#this is a tad bit out of character but hey

[palilious]

cold weather, warm werewolf

[can-of-slorgs]

The other researchers are also here! (magical edition!)

[bonestrouslingbones]

sigh. ebony's birthday is at some point this month isnt it.

sigh. i'm not gonna be able to get this idea to combine that with a sort of last hurrah to finally kill off the ask blog format for atbb out of my head am i.

[moonsaver]

Where the Lamb does not Belong.

You're isekai'd into the world of Honkai Star Rail. Thankfully, you're taken into the Astral Express and continue your journey peacefully, until you reach Penacony. Something, or someone, seems to be causing your system to continually crash. Perhaps it's because you did not belong here at all.

Warnings: yandere, obviously. Uh, mentioned fracture(?)

A/n; reader is a tad forgetful and can brush off a few things, and get distracted slightly easily. But for the most part, i think it won't ruin the immersion. Its my first time writing something "self aware" related, and something like a character breaking the 4th wall. I really love these tropes but rarely write them. I hope i did it well. Its roughly 4.5k long. Enjoy.

----

“Ace!”

“It's not ace.”

“Uno!”

“March, you're supposed to say it after you put down your second card.”

“Oh, sure.”

…

“March, it's not your turn.”

“Huh?!”

You giggle, listening in on their banter. You're leaned up comfortably on Dan Heng's back, messing around with a level on Stelle's phone she hasn't been able to beat.

You hear a loud groan, a fwop as March drops on her back onto the bed,

“This is so confusing!”

“The rules are simple, you're just trying to rush things.”

Dan Heng takes the cards and settles them, tapping them vertically to level and gather them onto the little table. You stretch your neck to look back and catch a glimpse of March sulking. Stelle gently pries the phone out of your hands as you do so.

“Hey let's go through our photo album again!”

“It's the 6th time this month.”

You chuckle, getting up from Dan Heng's back as you feel him shift, moving over to situate yourself around the table aswell, the the bed dipping under your weight.

“I knew you were into photography but wow, this is something, March.”

You say, leaning over on the table, your elbow resting on it as your chin rests on your palm,

“Well, you better be grateful ‘cause I just finished up your entry!”

“My entry?”

You blink, confused,

“She's been dutifully taking pictures of your progress as a new member of the Astral express. I've.. learnt from experience It's better that you don't try to stop her.”

You laugh awkwardly, staring down as March excitedly flips through the photo book. It's a bit embarrassing now that you recall.

“Here! Look, look, look! I caught [name] in all their glory!”

“March..”

You awkwardly laugh, as Dan Heng looks over at the photo March points to in her photobook, 

You cringe as you see your own expression, dull and groggy, a stark contrast to the bright letters and stickers decorating the edge of the photo that's glued tightly onto the page. You're drooling, to top it off.

“Hehe, [name] looks cute here don't they?!”

March points down to another photo right below, blurry in the midst of action. Your hazy figure is sitting up on a bed, Stelle draped over your lap while in charge of watching over you when you first appeared.

“I should have stayed to watch over, instead.”

Dan Heng comments under his breath, glancing back momentarily at Stelle, her chin hooked over his shoulder after having abandoned the game, seemingly more interested in the collection.

You chuckle softly,

Where did it begin exactly?

You boarded as an official member of the Astral Express about a few months ago, a gold brooch handed over to you, and many new faces who welcomed you onboard. You remember being home one day, going to sleep and hoping, just hoping that all of your worries and stress would just.. disappear. Your head hit the pillow and then-

You woke up. Here.

Suddenly you woke up in the very game you played to relieve your stress. Ironically, that moment you woke up was one of your most stressful memories, panicking at the situation you were in–

“Aw, dang it. I got defeated.”

All of you look over to Stelle, and to the red screen on her phone. You chuckle, as March sighs and shifts the topic.

You yawn and settle back onto the bed, leaning on a pile of pillows as March and Dan Heng continue their banter, taking this time to go through your stats, swiping and tinkering on your phone.

You've reached a higher level now. Having unlocked many items and even levelled up some basic features which allowed you to at the very least, defend yourself.

You read through the archived stories, gazing over all the past dialogue you've shared with this trio from the “main quest” ever since you boarded. Your friendship level with many had increased gradually over time, and shot up with the trio, as expected.

“[Name]..”

Stelle whines, pushing her phone back to you. You giggle, taking the device from her hands,

“Alright, I won't get distracted this time.”

-

This was your first expedition as a new member of the Astral Express. Which didn't help considering you were going into Penacony of all places.

You were nervous – how was your presence going to alter the timeline? Maybe a less “on screen” role like Himeko's? Or maybe you should have just stayed back with Dan Heng? But the experience, materials and all sorts of gizmos Penacony was going to offer.. It was too tempting.

And here you are, in the lobby. Himeko and Welt continue negotiating with the young woman at the reception. You were already on edge, but it seemed things just had to go wrong as well.

To distract yourself, you fidgeted and anxiously viewed the prologue to Penacony the system had just offered to you, repeatedly scrolling up and down on your phone, tapping your foot, pacing around the hotel a bit when–

A hand came up to your shoulder.

“It seems you're quite worried.”

You looked back.

It's Robin.

“Sorry, uh, we're.. having difficulty with the check-in and..”

You momentarily trail off, almost lost as you look at Robin. Her in game model was beautiful, but now that you're standing in front of her, it's almost.. mesmerising. Her eyes are beautiful – deep and ethereal. Pretty pink lips and softly dusted cheeks, her hair wispy and framing her face just the right way. You're awestruck for a moment, before panicking and snapping out of your daze.

You're at a hotel lobby for aeons’ sake!

“O-Oh, uh, my family is–”

You turn over to see Himeko and Welt continuing to go back and forth with the young woman at the reception, and turn again to see March and Stelle slightly off in the corner talking anxiously.

“They seem lovely.”

Robin smiles at you. And suddenly, your eyebrows and shoulders relax. Your jaw slightly slacks. Something about Robin seems to soothe you more than you ever thought.

Your eyes trail over to the bar in the corner;

Friendship level: 0

Right. She's still a stranger, in this timeline of events.

You're snapped out of your thoughts momentarily as another, unfamiliar voice speaks up from the crowd – a blonde man, addressing your fellow trailblazers.

This can't be good.

You walk up, regrouping with March and Stelle as they watch it all happen.

–

The golden hour was a familiar map to you, particularly because you'd loved exploring the place back when you used to play.

But actually being there is stunning.

The yellow lights brighten up the night-like atmosphere in a beautiful, classy way. It's almost as though you're in an old film, the way everything around you is hazy and glowing. There's laughter in the background and shimmering lights somewhere in the distance, drinks and the smell of food occasionally wafting in the air from corner cafés or so. You wander, awestruck at the sight of the landscape when–

You bump into someone, a small sound leaving you at the impact.

You look back to take a look at the stranger - more to try and ground yourself into this “dream” and your current reality. You were in Penacony. And all of this was physically interacting with you, regardless of how miniscule you must be. Whether you would have been reincarnated as a Cafe owner, or an NPC, or anyone else. As long as you were on Penacony, you were going to be a part of Sunday's grand plan.

You zone out, the hazy cacophony of ecstasy in the background blurring in the crowded space of your mind, thoughts overarching and bubbling up.

Beep!

You look at your phone, buzzing as quests pop up. You take a moment to look around the various shops, before your eyes land on a cozy cafe.

It won’t hurt to rest for a moment.

–

“Shit, shit, shit..”

You curse to yourself, frantically tapping on the screen and trying to fix this mess.

“Just– cooperate damn it..!”

Your teeth gnaw at your lip, biting and peeling off bits of the skin. It stings, but in your anxious state, you barely pay mind,

Why was the system not cooperating with you?!

None of your teleportation points worked, you weren't levelling up, barely any of the trinkets given by completion of quests were being used up! It was rudimentary junk in your inventory and now for some god awful reason, your entire system was going haywire!

System error: freespace is occupied!

System error: unavailable tab

System error: unable to access tab

System error: unable to complete..

“Yeah, yeah I got it you little-”

“Is something the matter?”

You gasped under your breath, a chill shooting up your spine as you turn around,

“No, no! Nothing, haha just.. uh..”

You awkwardly shuffle, pretending to look into your bag,

“You seem to be having trouble.”

Sunday's poised figure contrasts your sweaty, nervous, fidgeting one, as you only panic more at his words.

“Oh, just.. well.. it’s my first time visiting another world, so..”

“Ah, first time jitters? I’m faintly familiar.”

You chuckle awkwardly, but your humour doesn't seem to be exactly matched. Sunday’s smile doesn't widen or lessen, and neither does he chuckle. You realise how uncanny he looks in the dim lights of the Golden Hour barely illuminating his face in the alley.

“You seem to have been separated from your group. Would you like me to accompany you on your way back?”

“Sure–”

Warning: you are currently interacting with an influential figure. Proceed with caution.

“..you seem hesitant.”

You look at the glaring notification on your screen - akin to when an amber alert pops up, or when an earthquake warning resounds.

“..uh, I think.. I’ll be able to find them on my own. I should be fine.”

“I insist. As the representative and Spokesperson of The Family it is my duty to ensure the safety and relaxation of guests in the Dreamscape.”

Shit. This guy isn’t giving in.

You hesitate, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead and grazing the top of your eyebrow,

Beep!

Optional: would you like dialogue suggestions to be displayed?

[Yes]

[No]

[No – do not ask again]

You sigh internally. At least this system knows how to assist you when you need it.

“Shall we?”

Sunday beckons you to follow, as the pop-up blinks away, before you get the chance to select.

There’s no getting out of this. You’re just gonna have to suck it up and be careful.

“..sure.”

-

Sunday doesn’t remember when it exactly began.

Strange patterns, predictable dialogues, and the anomalies that occured..

Right after Sunday discovered your name.

He watched as the cup from the trash pile slipped and fell onto the pavement. Your name was written on it – messily and hurried. The cup rolls down a bit before hitting the side of his shoe. Sunday watched it with indifference, opting to simply move it aside before he spotted it. Your name. But it wasn’t supposed to be.

An alias? Maybe. It was different than the name administered in your profile. 

He opted to push it back for later; but it was an interrupted thought as he walked ahead and watched you fiddle around with your phone, buzzing constantly as you cursed at it.

He breathes out, before deciding to approach you.

–

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

You respond, your eyes embarrassed and watching the various shuffling of feet in front of you, the crowd forming in front of the Rollercoaster you were too scared to go on.

Well, it's rather you haven't been able to go onto them.

Stelle and March offered you to join, and usually you'd be able to accept the invitation pop up, but as of recent, your system has been going haywire. The system probably narrowed down the scenarios you'd be allowed to participate in,in order to control the situation.

So you stood there, your mood dampened as you accepted that the system would not allow you to partake in the ride with your friends, shaking your head and telling them to go on instead, leaving you behind.

And Sunday saw all of it.

Or rather, just that you haven't gone onto the ride.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, nothing like that.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. Even if you were.. he's not exactly the person you'd tell it to, anyway. You ignore the buzzing of your phone as it displays the same warning, jaded and moody as you'd been denied a great opportunity to have fun.

“..there is a new bakery that's opened up in the corner. Would you like to visit?”

You blink, and look at him, confused. He seems to have understood your confusion, and follows up,

“Until your companions have had their fill. Just for a cup of coffee.”

You hesitate, humming in contemplation. You look at the options displayed;

Options:

 □ “Sure. Let's go.”

 □ “sorry, my husband's waiting for me on the express.

 □ “No thank y–

 System Error: no options available

You sigh. You really need to do something about these errors. You nod,

“Sure. Let's go.”

…

The bakery was warm, and lively. As soon as you entered, the faintly sweet smell of pastries and the waft of coffee enveloped you two. You gawked at the mesmerising scenery, while Sunday asked for an available booth that's more hidden from the public eye.

The seats were soft, and pliable as you took your seat, still taking in the view of the bakery. You hear Sunday clearing his throat and tapping the table, your gaze shifting to him. He points to the menu. You understand his cue and take to reading it, your eyes scanning the plethora of options as Sunday does the same.

“Have you.. been here before?”

“I have visited once in the past. With my sister.”

“Ah, how is Robin?”

