#where one can wonder if these people had hearts

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: child support

John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.

Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?

So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.

He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.

"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.

"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"

"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.

"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.

Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.

John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."

"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.

"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."

The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.

"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.

It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.

Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.

"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"

Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.

"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.

Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.

[norikuna]

you've reached norikuna's masterlist / minors dni! compiled jan. '25

𓂅⭒ ִ fics 𓏲 ִֶָ

GOJO SATORU.

she told you that she celibate, she told me i could nail her shit — college!au, friends to lovers, nsfw ᵎᵎ you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

just meet me at the apt! — hookup/strangers!au, sorcerer au! nsfw ᵎᵎ your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

i love you so matcha — fluff, angst, sfw ᵎᵎ green was the color of life, and gojo satoru, in all his contradictions, carried life in the way he loved recklessly, laughed shamelessly, and held you like the universe began and ended with you.

cream soda — rivals to lovers! nsfw ᵎᵎ you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right? what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

i love you, i'm sorry — ex!reader, angst, suggestive ᵎᵎ gojo was always charming, maddening and impossibly brilliant. a gift and a curse to the world. the love of your life, the loss of your life, the one that got away. you can only sit alone with his cold, lifeless form and wonder where it all went wrong. how do you mourn a star that burned itself out for the sake of the sky?

greedy — age gap, nsfw ᵎᵎ pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world

ditto — best friend!gojo, angst, fluff, sfw ᵎᵎ brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.

GETO SUGURU.

bed chem — established relationship, nsfw ᵎᵎ ditching your friend's christmas condo party for your scrumptious, needy boyfriend? yes please!

born to die — ex!geto, lovers to enemies, nsfw ᵎᵎ it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

RYOMEN SUKUNA.

achilles come down — true form!sukuna, wife!reader, sfw ᵎᵎ you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him. you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

so it goes — wife!reader, nsfw ᵎᵎ newly-wed life is hardly what you expected it to be, its hardly a surprise. after all, how many people find themselves bound to the notorious king of curses? but after a frosty few weeks, sukuna finds the easiest way to win you over is when he's on his knees, and between your thighs.

TOJI FUSHIGURO.

that's so true! — dilf!toji/neighbours!au, nsfw ᵎᵎ you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

mama, a diva behind you — dilf!toji, sfw ᵎᵎ toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall. or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

CHOSO KAMO.

what? like it's hard? — college!au, sfw. ᵎᵎ you were the glittering prom queen, the crème de la crème of the school's social heirarchy. and yet, choso kamo, the quiet boy with no friends shattered your heart. you wish you could hate him forever but it's hard when he's your partner in med school three years later, and he's hot now.

last friday night — best friends to lovers! nsfw ᵎᵎ it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

cheri cheri lady — bf!choso, nsfw ᵎᵎ its hard not to be endlessly fond of your sweet boyfriend. he's quiet, unassuming but sweet, oddly so for a half-curse. but god, you want to jump his bones so bad.

NANAMI KENTO.

youngblood — mythos!au, hades&persephone ᵎᵎ tba

note — this masterlist is for all 'proper' fics, and not drabbles or thirsty thoughts. all other works can be found under the tag /daphworks.

[misayani]

I LOVED UR SE-MI FIC! i was wondering if u could do another where the reader is homesick and has nightmares/ dreams about her friends and her home life and just going to se-mi's bed for comfort? (I hope this isn't too much trouble!!)

LOVE, MY WORLD IS FULL — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜you wouldn't know what to do without se-mi. 

𔗨 author's note — had so much fun writing this <3 kinda unleashed my inner william shakespeareness in this one [lowercase intended]

♡ upcoming fic — g!p no-eul + reader

— comfort

you thought the games were harmless—bright colors, cheerful instructions, and an unassuming entry form. yet underneath all that promised fun lay a rather horrifying truth. you were blinded, not by sight but by your own naivety. 

how could you be so dumb? you should've known this game was sketchy ever since from the start, where they somehow made you all unconcious to bring to this place. where even are you? 

life is full of shit, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't expect it to be this shitty. tears started to form in your eyes as you thought of your dog, sparks, who's the reason why you're here. you didn't have any owe anyone money, you don't drag yourself to shit like that. but sparks was the dog your grandmother left you before she died, and unfortunately, sparks was recently diagnosed with congestive heart failure— he needed medical help. 

if someone can hear your thoughts right now, they'd probably laugh and tell you that it's just a dog, stop overreacting. but sparks wasn't just a dog. he grew up with you, he is family. he was the reason you kept going after your grandmother died, you could remember it—you locking yourself inside your room and not coming out for days, until you heard whines outside your door. shit, the dog. it annoyed you that you still needed to feed that dog. what's the point? he's gonna die anyways. just like everyone. 

a quiet sob escapes your mouth as your tears finally fall, from your eyes and onto the white sheets underneath you. you couldn't sleep, you were too bothered as to how so many people voted to stay in this game. you couldn't even even consider it a game, games were supposed to be fun. 

you voted to go home right after the first game, the staying team won. this night was after everyone voted for the second time, once again, the majority voted to stay. you find it funny— how money can have such an affect on people, but also at the same time, you couldn't blame the people who wanted to stay. maybe staying here was somehow better than their lives outside. they just had voted for their own 'lesser evil.' 

you needed someone right now. after being alone for 14 years, living independently, it was hard for you to bottle your feelings to yourself. the first person you can think of right now was se-mi. you had started talking to her before any of these games started, when the masked men just started explaining the rules and regulations. 

she was different, she understood you. she had asked you your reason to be here, you hesitantly told her, slightly embarassed but she didn't laugh or anything like that. she, in fact, smiled at your eagerness to win this game so you'd finally have some finance for your dog. well, that was before the games happened and before shit went down. 

you sniffle as you sit up and slip out of bed, every footstep quiet to not bother anyone sleeping. se-mi was just stairs ahead from you and you were surprised but relieved to see her still awake. she was laying on her back, staring towards the ceiling before she notices you and sits up to make room for you to sit down.

"hi," you start, gently sitting yourself down on her bed. 

"hi." she repeats, her eyes softening at the sight of your puffy eyes, "sparks?" 

you glanced at her, eyes wide as she managed to immediately caught onto whatever you were thinking. you nod, "i'm sorry for bothering you, just needed someone. and i thought you're the right person to approach."

se-mi's heart swells, she never had anyone tell her that before. you trusted her enough to see you vulnerable like this? she clears her throat before reassuring you, "it's no worries. i like talking to you anyways."

she scoots closer to sit beside you, planting her feet on the stairs beside the bunk bed. you fiddled with your fingers as you look down, before you hear her speak up. "i'm sorry for voting to stay."

you snap your head to look at her as you shake your head, "no, no. i don't— you don't have to say sorry for having freedom to choose whatever you want." you mutter.

"still, it was shitty for me to do that. i knew about your situation but i still vo—" you cut her off, "stop. it's not your fault. it's nobody's." she locks eyes with you as her lips part as if wanting to say something, until it closes again.

you sigh, "who cares if you were shitty. everything is shitty. life is shitty." you murmured, "life is shitty." she agrees, staring at your side profile. you noticed her in your peripheral vision and you get flustered, tipping your head down.

"it's hard." you glance at her again, seeing her eyes now staring forward as she spoke, "life outside. it's no different from here. some people say that life outside of here is easier, since you're not trapped in some unknown place. but i don't see how that is any different, aren't you still somehow trapped? not literally but figuratively." you hum, prompting her to continue.

"it's ironic how the ones with the heavy debts say that, as if they're not trapped in their own mistakes." se-mi chuckles beside you as you carefully listen to every word she's saying. talking to someone have always made you feel at peace— something that you don't feel often since you've never really communicated with anyone until now. 

