before he could say more. You stood there, frozen, the phone still in your hand, as silent tears streamed down your face.

You left as quickly as you could, not looking back or speaking to the staff. You were too humiliated to face them. The night wind brushed against your skin, a cruel reminder of the loneliness you now carried. This was the end—not because he had forgotten your anniversary, but because he had forgotten you.

You got into your car, driving aimlessly for a while, until you finally stopped in a place where memories of him couldn’t reach you. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to think about what came next. Tears streamed down your face, smudging the makeup you had so carefully applied earlier. The ache in your chest tightened around your heart, leaving you breathless with sorrow. You thought that this pain would be for evermore, an endless weight on your chest.

Parking your car in a random spot on the street, you rested your forehead against the steering wheel. Millions of thoughts raced through your mind now. What would you do next? How would you move on with your life?

Miles away, Satoru rushed into his car, his fingers trembling as he turned the key in the ignition. Between harsh whispers, he cursed himself, the weight of guilt crushing his chest. How could he have been so blind? So careless? The brutal truth that tore at him was simple: he loved you deeply, more than he could ever love anyone else. And yet, he kept hurting you, as if the love he felt wasn’t enough to make him the husband you deserved.

Rain began to patter against the windshield, each drop intensifying the storm within him. Satoru gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white, as the lump in his throat felt impossible to swallow. He thought of the smile you used to wear so easily, the sparkle in your eyes that now seemed dimmed. He knew it was his fault. He had extinguished that light with his absence, with the words he never said, with the promises he broke.

“I’m a disaster,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with frustration. The words felt insignificant compared to the enormity of what he felt. He wanted to turn back time, to return to the day everything started falling apart and do it all differently. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of a marriage he had let slip through his fingers. The truth that tormented him was this: he was losing you. And for the first time, the fear of losing you felt more real than ever.

When he finally arrived at the restaurant, he stumbled out of the car, ignoring the heavy rain soaking his clothes and streaming down his face. He burst through the front door like a whirlwind, only to be greeted by a desolate sight: the staff dismantling the decorations with methodical movements, erasing the traces of what should have been a special night. Each deflated balloon, each removed flower, was a blow that tightened the knot in his chest.

His eyes were drawn to the photos of the two of you—memories of happier times when he was still the man you deserved. With trembling fingers, he picked up one of the Polaroids, almost forgotten. It was a picture of the two of you smiling, your eyes shining in harmony. Now, it felt like an image of something unreachable, an echo of everything he had destroyed.

Melancholy turned to desperation, and the guilt that gnawed at his chest erupted in a moment of impotent rage. The sharp sound of his fist hitting the table echoed through the empty hall, making the few staff members present exchange uneasy glances. They had seen you wait; they had witnessed your disappointment, your humiliation.

Satoru met their gazes, and the weight of shame hit him like a tidal wave. The thought of you sitting there, alone, believing he would come, waiting for a gesture that never arrived… It was unbearable. He hated himself. Hated the man he had become, the man who had put you through all of this.

His shoulders slumped, as if the rain outside was now falling inside him, flooding his heart. He wanted to fix it. He wanted redemption, he needed it.

Back to your fragile and shaken figure, you drove the car to the house you once called home. But, at that moment, this house no longer felt like yours. It wouldn't be yours anymore, because you had already decided: you were ready to leave.

As you got out of the car, the heavy rain kept falling, mixing with the tears that seemed endless. Every step you took toward the building was another nail in the coffin of the love you once believed would last forever. You entered the shared apartment, silently hoping he wasn’t there. And, for the first time in a long while, the universe seemed to grant your plea: he really wasn’t. You walked, wet and trembling, to the room that once held so many happy moments. But now, it was just a shadow of what it had been. You began to pack a suitcase in haste, awkwardly, only putting the essentials. There was no space to think about everything. You planned to return another day, maybe when he wasn't there, to grab the rest. The only thing that mattered at that moment was leaving. You couldn't bear the weight of a home so devoid of love, so cold. It was time to move on, even if it meant destroying what little was left of you.

Your body felt heavy, your mind clouded. Your vision was blurred, distorted by the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Your ears only caught a distant hum, as if a sad melody played in the back of your mind, preventing any connection with the world around you. The rain soaking your clothes made you shiver, but the external cold was nothing compared to the ice in your chest.

You were so absorbed in the task of filling the suitcase that you didn’t even notice the sound of the apartment door opening and closing. It was as if your body had shut down, operating on autopilot. It wasn’t until the door to the bedroom, which had been slightly ajar, slammed open that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

And there he was. Satoru. Your husband, your love. He looked as devastated as you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His eyes were wide, locked on you as if he had found something he feared he had lost forever. There was relief in them, but also something deeper: pain, regret, and despair. He was there, but did it still mean anything?

Satoru stood still for a moment, as if his body didn’t know how to move forward. His chest rose and fell with shallow, irregular breaths, and the weight of what was happening seemed to crush his shoulders. The knot in his throat was so tight that it made it hard to breathe. He wanted to speak, but the words seemed trapped, suffocated by the whirlwind of emotions tearing him apart inside.

When he finally found the strength, he took a step forward, the sight of the half-open suitcase burning in his mind like a sign of everything he was about to lose.