Your eyes settle on a particular option, as the silence between you two fills with comfortable conversation,

“She has been well. Are you looking forward to her performance at the coming Festival?”

You blink as you realise. How could you forget? The entire reason you and the rest of the crew even came to Penacony! This was the guy who was gonna put everyone into a coma!

“O-Oh, uh, yes! March has been talking non-stop about it, so..”

You chuckle awkwardly, flustered as he caught you a bit off guard. He hums, his face indifferent and neutral as your words process in his mind.

“I suppose I shall expect you in the audience, then?”

“March will drag me to the front, so you'll probably get a clear view of me in my uncomfortable glory.”

That seems to elicit a small, soft chuckle from him, as his eyes land on a specific item on the menu, seeming to have decided his own liking.

“Very well. I'll look forward to it.”

Soon enough, a waitress comes up to the table, and begins taking your orders.

–

“It does seem a tad scary, but the view is always beautiful in the Astral express.”

“I'm sure of it. It sounds wonderful.”

Sunday listens to you dutifully, as you continue talking. Somewhere along the way, your discomfort at the awkward silence between you two led to you talking and filling in the silence, your coffee cup hanging idly in your hands. One thing led to another, as both of you started talking about your childhood memories, tea flavours, desserts, and so on. You find Sunday has been easy to converse with. You'd been ignoring the constant buzzing of your phone – most likely achievements or quests that popped up constantly wherever you went.

You take another sip from your coffee as Sunday takes his initiative to talk, listening to him well, and chuckling slightly at one or the other thing. 

“I came to know tea is supposed to be made with hot water, but by then I'd gotten accustomed.”

You giggle, slightly in disbelief,

“Well, do you like iced tea now?”

Sunday shakes his head,

“I prefer coffee, more than that. Perhaps due to needing it more than a preference..”

His eyes trail to your cup, as you hold it in your hands. You follow his gaze,

Is something wrong? He'd been glancing at your cup a few times now, but you didn't comment on it before.

“Is.. something wro–”

Your words are cut off as your phone loudly rings, making you almost fumble and drop your coffee as you hurriedly take your phone.

It's March!

Crap, you forgot.

“Sorry, I uh..”

You scroll through the plethora of notifications, almost all of them missed calls and various texts.

“It seems your companions were searching for you.”

You look up, as Sunday looks into the distance, Stelle and March running towards you.

–

It was strange how things progressed since you came to Penacony.

Some of your equipment took ages to level up, the others taking barely anything before they hit their maximum level. Your friendship level progressed pretty highly on some days, and barely moved an inch on other days. 

Your friendship level with Sunday, on the other hand, shot up to a 5. Not even anyone on the Astral Express had that level.

You only noticed it a fraction before you cleared all your notifications at once, swiped away before your finger had the chance to tap on it. 

Regardless, that wasn’t your exact concern as of late. The story of Penacony had been well under way now, and things were starting to pick up. 

As of recent, you haven't been able to remember the quest contents as much as you used to, only remembering enough in the last moment to avert an extremely bad decision – at least for yourself. Your own personal missions left you alive by a hair's breadth.

But if that didn't upset you – your crew did. The pressure of everything happening on Penacony seemed to have started to weigh down on your team, as they barely regard you anymore. You could technically blame it on the system – it's been trying desperately to revive and fix itself as the game progresses. You might be interfering with the inner workings, so you suppose it's only natural the game tries to limit your interactions with the world.

So for the most part, you've resigned yourself to be an NPC; walking around all of the tourist attractions, getting who knows how many cups of coffee, trying on various clothing items, and occasionally running into Sunday. The first few times, you awkwardly fiddled with your phone for optional dialogues, but as time went on, you felt more comfortable. Regardless, it's not like anything you say can technically avert him from his current plan. It's been in the schemes for who knows how long? As of now, it's less complicating to remain ignorant and act unknowing, and enjoying another walk with him as he surveys the Dreamscape. Considering how close you two might be getting, you'll probably end up telling him a few secrets from your past.

-

“The Grand theatre is Penacony’s main attraction.”

Sunday’s face is illuminated by it in the distance, as he stands, staring at it. His voice is barely audible, seemingly as if he speaks to himself. But that idea is swept under the rug the moment he turns slightly to you.

When was this cutscene? You curse your memory, the fog of your mind still not cleared from when you first came to this world,

“Have you decided to attend?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to. Considering the story, you actually knew the event wasn’t going to happen. But in the case it did..

Options:

 □ “Ill be there first in line to enter.”

 □ “Im thinking about it.”

 □ “probably not..”

“..I have.”

You hesitantly answer.

“You haven’t made up your mind.”

Sunday states, more as a fact than a question. You can’t blame him, considering the hesitance apparent in your voice.

“..out of everyone, I’d hoped you would have attended.”

The options flicker and appear, but before you can press and respond, he continues,

“I understand. How has your family been?”

He turns to face you, you stay silent for a moment, before humming and clicking on an option,

 □ “They’re alright.”

□ “I hope they’re all okay.”

 □ “I wouldn’t really know..”

“Ah, uh.. we’re all kind of in our separate ways right now, so.. I wouldn’t really know.”

“I see.”

Both of you stand in silence, as you follow his gaze to the glowing theatre. After a moment, Sunday breaks his silence,

“When I was a child, I was particularly soft-spoken. Back then, Robin used to stand up for me frequently.”

Your ears perk up slightly. Is he talking about a childhood memory right now?

“One day, she wasn’t around, taking a few extra music lessons. The other kids were simply curious enough to take me in.”

You hum, listening to him intently. Your eyes gaze over his features – softly shaded by the cold light of the theatre, and illuminated by the yellow lights of the path.

“We were all kids. One of them pulled and broke my wing that day.”

You gasp, involuntarily. Ouch.

But sunday only chuckles at your reaction, his eyes downwards and distant. You don't think he finds it funny.

“But do you know? Right after that - they visited me. Day after day. Every step of recovery. Every recess when I had to sit back, they accompanied me. I thought about it recently. Humanity is worth saving.”

You stay silent, before smiling. The silence seems pleasant over you two, as you stare at the Grand Theatre in the distance.

“That, is when human spirit and strife first piqued my interest.”

You blink, and turn to look at him, the smile on your face faltering,

“What must the weak, the misfortunate, and the falsely accused do to gain balance within this world?”

You’re left speechless for a moment. It seems even the system cannot exactly provide you any dialogue options, as you glance over to your phone.

“..balance in the world isn’t achievable, which is why the human spirit strives to fix it.”

You stay silent, listening to him.

“Would a bird that cannot fly be allowed to, simply because it yearns to? Would it be righteous of you, or of the bird, to allow the freedom and death of the vast sky? Is it still righteous, if you withhold its freedom?”

He inhales, slowly, speaking in a low voice, wavering.

“Is death the only comprehensible freedom life offers, beside slumber, to the weak? Is that truly freedom?”

Sunday turns to look at you – his golden eyes almost searing into your soul.

You break out into a sweat, panicking as you check your phone, desperately trying to find an option when–

 System Error: options not available

Shit, shit, shit. Holy crap. Can you even speak right now?

You're left silently staring at Sunday. He stares back before resigning to quietly look away.

You should leave.

—

Your memory seems to be strangely affected – either because you haven't been able to adjust to the new world, or you just haven't been able to adapt to Penacony.

You groan and slump into the couch of your room, in the real world. You keep forgetting to charge your phone – which isn't technically a hassle; you can access the same menu options, it's just more.. time-consuming. Not to mention you lose your only source of dialogue option pop ups.

How long has this been going on? You knew Penacony had a vast and complicated storyline, but living it feels entirely different. Feeling it is entirely bizarre. No wonder your head's spinning.

But thankfully, it should end soon. Your last quest is to face off Sunday in his boss form. You and your members have decided to meet up at the Grand Theatre, where the event will take place.

You place your phone into charging, and right on cue, March pops up into your room. She stumbles around your room a bit the moment you turn your back, even hear her drop and accidentally knock over some items on her way, simply laughing at the girl, as you continue packing up and preparing for the final “showdown”. You disregard her words, when she tells you she felt something push her.

-

You're not sure when the next cutscene plays.

You're in the grand theatre; just having defeated Sunday, and collectively waiting to return to the Astral Express. This is when you meet Boothill and Black Swan, where she wakes you up using Misha as a fallacy within Ena's dream.

But you aren't waking up.

You've just been stranded in the empty grand theatre after the darkness lifted.

You try to turn your phone on – but its busted. March must have disconnected the plug when she stumbled across a few things.

You sigh, irritated and antsy, choosing to walk ahead and look warily at the mechanical statues. The quest description is empty; devoid of any explanation. The title is vague and doesn't indicate much. Are you stuck in the loading screen? What the hell is going on?

And just as you are about to shout out for help – Sunday appears. There he is, on the stage. But this time, there's no spotlight. He stares down at you, emptily. You're creeped out for the lack of a better word, feeling your skin crawl with every second he stares. The silence is paper thin and thickly dense at the same time; electrified with tension and the unknown.

He makes the first step, slowly descending down and towards you.

“You are an outsider.”

System error: cannot process dialogue

“You do not belong here.”

System error: cannot proceed further

“I do not belong here.”

System warning: further interaction in this context may lead to irreversible da–

Sunday's hand rips through the warning, causing it to glitch violently, and disappear. You're scared, your throat constricting and your heart almost lurching out of your chest as he continues walking towards you, eyes searing into your soul,

“We do not belong here.”

Beep!

 Options:

 □ We do not belong here

 □ I do not belong here

 □ You do not belong here

 □ We belong together

 ■ There is nothing else left for you here. You cannot turn back. There is no other option.

The screen glitches out, as Sunday stands before you, his hand reaching out,

“Tell me. What is your name?”

You can't access anything – the menu, the quests, your inventory, nothing. You stare almost endlessly in horror, as Sunday speaks of your real name.

You shouldn't have used it on that coffee cup.

-

[kaleldobrev]

Tattoos

Pairing: Felix Catton x F. Reader

Platonic Pairing(s): Venetia Catton & F. Reader | Farleigh Start & F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Felix Catton, Venetia Catton, Farleigh Start & Oliver Quick

Summary: Not only are you dating Felix and best friends with Venetia, the three of you have matching tattoos — something that Oliver simply cannot stand

Word Count: 967

Warnings: Voyeurism (briefly mentioned), Nudity (implied — as this takes place in the field), Unprotected sex (briefly mentioned/implied)

Authors Note: I love the little detail that Felix and Venetia have those matching star tattoos on their hands, so I came up with this little fic about how reader has matching tattoos with both Catton siblings (cause I honestly feel like that’s such a Felix and Venetia thing to do) | This is also my first ever Saltburn fic so I’m hoping that I was able to do the characters justice | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Oliver couldn’t help but stare at the small crescent moon tattoo on your ankle; the exact same crescent moon tattoo that both Felix and Venetia had — and in the exact same place — the right ankle.

He wasn’t…jealous, no that wasn’t the right word, but that was the only word that came to mind for him. He didn’t want a tattoo, was never a fan of them on himself, but, seeing you in particular with this tattoo was hitting him, hitting him harder than he’d particularly like to admit. You weren’t family — you were Venetia’s best friend and Felix’s…girlfriend. He understood the little stars that Venetia and Felix had — they were siblings and had an intense unique bond. But you…you were nobody to them less than 5 years ago. But here you here, the three of you with matching tattoos and you strutting around the estate like you were already a Catton.

He must have been staring in one direction for too long, as he heard Felix's voice calling out to him. "You alright there Ollie?" He asked, and Oliver found himself snapping out of whatever trance like state he had just been in.

“I’m f—I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound a little bit more confident than he currently felt in this moment.

When Felix spoke, not only did he turn to look at him, but you, Venetia, and Farleigh did as well. “Are you sure?” You asked, genuinely concerned about his well-being. Oh, how he despised how much you truly seemed to care.

"You've been staring off into space," Felix added. "What'ya staring at?" He asked, placing the lollipop he had been sucking on back into his mouth.

"Probably Y/N's ass," Farleigh teased, and you swatted his arm playfully; giggling briefly. Your laugh disgusted him because of how sickingly sweet it sounded.