"it's not about being physically imprisoned, but about feeling constrained in many ways, whether by circumstances, expectations, or some shit you dragged yourself into. in the end, no matter where you are, you can still feel confined. that's how i see it, atleast." she finishes.

you grab her hand that was closest to you, and started fidgeting with it instead of fiddling with your own fingers. her hand was warm but rough, in contrast to yours which was cold, but soft. "i understand." you murmur.

you both understood each other, and that alone was enough to provide you comfort. you admired her mindset, not just how  she thinks but how she embraces her own perspective with peace— her ability to see things from a different angle, yet still find peace in it. 

even if you both had casted your votings to two opposing things, there was an underspoken understanding between the two of you. despite the differences, se-mi and you shared a mutual respect, and that makes you so close to her. 

"thank you." you whispered, se-mi snaps her head to look at you, "for what?" 

"talking to me." you reply, "it feels nice to talk to someone like you, understanding but aren't scared to state their own opinion. i appreciate that so much. i haven't felt so understood in years." you feel tears well up in your eyes from getting emotional.

se-mi's lips form into a smile, "well i guess thank you too. you somehow make this place even more tolerable." she squeezes your hand that was holding hers. 

"cmon, stay with me tonight. i don't want to make you go back to bed like this." she tugs at your hand before leading you under her blanket—which started to smell like her— lifting the cloth over the both of you. 

you wanted to cuddle with her, but were too shy to initiate anything. lucky for you, se-mi opens her arms, pulling you towards her. your body relaxes as you feel her warm body spoon yours. you heard her mutter something on top of your head, "keep on being brave." she pauses before continuing,  "for sparks and me."

your once empty heart started to feel full again after this.

@misayani

[extinctlesspains]

hiiiiii Can you do Sae byeok x fem reader Where they are best friends but act like a couple (Holding hands, kissing each others cheek and Beck, cuddleing/spooning each other, reader sitting on Sae byeoks lap, ect.) and everyone/ her parents think that you two are a couple. Thank you and have a Good Day or night

𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡? [𝐾.,𝑆𝑎𝑒-𝐵𝑦𝑒𝑜𝑘]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴀɴɢ sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ sʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴏɴᴅ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴀɴᴅ-ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ, ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ ᴋɪssᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ ᴋɪssᴇs ʏᴏᴜ, ʙʟᴜʀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴡᴀʏ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴋɪssɪɴɢ

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You and Sae-byeok had been inseparable since middle school, bound together by the shared struggles of growing up and navigating life’s unpredictability. From the moment you met, there had always been something unspoken between the two of you—an unshakeable closeness that most people would mistake for a relationship.

It was just how you were with each other.

You held hands when you walked through crowded streets, Sae-byeok’s strong grip always tugging you closer when she felt someone brush too close. She’d instinctively kiss your temple whenever she saw you stress over exams, and you’d kiss her cheek in return when she did well on something.

Sitting in her lap wasn’t unusual, either. Whenever the two of you watched movies or studied together, it was the most natural thing in the world for you to curl up against her, your arms slung lazily around her neck while she absentmindedly twirled strands of your hair around her fingers.

Her parents, who adored you like their own daughter, had long since given up trying to figure out the nature of your relationship. “You two are so cute together,” her mother would say with a fond smile as she handed you a cup of tea. “When will you finally make it official?”

You’d always laugh awkwardly, glancing at Sae-byeok to see how she reacted. But she never seemed bothered by the assumption, simply shrugging it off or teasingly resting her head on your shoulder.

But the truth was… sometimes you wished it were true.

One chilly evening, you found yourself in Sae-byeok’s room, bundled up in her bed after a long day. She’d insisted you stay over since it was too cold to walk home, and you didn’t need much convincing. The two of you had shared a bed so many times it didn’t even feel strange anymore.

Now, lying tangled together under the blankets, you felt her arm drape around your waist, her breath warm against the back of your neck. Your hand reached back to rest on hers, tracing small circles with your thumb.

“Comfy?” she asked softly, her voice low and soothing in the quiet.

“Always,” you replied, turning slightly so you could see her face. Her dark eyes looked softer in the dim light of the room, and you felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

Moments like this made you wonder.

“Sae,” you began hesitantly, “do you think… maybe everyone has a point? That we act more like a couple than just friends?”

She blinked, her expression unreadable as she tilted her head slightly. “Does it bother you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… sometimes, I wonder if I want it to be real.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, and you held your breath, worried you might’ve crossed some kind of invisible line. But then Sae-byeok shifted, her hand slipping from your waist to gently cup your cheek.

“Maybe it already is,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced as her thumb brushed against your skin. You searched her eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was the same steady calmness that had always grounded you.

And then, before you could overthink it, her lips were on yours—soft, warm, and familiar in a way that felt like coming home.

The kiss didn’t change much between you, at least not outwardly. You still held hands, kissed each other’s cheeks, and cuddled like nothing had happened. But the energy between you felt lighter now, less burdened by uncertainty.

The next time her mother teased you about being a couple, Sae-byeok’s lips twitched into a barely concealed smile, and she laced her fingers through yours.

“We’ll see,” she said simply, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

And just like that, everything and nothing had changed.

[ourzeui]

please don't be a snitch!

PAIRING caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

TYPE oneshot

NOTE this is in modern setting! reader has a twin, and they have opposite personalities (reader = a lil' shy; twin = brazen)

CW mature themes, alcohol use, suggestive content, strong language (cursing!!), anxiety/stress

11:59 PM — Friday night.

This was definitely a bad fucking idea.

You repeatedly glance at your wrist watch, legs fidgeting as you try so hard to not leave your twin sister alone. Heart ramming against your chest, you desperately hope your sister will soon get tired from dancing around the room and decide that both of you will just go home and rest. Because, anytime now, your strict parents would realize that both of you still aren’t home and would go berserk once they find out you’re out clubbing. In other words, you and your sister would be killed. Both metaphorically and literally.

This wasn’t your idea in the first place. The thought of random people just eating each other’s faces out, touching each other’s bodies where one thing leads to another… it, uh, just rubs you off in the wrong way. You just can't shake off the feeling that there's a big possibility that something bad might happen, with the alcohol driving people mad crazy. If your twin sister didn’t force you to go with her, you’d probably never step foot in a club. Ever.

You can’t help but cringe as you see your sister flirt with another guy for what seems like the twentieth time today. Both of them giggle on the corner of the room, shamelessly checking each other out. A minute later, the guy drags your flushed twin to one of the random rooms, no doubt going to do…whatever it is that they’re going to do.

Upon realizing what’s happening, your heart immediately drops to the floor. Despite having absolutely zero hook-up experience, you definitely know where that is going.

“That shithead,” you curse under your breath as you hurriedly try to follow your sister and her partner. Squeezing through the sweaty dance floor, you see your twin giggle as the guy playfully pushes her inside the room, followed by the door slamming with a loud thud despite the blasting disco music. You wonder how desperate could your sister be for deciding to follow a random man alone in a closed room knowing what could possibly happen.

Well, your sister did repeatedly say she was "dying to get laid" months prior. Maybe today was the day she was finally getting that.

But maybe today was also the day she’s going to die because she’s about to do something she might regret for the rest of her life (+ your parents will, again, definitely k-word both of you if she’s caught).

Before you could even approach the door, you spot a familiar blue-haired woman, sitting down cross-legged near the bar counter.

Caitlyn.

Upon seeing her, your heart drops the second time, beads of sweat forming on your temples. Both you and your sister should get out now, because if Caitlyn sees you and asks where your sister is, both of you should be prepared to never see the light of day again.

Here's the thing: Caitlyn's parents are close friends of your parents, so it's inevitable that you'd often meet each other. Both of you had never shared a proper conversation before though, just a few hello's and a "Can you please pass me the sauce?" over the table during family dinners.