“Are you… leaving?” he managed to murmur, his voice soft but trembling. There was fear in every syllable, a fear he rarely admitted to feeling, but now it overflowed.

You didn’t answer, just kept your hands busy, as if he weren’t there. But the silence was louder than any word. It was the silence of someone who had already given up. He ran a hand through his hair, wet from the rain, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. The weight of guilt pressed on his chest like physical pain, something deep and unrelenting. He felt as though he were drowning, unable to escape the ocean of regret that surrounded him.

“I know… I know I was wrong.” His voice was firmer this time, but broken at the edges, as if each word was tearing him apart inside. “But please, listen to me.”

You paused for a moment, but didn’t look at him, and he continued, the urgency blending with the pain in each word.

“I… I love you. More than anything in this world. I know it doesn’t seem like it, I know I didn’t show it. But it’s true.” He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat making it even harder. “I let work consume me. I let the pressure turn me into someone you don’t recognize, and that was unforgivable.”

He took another hesitant step, fearing you would pull away even further. His fists were clenched by his sides, as if he were trying to hold himself together. His eyes were misty, but he didn’t blink, staring at you as if his life depended on it.

“But you… you mean everything to me. I know I disappointed you. I know I made you feel alone, invisible. And I hate that. I hate what I did.” He took a deep breath, but the air seemed to not fill his lungs. “I swear I can be better. I need to be better. For you. For us.”

You finally looked at him, but your gaze was filled with pain, and it hurt him even more. It was as if every second that passed made the distance between you seem even greater. Satoru fought the urge to reach out and wipe away your tears, to hold you and beg for your forgiveness, but surely, you wouldn’t want to share the same square meter with him, let alone let him touch you. That thought squeezed his chest.

— Please, don’t leave me. — His voice trembled, desperation dripping from each word. — Listen to me, I...

You interrupted him after staring at him for a long moment, your hands still in the middle of packing the bag. His words echoed in your mind, but you couldn’t break through the wall of pain you had been building for so long. Something inside you shattered, like a dam incapable of holding back the wave of repressed emotions anymore.

"Listen to you? "Your voice came out low, hoarse, but laden with latent anger. "Listen to you, Satoru? Now? After everything?"

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but you raised a hand to stop him.

"No. You’re going to listen to me now. Because I’m done. I spent months trying to reach you, trying to find the man I loved, but you were always so… busy. Always with an excuse. Always with something more important than me." Your voice grew louder, each word coming out like a bullet, ready to kill anyone in front of it. "Do you know what it’s like to wait? To wait for someone who should be by your side? To wait for him to see you? For him to choose you?" He lowered his head, as if your words had physical weight, piercing him. His chest rose and fell more forcefully, the knot in his throat tightening with every sentence you spoke.

"I loved you, Satoru. I still love you, and that’s the worst part. Because I keep loving you while you destroy me. While you make me feel small, invisible!" Your voice trembled, and the tears you had been holding back overflowed. "I blamed myself for so long, thinking it was my fault, that I wasn’t good enough. But you know what I realized? The problem isn’t me. It’s you. It’s your inability to see beyond yourself, to realize what you’re losing while you’re so busy with... with everything but me."

Satoru felt something break inside him. Every word of yours was a direct blow to his heart, leaving him more vulnerable than he had ever been. The guilt burned like fire in his chest, and he struggled to find what to say, but nothing seemed enough. He knew you were right, and that tore him apart even more.

"You say you love me, but love isn’t this, Satoru. Love isn’t forgetting such an important date for us... Love isn’t making her feel alone in a marriage. " You swallowed hard, the tears now mixed with the rain still running down your face. "Love is being there. It’s caring. And you failed. You failed me."

He stumbled, as if your words had hit him hard. His eyes were watery, his chest tight to the point of pain. He tasted the bitter shame and helplessness as the tears finally escaped.

"I know... " He murmured, his voice barely audible. "I know I failed. But I can change. I will change. Please..."

"It’s not that simple, Satoru! " You shouted, the anger finally overflowing. "Do you think that just saying 'I’ll change' will fix everything? No, that’s not how it works. You broke me. You broke us. And I... I don’t know if I can keep fixing something you seem so willing to destroy.

He fell into silence, his hands trembling at his sides. Her words reverberated in his mind, each one heavier than the last. He wanted to speak, to beg, but the pain in his eyes kept him paralyzed. All he could do was watch, helpless, as the woman he loved poured out all the truths he feared to face.

"I deserve more than this, Satoru." Your voice was now lower, but still filled with devastating sadness. "I deserve more than waiting for you. More than being treated like an option. And I don’t know if you’re capable of giving me that."

The silence that followed was absolute, only broken by the sound of the rain outside. Satoru felt the weight of truth in her words, like a final sentence. He realized that, for the first time, she wasn’t just hurt. She was tired. And that terrified him more than anything.

Satoru opened his mouth to speak, his heart beating irregularly as he struggled to organize his thoughts. He needed to tell the truth, needed to expose what he had always hidden, even from himself. It was now or never.

"You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had," he started, his voice hoarse, but sincere, his chest tight as the words finally escaped. "I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, know that every time I failed, every time I hurt you, I hated myself for it.'