"Farleigh, I'm sure he wasn't," you said defending him. You turned your attention to him, a soft smile on your lips. "Isn't that right Ollie?" You asked. He could barely see your face between the combination of the bright sun and your giant sunglasses that seemed to take up the entirety of your face, similarly to that of Venetia's sunglasses.

"Yeah, wasn't...staring," Ollie answered; his vocal tone sounding a tad nervous; and a little embarrassed. He wasn't looking at you, not in that way; you weren't the reason he was here, Felix was.

"I wouldn't blame ya Ollie," Felix began. "She does have a nice one," he finished, his voice almost sounding proud as he smacked your bare rear in front of the four of you.

You let out a tiny yelp; not the usual kind of moan you usually let out whenever he's heard you and Felix have sex. "Get a room you two," Venetia said, briefly glancing up from her book.

"We have a whole estate love," you winked; both you and Felix started laughing in response.

"Not when I'm still living here," she added.

"I second that," Farleigh said, chiming back into the conversation as he raised his hand in agreement with Venetia.

"Prudes," you mumbled underneath your breath, slightly teasing.

"Hey!" Venetia exclaimed. It was her turn to playfully swat you. "If anyone is the prude, it's little Ollie over there." She grinned. "Ollie, when was the last time you had sex?"

"V!" Both Felix and you exclaimed.

"What?" Venetia asked, her tone slightly clueless.

"You cannot just ask people that. It's a little rude," you stated.

"It's not rude. It's a perfectly fine question," she defended. "For example," she began, turning her attention to her brother. "Felix, when was the last time you had sex?" A smallish grin forming on her lips; as if she already knew the answer to her question.

"This morning," he responded all too quickly, and you swatted him on the chest, which caused him to smirk at you in response. Oliver knew all too well the truth in that statement, as he had a slight front row seat to yours and Felix's morning activities. He didn't see anything, but he heard everything as if he was in the room with the two of you. The moans the both of you let out, the dirty talk the both of you shared — performing in such a way as if the two of you were the only two in the entire estate. He wanted so much to see it, to open the bedroom door, he knew that the door would have creaked — pressing his ear against the bedroom door sufficed...for now anyway.

"Kinky," Farleigh smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

"All of you are ridiculous," you stated, closing your book as you started to slowly kick your feet in the air. "Don't answer her Ollie."

"It was before uni," he mumbled.

"What'ya say Ollie?" Felix asked, raising a brow.

"Before uni," Oliver said a bit louder this time.

Felix and Venetia exchanged looks before Felix looked at him with a slightly devilish looking grin. It was impossible not to love any kind of smile he would give. "For your party tomorrow, we'll get you laid. It'll be my birthday present to you."

"Kind of a lame birthday present, love," you teased.

Felix let out a small laugh. "You weren't complaining when that was a part of your birthday gift last year," he teased back. That's when he leaned in, kissing you in the most loving way possible; and Oliver actually felt like he was on the verge of throwing up looking at the two of you. He had witnessed the two of you kissing plenty of times, had witnessed snippets of you two being intimate in various ways, but for some reason, this particular interaction had almost set him off. Felix was so madly in love with you that it physically pained him to see it.

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[torchstelechos]

Do yall think about the ending of ISAT in any other characters POV? Cause I think about it so much, that must be buck fucking wild. Like, you get to Dormont after MONTHS of traveling with these people, you're feeling strong, you feel like you have a chance, so yall go separate directions to get everything done before the big day tomorrow and your buddy Siffrin goes to take a nap. You're like, ah! Classic Siffrin, so silly and nonchalant about everything, they never once thought we would lose. What a swell fella :). Then not even a full half a day later, more like a few hours later, he appears out of no where with a fucked up face and starts hitting you exactly where it hurts emotionally. No reason! You didn't do a fucking thing! They just fucking went for it! And now you're pissed cause that was a close friend of yours that you considered family, you're sad, you're mad, you dont understand what happened. You meet up with everyone at the clocktower early because apparently he did that to everyone! So good! Good! It's not just a you thing! You all talk it out and you all agree that maybe you should leave them behind tomorrow if they keep acting like this. Except. Except. They never came to the clocktower, they never came to talk to you about what happened and thats. Not acceptable. You need to understand what happened because after sleeping on it, why did he do that? They wouldn't ever do that to all of you, so something must have happened!

And then a Star appears.

And you learn exactly what has been happening behind the scenes but it doesnt make sense. But you know that your buddy just went to solo the house and you know they arent strong enough to do so, you know exactly what their level and strength and weaknesses are and the King is rock type! He's going to kill Siffrin if you dont go save them! So you start running through the house to go save them while the Star guides you, but the doors are all unlocked. There are ghosts everywhere. The hallways dont make sense. Something is broken, failing, and you are running out of time. so you climb up and up and up until finally you get to the final floor and then to the King's room expecting Siffrin to be a splat on the floor but. He's still alive, theres a chance! So you go and protect them from the King but uh, huh. The King is nearly dead? Siffrin almost solo'ed the King? A scissors type versus a rock type nearly won? And it was only a nearly and not a he won because Siffrin was frozen in time? What???? So you freeze the King, you save Siffrin, but they're injured and sick and have a fever so you try to take them to the head housemaiden to get healed but uh. Shes speaking nonsense??? Utter bullshit. Skipping, repeating, saying things out of order, and then she says you all can go home and everything falls apart around you.

Cause Siffrin? Yeah, your buddy who was being a tad bit of an asshole? And they just solo'ed the bad guy without you? Yeah, he's the last boss you need to beat actually. And they're huge! So big! You get ready for them to fight you, except he. Attacks himself. In front of all of you while crying. He's sad. They're hurting themself. You can not do anything but you start to connect the dots and you figure everything out. Then everything becomes normal again and they say what they wished for and hey! You wanted that too! So you hug them as he cries himself out and all of you are tired. That was a lot. They're craft tired and sick but they're okay. So you're happy and relax. They want to go back to Dormont, so you all go. Then THIS LITTLE ASSHOLE WALTZES OFF ONLY TO COME BACK INJURED TO HELL AND BACK???? He said he was going to go say thanks to that Star person, who you still aren't sure is a person but whatever, and then he comes back exhausted and clearly just used craft after being told not to?

And YOU STILL DONT KNOW HOW SIFFRIN BEAT THAT FUCKER AFTER SOLOING THE HOUSE, OR THE DEAL WITH THAT WEIRD SHADE IN THE SKY IN THE SHAPE OF SOME FUCKING WEIRD LEGUME. WHAT. HOW???? WHY??????????

Anyway I think about this a lot, it must have been a long and confusing two days from their POV

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

5528 words, 31958 characters, 321 sentences, 115 paragraphs, 22.1 pages.

Dick silently observed your sleeping form through meticulously concealed cameras around the room, a secret the family have kept even from Jason's knowledge.

He couldn't help but smile softly at the sight of you, cozily wrapped up in the soft woolen blankets he had masterfully orchestrated to be displayed on pop up ads all over your computer. Using Tim's hacking skills to flood your screen with countless ads for the snug blankets. He had spent months immersed in countless YouTube tutorials and enduring more pricks of his fingers from the knitting kits than he cared to admit. All in an effort to perfect the soft wool necessary to create the cozy blankets he observed you always instinctively seeking out when shopping, seeking to replicate that soothing comfort the same way your favourite sweaters did.

Dick waited quietly for over twenty minutes behind the front door, his phone held in his hand, with a soft grin playing on his lips. He knew the subtle creak of the wood would rouse you from your sleep, and he prepared himself to be the first thing you saw upon waking up.

Grayson couldn't help but coo softly as he observed you, looking around in confusion. You were so adorably clueless without your siblings to guide you, like a lost little bird.

He softly taps his knuckles against the door, but flinches backward as the wood creaks loudly, creating a resounding echo. He quickly checks his phone to see you flinching, and hisses under his breath, "Damn it."

He quickly flicks the app and pockets his phone, fiddling with his clothes to look perfect for your little outing.

After another five minutes of patient waiting, Dick drops his smile and knocks again, this time in a more rushed manner. He can't help but feel just a tad bit impatient, his fingers itching to see you.

He hears a soft thump and a low hiss followed by a curse, and Dick has to stifle a soft, amused chuckle. You must have toppled off of the couch, quite ungracefully, if the muffled cursing is any indication.

He glances down at his watch, noting the time - 01:24 PM. He muses mentally that there's still a good hour remaining before the reservation, plenty of time to coax you out of your cosy apartment and into some suitable clothes.

Dick hums a soft tune to himself as he waits, his fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the anxiety ring Tim had gifted him for Christmas. The fond smile on his lips widens as his deep ocean eyes crinkle with the gesture.

He straightens up, smoothing his hand delicately down his shirt as his gaze zeroes in on the door handle, listening intently to the distinct click as the lock disengages. A soft, sincere smile graces Dick's face as the door swings open to reveal you, disheveled and bleary-eyed. He can't help but find your drowsy appearance endearing.

Grayson’s voice comes out gruff and deeper than intended as he utters a soft, "Hey..." in greeting, the sound catching in his throat for the briefest of moments. He quickly gathers his composure, clearing his throat as he takes in your sleep-rumpled appearance. You looked even better in person.

The fond smile on your face was causing his heart to race. His baby bird. So grown up...

“What are you doing here so early, Grayson?” Hearing you speak jars Dick out of his thoughts, and he quickly runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth it back into place. He can't help but imagine you calling him "big bro," the thought causing his heart to skip a beat, and he mentally berates himself for it.

"I wanted to see how my favourite little bird is doing," he responds with a crooked smile, trying to play it cool. Or rather, that’s how he wanted to reply. Unfortunately, his attempt to play it cool is thwarted. He aims to reply with a casual nonchalance, but instead, his words come out as a spluttering mess. "It's already past one," he manages to utter, his voice cracking halfway through the words. Dick inwardly cringes at the voice crack, mentally cursing himself for faltering so visibly. “It's not that early.”

"I came to see how you're doing," Dick swiftly recovers, leaning casually against the doorframe as he explains his unexpected arrival. "Jason gave me the address," he quickly responds, noticing the confusion etched across your face. He mentally chides himself for appearing so flustered, knowing he needs to come up with a plausible explanation for his sudden visit.

It isn't until your brows furrow and the question leaves your lips that he realises he may have inadvertently revealed his connection to Jason. His mind races for an excuse, realising he needs to tread carefully to avoid raising further suspicion. He hates having to lie to his baby birdy. You deserve to know the truth. But he also knows that Bruce is keeping the information from you for a reason.

Dick can feel his body tensing up, and he forces a soft chuckle past his lips, trying to act casual and nonchalant. His mind is racing, searching for a suitable response to diffuse the situation before you can continue questioning him. “You could... definitely say that.”

Before you can react, the older man swiftly brushes past you, stepping into the apartment and moving deeper into the living area. His sudden movement leaves you momentarily speechless. He almost chuckles at the surprise flashed all over your face.

As you part your lips to speak he quickly steps in, his gaze darting all over your face, committing every little pore and feature to memory. “We’ve got our reservation in an hour.” The man can't contain his excitement as he moves further into your flat, his gaze darting around the room with a poorly disguised smile. He's inside your home, in civilian clothes, while you're awake. This is a moment he's envisioned countless times, and he can't help the sense of giddiness that washes over him.

Your mind races as you follow Dick further into the apartment. A reservation? You weren't expecting any plans today, least of all with Dick. Questions dance on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked, but the time constraint and the sense of urgency in his words makes it impossible to voice them.

"Dick, what –” he promptly interrupts you with a firm glance, but instantly softens when he sees the pout on your face. His expression quickly changing to a sheepish one.

"No time for questions," he grins, casting a fond glance in your direction before reluctantly shifting his attention to the surrounding apartment in search of something suitable for you to wear.

As Dick begins walking around the living area, he swiftly and efficiently sets about collecting a variety of clothing items. He snatches up a hoodie, a pair of shoes, and a jacket before adding them to the growing pile beside him. He carefully lays out the garments as he proceeds to plan your entire outfit for the day, as if he's already made up his mind about how you should look.