One thing you know about Caitlyn though is that she always does what she thinks is right.

…She will be a snitch if she wants to.

The reason why her presence right now is so unnerving is because you can't forget the day how your mother made her promise that she should tell her immediately if "one of her daughters are caught doing crazy things", and Caitlyn always keeps her promises.

And just your luck, Caitlyn looks up at the perfect time, her piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

You freeze.

She tilts her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curling in what looks suspiciously like amusement. You can already feel the lecture forming, not from her but from your parents, the second she makes that phone call.

She picks up a glass, takes a sip, and then—oh no—stands up, walking through the crowd until she’s standing right in front of you, effortlessly poised despite the chaos around you both.

“Funny seeing you here,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a note of dry humor.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammer, hating how defensive you sound.

She raises a brow. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like your sister just disappeared into a room with a guy who probably doesn’t know her name, and you’re about to have a heart attack trying to figure out what to do about it.”

You wince. “Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But—”

"But you didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Caitlyn finishes for you, crossing her arms. “And now you’re stuck cleaning up the mess.”

You nod, a little surprised she understands so easily.

“Let me guess,” she says, her smirk growing. “You’re worried I’m going to tell your parents.”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The rate of your heartbeat increases each second, and you fidget your fingers.

Caitlyn sighs, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m not going to snitch.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” she says simply. Then she leans in slightly, her voice quieter but firm. “But I am going to help you.”

“Help me?” You blink, confused.

“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because if you go barging into that room on your own, you’ll probably make things worse. So, let’s handle this together before your sister does something she regrets.”

You hesitate, unsure if you can trust her, but something about her calm, confident attitude is reassuring.

“Why would you help me?” you ask.

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Because I’ve been in your shoes before. And honestly? It’s better than having your mom yell at me for not stepping in.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Caitlyn’s smile widens, just slightly, and for the first time, it feels genuine. “Follow my lead.”

Instead of heading toward the room, Caitlyn gestures toward the bar.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, looking between her and the door where your sister disappeared.

“Relax,” she says, grabbing two stools. “We’ll give it a minute. If we charge in too quickly, your sister’s just going to get defensive and make things worse. Trust me on this.”

You hesitantly sit beside her, tapping your fingers against the counter. Caitlyn orders herself a soda, which surprises you. “Not drinking?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “I like to keep a clear head in places like this. Too many people lose theirs.”

You nod slowly, watching her as she takes a sip. For someone who’s in a club, surrounded by chaos, she seems so calm, like none of this fazes her.

“So… do you come here often?” you ask awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence.

She laughs softly. “Not really. A friend dragged me out tonight, but she ditched me for some guy about an hour ago.”

You wince. “Sounds familiar.”

Caitlyn smiles, her eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, but at least I ended up with better company.”

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her voice softer. “You’re a good sibling, you know that?”

You scoff. “I’m just trying to keep her out of trouble.”

“Exactly.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Not everyone would go through this kind of mess for someone else. It says a lot about you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you find yourself fidgeting under her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she insists, her tone warm but firm. “And I think it’s admirable.”

Before you can respond, Caitlyn glances toward the door where your sister disappeared. She sighs and stands. “Alright, I think we’ve waited long enough. Ready to be the hero?”

You nod, your heart racing as you follow her. But as you walk beside her, you notice the way her shoulder brushes against yours, the way her presence somehow makes you feel less panicked and more… safe.

Your heart flutters again, and you stare intently on Caitlyn's back. BUT, your heart drops for the third time today as your phone rings.

Mom <3 Missed call (34) Slide for more

Shit.

© ourzeui, 2025

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece VI: Nature and the Sublime

AO3 Part I Part V

“Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils”

—William Wordsworth

Anyone making even a cursory reading of the Romantics, particularly the English Romantic poets, will soon find an obsession with nature. Even in the early 1800s, the scars of the Industrial Revolution were starting to be felt in the environment. Increased urbanization, a technological boom, and the capitalistic glut for increased output which in turn demanded the consummation of increased natural resources was destroying old orders one after the other in order to make room for the coming modern age. 

The advent of trains, steamboats, and the telegraph changed the way people traveled and communicated forever. The allure of the city drove people from the countryside to work long, dangerous hours in factories. It seemed like the traditional way of things was being lost, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Poets and artists looked back fondly on the simplicity of their youths, and went in search of the beautiful and the sublime. 

When reading these poems and looking at these pieces of art, you’ll also find that solitude was an important aspect of this search, the ability to get away from the neverending wheel of the rat race to be alone with one’s thoughts. Quoting from Walden, Thoreau said it best, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” There was so much about modern society and civilization that rang false to these men, and it was only when communing with the primordial forces of nature that these falsities could be stripped away to reveal something pure and true.

One Piece is a manga that delights in its environments. Oda has clearly done his research while lovingly rendering each location, particularly once the series hits the Grand Line. I’ve always been amazed about how even minor islands with little page time feel fully realized, and how even similar environments can be easily distinguished from one another at a glance. The jungle of Little Garden looks nothing like the jungle of Skypiea, which in turn is completely distinct from Green Bit. 

Similarly, Robin’s desire to preserve and protect ancient relics of the past is something the Romantics would have approved of, and with Luffy at the helm, the Straw Hat Pirates don’t just travel the wonders of the Grand Line, but embrace each and every island they come across, no matter what insanity lies in wait. While it’s not a central focus of the series, arcs like Wano and Egghead explore environmental themes and the dangers of pursuing technological advance at the cost of careful ethics.

Poet William Wordsworth famously fought against building a railway through the Lake District of England, where he lived and wrote much of his best-regarded work, so much so that he wrote a sonnet voicing his displeasure with the proposed project, as well as the thought of hundreds of unappreciative tourists destroying the peace and beauty of the area. 

So while nature was to be appreciated, it was to be appreciated in the right way. It wasn’t enough to take in the sights for the sight’s sake, but an experience to be savored. Nature was an essential part of these writers and artist’s creative muses, and while many Romantics weren’t orthodox in their religion, there was a spiritual aspect in their veneration of the created world, particularly in their search for the sublime.

One Piece and the Sublime

“I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense of sublime, of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting sun, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man” —William Wordsworth

While the concept of the sublime existed long before the Romantic period, it was the Romantics who really took the idea and ran with it. It must be said that the sublime as talked about here is quite different from how the word is typically thought of in the modern day. The sublime’s roots are found in philosophy, as a sub-branch of the study of aesthetics. In his essay A Philosophical Enquiry into the Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful, late Enlightenment/early Romantic writer Edmund Burke for the first time divided the ideas of the sublime and the beautiful into two distinct and separate categories. This essay was hugely influential to the Romantic movement going forward, particularly in England. 

According to Burke, “Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.” 

So, in short, the sublime is a powerful emotion. The most powerful emotion a person is capable of feeling. In typical English fashion, Burke thought the strongest negative emotions were more powerful than the strongest positive emotions, so it stood to reason that the sublime must in turn come from the negative. While this might initially read as a rather unpleasant experience, the sublime was something actively sought out by the Romantics, and according to Burke was a pain that caused delight. 

Attempting to define something as ineffable as the sublime is like trying to define love. No matter how many lines a poet inks or how many portraits an artist completes attempting to capture the feeling of lightning striking the soul, they will always be incomplete. It’s the feeling of going out to an open prairie and being crushed by the weight of the sky, or walking in the shadow of a mountain and feeling your own smallness. It’s looking up at the bright night sky and recognizing that you are one amongst billions, a speck of cosmic dust drifting aimlessly on an insignificant planet in the corner of an insignificant galaxy in a universe whose vastness you can’t begin to comprehend. 