You looked at him with tear-filled eyes, but didn’t respond. Your breath was heavy, your shoulders tense, as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

"I love you, " he continued, the urgency in his voice growing. " Not because I need you, but because you’re everything. You’re my home, my peace, my reason. And I was a fool for not showing you that, for not making you feel that."

He took a hesitant step toward you, as if afraid to break the fragile space between you. But before he could say anything else, something happened.

Your body, so overloaded with anger, pain, and exhaustion, showed signs it couldn’t take it anymore. Your breath became more irregular, and you felt a sudden vertigo. The world around you seemed to spin, the voices, the light in the room, everything started to fade.

" I..." You tried to speak, but the words died on your lips.

And then, you collapsed.

Satoru reacted with primal instinct, catching you before your body hit the ground.

"Hey! Hey! " He shouted, his voice overflowing with panic. His arms wrapped around your fallen body, his head lowering as he looked at your face. Your skin was cold, as cold as the rain still dripping from your clothes. "No... No! Stay with me!"

He pressed his forehead against yours, and then, with trembling fingers, checked your pulse. You were there, but so fragile, so still, it felt like you were slipping through his fingers.

"You’re cold... " He whispered, almost to himself, as panic rose. He could barely think, each thought racing ahead of the other. The guilt crushed him, the fear destroyed him. How didn’t he notice before? How did he let you get to this point?

Holding you tightly, he stood up, almost stumbling as he rushed to the door. He felt your weight so light, as if you had no strength to exist at that moment. He opened the car door with a pull, carefully adjusting you in the passenger seat. His fingers trembled as he fastened the seatbelt around your unconscious body. His eyes couldn't leave your face, so pale, so sad, and so terrifyingly empty.

On the way to the hospital, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. He drove fast, ignoring the red lights and the sounds of honking horns around him. His thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

"Why didn’t I notice?" He muttered to himself, his voice broken. "How did I let you get to this point?"

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes filling with tears. Your breath was so weak, and your skin so cold… He couldn't think clearly, but the worst thought consumed him. He couldn't lose you. Not just as his wife, but as the person who gave meaning to his life.

"Please, hang in there." His voice faltered, a hoarse whisper that barely made it over the sound of the engine. Satoru's warm fingers brushed against your cold, pale ones. "I need you. Don’t leave me... Please, don’t leave me."

At the hospital, he never left your side. His hands held yours, his heart heavy as he watched the doctors tend to you. Every second felt like an eternity, each beat of his heart a punishment.

"Please," he whispered, looking at you, so still in the bed. "I would do anything for you. Anything."

He gripped your hand tighter, feeling the tears roll down his face. The lump in his throat returned, but he didn’t care anymore.

"I know I hurt you. I know I failed as your husband, as the person who promised to love you above everything else. But I won’t lose you. I can’t. I’ll be better, I promise. Not for me. Not to save this. But because you deserve it. You deserve everything."

Your breathing was more stable now, but he still felt the fear. A deep, visceral fear that, even if you woke up, it might be too late to fix everything.

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against your hand. And for the first time, he prayed. Not to a specific god, but to any force that could hear him, begging for a second chance.

After a few hours, your body stirred, your eyes slowly opening and trying to adjust to the light of the unfamiliar surroundings. Satoru, who had been by your side, quickly lifted his head, his hand still holding yours.

"Hey, how do you feel?" Her mind barely registered his words, but you felt his warm hand gently cradle the side of your face.

"What... what happened?" you asked, dazed, your vision and hearing slowly coming back into focus. He then explained what had happened, and you understood why you were in such an unfamiliar place.

"Do you feel better?" Satoru asked again, and the question hammered in your head. You now remembered the argument before your collapse and why you were so exhausted and drained that your body couldn’t hold itself up. You just looked at him before turning your gaze away and pulling your hand from his.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if gathering courage to let out everything that had been trapped in his heart. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raspy.

"I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything, but please, listen to me just this time. I need you to know… everything I should have said before but never could."

He held her hand gently, as if afraid to hurt her, his eyes full of tears he didn’t try to hide.

"I know I hurt you. I know I failed you in every possible way. I was so wrapped up in my own world, so blind, that I didn’t see I was losing the only person who had always been by my side. You. The only one who truly saw me, who loved me despite all my flaws."

His voice trembled, a knot tightening in his throat, but his words were filled with such intense love that it seemed to fill the entire room.

"You are everything to me. And I’m not saying this in a trivial way. It’s the purest truth inside me. You are my home, my peace, my strength. But I left you alone, I made you feel like you weren’t enough, when in reality, you’re more than I ever deserved."

He tilted his head, his eyes fixed on her face, searching for any sign that she was listening. You heard his words calmly, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I’ve spent my life thinking I needed to be strong, that I needed to carry everything alone. But you... you showed me that being strong isn’t about carrying the weight by myself. It’s about trusting. It’s about sharing. And I failed at that with you."

He took a deep breath, and his voice grew even softer, almost a whisper.

"I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. If you give me another chance, I will spend every day of the rest of my life showing you how loved you are. I will be the man you deserve, even if it takes a lifetime to prove."

A tear fell, running down his face. He lowered his forehead to rest gently on her hand, feeling her skin now warmer against his.