He maneuvers around the apartment carefully, avoiding any of Jason's clothes like second nature. He's all too familiar with the other boy's habit of leaving his belongings scattered around recklessly. He has no intention of stepping into the minefield that is Jason's mess. Rolling his eyes affectionately at the sight before him, Dick couldn’t help but find the scene slightly endearing.

His mind flicks through the various pieces of clothing he knows are in your closet, but he quickly shakes his head in dismissal. This will have to do for now. He scoops up the collection of clothes, folding them neatly and slinging the stack of clothing over your shoulder cheekily.

He takes a brief pause, his deep ocean eyes locking onto your own for a moment. Searching for something that he seems to find in your expression. A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before he turns away to begin searching the room for a bag.

You catch the clothes before they can fall to the floor, raising a quiet eyebrow as you look at Dick. "Are you asking me to change now?" you ask, your voice tinged with mild amusement. God, he loved your voice. He's mesmerized by the sweetness in your tone, the way your words seem to dance effortlessly off your tongue. He could listen to you talk all day, every day. It was like music to his ears. The sweet, hypnotising tone that seemed to always reel him in. His baby bird.

His gaze shifts to the area where he recalls seeing a bag on the surveillance footage from last week, when you had used it to buy some pet food. His eyes roam over the floor, searching intently for the bag he had spotted before. “Not particularly asking," A grin tugs at his lips as he spots the small backpack shoved underneath a chair in the corner. Triumphant, he moves over and picks it up, the familiar canvas material gripped in his hand. "It's more of a gentle suggestion."

He turns back to you, holding up the backpack with a victorious expression on his face. "Found the bag," he declares, throwing it towards you. Without missing a beat, he resumes his search, scannings the room diligently with meticulous attention to detail. His gaze doesn't miss a single spot, methodically checking every corner as if it were second nature to him.

"Why do we need a bag?" Your voice cuts through the room, causing Dick to shift his attention back towards you. He silently scolds himself, suppressing the overwhelming desire to croon at the innocent confusion in your tone. In his eyes, you're like a little lost bird, fluttering around cluelessly, desperately in need of guidance from your big brother.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his shoulders visibly relaxing slightly. He moves closer to you, bridging the small distance that separates you. Resting his weight on the back of a chair, his gaze locks onto yours. His voice is soft and tender, a gentle attempt to soothe your curiosity. "We just do," he reiterates gently, as if hoping to ease your confusion.

He leans in further, his voice taking on a more soothing tone. "Don't worry about it," he says slowly, his words meant to assure any anxiety.

His response leaves you frustrated, the vagueness doing little to satisfy your curiosity. Huffing in annoyance, you turn on your heel and stride down the corridor with purposeful steps. You march into your bedroom, closing the door behind you with an audible click, effectively shutting him out. Dick remains in the room, watching your hasty exit with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In his eyes, your childish huffiness was nothing short of adorable.

He steps forward and leans his weight against the side of the couch, a tender smile playing on his lips. He listens intently to the soft rustling sounds coming from behind the closed door, where you are presumably changing. Though he can't see you, he is intimately aware of your every movement, each shuffle of fabric echoing in the room like a secret. The closed door serves as a deceptive veil of privacy, one that holds little power in his eyes.

He continues to listen, his sharp senses picking up every subtle sound from behind the door. The soft thud of your footsteps, the quiet sigh as you pull on a shirt, the gentle whisper of fabric against skin. He can almost picture the way your body would move, and a part of him wishes he could see each motion, commit it to memory.

The desire that wells within him is not one of a sexual nature. Instead, it is a yearning for a deeper, more intimate connection. For the kind of trust that comes from being laid completely bare, defenseless. He longs for a moment when you are vulnerable before him, stripped of all defenses and pretences. Where you place unwavering trust in him, giving him the chance to truly cherish and protect you, to cherish the trust you place in him as you reveal your true self. It’s what he yearns for.

Dick's gaze flickers up at the sound of the door handle turning, his eyes immediately fixating on your form as you step out of the bedroom. The sight of you wearing the clothes he had carefully chosen fills him with satisfaction. Each piece fits you just like he had envisioned, and he can't help but admire the way the fabric drapes over your frame.

He casually pushes himself away from the couch, his gaze trailing over your figure with open appreciation. His smile widens as he moves closer, closing the distance between you until he stands within an arm’s length away.

He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing the fabric of your shirt, as if he can't help himself. "Looks good," he murmurs, a hint of pride and possessiveness in his voice. The words spoken lower than a whisper, as if he’s talking to himself.

“See, didn’t I pick the best outfit?" he teases, his voice gentle and affectionate. He reaches out to tug lightly on the sleeve of your hoodie, a soft smile playing on his lips. The fabric is smooth and soft under his touch, and he takes a moment to simply savor the feeling of it against his fingers.

He tilts his head in a subtle move, his gaze tracing over every contour of your face. His eyes rove over your features, meticulously cataloguing them in his memory. It’s an unconscious act, a silent check to confirm that you're alright, that you're there and safe. Just within his reach.

Dick looks up, instantly recognising the irritation in your stance. It's a sight all too familiar, one reminiscent of a certain Damian. Your arms crossed defiantly, like a petulant child. He can't help but let a sheepish smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "What's that look for?" he teases, attempting to dissipate the tension. He can almost hear Tim's voice in the back of his mind, commenting on how much you resemble the youngest Wayne.

Your eyes narrow slightly, the irritation etched deep in your expression. Frustration is evident as you shift uneasily on your feet in the silence that follows. The atmosphere feels charged, weighed down by the unspoken.

Finally, you cut through the tension. Your tone is firm, demanding as you address him directly. "Dick, seriously," you say abruptly, cutting off any attempt at banter. "Why am I changing? Where are we going? You're being ridiculously vague."

Dick lets out a resigned sigh, his smile faltering slightly under the weight of your direct question. He had been hoping to delay this conversation until later, but he's aware that your persistence won’t allow for any evasion.

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the neatly styled locks. His expression turns serious as he locks his gaze with yours. While the constant questioning can occasionally be irksome, he can’t help but find a certain charm in it, that endearing childlike curiosity that often drives you.

The answer is simple, stated as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going out.” It’s a straightforward statement, short and lacking in any further details or context. He preens at the way your face contorts in confusion. You looked cute.

You're about to question him, craving more details about the plan, but before you can utter a word, Dick interrupts. He holds up his hand, preemptively stopping any further inquiry. "And before you ask," he starts, his voice steady, "I can't tell you where." His gaze gleams with amusement.

His voice is steady and unwavering, carrying a firmness that leaves no room for debate. But deep in his eyes, a flicker of conflicting emotions dances - a mixture of concern and determination. Dick understands that he can't divulge everything just yet. He knows the truth has to remain hidden, cloaked in secrecy. However, as he gazes at you at this very moment, his heart clenches. It's difficult to keep the truth from you, to prevent himself from simply sweeping you away right in that instant. His contemplation abruptly comes to a halt as you take a step closer to him, closing the distance between you.

You let out a soft sigh, moving closer to him. Your arms are held out, your annoyance evident in the slight pout on your face. The action sparks a tightening sensation in Dick's chest, his heart reacting instinctively to the sight of you waiting with your arms open, an unspoken plea for affection.

Your pout brings about an immediate transformation in Dick. His manner softens, a fond chuckle escaping his lips as he recognises the familiar indication of frustration. In response, he pushes himself off the couch and moves closer, promptly wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him.

His embrace is firm and secure, an unspoken message of reassurance. His chest brushes against yours with each breath, a comforting presence. He pulls you against him, your body fitting perfectly in the space between his arms. Dick buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

He tightens his arms around you, drawing you closer to his chest. In another context, he would likely take the opportunity to tease you about your pout, a behaviour he always finds endearing. But in this moment, there's a sense of urgency that hangs heavy on his shoulders. A silent understanding flickers in his eyes, and he pulls you even closer, his breath warm against your skin.

He senses the tension that courses through your form, the frustration and confusion palpable in your stance. In response, he begins to gently run his hands up and down your back, trying to ease the anxiety that clings to your body. His fingers press softly into your skin, a familiar touch that he hopes brings a sense of comfort. At the thought of you being upset, he feels a wave of protective anger wash over him. After all, no one should hurt his little sibling. Ever.

Dick rests his chin on the top of your head, his eyes closing for a moment. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his, the rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart. He memorizes each sensation, committing them to memory.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He inhales deeply, the familiar fragrance calming his nerves. He can hear your own steadying breaths, the soft exhale against his chest.

Holding you close in his embrace, he murmurs into the softness of your hair, his words carrying the weight of sincere reassurance. "Trust me, okay?" he says, his voice resolute. There's no room for argument, only a plea for your unwavering trust.

He feels your response in an instant, your arms encircling him tightly and pulling him closer to you, their grip firm yet tender. As you look up at him, a small, tentative smile begins to form on your lips, the earlier irritation dissolving under the soothing presence of his proximity.

The furrow between your eyebrows softens, replaced by the hint of a smile. The stiffness in your frame begins to subside, the aggravation gradually fading away as he continues to hold you, his touch working its magic. You're blissfully unaware of the effect you have on him, each little expression making his heart swell.

A wave of warm affection washes over him as he gently pushes a strand of hair out of your face. His hand then moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the contour of your skin affectionately. His words, soft and soothing, break the silence. "Ready to go?" The image of you, nestled in his arms, is so vividly etched into his mind that he never wants to forget it. In that moment, you were his. His baby bird.

You roll your eyes, the gesture lighthearted and amusing. You lean your head into his touch, your features relaxing into a softer expression.

"I guess," you say, adding a touch of sarcasm. Despite the ambiguity and the unanswered questions, there's a sense of reassurance in being with him. The bond between you is deep-rooted. In that moment he knows that you trust him completely.

A wide grin spreads across Dick's face as you pull away, his arms dropping to his sides. The mixture of curiosity and subtle irritation in your eyes amuses him. He meets your gaze, his own eyes sparkling with a hint of his characteristic playfulness. "You'll find out soon enough; no need to worry." Even though the words are casual, the undertone of his voice indicates a barely concealed desperate urge to pull you back into his embrace.

He turns away, picking his jacket up from the back of a chair. He slings it over his shoulder, gesturing towards the door. “C'mon, we've got a reservation to catch.”

Dick leads you down a quieter street, away from the hustle and bustle of the main road. The ambiance of the area is distinctly more upscale, the shops and restaurants here a noticeable step above the rest of the city. A place he’s spent countless hours researching. It’s perfect for you, it’s got the food you like, it’s one of the lowest crime rates in the city, and the family has full control of the surrounding areas.

He guides you towards the charming little bistro, the soft light of the outdoor lanterns creating chiaroscuro patterns on his features. Dick can't help himself; his hand moves instinctively to tousle your untamed, bedraggled hair, a fond gesture of affection.

A satisfied smirk lights up Dick's face, his confidence evident. "Told you I've got this under control," he gestures toward the entrance. "Let's go."

Dick opens the door, gesturing for you to enter before him. The restaurant's interior exudes refinement, but he barely spares it a glance, his focus entirely on you as he allows himself to admire you.

Immediately, a sharply dressed host approaches, her spine ramrod straight and chin held high. Dick's voice is assured and unruffled. "Reservation for Grayson," he states, his manner self-assured and laid-back. The host already is aware, of course, but Dick is well aware he needs to keep you from posing any unnecessary queries.

The waitress gives a knowing nod, sharing a silent understanding with Dick. She affixes her most polite smile and phrases her question with a courteous tone, "The four-in-one show, is it?"

"That’s the one," he responds casually. The waitress nods in agreement and leads the way to the reserved area. Dick naturally gravitates toward you, his hand finding its way back to your waist, the touch both possessive and reassuring as he tenderly guides you.

The reserved area is tucked away in a remote corner of the restaurant, deliberately secluded from the main dining area. It's a cozy, intimate space adorned with soft lighting, a small circular table topped with sparkling glassware, and padded, inviting armchairs.

Dick courteously draws out your chair for you, waiting patiently until you are comfortably seated before taking his seat opposite you.

He hums, watching over you for a moment before the silence is broken. "What the hell was the waitress talking about?" you ask, leaning your cheek against your palm.