It’s the finite’s attempt at grasping the infinite, a complete breakdown of the rigid walls of the Enlightenment thinkers, the embrace of irrationality and emotion over cold, calculated reason. To use one of Burke’s own examples, it's the peasant kneeling before the dread majesty of their king. For some it was a way to commune with God. For others it replaced God altogether.  

Take for example a painting like The Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich. The titular monk is tiny compared to the broad vastness of the sky and ocean, which seems about to swallow him whole. Whether the figure in the painting is contemplating the divine, or whether the sublimity of the moment is itself divine is open to interpretation, and like many figures in Friedrich’s works, the monk is turned away from the viewer so his face, his identity, is not visible, because who any individual person is when compared to this overwhelming force is insignificant. 

While terror was important to Burke in searching out the sublime, it was equally important that there be a layer of distance between the perceived danger and the subject searching for it. After all, the sublime was something to be contemplated just much as it was experienced. A sailor caught in a storm is just fighting for their life. There’s no ability to allow themselves to reflect on the nature of eternity on a mortal soul when they’re trying not to drown. But a person contemplating a painting of a ship caught in a storm, or better yet watching a stormy sea from a high cliff, has that element of terror without actually placing a person in immediate danger. That distance allows the person to be subsumed in the moment, in the feeling, of the sublime.

As a manga, there is a natural distance between the reader and what goes on in One Piece. The wild, cartoonish, fantasy further separates it from the real world. This gap is perhaps too great for some to find the sublime within its pages. At the same time, it ticks many of Burke’s boxes: the vastness of its world, the displays of power from the characters within, the call to imagination, awe, wonder, and, yes, terror. While I very much doubt Oda had the idea of the sublime in mind when he came up with the idea with Conqueror’s Haki, overwhelming power causing the weak-willed to faint while foaming at the mouth very much fits the vibe Burke was going for in his essay.

If given a choice in the matter, Luffy will always take the more dangerous path forward. While he’s not nearly contemplative enough for the traditional Romantic mindset, the narrative rewards his desire to seek out experiences and adventure. The series’ focus on emotional truth over realism invokes powerful feelings in the reader. The wonder of the White White Sea is all the stronger because of the danger of the Knock-Up Stream. The descent to Fishman Island is made all the more grand by the fragility of the bubble that protects the crew. The vast majority of the East Blue Saga is spent hyping up the danger of the Grand Line, and wouldn’t you know it, the Straw Hats barely sail into its waters for five minutes and there’s already a dozen things trying to kill them.

Even places like Water 7, which the Romantic’s push against urbanization would not have seen as sublime, is elevated by the whimsy of the sea train and the danger of Agua Laguna. Oda takes inspiration from all over the world and elevates those inspirations into something greater than reality, injecting so much high fantasy creativity and verve into every location that the reader cannot help but be moved. And nowhere can this be better seen by how Oda portrays the sea.

To quote Burke one last time, “A level plain of a vast extent on land, is certainly no mean idea; the prospect of such a plain may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean; but can it ever fill the mind with anything so great as the ocean itself? This is owing to several causes; but it is owing to none more than this, that the ocean is an object of no small terror.” 

[anarchiii]

Where The Wild Roses Grow-1 —ACOTAR AU

Part One | Warnings: angst, very mild swearing | Azriel x Tamlin’s!Sister

Summary; in the heart of the dreaded city of Hewn. Y/n struggles to stay herself, the bleak and cold air surrounding the mountain slowly stripped its inhabitants of any hope or sense of joy, but when the Shadowsinger appears. She suddenly finds that when love and hate collide, it can be devastating. . .

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist ⚔︎

(Contains physical descriptions of the Reader—hair, eyes, ect.)

Azriel’s POV

The frigid mountain winds blew at him from all directions, his wings starting to numb, ever so slowly. He tried to block it out, taking in as much light from the never ending party inside, Azriel had never been one for parties of any kind, especially when they were full of drooling females and disgusting males—males that continue to do things that sickened even the ironists of stomachs—yes, he was a monster but he was not the same at the people in there. They were truly something else.

So that’s how the Shadowsinger found himself lingering outside in the dark gardens, how plants managed to grow down here—he did not know, did not care. All he cared about was going home before the sun crested the surrounding mountain range, the ethereal glow it created like the hands of the Mother encompassing the world in one big embrace, oh how he wished to full the wind rustle his leathery wings, the first appearances of winter’s frost landing on his hair.

Alas, he was stuck with the bleak gray rock around him, so the Shadowsinger turned his head to the sky that was not there and stared and stared, soon it was not stone looking back at him but stars, thousands of little bright lights. The moon’s soft glow illuminating every surface.

As the Illyrian male stared on, he did not hear the soft sound of gravel crunching and shifting for the feet that walked upon it, no. The only thing he noticed was the smell of oleandrin flowers and jasmine, he breathed the deadly scent in, getting a rush of ecstasy he did not realise he needed. Whoever it was-was addictive, the challenge imbedded in their scent like a bee’s nest to a hungry bear, singing a lovely song like a siren. He was enraptured.

-

Y/N’s POV

She scowled as she watched everyone dance and drink wine at the party that seemed to never die, why she came to these events that consisted of nothing more than pure debauchery, she did not know.

Y/N eyed the High lord and his court, that signature wicked smirk always on his face, his mate mimicking one of the same cruelty, she tried to tell herself that they were good people but she could not believe it, not when she saw them that way. Saw them look down on her companions, like they were merely dirt beneath their polished boots, Y/N knew better than anyone else that they weren’t the best of people, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be treated with such disdain.

She sighed, shaking her head, it was no use to think that way, no point to try to fight or disagree against the high fae that believed themselves better, not when said fae could execute her at a moments notice. It wouldn’t take much more than a wave of Rhysand’s hand for her head to become estranged from her neck. Perhaps if they caught wind of her actual identity then the prospect of death would become that much more certain.

If she was being honest, she couldn’t really blame them, Y/N had heard the things that gone on in the Spring Court—her home—involving her brother and Feyre Archeron all those months ago, years, even. Time moved differently down here, they could not rely upon the sun to tell them it was bedtime, no winds to signal the changing seasons.

It was a wonder Y/N hadn’t gone insane down here, or maybe she had. She wasn’t made for the darkness, no, Y/N was born in Spring, a place where sunshine found you anywhere and where fields of flowers stretched far across the land, further than even a Fae’s eyesight could see. She missed those frilly, colourful dresses she’d adorned daily, the jewellery she put on with ritualistic ease, like muscle memory—but what Y/N did not miss was her brother, she and her brother, Tamlin had never been close, especially after that faithful night years ago, resulting in the untimely death of their parents.

Her parents had never been the kindest Fae, that she knew. And after all the years they’d fought and screamed at one another until they could no longer speak. . . She found herself hardly grieving when she met violent purple eyes one night, widening as they realised she lived. Y/N had never found herself hating the young High Lord, no. She quite liked him, actually.

He was horribly charming and a good dance partner, and that wicked smirk of his never failed to make any female swoon—even her, to Tamlin’s eternal dismay—they’d always had such a tenuous relationship, said relationship was non-existent these days. Not that Y/N would know if that had changed, gossip was hard to come by when it wasn’t about some scandalous affair or who was looking like more of a whore that day. Such nonsensical things. Well, to her at least. It wasn’t useful information.

Gods, she sounded like that Shadowsinger, craving information, wanting to know all the secrets of this place, perhaps Rhysand would hire her. Y/N snorted out loud at the thought, gaining a few side-eyes from a couple females, she quickly gave them a vulgar gesture before walking off.

How dare they judge her when they were the ones dressed like frisky brothel workers, Y/N was nothing like them, dressed in a long black shoulder-strap dress with slits on both sides that barely went past her knees, she might as well have been dressed as a Saint among them, a true black sheep. Not that it was the most modest thing alive, but compared to the lingerie looking attire that she was supposed to wear, it was good enough.