"Please, stay with me. Not because I need you, but because I want to be worthy of you. I want us to have the future you dreamed of, the future you deserve. And, if you decide that it's enough, I will understand. But you need to know... I will love you forever, even if that means letting you go."

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the weight of the silence that followed, while the sound of the machines in the hospital filled the emptiness of the room. You stared at him for a long moment, and though your eyes were tired, they didn’t hide the pain.

"Your words are beautiful, Satoru." Your voice was low, but carried the weight of everything you felt. "But where were they when I needed them? Where were they when I felt alone, even though I was by your side?"

He lowered his head, pressing his lips together. It was a deserved pain, but still hard to bear.

"I know..." He took a deep breath, struggling against the lump in his throat. "I know I failed you. And I’d give anything to go back and do things differently. But I can’t. All I can do now is ask you for a chance to fix what I broke."

You looked away, tears silently streaming down your face.

"I loved you so much, Satoru. More than you can imagine. But loving you... it became so heavy. And I started fading in the process."

He felt the impact of your words like a knife to the chest, but he didn’t pull away. He knew he needed to hear everything, every pain, every hurt, to fully understand what you carried.

"I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness." His voice faltered, but he continued. "But please, let me try. Let me show you that I can be the man you deserve. Not with promises. With actions. With every choice I make from now on."

You closed your eyes, exhausted, but his words reached you in a way you hadn’t expected. You wanted to believe him, but you knew it wouldn’t be easy.

"I still love you, Satoru." The confession came out in a whisper, and he widened his eyes, almost in disbelief. "But I don’t know if that’s enough now."

He held your hand more firmly, his eyes locked on yours.

"It doesn’t have to be enough now. Just let me start. Just give me the chance to prove that you’ll never carry this alone again."

You looked at him, and for several minutes in silence, you pondered. You loved him so much, and had been so hurt by his neglect, but in all these years together, this was the first time you saw him so desperate. A feeling that maybe things could be different from here on out poked at your mind. There was a small spark of hope.

"If I stay, Satoru, it has to be different." Your voice finally broke the silence. "I can’t go through this again."

He nodded vigorously, the tears now freely streaming down his face.

"I know. And I will be different. You don’t have to believe me now, but I’ll show you. Every day. For the rest of my life."

You sighed, the emotional and physical exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"You have one last chance, Satoru. Don’t make me regret it."

He lowered his head, pressing his lips reverently against your hand.

"I won’t. I swear on everything I am."

And so, even amidst the scars, a new promise was made. A promise he knew would take a lifetime to fulfill, and he did. He loved you every day, showing his affection, admiration, and tenderness every day you stayed by his side.

And you couldn’t be sure, but you had this feeling so peculiar that the pain you felt that day wouldn’t be for evermore

[dollishmehrayan]

# “YOUR LIKE A PIECE OF ART!” ── .✦ ( batboys with a s/o who has a lot of tattoos. )

a/n: this was a request by anon actually (here) anyways omg a lot of you guys are sending nationality requests like Irish!reader, Moroccan!reader, Canadian!reader and etc omgg anyways yesterday I took a small break and now I’m back!!! So yeahh tags: (batboys x a s/o who has a lot of tattoos)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Absolutely adores your tattoos. He finds them mesmerizing and often asks about the stories behind them.

"Wait, this one—what does it mean? And this one? You gotta explain it all to me!" He’s so genuinely interested it’s adorable.

Loves tracing his fingers over them absentmindedly. It’s his favorite way to relax, especially after a long patrol.

If you’re open to it, he’d love to get matching tattoos with you. Something small and meaningful, like a star or an acrobat silhouette.

He’s always hyping you up. “God, you look so cool! How did I even land you?”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finds your tattoos ridiculously attractive. You’re like a walking piece of art, and he can’t stop staring.

“Another one? Damn, I’m gonna run out of compliments if you keep adding masterpieces to your body.”

Appreciates the rebellious vibe that tattoos give, but loves that yours are deeply personal too.

If you designed any of them yourself, he’s in awe. “Wait—you drew this? Babe, you’re a genius.”

He won’t admit it, but he’s been low-key considering getting a tattoo himself—something to match or complement yours.

Loves running his hand over them, especially while you're cuddling. He’d act cool about it, but he’s secretly obsessed.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

At first, he might be a little shy about it—he’s not used to tattoos or the culture surrounding them.

"So… do they hurt? Like, a lot? Or just a bit?" He’s curious but hesitant to admit he’s interested.

After you explain the meanings and the artistry behind them, he gains a deep respect for your tattoos.

He’d geek out over the symbolism if any of them are literary or historical references.

Secretly thinks you’re the coolest person ever. Your tattoos add a boldness and confidence that he’s drawn to.

If you ever wanted to get another one, Tim would offer to help you research the best tattoo artists.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

He’s intrigued but tries to act indifferent. “Tattoos are superficial… but I suppose these are aesthetically pleasing.”

Secretly, he’s fascinated. He’ll examine your tattoos closely and ask about their meanings when he thinks you’re not paying too much attention.

If any of your tattoos are animals or nature-related, he’s deeply impressed. “A bunny? You’ve chosen well.”

Will jokingly criticize any tattoo he doesn’t like, but you know he’s not serious. He secretly admires all of them.

If you tell him you’re getting another one, he might suggest an animal that resonates with your personality. "Perhaps a panther would suit you."