Dick gives a soft chuckle as he settles into his seat across from you, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You’ll see," he answers in a purposely vague manner, his eyes nonchalantly roaming over the leather-bound menu. However, his attention is not fully focused on the menu. His gaze drifts towards you as he steals furtive glances, observing every move you make with a hawk-like intensity that only an older brother has.

Dick observes your struggle for a few moments, watching as you squint at the small, intricate script scrawled across the menu. He can’t help but chuckle softly, the endearing sight amusing him.

"Struggling there, birdie?" he teases with a smirk. The name slipping past his lips absently.

"How can anyone read this?" He watches you toss the menu down, slouching back in your chair in frustration. Dick grins warmly at your disgruntled expression and reassures you, a touch of humor in his voice. "You get used to it," he informs you, the hint of amusement in his tone evident. "Reading these fancy menus is all part of the experience, y’know."

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the tabletop. He takes a moment to observe you as you continue to mutter and fuss, clearly not appreciating the fanciful script and intricate typography on the menu. Inwardly, he wanted nothing more than to gush over how adorable you looked with that disgruntled expression plastered across your face.

"Whoever made these is a sadist," Dick chuckles deeply, the sound echoing in the small, intimate space, making the air feel even more private. "You're right," he confirms, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "But don't worry," he assures you, a grin forming on his lips. "I'll step in to help you read the rest, if needed."

Your eyes narrow as you respond defensively. "I'm not a child. I don’t need help to read." the eldest brother clenches his teeth firmly, struggling to hold back a heated retort. he bites his tongue. But you are.

Dick expertly buries his inner thoughts beneath a veneer of false joviality, holding up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. His forced smirk attempts to mask his true feelings, as he replies in that charming manner of his. "Hey, I never said you did," he says smoothly, his tone still even and lighthearted.

"I was just offering my services as a personal menu translator," he teases, smirk deepening as you roll your eyes playfully, clearly enjoying your little bit of banter.

"You're cute when you're stubborn," he comments, the compliment slipping out almost effortlessly, like it's something he says every day. And when it comes to you, it really is.

Dick leans back in his chair, lifting the glass of water to his lips and taking a measured sip. A momentary silence descends upon the conversation as both of you stare down at the menu, each of you lost in your own thoughts. After a brief pause, he speaks up once again, the quiet finally broken.

Dick couldn't help but laugh again in response to your indignant hiss. Your defiant, pouty expression was just too adorable to resist, an almost complete 180 from your usual demeanor. "So," he asks casually, "finding anything interesting on there? Or is it all just gibberish to you?" You shoot a glare in his direction, muttering a frustrated "Oh, shut up."

"Hey," Dick returns with a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It’s not my fault you can’t read fancy, tiny writing." Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on the tabletop as he continues, his tone more earnest now. "Seriously, though, have you found anything you'd like? I can order for us if you'd like," the peace offering clear in his voice.

A small smile graces your lips as you finally set the menu aside. Leaning back into the chair, you place your arms over your chest and turn to Dick, addressing him with a faux-dramatic flair. "Alright, Mr. Fancy Menu Translator," you declare. "Surprise me." Dick grins widely, thoroughly pleased at your response. He lifts an eyebrow, savoring the moment before speaking again. "Challenge accepted," he replies, his tone filled with playful confidence.

"Surprise it is then." Dick chuckles softly, his gaze flickering over the menu, though it is clear that his attention is entirely on you, rather than the list of dishes. With a smooth precision, he signals for a nearby waiter and places your orders with expert ease. Once the waiter steps away, his gaze turns back to you, a proud smirk plastered on his face.

"Alright, you're in my hands now," Dick's smirk deepens, your name rolling effortlessly off his tongue. You roll your eyes dramatically in response to his conceited attitude, though inside you can't deny the quiet thrill it sparks in you. He always knew how to keep things exciting and engaging. "In your hands, huh?" you muse, arching an eyebrow in a faux-skeptical manner. "Should I be worried?"

The warm, cerulean depths of Dick’s eyes follow your movements closely, noticing the unconscious way you shift towards him, as if seeking out his presence. A wave of protectiveness washes over him, yearning to envelop you in his embrace and keep you safe forever. But he quells the urge, choosing to bask in the moment, relishing the time he has to spend with you. "Oh, I think you should be very worried.”

Grayson leans forward, matching your position and bringing himself closer to you across the table. In a soft, almost imperceptible gesture, he subtly brushes his knee against yours beneath the tabletop, the touch gentle and affectionate.

"But don’t worry," he adds, his tone shifting into something slightly more genuine. "I’ll take good care of you."

You grimace and let out a mock gag, dramatically clutching your stomach as a playful response. Your voice drips with sarcasm as you shoot back, “What, did you steal that from a soap opera?”

Dick feigns offence, a hand dramatically flying to his chest as he gasps dramatically. "Me? Steal from a soap opera? I’m wounded," he grins, his tone equally as sarcastic as yours. Nose scrunching up in extra flair. He revels in this moment, you were acting like true siblings would. He wonders if you somehow know, if you’re somehow aware, but he squishes down the thought.

"You’re supposed to swoon, by the way. That’s usually the natural response to such declarations.”

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply dryly. "I’ll be sure to swoon next time. Maybe I’ll even swoon so hard I fall out of my seat." Dick chuckles heartily at your retort, the sound deep and genuine.

"Careful there," he teases. "I’d hate for you to give yourself a concussion. I’m still enjoying my night." He reaches out to gently pinch your cheek before pulling his hand away, his smile still firmly in place.

You scoff at the action, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your cheek. A soft glare thrown his way. "Stop it," you warn, though your tone lacks any real seriousness. "You’re such a child sometimes."

Dick grins unrepentantly, clearly unworried about your 'warning.'

"You love it," he says, his tone cocky as ever. He has the smug expression of someone who knows exactly how true his statement is.

"I do not," he holds back a giggle at your huff. You narrow your eyes. "You're infuriating, you know that?"

Dick grins wider, clearly satisfied with your response. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh, I know," he replies, his tone smug. "But you love it, admit it."

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get me to tell you that.” You shoot him an unimpressed look, which Grayson shoulders almost too easily. He tilts his knee further into your own, seeking out your warmth.

"And if I am?" he responds, that cocky grin still on his face.

Dick leans forward yet again, the proximity between you decreasing with every movement. His intense stare remains unwavering, fixed intently upon your eyes. "Admit that you love it when I tease you," he murmurs, a hint of mischief in his voice, "and I’ll stop."

Dick can barely contain the storm of emotions churning inside him at the thought of you confessing your feelings first. His heart soars with elation and giddiness, his mind spinning with sheer joy. My baby bird. In his mind, he silently pleads say it. Please, just say you love me.

"Yeah, alright. Whatever. So what if I do?" You respond with a reluctant shrug, leaning back against the chair, feigning nonchalance. Dick's heart skips a beat, the nonchalant dismissal causing a surge of excitement within him. It takes all his self-control to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions bubbling up inside.

Dick grins widely in response, the triumph in his voice evident as he gloats. "See? Was that so hard?" he teases. "Admitting that you love my teasing." His smirk widens even further, the cocky satisfaction of knowing he has you wrapped around his finger all too clear.

He moves his elbow onto the table, resting his chin against the palm of his hand as he stares at you intently. A smoldering, almost intense look in his eyes, the playfulness in his tone masking the deeper emotions hidden beneath. "I knew you couldn't resist my charm," he drawls, his voice dropping even lower, filled with a mixture of smugness and possessiveness. You can't help but snort at his arrogance.

“Dick.”

Your voice causes him to pout involuntarily. The way you say it makes him think you're not actually calling out his name, and a frown momentarily mars his features.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features used, no gender mentioned.

Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony @nickey-diano @sociallyakwardpanda @obsessedwithromance @thickerthanthieves @nckcn @xxrougefangxx @th0rn118 @gaozorous-rex-blog @lyl-3 @wtf-am-i-doing-with-my-life-help @snowy-violets @atsukogikoshi @eyeless-kun @soriansick

[variousqueerthings]

okay I watched good omens s2 yesterday with my partner, and I was genuinely very surprised -- I think if you've grown up through superwholock/merlin/the 100/teen wolf type shows where (with the exception periodically of doctor who) you kind of had to make up the good show that something could have been in your head, that colours a lot of your viewing, and to be honest I thought season 1 of good omens was a fine little piece, honoured the book while modernising it somewhat, it was a nice, fun, low stakes time, with a couple of things I might have wanted a tad different but nothing overall awful.

so I was seeing all this meta and gifsets and discussion, while I was waiting to give s2 a watch with my partner and thought "ah, people have made up the good show in their heads again" not that I assumed s2 was going to be a bad show, but that people were taking extra deep plunges into possibilities, the way fandom does, and that was fine. I knew there was a big ol kiss, I had a sense of some kind of argument at the end, and that it was setting up a s3

I also knew that mainstream reviews were calling it (politely) self-indulgent and dependent on whether or not you enjoy david tennant and michael sheen having a good time for just under 6 hours

all in all, expectations of a somewhat mainstream show without too much to think about, a nice, fun low stakes time, moving on...

(EDIT: AND THEN I WROTE A LOT OF WORDS SO YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT MY REACTION WAS QUITE DIFFERENT)

as it turns out it seems these things that were being written on tumblr were discussing the actual text of the show and not things you could extrapolate if you squinted and tilted your head a little to the left as I'm so used to doing, so in fact there is much to think about!

and my first thought was "this is like when you read early discworld books that ask a question like a joke, only to find that over time the answer to that question becomes very serious (and also can be funny at times of course)." how terry pratchett would pick and pick at tropes and notions and social ideas and go "oh now hold on, this seems strange..." starting way back when he thought it was odd that women warriors always seemed to be dressed in metal bikinis and then realising he hadn't done a good enough job of subverting the trope, simply by depicting it and calling it a bit silly

why do goblins always get treated as the villains? what's with this divine succession of kings business? where are the female dwarfs? who do we treat as disposable?

good omens season one went: "haha what if heaven and hell were intensely incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring of the work they did, and we took an angel and a demon and had them actually care? wouldn't that be... a bit silly?" (and it was)

good omens season two went: "what are the consequences for caring when the people who have power over you are incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring? what are the forces that supersede systems built on fear, ignorance, and violent conformity? can people change and break out of/challenge/break down these structures by caring?"

and this was set up with a neat little sleight of hand (to reference aziraphale's switch-and-bait in the episode with the nazi zombies), because the majority of season 2 does feel a bit indulgent: hey, remember those two wacky angel-and-demon characters? watch some more wacky things they did through the ages, watch them take a sojourn through 1827 Edinburgh and do a magic show during the Blitz, and... stop the death of Job's and Sitis' children (actually maybe that whole segment ought to have been what they call "A Clue")

see them try to figure out a kooky mystery, all the while setting up a cute little same-gender romance on their street. watch as everything points towards a happy ending that's all about the two of them realising what they've been to one another all these thousands and thousands (and thousands and thousands) of years- but hold on. lest we forget - and the show has made this point over and over - there are powerful people who control them, who hurt them, and who plan on hurting others, throughout the whole season, and as it turns out they know what they've been to one another for far far longer, and know how to pull their strings...

season 2 then, has to show us these things, not because they're indulgent (well, maybe occasionally, but the apology dance is still important), but because in order to make the ending a tragedy, we first need to understand, properly, the impact that they have had on each other. we need to understand that Aziraphale relied heavily on Crowley to be his moral compass and leaned on black-and-white thinking in order to deal with things, because if it's all grey then where does he fit and what has it all meant and heaven has to be the good guys, even as Job's and Sitis' children are ordered to be killed, it's all he ever had...

and Crowley was always an anchor, needed to trust that Aziraphale was different, needed to bend to every whim that Aziraphale has, because otherwise what's his worth in all this? After having been already deemed worthless by the heaven that Aziraphale needs to believe in?

and that, simplistically described, is the narrative that we're seeing in s2, and alongside that the ways that the changes they have upon each other are noticed, and monitored, and placed under suspicion, and finally... broken up, not by the clumsy, brute force that's been attempted over and over again, but by a promise to return into a violent, controlling system and to "make it better from within"

and all of this is wrapped up in two queer relationships + a third queered-within-the-text relationship that creates the inverse of how it ends for Aziraphale and Crowley (so far). queer love -- whatever shape that has -- is explicitly the shape of non-conformity within this narrative, including within the symbolism of angel-and-demon love of Gabriel and Beelzebub, which in the context of the systems created is considered queer (and one can argue till the cats come home about casting cis actors, about angel-and-demon notions of gender/romance/sexuality, but the "queerness" comes from building something non-conforming to the systems they exist in), and enforced by the explicitly our-world-definition-of queer romance that Nina and Maggie have going on (which, while less high stakes, still contains the background controlling relationship that Nina initially is in)

all of this to say, that I disagree that s2 meanders, or that plotlines happen for the sake of showcasing Aziraphale and Crowley without purpose, or that characters get sidelined (I'd say it sets up a whole host of interesting characters to further get into actually), or that it's strictly mainstream easy-access narrative that's just an excuse for the main creators and actors to get back together.

the love is the point, and this show takes its time to show the love (and the unequal boundary-setting, and the fact that one of them has an undiscussed tragic backstory, and the desperation to belong again, and the fear instilled by oppressive systems, and and and), so that we understand why those last 15 minutes happen the way that they do

it's sleight of hand, and like all good magic, you don't notice until it's happened

[signedkoko]

Signed with Love - Helluva Cast

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤

Characters - Blitzo | Fizzarolli | Loona | Millie | Moxxie | Stolas | Striker | Verosika | Wally Wackford

Series Parts Hazbin Cast - Here! Overlords & Sins - Here!