She sighed as she rubbed her face vigorously, still careful not to ruin the kohl she’d painstakingly put on earlier and the blood red lips that made her look like a male-eater. Y/N prided herself on her looks, her ability to get whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, it was sometimes hard to believe she was from Spring, she was made for the Night court with her cunning, wicked and adept personality. She wondered what Tamlin would think of her if he saw her again, then again, perhaps he’d forgotten she’d existed—Y/N had always been the black sheep of the family, with her pitch-black hair and brown-ish red eyes, it wasn’t hard to see why, perhaps she wasn’t even related to them, that’d make sense.

She found herself once again sulking, drowning herself in the horrible voice that was her doubts and worries, drowned in it like it was the finest wine, addictive but destructive. The female shook her head in dismay and dismissed the party, opting to instead sulk outside were she could feel the wind flowing through her onyx locks, as soon as she stepped outside, she regretted it.

Not only because goosebumps appeared quickly and teeth started chattering but because she was in fact not alone out here. No, it was a Fae’s greatest mistake to believe they were alone when the Shadowsinger was nearby. Watching. . . Waiting.

-

Y/N watched her own breath curl in the wind, winding and swirling like smoke infront of her, her eyes flicked to the Shadowsinger and back, did he know she was there? No—what was she thinking? Of course he knew, he was their High Lord’s spymaster for Cauldron’s sake.

Her gulp was audible, shifting on her feet, Y/N silently wondered if she should make a run for it or if that would end in her death. She stayed still, deeming that the best option, awkward and probably about to die is better than being dead. Afterall, the Shadowsinger wasn’t known for his kindness or compassion. No, the male was a force to be reckoned with, a creature of death.

A dark part of her wasn’t scared of that darkness, yearned for that blissful tragedy. . . A broken porcelain looking for a shard to fit perfectly, no matter how chipped and uneven, hoping that one day she’ll be one for, once more, not just as thousand tiny pieces.

Suddenly—a sharp noise could be heard from inside, startling both fae. The orchestra had begun their final piece for the night, the music started off soft but got louder and louder by the minute, building to its crescendo. The Shadowsinger turned to her slowly, an indescribable emotion could be found in his eyes—like a rock in the ocean, lonely, all it’s ever heard is the crashing of waves. . . Y/N didn’t know what compelled her to do what she did that night but by the time she did It, she wasn’t regretting it. But she surely would the next day.

-

Azriel’s POV

He sucked in a sharp breath as the strange female held out a hand to him, an invitation—an offering of companionship, the Spymaster was too far from words to decline as he took her fair hand in his scarred one. Both the female’s hands rested gently on his shoulders and he put his on her waist in return, Azriel couldn’t breathe properly as they started moving, his shadows singing to a song even he couldn’t hear—but as they danced in the pale moonlight that seeped through the cracks, illuminating them like a spotlight, he let all his worries wash away.

Gone until only they remained, his blood thrumming as the crescendo built and built. He found himself doing what he’d always hated to watch—to dance, the male now realised why so many loved to dance, why they laughed as they were spun, drank in the smiles of their partners until they were too drunk to waltz. It was beautiful and wholly mesmerising, the dance of a shadow and his moon.

Tears lined his eyes faintly as he watched her, as she watched him—he swore his heart stopped in his chest when the crescendo shattered, bursting into a million little notes. Even when the music stopped, when everyone went to bed—or other people’s beds—they stayed like that, slowly moving around, her head resting on his shoulder. Beauty and the beast, he thought to himself, a dove falling for a raven. Perfectly imperfect.

Shadow and light, sun and moon, brought together in a great symphony that only they were apart of.

The End.

Authors note: I’m so sorry everyone for being so inactive, I’ve had the biggest writers block but I decided to push myself and get this fic out, it’s been sitting in my drafts for months now and I thought it was time they were brought to life, I apologise again if this series goes on hiatus so please don’t pressure me. Thanks for all the love and support, you guys are incredible <3

—Vi xX

Taglist-

@shadowsingercassia

@mellowmusings

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist for this series or all my fic’s!

[middle-ans]

I figured this would get asked for sure, but it hasn’t yet.

Major Lewis Nurse George please!!

Will you believe me when I say I feared this one, but also waited the most? Absolutely smashed me even though I have this particular idea sketched in my head from start to end, and zero chances surviving writing it. But it scratched the itch so perfectly, so thank you very much for asking! (3478 words, I knew it’d be one of the longest)

Also - tw war, tw mentions of blood and injuries, tw air raid alarms

October, 1940, Canterbury

Amidst all the human burdens, his personal sleep being absent for the third night in a row seemed ridiculous. George leaned his elbows on the desk piled with paperwork, rubbing his red eyes and sighing with fatigue. Another night shift, understaffed and they had exhausted the tea supply, waiting now for the next shipment by the end of next month, if they were so lucky. So far the wing had been uneventful, he sat at his post in the main hall, the hospital building looked like a separate battlefield with large rooms occupied by rows of beds and soldiers constantly arriving. No private wards for even a few people, they couldn't afford such a rarity.

The lamp on his desk blinked faintly before fading out entirely, and George held his breath, quickly shifting his clear gaze to the window. Quietly, even too much so, his lips fell open, moving soundlessly in an outline of counting - four, three, two, one. The hum of aircraft and the howl of the alarm siren was as always late, with the first deafening blast coming Omega was already under the table, shuddering with the entire building when a bomb was dropped a few dozen miles from the hospital. They remained almost untouched by most, a small building nearly at the edge of the city, but every so often George shrank into a ball and squirmed, wondering if this night would be an exception. He can hear the fiddling from the beds, triggered traumas screaming desperately in the throats of some of the soldiers, and as frightening as it is, Omega crawls out from under the only rickety shelter to run to their beds and offer a hand to squeeze, to claw at the faint connection to reality amidst the agony and quench the pain just a little. It's Private Peters, clutching at the bandage on his head that nurse notices will need to be changed as soon as the Luftwaffe are done with today's raid, and his old green eyes on a young twenty-year-old face one of the most striking displays of the madness they've been caught up in.

“Sh-h, it's okay Peters, you're in the hospital. I'll go over to the others for a bit and come back, alright? Don't look out the window, the flashes might annoy you.”

With a lingering warmth, George leaves him to run over to the other bunk, three further down the row from Peters, to Alan curled up in a ball and sobbing into the bend of his elbow.

“Now, now, no worries, I worked so hard to heal your arm and you ruined all the bandages by crumpling it under you.”

They must have thought he was resistant to such things, had developed an iron rod and shut off the heart, leaving only the head, but that was too far from the truth. George was trembling as much as they were, but having controlled his voice he was at least seemingly calmer, confidently promising them what was forbidden by any wartime ethic - safety.

“We've got warbirds coming in, lots of them,” Alex slipped past him in the aisle, darting off at a run. As the last German plane buzzed toward the sea, the bustle returned to the hospital in a triple storm of chaos. “They said to vacate as many bunks as we can.”

“From where?” George scolds as he tosses a stack of folders and fixes his coat. Perfectly white, not for long apparently.

“You think I asked questions? Hurry up, I need sheets, preferably clean ones.”

And Alex wasn't lying by labeling the number as 'lots', because not since George joined the volunteers in the nursing society in late 1939 had he seen such an overflow of wounded in the scroll of a single night. All types of injuries he couldn't look at when he started, rips, burns, shrapnel, on his first such tour of duty with a dozen wounded after midnight he'd cried helplessly on the hallway floor, far from being able to help anyone, least of all himself. Now he clenched his teeth, holding his jaw stiffly in tension as he waltzed from one bed to another in the barely lit hall, the power having gone out as soon as the raid began. With any luck, it would be fixed by tomorrow night. Omega's breathing was infrequent and short, letting in blood odors in snatches while his head spun steadily from the density of the air, but George dared not complain. If he was given a choice of which ability to shut off while he worked, it would be hearing. Those screams would haunt him until his last day.