Low-key, he’d be jealous if anyone else commented on how cool your tattoos are. He doesn’t like sharing your attention.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he’d be a bit taken aback—it’s not something he’s used to, and he’s very traditional.

But once he understands that your tattoos have personal meaning, he respects your choices completely.

“You’re a work of art. Literally and figuratively.” He means it sincerely, even if it’s cheesy.

He might not be entirely comfortable showing off your tattoos in formal settings (Wayne galas and such), but he would never ask you to hide them. Instead, he would encourage you to flaunt them confidently.

Secretly, he’s fascinated by the process and would love to watch you get a tattoo one day, just to understand it better.

If anyone makes a rude comment about your tattoos, Bruce would shut them down instantly with his trademark icy glare.

RANDOM CONVOS WITH THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN ── .✦

with dick

Dick: “So, if I get your name tattooed, does that mean I own your heart forever?”

You: “Only if it’s spelled right.”

With jason

Jason: “If you ever get a tattoo of my name, make it small. I don’t want to be embarrassed when you dump me.”

You: “you think I’ll dump you randomly?”

jason: “who wouldn’t, I’m a high maintenance guy.”

With tim

Tim: He accidentally zones out during a conversation because he’s staring at a detailed tattoo and trying to figure out the design.

With damian

Damian: “Tt, if I were to get a tattoo, it would be far more impressive than yours.” You: “Damian, I literally have a dragon sleeve.”

With bruce

Bruce: “Do all of these mean something? Or did you just think they looked… fashionable?”

You: “Some are meaningful, but yeah, Bruce. Some just look cool

[narcissistshandler]

are you still making hobie fics 🙏

ps omg ur stuff is sooo delicious its crazy

req; please make a fic of hobie squirming from the reader's suggestive teasing/touch in a public place (diner, movie theater, school etc.) thanks so much !!!

𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗣𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗔

pairing. hobie brown x gn reader

warnings. dry humping, frottage, cumming in pants, everything happens in public, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned.

a/n. I don't think you guys have any idea how happy I always am with your compliments, I really hope you like this.

The chaotic, loud and fast symphony reverberated through your ears, the notes that sounded between a mix of rock and hard-hitting singing echoing through the speakers and filling the small local bar that was not much more than a joint where young people gathered to drink, listening to music and criticize the government — everything Hobie liked most, and that's why you had brought him here for a 'date'. Date. This wasn't exactly most people's idea of a date, but seeing the smile that never left Hobie's face as he jumped up and down and sang along to the familiar lyrics of the famous song the band covered, you knew this was exactly the ideal type of date for your boyfriend.

Everything was perfect. The band was a little out of tune, but that was ok, the stage presence made up for it. It was too crowded, and you could barely move without bumping into someone, but people were at least polite. Although, when Hobie was wearing the tightest leather pants, tall boots, and a fishnet top under the jacket that hid absolutely nothing, it was hard to pay much attention to anything else.

You gripped Hobie's hips, fingers against the cold leather hanging right over the protruding bones, tight enough to feel like a second skin. The set of belts purposely left a little loose over his pants and the silver of the thin strap around his neck reflecting under the lights. Hobie's body was warm, sweat running down the back of the neck under the black frizzy curls and you couldn't help but lean in and press your lips there, taking in the cold of the choker and the heat of his dark skin.

It was difficult to talk here and very easy to get lost in the small, lively crowd, which made it convenient for you to stay behind your boyfriend's body, holding him close to prevent you from separating —and from anyone getting the privileged view of Hobie's round ass.

Hobie chuckled, the bass of his laugh vibrating against your chest pressed against his back, otherwise it would have been difficult to notice. "Wanting to mark territory, huh?" he teased, turning his head a little to meet your gaze. The soft lights of the bar reflected in his leering gaze as he continued, "Not that I mind, but we're in public, babe."

You smiled playfully, fingers drawing circles on his hips. "I can't be blamed for wanting to keep the competition at bay. This privileged view is reserved for my eyes only."

Hobie opened his mouth and you leaned in even closer so you could hear what he was saying over the ferocious drums, "Well, in that case, I'm all yours. But let's not make it too obvious, or we might end up stealing the show."

“You’ve never complained about being the star of the show before,” you say, tone heavy with innuendo that precedes your hands inching up the sides of his hips, towards the toned stomach that ripples under your touch.

“Not when you're my only audience,” Hobie says back, but he doesn't pull away when your thumb traces his belly button piercing.

Although it was impossible to ignore the bodies pressing against you from all sides, elbows occasionally finding a target and feet stepping on each other, the atmosphere was dark enough that it was difficult to make out faces and between the euphoria, the alcohol and the music, you knew that something was missing for this date to be the best for Hobie, unforgettable. And he knew it too.

“I’ll still be in the front seat,” you said amused. Your fingers found the hem of his pants and Hobie's body shook, as if an electric shock had coursed through him. "Watching you, adoring you. No one else matters. What if someone sees? I'll still be the only one touching you."

Hobie turned his attention forward, seeming to look to see if anyone was paying attention. “I don’t know,” he said and you almost didn’t hear him, hand already flat against the front of Hobie’s pants. "[name]-" He tensed against you. You felt his erection through the leather, feeling the delicious heat of it radiating through the fabric. The contact made Hobie shudder.