Dear, Hey, Whats up

Oh what the hell, just be my valentine, we both know its about time I just fuckin ask.

I can't promise anything lavish, but what I do have is a kitchen and a comfortable couch. Maybe you can try showing me how to bake and we can eat what we make while watching some shitty romcoms.

Whatever makes you happy,

Oh come on, you know who wrote this.

Heeellloooooo!

I know you are usually the one to ask, but this year I wanted to change things up a little! Be my valentine?

While we could go somewhere crowded and wait forever for food, I thought maybe this year we could stay home, order a bunch of takeout, and spend time together?

And of course, I love you,

"Froggie"

Don't freak out,

I swear this isn't a ransom note, I just wasn't sure how else to ask you to be my valentine.

You know how we both wanted to go to the lovesick festival but ti was sold out? Well, don't ask how but I got tickets. Now we can go watch idiots get drunk and pass out in front of their girlfriends, and enjoy a bunch of our fav bands.

Outfit theme: Hot as fuck?

X Loona

Hi sweetie!

I know technically it's your turn for valentines this year, but I know you've been busy and I wanted to surprise you!

My parents called and told me they need someone to house sit while they are away for the week, so we could enjoy valentines on the ranch and I can show you my home! Especially the food and festivals I always tell you about.

Happy Valentines ❣

Millie

Hi dear ❣

Maybe it's getting old by now, but for yet another year I would love to have you as my valentine.

I don't know where I'd be without you, you make my hellish work at least a tad bit bearable and inspire me every day. I've already had to erase several rambles, so I'll save the rest of the sweet talk for the date. Just be ready in formal attire for 6, because we have a show to catch!

I'm sure you'll look amazing ❣

— Moxx

To the sweetest one I know,

I've been inspired by the books I've been reading to handwrite a letter to you, so you have something to keep for memory sake.

To have you by my side for another valentines is a dream come true, last year you pulled together such an amazing evening that I can only hope to outdo tonight. I would like to take you to see the stars, I know you've always asked and I believe it is about time.

Thank you for being mine,

Prince Stolas

Howdy darlin'

While originally I wasn't going to be home on time, I made sure to finish up this mission early so I can be there with ya for valentines. I'd call, but I know you swoon for romantic gestures, dontcha?

I'll handle all the details of our outing, just relax and don't worry your pretty head about a darn thing.

Can't wait to get home and see you again,

Who else?

Miss me?

I had to head out for a gig early, so sorry I couldn't catch you at the door before I left! I hope this note will suffice in the mean time.

Since I can't bring you, I have a limo headed to pick you up around five, that should give you time to get ready for the concert! Your pass is with the driver, and you've got front row seats, kay? I better see you cheering for me ❣

Happy valentines day,

Mayday 💋

Greetings, I say I say,

It's not everyday sheepish imps such as myself get such a heavenly opportunity to court a sweet thing like yourself!

For you, and you only my dear, I will spend such a lucritive holiday with my one and only. Should you accept, I am pleased to inform you that we have been invited to Ozzie's! Isn't he the kindest?

x x x x x x x

W. WACKFORD

Authors Note - Okay be honest with me WHO ARE WE ACCEPTING A LETTER FROM?? I gotta know,,, This is the last of the valentines series, I hope you all enjoyed!

[stevebabey]

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had — you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought. 

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt. 

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?” 

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.  

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it. 

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength. 

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone. 

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain. 

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly. 

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side. 

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves. 

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show. 

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies. 

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.  

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that. 

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie​ look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

[katz-rambles]

Aphrodisiac sex with Viktor has taken over my brain. So I'm gonna write about it 🤭.

My first Arcane fic!! Wooo!! I hope I wrote his character well!

(nsfw, fem!reader, use of aphrodisiacs, alcohol mentioned, masturbation, oral (fem and male receiving), dom-ish!reader, sub-dom!Viktor, Viktors a tease, friends to lovers?, I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

The night started out normal, enough. You went out with some friends for a nice girls night out filled with drinks and gossip, and it was an amazing night. You're relatively tipsy by the time everyone is ready to go home, it's about half past midnight, and the only thing you can think about is going to bed. That is until, about half way home. A sudden spark flows through your veins, creating a dull fog in your mind. Maybe you had a bit more to drink than you thought you did.

You've decided to walk a tad bit quicker to get home. A small apartment in the downtown of Piltover, it's a nice size and not too expensive, especially since you're sharing it, and the fact that there's only one bedroom inside just adds to the fact. You're just glad that Viktor doesn't mind sharing a bed.

You have to fumble with your keys for an embarrassing amount of time before you can actually unlock the door. It's silent inside the apartment, there's no sign that Viktor has already come home. Although, that wouldn't surprise you, ever since he and Jayce started to work on the Hextech, you've been seeing less and less of him in your shared apartment.

You push off a shower until the morning, it can wait a few more hours, it's too late. When you enter the bedroom, you almost scream when your eyes focus well enough to see someone sitting at the small desk in the room. So he is home, you rub your temples and sigh. He’s always staying up late. You don't want him to hurt his back, more than he already has, by being in such an awkward position all night. So you gently grab onto his shoulders to try and wake him up, his shirt has slipped and your palm rests on the bare skin, the warmth that comes from him could burn you. From such a simple touch that foggy haze fills your head once again, when Viktor is in a better position you'll get a drink of water. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and carefully shake him, a sad attempt to wake him. You would just carry him to the bed, you're strong enough, but you don't want to irritate his leg.

“Hey, Viktor.. are you awake?” You whisper, when you feel him stir. No response comes from him, but you're not going to give up any time soon. So this time you try a different method, you crouch beside him and lift up his head to try and see if he's awake, and he's not. Of course he's not. But you're determined to save his back from his hunched position. Each time you try something different and your hand makes contact with him, you can feel another spark flow through your veins and the foggy haze in your head gets stronger. Maybe this time you'll just splash him with ice cold water, but that'll probably give the poor thing a heart attack.

“Viktor, come on. You can't stay like this,” you groan and try to shake him awake, once again to no avail, and your feet are starting to ache from crouching in your heels for so long. At this point you're starting to give up, and you try to shake him one last time. Your hand rests on his waist this time, the other on his arm, you can feel the warmth of his body, along with his scent, a mix of oil, metal, and his shampoo that creates an intoxicating smell that you'll never get enough of now, from this position and, as much as you may hate to admit it, it sparks a dull throb in your core. “Vik.. please?” You shake him, trying to ignore the fire that's sparked inside of you, and this time he does wake up. A shallow gasp escapes from him as he pushes his head up and rubs the back of his neck. He lets out a low groan and looks over at you, the noise has you thinking about just how he would sound if you had your way with him.

This time it's his turn to shake you from your, not so innocent, thoughts, and he pushes himself up from the desk, now standing while you're still crouching. The position puts you at the perfect level that your thoughts start to wander again. “Just how much did you have to drink?” He chuckles as you stand yourself up, one of his hands reaches to press against your forehead, and it burns. You can't tell if it's him or you that's warmer, but the contact has a familiar pulse starting at your core. Just before he's able to say something you push his hand away from yourself. “Enough,” you reply, trying to shake the feeling away.

He scoffs and leans against the desk, and you can't deny how fucking hot he looks. His hair is messed up, his clothes have wrinkles in them, and his hands, god his hands, have traces of whatever he was using back at the lab on them.

You decide to take a shower now, maybe this way you can deal with the problem of your hormones raging like a horny teen. The warm water feels like it's been sent straight from heaven and down on your aching muscles, you can feel yourself relaxing under the water. You let your hand drift to your breasts and massage the flesh of one and then the other, feeling your nipples harden under your palm. Each touch you give yourself, you let yourself imagine that it's Viktor. You place your free hand over your mouth to silence your gasp when you push a finger inside your hole to find yourself dripping from such light touches. You curl your finger up to try and hit that one spongy spot inside you, and when you finally find it, you hope that your hand muffled the loud moan you let out. You slowly add another finger, wishing it was his instead of your own. You set a steady rhythm of your fingers, while grinding your swollen clit against your palm. You bit down on your hand in a sad attempt of silencing yourself, silently praying that the mix of your palm and the running water will be enough to not let your moans escape the bathroom. You start to speed up your fingers as you feel your orgasm get closer, desperately grinding against your palm for the friction you crave against your clit. Soon enough your orgasm crashes down on you, and you let out a loud moan. Now you're left panting from the aftershocks of your orgasm, yet even after that, the haze and pulse is still evident. Maybe you should just sleep it off.

The shower you had was relaxing and when you come out you find Viktor sitting up on the bed, with a book in hand. You crawl into bed beside him and lay your head onto the pillow, closing your eyes and relishing in the cold feeling of the fabric against your, still burning hot, skin. Even after a long shower the feeling hasn't stopped, and now being right beside Viktor, it's seemed to double. “Are you okay?” Viktor asks, when you lift your head up from the cold release of the pillow, all you can muster is a nod, if you open your mouth you're afraid you might just moan, you can feel his body heat from under the covers and his scent is evident in the bed. “I'm fine, Vik, think I just had a little too much to drink,” you laugh and rest your cheek on one of your arms, “but I'll be fine after a good sleep.”

Viktor sighs and lifts your face up, his hand holding your chin. He studies your face and you can feel your face heat up from his intense gaze. “Hmm, you don't seem fine. You're practically burning up,” he states. The way his accent sounds when he speaks has you clenching your thighs and hoping he doesn't see you doing so. He keeps your face in his hand for a few more seconds before he finally lets go, “maybe it was one of the drinks you had making you burn up.” He brushes some stray hairs out of your face and he shuffles so you're both laying down, he pulls your face closer to him and squints his eyes at you, before he can say anything else you pull him closer and kiss him, feeling his reciprocate the kiss just spurts you on more and you thread your fingers in his hair.

He rests a hand on the curve of your waist and when you feel it you pull away and feel yourself internally panic, “holy shit, I'm sorry. I have no fucking clue whats gotten into-” Before you're able to finish your scentance he pulls you back down and kisses you. His hand trails down your waist towards your thigh and he strokes the side of your thigh, occasionally giving the fat of your thigh a squeeze. “I told you. It was one of the drinks.” He mumbles against your lips and grabs your hip and pulls you closer, you take the hint and quickly climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and he groans when you grind down on his semi hard erection.