The sheets oozed dirt in no time, they weren't a first class hotel to have their patients complain about the quality of the fabric and its immaculate whiteness, so pushing a cart with first aid supplies and a kerosene lamp, George got the trembling in his fingers under control and kept working. Far past midnight, close to the first rays of dawn, the whole room finally fell quiet, the silence diluted by occasional quiet moans from the occasional bunks at different ends of the room, and Omegas around drifting exhaustedly from one bed frame to the next.

George sighed, straightening his gown and lowering himself into a chair next to the nearest bunk, lamp burning weakly on the bedside table where he'd placed it, and his attention followed tiredly over the soaked bandages around the arms of a man sleeping in a restless slumber. The nurse reached out to see if the soldier's fever had broken purely automatically, running his fingers under the black hair falling over the forehead. His eyebrows twitched at the touch, and George almost thought it best to leave the man alone, but his head reached up to follow the escaping warmth of Omega's fingers. The nurse blinked, returning the uncomplicated dance of the pads back to those rare patches of skin that were free of scratches and wounds. Above on the top of his head was a wisp of hair clumped together from congealed blood, the wound itself washed and sanitized, but that was probably the source of fever plaguing Alpha in his sleep. Alpha, no doubt, his scent seeped even through the deadly odor of the ward. Their job teaches them to be immune to things like weak instincts and primitive pleasures, such as sniffing a handsome man and blushing at the sight of him staring back at them. George examines his hand on the grayish sheets, the bandage applied hastily and carelessly, but the man begins to frown and flinch in his sleep so he's forced to take his fingers into the warmth of his palm and coax them there until Alpha exhales relatively calmly. Omega blinks tiredly, mindlessly rubbing his skin where it won't hurt, and Alpha's scent only flows more intensely into George's fluttering nostrils, the tartness of walnut wood and freshly cut grass in May, crisply breezy, an anomaly in their lost reality. He flinches when fingers embrace his own in return, and gently breaks their contact to attend to the bandage on his arm.

There is little pleasantness in this, he imagines, frowning sympathetically at the painful groans in the hoarse voice still unknown to him, trying to spare him what pain he can, holding the soldier's wrist and shushing him quietly while he removes the dirty bandages. He sometimes sang, barely audible, just mumbling a soft tune and it smoothed the wrinkles on the patients' faces, distracting them from what he was busying his mind with. George had to leave his bed to grab a bowl of warm water and clean gauze, blotting it and wringing it out to apply gently to the man's elbow. He protested louder, twitching in the sheets, and Omega tried desperately to quiet the agony, pressing his palm against his cheek and mumbling confused reassurances. Alpha breathed raggedly, poking his nose into his palm, and it was the only thing that allowed nurse to finish with the bandage, bent in an awkward position over the bed in the low light, fighting the man's disgruntled sighs every time Omega was forced to withdraw his palm and pick up the bandages with both hands. Just as he was finishing up with the first rays of dawn and the kerosene lamps burning out on leftover fuel, the soldier squinted his nose, fluttering eyelashes persistently and restlessly. George wasn't sure he'd be awake this early, and it could hardly be called consciousness - Alpha looked at him with a blurry stare, unaware of anything but what for some reason made the corners of his lips creep up his haggard face.

“Angel,” he wheezed, staring at George. “You're an angel.”

Omega sighed, they were all like that. Saw him in semi-conscious hot flashes and came back to fight it further in deep sleep, then sang odes to him of their love and gratitude until they were discharged, healthy and ready to return to the battlefield. He glanced at the uniform jacket hanging on the edge of the top headboard of the bed, a patch with a blood type and a rank stained with dirt that he couldn't make out, but George discerned the name - L. C. D. Hamilton.

“Sleep,” he whispers to him, adjusting the sheets over his undershirt, the cotton fabric in scarlet stains and three tiny buttons under his collarbones. “The fever should break by dinner.”

When Omega gets to the room on the second floor of the house he's rented by an old lady who sings in the church choir and occasionally helps out at the radio factory, his strength is enough to take a quick shower with the remnants of hot water and collapse onto the creaking bed in a dreamless sleep. He hears the rumble of sirens and can't make out if it's a scrap of his imagination or actually an alarm, but doesn't care either way, rolling over onto his other side and getting the last hour of sleep before it's time to get up and get ready for the next shift.

“Almost everyone's stabilized,” Alex jumps up from the chair at his post in the hallway as soon as he sees him pacing exhaustedly through the ward. “We're still short on blood, almost all the staff donated some more today, but I'm not going to ask you, you already look one step away from dropping dead in here. And we're short on nurses, so-”

“You're so encouraging, Alex,” Omega rolls his eyes, wrapping himself in a white coat from the closet of their small storage room, straightening the lapels and tying his belt. “Did they fix the power?”

“Yeah, but in an hour it'll be time to turn out the lights anyway - light cloaking and all that. Speaking of your looks - it still managed to catch someone's interest even in such a deplorable state. One soldier-”

“Oh, Alex,” George sighs tiredly, checking the previous shift's records. Not again.

“Called for you all the time in his sleep.”

“How do you even know it was me?”

“Angel,” Alex shrugs. “You're always Angel, darling, and he mumbled incessantly. Almost knocked poor Logan's eye out when he came over to change his bandages.”

George shakes his head stubbornly, but can't help but drift his thoughts to the man. Apparently the fourth night shift is working wonders on his guard.

“How is he?” the nurse asks quietly. “Has the fever gone down?”

“Go and check, it's your shift now, not mine,” Alex pushes him further down the row of bunks before rushing out towards the exit and waving goodbye.

George keeps his face emotionless as he walks through all the patients in the room, because there are no special ones, there are all of them, needing if not a bandage or injection, then at least a drop of sympathy in the middle of this pantomime theater. In the semi-darkness of the room, he doesn't notice when he walks over to the bed with a jacket on the headboard, sets down the lamp, and hops in place as his hand is grabbed, tugged insistently, something he's not quite used to in the emergency room.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” he breathes out, closing his eyes for a second to catch his breath. “Sir, you can't just-”

“Angel,” a glance, this time absolutely clear and unequivocal, lingered on him with sheer fondness and a glare of amusement, the man pulling himself up higher on the pillow. “So you weren't a vision? I thought I'd gone to heaven, since I saw you.”

George swallows, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and starting to unwind the bandages on the man's arm, slowly, and this time Alpha holds up much better, no gnashing of teeth or groans.

“Have you had the wound treated? With ointment, or just peroxide?” he asks as casually as possible while he feels the gaze of dark eyes solely on the side of his face turned toward the soldier.

“I think with ointment, too. Not as carefully as you did, of course.”

The nurse snorts, hiding a smile and blush behind the curls that have fallen over his forehead.

“You were barely here last night, with a fever and delusions. How can you remember what I did it?”

“I remember you singing,” Mr. Hamilton says, plainly and calmly, a confidence in his voice that is lacking in those brash flirtations of the younger soldiers. And they're probably a lot lower in rank than Alpha. “And if I may?”

George looks up cautiously, averting his gaze from the wound when the man takes his hand and opens his palm, pressing it against his own cheek. The tendons in Omega's neck tighten in tension, he feels a small tremor in his fingers where they are gripped between the soldier's light grasp and his cheek.

“Yes, I definitely remember that,” the man smiles, loosening his grip so George can bring his hand back to the bandages. Lost for words and lost for breath.

“Good thing you remember so much,” he flutters his eyelashes, finishing the knot on his forearm. “Strong. Means you'll be better soon.”