Your lips pressed against his ear, wanting to make sure every word was heard:

"But you're already hard for me. You've been practically since we arrived. Don't think I haven't noticed you rubbing your ass against me."

Despite the stiffness in his shoulders from contact, there was still amusement and pride in his tone when he answered you, "I'm sure I wanted you to notice that last part."

"I'm sure you did, dirty boy."

The music pulses and the bass chords dance at the same time as your fingers run down the front of Hobie's pants, tracing the familiar outline of the member that presses against the leather. It felt like touching bare skin. "[name]," Hobie calls again, you don't hear the sound, you just read his full lips moving.

"Yes?" you ask, giving him a chance to stop you even if you don't stop touching him, rubbing the palm of your hand against him and pinching the tip between two fingers. Your other hand holds his hips, feeling the tension that ripples through the muscles. "Come on, Hobie, you know you want this."

His hips snap at the touch, slamming against your hand, then back against your crotch and back into your hand. There's still tension there though, and maybe it's because of the danger of doing this in public, but his every movement feels restrained and hard, like a poorly oiled gear trying to work.

Hobie is all hot against you, pulse racing beneath your open lips over the salty skin of his slender neck. He turns his head back, almost bumping his head against yours and searches for your mouth. "You're wicked, [name], you know I would never say 'no' to you," he pants, drowning the words against your mouth, forcing you to swallow your own name. He kisses you then, desperately, breathless and completely weak to the pleasure coursing through his veins as you slowly run your thumb along the sensitive tip of his member, matching the rhythm of your tongue sliding into his mouth.

One of your hands slides across the smooth leather, dragging your palm against his cock as you kiss him, the lyrics that sought to remind of all the weight and filth of the society clicking in your ears. Your other hand moves up, running over the bumpy fabric of the fishnet until finds a bulge that presses against your finger. The cold metal slides against your touch, pulling with it the pointy brown nipple peeking out from under his top and Hobie moans against your mouth, asking for 'more'. It was as if today, before leaving home, Hobie had chosen his clothes thinking about how you could touch him without difficulties or real barriers.

You drink in the sounds Hobie makes against your mouth, their volume is lost beneath the music, but the vibration of every moan and every utterance of your name reverberates against your lips, right into your mouth, like a song that only you had access.

Hand wrapped awkwardly around Hobie's dick, fingers practically digging into the sides of it, digging into the leather to get enough precision to pull him hard and fast through each thrust. Hobie writhes against you and melts and it's the most beautiful show. He keeps his mouth against yours even when the kiss ends, humming along to the guitar chords, cursing and following the lyrics of the song. He seems lost in his own head, his brown eyes shining with lust and one hand reached back and gripping your hair, using the support to swivel his hips in a sensual circle, the belts slapping against your arm.

"[name]," he sings through the song's lyrics as he moves against your hand, taking what he needs. "That feels good... you are... I need more... can you...? Fuck."

In the low light you doubted anyone could see the vision of the beautiful man coming apart beneath your fingers to the point where tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. It was a good thing not. You didn't want that in the end — soon — when the night reached its climax and Hobie followed, spilling for you in his pants, anyone else could watch his mouth falling open, hips erratic and his entire body shaking as he became unable to say anything other than your name. The most beautiful spectacle of all and that belonged only to your eyes.

[drama-glob]

Okay, I've been seeing some Ozzie hate/criticism for a while now that mainly pertains to "Ozzie's" and "Oops," namely his interactions with Stolas/Stolas and Blitz with three points being brought up the most. I can concede to agree with one of the points, but what I don't like is that there is then no consideration for Ozzie's perspective on the matter in regards to "Ozzie's;" as for the other two points, they just make me want to pinch the bridge of my nose because I feel they are overlooking some very important stuff/factors. >_< So, hopefully I can get my points across on what I saw/heard in these situations and give at least some people pause for thought and if not, well, at least I got it off my chest. :/

First off, the point I concede on is that yes, Ozzie should apologize to Stolas for what happened at Ozzie's.

Stolas did not ask to get spotlighted and made into an example for all of Ozzie's to see, and bringing up Octavia is always going to be a sensitive subject, especially with how the divorce is affecting her.

Now for the perspective taking:

For Ozzie, he is seeing a consenting, adult couple out looking for some lusty, kinky fun; they are at Ozzie's after all. He doesn't know the circumstances that led to Stolas and Blitz winding up here. Ozzie likely even assumes that Stolas brought Blitz here given that he used his status to get into the club without a reservation. How is Ozzie supposed to know that Blitz was the one who brought him as a ploy to spy on Moxxie and Millie (so not a real date) as well as know the problems that are in the Stolitz relationship such as Stolas talking down to Blitz or that Blitz is using him too?

Also, it just irks me how people can come to understand Fizz's attitude towards Blitz in "Ozzie's" now that we know about the fire and believing that he was left for dead by Blitz, but see that it's Ozzie's fault for not knowing everything that's going on in Stolas's life (such as the trouble between him and his daughter arising from the divorce). True, Stolas does not have to tell Ozzie about his trauma/problems and that's completely fair, but then it's not right to go around and criticize Ozzie for not knowing that it's a sensitive subject. Stolas has been hiding so much from Octavia and likely everyone else because of multiple factors, but his main concern being Octavia learning secondhand about the abuse, depression and/or his drinking.