You pull away from his lips just long enough to tug his shirt off, quickly doing the same with your own, before connecting your lips again. You start to trail kisses down his jawline, towards his neck, leaving a kiss on his adams apple, and moving to the side of his neck to leave more kisses and occasional harsh sucks to form a mark, savouring the noises he lets out every time you do. Being careful to not hurt his leg, you move yourself down to trail your kisses lower and lower until you reach the hem of his pants. “May I?” You ask breathlessly and he chuckles, “you practically tore off my shirt, you think I'd say no now.” He scoffs, a teasing undertone to his words that causes the throb in your core to heighten. You pull down his pants and boxers to let him dick out, wrapping your hand around the base and giving him a few strokes before you wrap your mouth around the tip, licking up the bead of precum that's settled there. He groans and tangles his fingers in the strands of your hair, not pushing or pulling but just resting his hand there. You start to bob your head, making sure to tease the tip, relishing in the noises he's making, a mix of delicious groans and whimpers leave his lips and it spurs you on more. He thrusts his hips up and the tip hits the back of your throat causing you to gag around him, his fingers gently tug on your hair and when you look up at him he lets out a loud groan. You use one of your hands to reach down and rub your clit, matching the pace of your fingers with the pace of your head. He thrusts his hips up again, this time a little rougher, and you know he's getting close. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he pulls your head off him. “No, when I cum, it'll be inside you.” He says, and you whine at the loss of friction when you pull your hand away from your aching clit. He pulls you to him and kisses you, savouring the way you taste and groaning when he tastes himself on your lips. You pull your pants off and straddle his hips again, lifting yourself up and lining his cock up. You give him a few strokes and slowly start to sink down.

The stretch is delicious and you moan when you've lowered yourself all the way. He brings one of his hands to your thigh and rubs it, you place your hands on his chest and start to lift yourself up. You whimper as you do so, adjusting to the stretch. A few seconds of just having his tip inside you, you lower yourself back down and repeat, slowly getting faster and rougher with each bounce. Soon you're riding him, one of your hands is on his chest, supporting yourself and the other rests on Viktors hand that's squeezing your thigh. You speed up a bit more and he groans when he feels you clench around him, his head falls back onto the pillow. His hand leaves your thigh and he brings it up and starts expertly rubbing your clit, for a second you find yourself jealous of his experienced fingers.

“Viktor! Fuck.. please don't stop!” You moan and clench around him, his hips start to rut up to meet your bounces. You both know that you're close and you know you aren't going to last very long. Your moans start to become more frequent and at a higher pitch, one of your hands leaves red scratches down his chest as you feel your orgasm get closer. Your nails dig into his skin and you bury your face in his neck, biting down on the sensitive skin when your orgasm hits you, your pussy pulses around his cock and with a few more thrusts up he's cumming inside you, his muscles tensing and he's moaning.

You both lay with each other for a few seconds before Viktor speaks up, “do you feel better?” He chuckles when you nod, you're still panting and you rest your forehead against his, a sheen of sweat on you both. You whimper when you push yourself up and feel his softening cock slide out of you, the globs of cum that drip out of you make you whine. He grabs your hips and pulls your pussy closer to him. “I can't have you dripping on the bed, we just changed the sheets.” He groans and pulls you so you're sitting on his face, his tongue lapping at your folds and tracing your clit. You can feel the vibrations of him laughing when you squirm on top of him, his hands have a tight grip on your hips, ensuring you don't move too much. You thread your fingers in his hair, tugging on it as you start to grind your hips on his face. He ravages you, eating you out like a starved man. The curve of his nose bumps your swollen and sensitive clit deliciously and you pull on his hair at the feeling, when you do he groans into your pussy. He doesn't slow down or even hint at stopping as you can feel your third orgasm of the night creep up on you.

“Fuck! Viktor.. ‘m so close!” You whimper and grind your hips down on his face, the obscene slurping noises that come from him just fuel your arousal. You tighten your grip on his hair and your thighs tense around his face as your orgasm hits, your squirming as he helps you ride out your orgasm. He laps up all of your juices until you're trying to push yourself off from sensitivity. “There we go,” he sighs when you move off his face, he has a sheen of your arousal around his mouth and he licks his lips and smirks at you, “now you won't drip on the clean sheets.” You laugh and he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you, you can taste yourself on his lips and it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

“How did you know it was the drink?” You ask him, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with each word that leaves your lips. “Aphrodisiac, it was easy enough to figure out when you came out of the shower. You're not as quiet as you think you are,” He smirks when you groan at him. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, one of his hands rubs your back, drawing random shapes and figures, and successfully lulling you to sleep.

[hanchette]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ( wind breaker characters )

a/n: THAT BOOGIE BOOGIE BAM BAM MAKES ME WANNA SCREEECHHH togame my beloved <333 ty for the chibi jo @/togament!!! MWUA

consists of : fluff, comedy, gender neutral reader, established relationship — windbre boys and tiktok dance

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐉𝐎, “jo-chan! do some tiktok with me!” he'll have to take a bit of convincing to do it, togame likes it when you pester him actually, only you can pass his 'patience' test.

“eh? a dance?” he sniffs, a small contemplating pout present on his face as he takes a sip of his ramune. you took note of the flavour, it's blueberry. “please??” you looked up at him with a hopeful look.

“that depends, lemme see it first.” togame leans on you, pressing his chin on your shoulder, looking at your phone as you scroll through your socials in a hurry to show him.

hey boogie woogie bam bam!

a slow smile is on his face, “sure, but you gotta teach me how.” well, trying something won't hurt him. togame puts his drink down beside him, head still on your shoulder as he examines the video.

it didn't take long before your phone beeps into the rhythm, togame besides you as he moves his body like how you showed him to, a few sways and sticking the butt out at the end of verses. for a first timer, he sure is good with it. it makes sense since togame is good with his body too—fighting, of course.

let's go buddy buddy boom boom—!

you ate your own laughter, watching him through your phone as he wiggled his hips, butt sticking out to follow the steps you showed him. although the exaggerated movements makes him more dramatic. the glint of mischief evident in his gaze even with the tint of his sunglasses. he looks like a duck with his moves every time he swings his hip out.

“you're good!” you comment, smiling at him.

“hmm, one of us has to be.” he quipped, chuckling under his breath as he sends you a smug look. although it didn't matched the dance he's doing, sticking his butt out one last time. “if you say so!”

you fell into heaps of giggles.

𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄, say less, ume is by your side and ready. he's not that unfamiliar with tiktok but he never did something that's about it.

“sure!” he's ready to go! just be patient with him and teach him how to do it.

ume is not used to dancing, his body is a tad stiff and it's obvious.

you try to be patient, showing him how to move, “this is easy-peasy, i thought it'll be hard!” he mentions, swaying his hips to the beat. but the way he swings his hip out, it looks stiff as hell.

hey boogie woogie bam bam!

“right?” you decide to grant him the mercy, swallowing your laugh, how could you when ume looks so bright and having so much fun? his lips are wide and his teeth are showing, the exact epitome of joy as he enjoys it.

“what other dance do you have?” he knocks his hip with yours, and you follow, knocking with his, one bump in particular sends you down on the floor, your panicked self reaching ume as you pull him down with you.

“woah!”

his lips are near yours but that's not what really matters, “you good?” he smiles in concern. you nod, the fall not really hurting as the two of you fall into bouts of laughter.

“we should probably start again.” ume says, nodding his head to gesture at the camera that is still rolling on. you nod, agreeing with him but your boyfriend didn't move, looking at you with his still easy smile, reaching, you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him to your level to press a kiss on his lips.

he's too irresistible, it's unfair. you can try again later, there's always time for it.

“alright.. maybe later.” he complies, mouthing words against your lips, his smile never fading.

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐀 𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎, you shift on your position from laying on him to poking his side to catch his attention. you really want to see him dance with you.

sugishita peeked one eye at you, an apathetic look on his face despite you disturbing his sleep. if it were any other, he would've kicked them down to the floor already. “hey kyo-chan,” though there is no interest in his gaze, sugishita perked up at the mention of his nickname which only you can call him.

you showed him the video to which he raised a brow at you, still not lifting his head up. “can we dance this together?”

he's silent for a moment.

for a few.

sugishita closed his eyes once again. “kyo?” this was what you wanted? this is what disturbed his sleep??

he groaned in response, lifting his head up. he nods, sure, anything for you. though that is left unsaid.

one thing about sugishita is that he never half ass anything, he'd be damned if he does, plus, he's your boyfriend, of course he won't half ass anything.

what a sight it is, looking at the lanky man with you, swaying and dancing to the music that blasts through your phone, his movements in sync with yours and even with the slight frown on his face, he looks so cute!

“wow! kyo-chan you look so cute here!” you rambled, waving your phone and replaying the video again.

sugishita sighed through his nose, looking at your giddiness. well, it was worth it. his lips twitched, smiling softly as he looks at you.

yeah. it was.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐊𝐀, he looks away from you, face scrunching up and a prominent blush on his face. his romance sensor going haywire. doing a dance with you..

sakura trailed off from his thoughts, remembering how the dance is. it's embarrassing and yet.. “that-!” he's hesitant, gulping down the saliva stuck in his throat.

“it's fine if you don't want to, haruka.” you don't want to force him to do something he doesn't want to.

sakura didn't push any further, but you can see how his lip pursed even more. maybe he really doesn't want to, is what you thought, smiling at him in understanding.

a few days later, you entered his home, for you, it has become a second home and of course, your boyfriend didn't mind you coming in and go, so you closed the door, searching for him until you hear little tap tap tap on the wooden boards.

“hm?” you peeked through his room, seeing your boyfriend, his back on you.

he's dancing..

dancing?!

and the steps are familiar, his hips swaying from one side to another, hands swinging with each movement.

“boom boom..” you hear him muttering under his breath before he clicked his tongue when his hip didn't fall to the beat, ah, it was the tiktok you showed him before.

turns out, sweet sweet sakura is performing it, perfecting it.

“haruka?” you interrupted, a smile now on your lips.

“huh?!” caught in the act of dancing, your boyfriend turned red. you can say he was caught red-faced.

“t-this isn't what it l-looks like!!” sure it does.

[milksnake-tea]

hello! congrats on your 1k followers, u deserve it! may i request for dan feng + fluff prompt 9 … maybe smt similar to ur dan feng fic? vidyadhara!reader?

this ask might be late and u don’t need to do the suggestions but i’d like to say that your writing always makes my day, keep it up! 💗 and again, congrats!

thank u!!

❀ ˎˊ- prompts: It's raining outside, and when you see them completely drenched, you immediately offer them shelter. ❀ ˎˊ- 1k followers event ❀ ˎˊ- character: dan feng ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: none !! ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: AIYEEE THIS WAS SO CUTE GOT ME KICKING MY FEET AND ALL <33 also thanks for the congrats !! sorry this was so late lol, i hope the fic makes up for it! also context, dan feng and reader are friends here, but reader is a different reader from under the lotus leaves <3

Rarely does the Luofu see rain.

As an artificial planet, a man-made home that basked in the light of an artificial sun, the weather was very closely monitored and controlled. For a sudden storm to arrive either meant that someone higher up was having an off day, or the A.I. had decided that perhaps the Luofu was a tad bit dehydrated.

Still, it doesn't make it any less irritating to you, a civilian who wasn't informed of this sudden decision.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Of course it had to rain on your day off. You'd planned to have a nice, easy day outside of just strolling through Aurum Alley, but that plan was now out the window.

Oh, well. Nothing you could about it now.

Gripping your grocery bag closer to you, you held your free hand towards the sky. Water swirled around you in a mystical dance, the rain droplets stilling as if frozen in time. Soon enough, an invisible umbrella formed above your head, your hand keeping there in place.

It was times like these that you were grateful for your cloudhymm abilities. You stepped out into the drizzle, perfectly dry amongst the crowd.

As you neared your home, you faltered when you saw an unexpected figure taking shelter under one of the many overhangs.

"Feng'er?"

The man in question flinched upon hearing your voice. Immediately, he turned away, embarrassed to be found in such a disheveled state.

"I... I'm fine," he stuttered. "Just... caught off guard."

You sighed, taking in the sight in front of you. Dan Feng's robes, so pristine and regal, were plastered against his body, soaked beyond what you'd thought was possible. His hair plastered against his skin as he wrung out what he could.

"Feng'er, with all due respect," you stepped closer, "you look anything but fine."

Dan Feng glared at you from the corner of his eye, but you weren't intimidated. You worked in customer service, after all.

You held out a hand. "Come here, my house is nearby. You'll get sick if you stay drenched like that."

Fire swirled in his eyes as he looked at you, wavering between pride and safety. Amongst the pouring rain, that turquoise hue glowed like flames, an ironic contrast to his abilities.