“Will you sit with me?” Alpha lets out brokenly, a second before the nurse would have gotten up and headed for the next bed. George opens his mouth to say he still has a lot of work to do, but the soldier grazes his fingers on the sheets with a sore hand, shivering against the warmth. “Please.”

Omega glances around the rest of the room - it's night, dark, and most are asleep, a few nurses walking past the beds to adjust pillows and bandaged limbs. He didn't really have any real reason to refuse, and hesitantly he agrees, moving to a chair to retain some modicum of willpower.

They talk until morning. Extremely negligent of George, he should've left the soldier to sleep, gone to the paperwork that littered the desk at the duty station, done something, but they just kept talking, hiding from the prying eyes of the other staff in the shadows of the dimmed lamp. George said that he had been orphaned in the first month of war after the raid on his home town, he didn't mention what it was exactly, and his sister had been able to catch the last ship to America, which he was incredibly glad about, but he was all alone and so had decided to devote himself to working at the hospital. Lewis had been in the army before the war, something to do with his father's silly insistence, and had had several successful sorties behind enemy lines in France, his careful choice of words and thoughtful narration suggesting a rank with a few badges on his epaulettes and men in his command. He was skilled at playing the piano and baking homemade bread with recipes from his mother's family. George giggled as the man described the intricacies of mixing dough, certain he'd never heard Alpha talk about cooking before. When with the peachy rays of the quiet dawn outside the window, no Luftwaffe raid this time, he yawned in the midst of his own mumblings, Omega glanced down and found Lewis sleeping peacefully, head bowed on the pillow a little uncomfortably, and mouth slightly open in quiet breathing. George leaned over, holding his neck under the bandage and correcting the dislodged fluff in the pillow, gently bringing Alpha's head back, smoothing the hair on the back of his neck.

He's discharged before George returns to the hospital the next time, fresh from a day off and having slept one normal night in what seems like months. He only nods to Alex, trying to smile as he did before, and goes on his evening rounds without long chats in the back room.

After about a week since he last saw Lewis, he finally gets the day shift. George is settling in at a table in the common room, filling out paperwork and reports as accurately as can be observed in wartime when the sunlight from the window is blocked by someone's shadow and he pulls away from files, frowning at the intrusion.

“Good afternoon, Nurse George,” a smile, almost devoid of the mesh of scratches on his face around, shines brightly to him from above, Lewis standing in the full glory of his uniform and with a cap on his head. “I was told I might find you here today, even during daylight hours.”

His hands are placed sternly behind his back, Alpha stands as steady as a ruler in the army-like poise of his posture, and George opens his mouth silently, unable to find anything to say.

“Lewis, it's good to see you're well,” he gulps, rising from a seat so as not to feel so tiny under the shoulder span of the army jacket.

“That's why I came, to thank you properly,” Alpha winds one of his hands behind his back forward, clutching the stems of a bouquet of wildflowers and holding it out for George. “I didn't know which ones you liked, figured we could start with these.”

Oh, in front of everyone, the wing will be buzzing about this forever. Omega hears the commotion and giggles behind the man's back, blushing awkwardly under his scrutiny, but Alpha takes a step closer, blocking his view of the fiddling behind. Having no idea what else he could have done, George takes the bouquet into his hands, briefly meeting the stroke of Lewis' warm fingers' touch and lowering his eyelids immediately in humble awe.

“Thank you, that's quite unnecessary. It's my job, after all. No one gives you flowers for your service, for instance.”

Alpha smiles, tilting his head to pick up the visor of his cap and pull it off, revealing black hair styled back. Out of habit, George studies the spot where the wound was with a quick glance - it all looks healed and barely bothers the man.

“I think it's very much necessary. Might ward off some of the pushy admirers? Peters, you're expected at the barracks as early as tomorrow, so don't think about taking up residence here for long,” it's a misterie how his voice jumps from softness and reserved ease to iron command, Alpha turning around for a moment to glance at the subordinate in the row of bunks. “Are you enjoying music, George?”

“Music?” Omega blinks confusedly, shaking his head in a lack of comprehension.

“The pub near City Hall is having a dance this weekend. If it doesn't interfere with work, I'd like to say I'd be happy to see you there. The wine at Bert's isn't the most exquisite, but I'll make sure a case from our stock is delivered.”

Pulse racing ahead of his heart's capabilities, George swallows thickly, not knowing where to find the answer.

“He's free this weekend,” Logan rounds on his figure, hurrying from the entrance to his turn to make rounds. “I'm on duty Friday, have you forgotten?”

No, he'd absolutely seen the schedule, and this Friday was George's, but Logan winks at him and disappears into the pile of huddled white coats, hurrying them back to work.

“Well, then,” Lewis cleared his throat, viewing him like a tangled mechanism of an armored car gears. “I'll see you there, I suppose?”

The man nods at him with his chin knowing exactly the angle and duration in which it should linger, leaving George and allowing him to finally fall back into his chair, exhaling heavily.

“A whole Major, Georgie!” Alex slams a palm on the table, scaring the hell out of him. “Bringing you flowers and claiming his rights in front of this bunch of silly young Alphas, huh? Oh, I'll lend you my tweed pants for Friday and you will undo two buttons of your shirt, you hear me?”

[yanderes-galore]

Maybe a scenario of Javier escuella (rdr2) with Prompts 1, 22 by starbabytae?

Excited to see what other people request

^^

Ah yes, Javier engaging in his delusional little hobby. Here you go ^^

Prompts Here

Yandere! Javier Escuella Prompts 1 + 22

“I saw you last night, you looked beautiful.”

“I know it’s creepy, but I love watching you sleep. It’s peaceful, you know?”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Javier watches you sleep, Creepy behavior, Possessive behavior, Violence (Suffocation), Forced/Dubious relationship.

You had become his latest fixation on the nights he couldn't sleep.

Even when the stars are out and the fire dies down... Javier has found his mind wandering. Usually it's the typical worries, he sometimes wonders about his old home... or where the gang will end up next due to the Pinkertons. However...

He hasn't been kept up due to thinking of someone so deeply before.

It's wrong, he knows it's wrong... Yet Javier can't help it. During the day you have always provided him pleasant company. Even at night, when he's stressed in his tent, he thinks of you to ease the nerves.

The first time he did it... it was by accident. Your tent was fully covered and he kept glancing at you in your bedroll while he tuned his guitar. You looked so peaceful...

So calm....

Since then he had made it a ritual of his. When you went to bed at night he'd wait an hour or two before approaching. Once he did, he'd kneel by your side... maybe even move his own bed closer to yours just to have an excuse.

You could ask him about it, wanting to know why he moved. He grins and tells you not to worry about it. His tent is a bit... worn.

If it isn't he may just sabotage it to sell his excuse.

His touch is gentle when you sleep. He watches you nap with a small smile. He likes to lay beside you, gently touching your skin or holding you close when he can get away with it.

Javier had become... obsessed with this little tradition of his. You made him forget all of his problems... both at day and at night. He hates that you're unaware...

Yet he also can't seem to get rid of the habit.

Soon it escalates to not only when you're sleeping. He knows your nightly routine by heart. He watches your every move... would this make him a creep? Yes...

But he's done worse, maybe even for you.

Javier has always been careful when not getting caught. He had excuses and carefully planned responses. He's like an addict... willing to do anything to keep his addiction.

Unfortunately...

Javier should've known someone wouldn't stay quiet. Someone must've told you about his nightly behavior. After all, he was careful...!

Yet you woke up quickly one night to find Javier standing over you, eyes staring down at you like a hungry coyote.

You go to sleep, but Javier quickly shushes you and covers your mouth. You feel pinned to your bedroll as Javier uses his strength to hold you down. Desperation flashes in his eyes... along with irritation.

"Shhh... be quiet... it's okay... you know I don't mean any harm, love...." Javier whispers, trying to encourage you to stay quiet. "What I'm doing is harmless...."