I know Ozzie's saying this about Fizz's trauma and he loves him, but it's clear he respects that he shouldn't tell Stolas about it/setting boundaries for personal information, so had he known though about Stolas's case, I highly doubt he would have made a spectacle of him cheating, especially considering the subject of abuse. Plus, wouldn't you think if Ozzie knew that Stolas had been physically and sexually abused by Stella, he'd be adamant to tear Stella a new one or see that she was punished, especially given his values on consent? >:(

In addition, all Ozzie had to say about Stella was that she's hot, so he likely has hardly ever met her enough to speak ill of her/know what she's really like; Stella's attitude towards imps alone would tick him off. >:( Anyway, Stella is not going to the Goetia meetings where they could have chatted and I doubt if he talked with Stolas, he'd say anything revealing or maybe even just chalk it up to Stolas not being satisfied by Stella. I also highly doubt Ozzie is going to waste his time going to Stella's parties when he has a ring and business to run along with wanting to spend time with Fizz. Plus, he'd likely favor either his own party or one thrown by Bee. ;)

Something to note too is just how happy Ozzie is that Stolas was with Blitz because besides him and Bee, to have a royal publicly display that they find someone of lower class attractive and wants to be lustful with is a big deal; Andrealphus even mentioned there hasn't been a Goetia like Stolas, although I can believe some Goetias doing the act of sleeping with those deemed the lower class in private. -_- Ozzie thinks the hierarchy is bunk or at the very least, you should treat people fairly and not act superior to them. So, by highlighting Stolas and Blitz, in addition to getting the performance back on track, he's showing lust is not bound be class differences and that giving into pleasure should matter more than saying, "Oh it can't work between us because you're an imp and I'm a Sinner" or one's an imp and one's a prince in Stolas and Blitz's case.

Ozzie's line "Now that's the spirit of lust" is also cause to see why he's so happy since he's seeing Stolas trade everything else in his life for the thing he desires most: to be with Blitz, or in the case of seeing the two of them at his club, inferring it was to have sex with Blitz; it certainly was some first class demonstration of lust, that's for sure.

Also:

There's also a decent chance he didn't see Stolas do this since he was back onstage immediately after, but if he had and with how observant he is, he likely would have had some questions for Stolas since Ozzie's isn't the place to be ashamed about what turns you on, so him doing this would have made him wonder what's up. :/ (Of course, now we know that the Stella part didn't matter to him, but that he was doing this at the expense of his daughter's happiness that Stolas felt ashamed and not for being seen with Blitz, but this moment still unfortunately sent us to the place we are now along with a slew of other problems contributing to it :/ ).

*Also, to nip it in the bud, it was Fizz and Verosika really doing all the Blitz bashing, not Ozzie, with him mainly just letting Fizz vent all his anger since as he put it to Blitz, "You've lived rent-free in Fizz's head for years," so this was supportive BF/husband stuff in hopes that it might help him heal since it seems Fizz and Blitz haven't had contact in those 15years to talk/work it out.

So long story short/just to recap, while Ozzie didn't do what happened at Ozzie's with malice and the fact that intentions do matter, he still did it and the damage was done, which is why I concede to him needing to apologize; until he knows everything though, he likely won't, so please don't see it as a flaw of his character that he hasn't until such time. :/

On to point two: I've been seeing it be said ever since "Oops" came out that Ozzie doesn't actually believe in helping Stolas and Blitz and only did it because Fizz told him he could. -_- Okay, well:

Ozzie is saying right here that he sympathizes with Stolas and why wouldn't he?! He flipping knows exactly what it's like to be in love with someone deeply and wanting to give them something that makes them happy! Yes, the reason he didn't give Stolas the crystal right then and there was because of Fizz, but that's because doing so would be an act of betrayal to Fizz, not that he doesn't see Stolas's side in this or understand why he wants this. Until the end of the episode, Fizz had hated Blitz and had clearly been verbal about it in the ~10yrs Ozzie and him have known each other, so going behind his back to help someone Fizz sees as his enemy is certainly grounds for relationship trouble and they'd lose so much of the trust that we see Fizz and Ozzie have. :(

The last thing that I've been seeing is people saying that Ozzie finds Stolas annoying or that Ozzie may even hate him because they heard him groan during this statement:

For me though, Ozzie groaned the whole sentence and not just Stolas's name, so it was not singling him out or if anything had a sighing aspect to it because it had been a long day, but more importantly, Ozzie's time with Stolas was mostly a flipping 12HR HOSTAGE NEGOTIATION!!!

That is not going to be a fun time no matter who Ozzie was with, okay?!

*I've also seen a comment about it being Stolas is a nerd compared to him when it's like, "Hello! Ozzie is a nerd too! He's literally a mechanical engineer who designs complicated robotic parts and sex toys! That takes a lot of math and physics!" Plus, I could see that being a point of interest for Stolas and Ozzie since calculating orbits, stars, eclipses, prophecies, etc. uses math and physics as well as Stolas would likely be fascinated with Ozzie's crystals.