Eventually, his desire to get out of the rain triumphed over his pride. He reluctantly took your hand. You pulled him under your makeshift umbrella, your hand held high above the both of you as you led him to your home.

The walk there was quiet, save for the soft patter of rain and the curses of those caught within it. Left with nothing but your thoughts, your eyes began to wander. Soon, they landed on the hair of the High Elder, still wet and glossy despite Dan Feng's efforts to dry it.

"Hey, Feng'er," you spoke out into the silence, "can I ask something?"

Dan Feng contemplated it for a moment. "You may."

"You also wield cloudhymm. Why not use it to dry yourself off instead of, well..." You didn't need to go on.

The tips of Dan Feng's ears lit up in red. He quickly averted his gaze, but your eyes were quick enough to catch the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I..." He coughed into his fist. "Yingxing, he claimed that I couldn't go a day in my life without using magic."

"Ah." You couldn't help a snicker sneaking out, but you were quick to disguise it as a cough. "Is that right?"

"Yes," Dan Feng sighed in exasperation, crossing his arms. You smiled. His ears seemed to burn brighter now.

"To think you'd take the words of a short-lived so seriously," you mused. "Your stubbornness will be the death of you."

"Better to die than to let that arrogant mortal insult me so carelessly."

"Right, right, of course," you nodded. "We can't let the dignity of the High Elder be tarnished."

You felt a hard blow to your back, not hard enough to hurt you but certainly enough to make you stumble. Looking behind you, you saw Dan Feng's tail dart out of sight.

"Feng'er."

Dan Feng closed his eyes, evidently choosing to block you out. You rolled your eyes.

"Try that again and I'm leaving you next time."

Your friend chuckled.

"No, you love me too much to abandon me."

You kicked him into a puddle.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[sexydoffyman]

König protecting female reader from a strange man at a bar?

SAVIOUR

genre: fluff

characters: König

A/N: Requests appreciated!🐡

You were at the bar completely alone. It was just a normal Saturday night. You were hoping to get a tad bit drunk and go home. You didn’t want to socialize with anyone or get hooked up. No, you just wanted to get a drink. Unfortunately, the guy who was staring you up and down the whole night had other ideas.

You didn’t notice him before. He was quite the average man. Had short brown hair. Wasn’t very tall, but also not very short. He had casual clothes on. A bit of facial hair. His shirt was a band T-shirt, but other than that, nothing was so interesting about him that would make him stand out.

You were getting ready to leave for tonight, and that was when he approached you. “Hello, beautiful. May I buy your drink?” He asked. “Oh. No, sorry I’m actually leaving right now. Thank you though.” You declined his offer, thinking that that was all there was to it. You thought that he only wanted to buy a drink, nothing more. Oh, how wrong you were.

“Come on, just one drink. I’ll buy you anything you want, promise.” You thought it was normal. Maybe, he just found you really attractive. But you didn’t care. You were done for the night. “No thank you. Have a good night.” You told him while getting up, ready to leave.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your wrist. He had a firm grip on you. “Hey, come on, stay with me. Let’s enjoy the night together, pretty girl.” You felt shivers running down your spine. He shoved you back onto the chair you were sitting on before. You tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip. But you were hopeless.

He put his hand on your thigh, talking to you almost seductively. “You’re gonna go home with me tonight, whether you like it or not.” You felt your blood run cold. You froze in place. What were you supposed to do in this situation? You felt trapped.

You were thinking of a way to get yourself out of the situation. You thought of a good plan. If you could just tell him that your husband is waiting for you, he would surely let you go.

You opened your mouth and were ready to speak. But before you could say anything, you got interrupted. “Who do you think you’re talking to, young man?” It was an older voice with an Austrian accent. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his presence. You looked over your shoulder to see this mountain of a man standing behind you.

The creep was as surprised as you were. As man got closer to him he repeated himself. “Who do you think you’re talking to, young man?” He said again. The creep let you go immediately. “Sorry mate. Didn’t know you were dating.”

He stood up to walk off, only to be met with a punch to his jawbone. You swear you could hear the bone crack. You were still taking in what just happened. Then he interrupted your train of thought again. “Do you need a ride home, Miss?” You looked at him. You were quite sceptical because of everything that happened, but it was really late at night. The streets were dark and the area you lived in wasn’t very safe.

You nodded at him, signalling that you want to go with him. Your prince in shining armour led you to his car. Thankfully, he dropped you off at your house without any problems. You thanked him for the ride and he opened the door for you, letting you go. Before you started walking, he gave you a piece of paper.

“Call me” with his number attached.

[the-s1lly-corner]

could I request creepypasta x reader who can take their head off

Various crps x reader who can take their head off

pretending that i didnt tear up the roof of my mouth while eating my dinner shhhshhhh ignoring that my bottom front teeth rest on the roof of my mouth right where its all torn up thus making me hyperaware and by extension making me clench and grind subconsciously characters: jeff the killer, laughing jack, ticci toby, eyeless jack notes: reader is gn, reader isnt really human but theyre written to look human, focusing on first reactions cws: none unless you found taking ones head off as body horror? does it count? im not sure tbh.. mentions of anatomy and stuff in ejs part.. canon typical violence

LAUGHING JACK

finds it so cool, entertaining even... i like to think that he has "clown physics" to him, but im unsure if being able to dethatch limbs would be one... if he cant take his own head off hes going to be a tad bit jealous of you

sometimes yoinks your head and holds it up to his height so you can "see the world from his perspective", this is more likely if youre significantly shorter than him

if you allow it hes going to juggle your head or even "go bowling" with it... you... may get dizzy though, so agree with caution

if your head is loose and has a habit of falling off hes going to take it as a win if it falls as you laugh at one of his jokes

EYELESS JACK

honestly? not all that phased by your little party trick, at least hes not grossed out by the clear view of your necks insides- hes seen those plenty of times... both in the form of images as well as in person when hes needed to silence someone

that said looking at in tact neat remains is different than seeing it all messed up or in a diagram, so if you dont mind he would like to take a look at least once... totally not making notes for future reference

not many questions otherwise, surprisingly... i mean hes a man eating demon of sorts who mostly gets nutrients from eating the organs of humans- he doesnt have much place to ask you what you are exactly or what caused this sort of thing to happen

doesnt ask you to show off your trick, finds no interest in asking you to take your head off and goof off with it unlike some of the others

TICCI TOBY

oh! thats his partner taking off their head.... OH! THATS HIS PARTNER TAKING OFF THEIR HEAD- he... genuinely needs a second to process what hes looking at because it catches him so off guard, you only told him you had a party trick to show him

lots of questions, main one being how and why- were you not a living human this whole time? a little betrayed that you didnt tell him sooner, actually- and even if you did, why didnt you show him this sooner?

traces his fingers along your neck where it separates, after you put your head back on- even more impressed if theres no mark left behind

like jeff, hes going to try to get you to play some jokes on people- though its likely hes going to pull them on masky and/or hoodie

sometimes carries your head around with him while hes working- ignore how morbid of a sight thatd be..! he just wants some company without making it too obvious!

JEFF THE KILLER

stares wide eyed for a few seconds... ignoring that he doesnt have his eye lids anymore so hes always looking at you wide eyed-- thinks he may have actually lost it for a second before cracking up

probably one of the last things hes expected you to do but hey, he thinks its pretty wicked!

oh hes definitely going to try to get you to use your quirk to scare some unsuspecting people who are walking around- perhaps do it late at night for some added effect? and if they lash out he can always swoop in and come to your aid

will push your head off of your neck if youre being a smartass or generally lightly getting onto his nerves- not a hard push, but enough to knock your head loose

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

can you do mike schmidt x reader with abby trick-or-treating?

NOTE: This takes place after the movie

........

"Come on, slowpokes! Keep up!"

"Abby, don't go too far!"

"Relax, Mikey. She's just going two houses over. There's other kids already there. See?" You calmly pointed out the decorated home that Abby was rushing towards, disappearing into the crowd of kids who complimented her costume.

She was dressed as her "friend": a yellow version of Freddy Fazbear complete with a mask she painted, a yellow undershirt, and a black vest that was a tad bit too big for her.

Curiously enough, she removed one ear from the mask and covered one eye with black paint. But it didn't bother either of you too much, thinking she wanted to do something unique and creative with her costume.

Considering everything that happened at Freddy's Pizzeria, you were surprised that she wanted to dress up as one of the characters at all.

Yet neither you nor Mike recall ever seeing a "Golden Freddy". Not even backstage.

But you did, however, meet a golden Bonnie...and the person wearing his suit was none other than the bastard who murdered those poor children, including Garrett.

You just hoped their souls were finally at peace now, and that William rotted away in that suit, never to be found again. It was a rather fitting punishment--the perfect karma someone as sadistic as him.

Sometime later, you started dating Mike after you both officially quit that job, found something new to save his home from eviction, and helped him regain custody over his sister (Doug was more than eager to write you both off as her legal guardians).

He still had his nightmares, of course, that now involved visions of a decayed Springbonnie suit chasing him through that same forest. But you were always there to wake him up, cuddling together and helping him fall back to sleep without needing to down a bunch of pills.

He's genuinely been trying to depend on them less and less. Abby notices it, too, and has incorporated you in her drawings now, standing beside her happy-looking brother.

It's her own way of saying "thank you", and you accept it wholeheartedly.

When Halloween rolled around, you and Mike got too work decorating the house, surprising his sister after you picked her up from school. She did mention how he used to do the "bare minimum" before you came along.

And by that, she meant that Mike only ever put a jack o'lantern outside, a bowl filled with cheap candy, and a sign that said "take one".

Well this year...you made sure to buy better candy bars for the kids this year and add the finishing touches to the outside of the house. After that, you both took her trick-or-treating.

While she was occupied at the current house, you and Mike stood back to admire all the decorations and other costumes people were wearing.

"I honestly thought that whole near-death experience with the robots would've scarred her for life, but...she's been doing better." He remarked. "A lot better. It's like nothing ever happened."

"Well..she did help those kids find justice. They never knew their killer was standing right in front of them..they just needed that little push to finally recognize him."

"I'm surprised she hasn't told the whole story to her teacher yet."

"...because she knows we'd probably get some phone calls about that." You chuckled lightly, squeezing his hand.

Then you noticed Abby leaving the house, running down the steps and about to cross the street to reunite with you-

"Hey, hey, hey." Mike let you go to put both hands out, and she stopped in her tracks, mere inches from the road. "What did we talk about before we left the house, Abs?"

"...look both ways before I cross the street?"

"Exactly."

Huffing, she quickly glanced to her left and right, deeming it safe to cross. And only then did she resume her sprint, removing her mask once she was in front of you. "[Y/n], look at all these chocolate bars I got so far!"

You looked into the pillowcase, nodding in agreement. "Wow, you did get a lot! I sure can't wait to gobble them all up when we get home." A coy smirk appeared on your lips, watching her eyes widen in shock.

"Nooooooo, they're mine!" Protectively holding the sweets to her chest, she pouted and looked to Mike for help, yet he simply shrugged.

"I dunno, Abby.." It was hard for him to hide his own smile. "[Y/n] and I gotta make sure they're safe to eat, so we're gonna take one bite of every single bar-"

"Now that's just cruel!" She stomped her foot.

"We're only joking, sweetie." With a chuckle, you ruffled her hair, watching as she put her mask back on. "I think the next street over has a little haunted house maze. Do you wanna go check it out?"

She perked up and nodded in response, heading down the sidewalk with a spring in her step. You linked arms with Mike and followed her, looking around at the rest of the decorations.

But your eyes soon lingered on your boyfriend's soft brown ones, and he gazed back at you for a few moments. "What?"

"Nothing." You shook your head, smiling lightly. "I'm just...glad to be with you."

"So am I." He kissed you on the cheek. "Thank you, truly..Abby deserves a good Halloween."

"I think we all deserve a good one."

Unbeknownst to the three of you, there was a peculiar figure standing across the way. He was hanging out near the trees, almost perfectly blending in with the surrounding darkness so that nobody else could notice him:

A large mechanical bear with dirty yellow fur, one ear, and one glowing blue eye, smiling fondly at Abby and her costume.

It's good to see that she had not forgotten.