The other thing people seem to forget is that Ozzie was also stuck with this guy:

The sleazy, asshole lawyer with a power kink, who sat in Ozzie's chair, talked down to him, pulled that move with the first contract so that they really had no choice but to thoroughly vet the bigger one with a fine-tooth comb, and kept delaying everything until the deadline literally came! >:(

Also, for people thinking about Ozzie being happy that he said no to giving Stolas his crystal:

This was him trying to cheer Fizz up, to let him know that although the day was undeniably terrible, Ozzie still respected his partner's wishes and knew that he wouldn't have wanted Blitz to have one of his crystals. Ozzie was even partially laughing while he said it in a "Oh, you're just going to love what happened babe!" or "You are not going to believe this Fizz!" kind of way in that maybe they could laugh about it sounding ridiculous for Blitz to have a crystal with how much Fizz hated him up to that point.

I know people may still think or feel how they want without budging by the end of this, but this is just what's been on my mind and I wanted to give my two cents on it. Also, part of the reason this is so long too is because I already analyzed the "Ozzie's" stuff for a fan fiction I wrote about it a year ago where Ozzie realizes he made some assumptions that night and was wrong. :/ Anyway, thanks for reading this giant thing. <3<3<3

[gg-neptune]

Stray Cat

Bit of Snape fluff. Snape x Reader. Hope you enjoyyyyyy <333 (Sorry if grammar errors)

Getting Severus to cuddle is like petting a stray cat at first. However, once you get him to, he will NEVER stop.

Getting past his hard shell was difficult. Months of coaxing him into you. Teaching him, you can be trusted. That he does not have to be scared to show his emotions to you and be vulnerable. You will not criticize him; you'll treat his heart with care.

It starts with not poisoning him. This might sound like an exaggeration but when you bring him a batch of cookies you made just for him you realize just how thick his wall is built up.

He makes you stay in office while he casts a spell that determines if the cookies are poisoned or not. Realizing you are not trying to kill him and indeed just wanted to do something nice for him he stiffens and says a very strangled "thanks" before he ushers you out of his office not giving you the chance to say a word.

For a while you think he might be mad at you for some reason you don't know. Maybe he doesn't like chocolate chip? That was until he passively comments on how good your baking is when you are in the staff room talking to Minerva.

Then when he finally warms up to baked goods you have to get him accustomed to your presence in general. He is a very lonely man. He is used to spending majority of his time alone, he's used to the longing of wishing someone was here to keep him company. Now that someone is here, he doesn't know what to do with himself honestly.

Eventually he gets used to your presence. He gets used to the signs of you left around his office. The hair ties, the blankets (because it's freezing in the dungeons), your jacket you forgot last night, everything that is you that just about a year ago he would have disdained he accepts.

Slowly after spending so much time with him just lingering in his office watching him work observing him, you get touchier with him.

You must be slow with him or like a stray cat he's going to get scared and run off. Just brushing against him at first. When you lean over him to look at his work putting your hand a bit too close to his. Looking at his potions and subtly holding your shoulder against his.

It all starts there. Soon enough you're walking into his office with your arms open waiting for your Severus Snape hug for the day. Holding onto him for longer than nessacery. Breathing in his scent that you've grown to associate with the calmness of him. Resting your head on his chest while his rests on your head, him burying his face into your hair.

Pulling him away from his work at ungodly hours. Pulling him onto the little couch in the corner of his office, that has recently been reserved only for you. Gently coaxing him into your arms. Whispering to him to relax and to trust you. After all these months of breaking down the thick wall of emotional protection he had put up, he lets you hold him. Hid head resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, his shoulders slowly relax.

Your fingers run through his hair gently massaging his scalp. Your other hand running up and down his back.

"Why do you treat me like this?"

"Like what Severus?"

"Like I deserve this much affection."

"You do Severus."

After that night Severus seeks you out. He seeks your gentle affection. He cannot stand to go a single day without seeing you. He needs the gentleness of you. His heart has longed for a person for all of his life. Recently his heart has longed for you. Now that he had you he needed you.

He loves the way you hold him. The way you help him relax. The way you don't belittle him for wanting the simple affection that everyone deserves. He had never received it before he could never imagine that a singular living soul would want to be with him. That anyone would want to hold him like that.

But you do. And to him nothing else matters.

[interstella-eyes]

I guess I’m in the mood to make new ocs lately…

Here’s another one of Beatrix followers, Desmodius! They’re a vampire bat puenymph whose wings merged with their hands because of the curse.

Although they’re still one of Beatrix followers, they’ve become very critical of her. But they keep a low profile and keep observing Beatrix‘ moves.

Most of the time, they wrap their wings around their body like in the ref! They’re also selectively mute, meaning they don’t speak unless they have something to say that they deem important. Even when they do, it’s reserved to short, monotone sentences. Many people see them as mysterious and kinda unsettling because of that (+their semi obscured face), but they're really kind and considerate!

They’ve also developed a sibling like relationship with Pippa! Pippa understands them like no one else and doesn’t get why people keep their distance from Des. Desmodius hopes that Pippa can see who Beatrix truly is, which is why they stay with Beatrix for now. They’re curious about Eva and her research, but don’t know how to approach her about it with no one knowing.

Their name is based on the scientific name for the vampire bat (desmodus)!