You stare at him with wide eyes. It reminds him of a cornered deer, defenseless in his hands. It... makes him feel oddly giddy.

“I know it’s creepy, but I love watching you sleep. It’s... peaceful, you know?” Javier murmurs, as though he's embarrassed yet also trying to convince you it's okay. There's a long silence between you...

Only for you to struggle again, making Javier tighten his hold to hide his activities from the rest of the gang.

"C'mon... listen to me, dear!" Javier pleads, forcing your head down even as you try to nip him. “I-I saw you last night, you looked beautiful...”

You freeze when Javier hovers a hand around your neck, grip threatening to suffocate you. You stop struggling... causing Javier to sigh in relief. Afterwards he presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer.

"I couldn't help myself... the first time I saw you, you were adorable. You looked so calm... I said I wouldn't do it again... but..." Javier confesses, tilting your head up to look at him. "I couldn't look away... I didn't want to... You're my guilty pleasure, darling... So, please, don't push me away... You'll sleep better with me watching over you."

Javier's words are ignored by you as you try to pry his hands away. Javier frowns in response, hating you look so tense. He loves it when you're asleep... but you're too rowdy now...

He needs to fix this.

"... Sorry, darling... I'll see you in the morning and maybe we can talk about this..." Javier whispers...

Only for him to restrict your airflow.

You struggle, fight, and kick him... yet screaming is out of the question. You can't get enough air to breathe and struggling wastes what you have. You slowly begin to give in... letting the darkness reclaim you with a strangled noise.

Javier says nothing, eyes dark as he watches you drift into unconsciousness. Once you no longer fight, Javier slips beside your bedroll and holds you close. This is all he wanted...

Now he can continue to see your serene sleeping face... along with kissing your sleepy head...

Maybe he can convince you this was all a nightmare in the morning...?

[syrma-sensei]

Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.8: Broken Hearts.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Setting: In the early 80s.

Warnings: angst, angst, angst...

Word Count: 2.6k.

Summary: Soldier Boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

He's down ten points so far.

Ben glares at the assistant from Crisis Management who delivered him the news with indignant, green eyes. He snatches the newspaper from the poor guy's hands. His brow twitches in irritation as he reads this line.

America's golden son is a spoiled boy.

He scoffs at the title. But he gotta hand it to them, they're becoming more and more creative with the headlines. He snickers again. He won this country a goddamn war, and the first time people find out about his harmless recreational usage of coke, they immediately bite him in the ass.

Ungrateful fucks, he grunts. Should've let the Nazis kill them all.

He crumples up the page and tears it off with a sharp jerk of his hand.

“You talked to the house yet?” He grumbles. The fact is those shots of him sniffing powder shouldn't have been snapped in the first place. He fucking pays them to maintain some privacy for fuck’s sake.

“There’s been no answer yet, sir.” The assistant’s voice waver with caution. Well, he better be, because one wrong word and Soldier Boy would snap.

“Then get the fucking lawyers into this shit!” He growls, “Should I teach you your fucking job?!”

The assistant gulps, “R-Right away, sir.” He scurries away, back to his apartment. Fucking retard. That's what he gets when he relies on Vought to cover his ass; he gets fucked.

Nevertheless, it makes him wonder, who had the balls to do that?! To tarnish his reputation. He's aware that some people aren't so fond of him, but very few dared to speak out. Soldier Boy is the face of the US. Making him look bad is a direct attack on the fucking country.

He makes his way to Legend's office. He steps in without even bothering to knock.

“One day.” He enunciates, thinking one day is generous enough to have put a button on this shit, “If this ain't sorted out, I'll take matters into my fucking hand.”

Before Legend can utter a word, Ben leaves the room as quickly as he entered, heading back to his private quarters. Where he can be with one who can make him feel everything is okay.

“Hey, sweetheart…” He announces as he walks in. He finds you reading one of those fucking tabloids: Daily Supes. His eyes furrow.

You gaze up from the newspaper in your hands, “Ben, what's going on?” You say as you stand up, ambling towards him.

“I got fucking ambushed.”

You flinch a tad at the word. Does he know it was you? No, it's not possible, because if he did, you wouldn't have been here.

“Any idea on who it might be?” You ask gingerly.

“Not yet. But they're investigating it as we speak…” He sighs, “I gave them one day. If they don't bring me a name, I'll handle it myself. And tell ya one thing, it's gonna be ugly if I do.”

You gulp, tearing your gaze away from him, eyes are on the newspaper again.

“Hey,” He approaches you, taking the tabloid and tossing it aside. His hands cradle your face. “It’ll be alright, doll, I promise.” His voice is raspy, “It’s not the first time someone tries that kind of shit.”

You nod, putting on a small smile.

He smiles back, “Here it is,” He dips down and pecks your lips, “Oh, and for the record, Legend and I have been up to something for ya…”

“Something for me?”

“That's right.” He says, “You’re gonna sing another song, and with me.”

“Really?!” You gush, eyes sparkling.

“I’m not fucking with you, dollface, it'd be a shame not to let that pretty voice of your be of use.”

“When will that happen?”

“Once we sort this shit out.”

You feel a stab of guilt pierces through your chest. And now you know you truly fucked up. You fucking had the one-time chance and fucked it up. You could've bitten the bullet, found it in yourself to forgive Ben in time. And you would've lived a thousand times better life than anything you would imagine to come up with.

But you fucked it up.

You hold back the tears that start to burn your eyes, but they run down your cheeks anyway. Ben's brows furrow, “What’s wrong, baby?” He says in the gentlest voice ever.

You wipe your tears with the back of your hands, “I-It’s nothing…” You sniffle, “I just realised how lucky I am to have you… to be yours.”

Your stomach roils in convulsion at your sick lies. It's still a wonder to you that you're still capable of lying, and to the man you're falling in love with no less.

You're so fucked.

Ben kisses your tears away, then his mouth trails down to your lips. Soft and tender. And your tears pours down again. The question rises again… why does it have to be like this?

Ben wakes up from a nap after you two had… something akin to sweet sex. Could he call it lovemaking? Maybe. But one thing for sure, you looked and sounded beautiful when he fucked you. Your moans, your squirms, your tears of pleasure. All beautiful. Just like you. Sometimes he thinks it's the only thing he exceeds at. Making you feel good. Maybe he's finally good enough for someone, and he's glad that it's you. You deserve it.

He glances down at your, you're sleeping soundly, head resting on his chest. He smiles and kisses the top of your head before he expertly slither away from your hold.

Ben freshens up in the bathroom, then he makes himself a cigarette and smokes it in the living room of his chambers.

Then there's a knock on the door. “Soldier Boy… Mr. Edgar wants to see you.”

“Do you know what the fuck he wants?”

He shakes his head, “No, sir.”

Ben smacks his lips, waving his hand dismissively, “I’ll see him when I have time.”

“I’m afraid the matter is urgent sir. He persists to see you immediately.”

He grunts, puffing out a ring of smoke. “I’m here if he wants to have a little chit chat.”

“I’m afraid he wants to see you in his office, sir.”

Ben groans again and muffles the cigarette in the ashtray. “Fine,”

After five minutes, Ben is in Edgar's office.

“You wanted to see me, Stan?” Ben drawls as walks in.

The man smiles cordially at Ben, “Indeed, I did. Please have a seat.”

Ben sits in the chair across from Edgar's desk. He puts a leg over the other, and leans backwards into the backrest of the chair, putting his arms on the armrest. Ben might as well be swinging his dick, so that little shit knows his place.

Edgar's lips are still curling in that sickening smile, “I see you're so fond of Ms. (L/N)...”

“She’s a good girl who makes me cum without regret.” He asserts, he doesn't want to display any kind of affection he harbours for you to anyone, especially this man. Because he knows they'd use it against him in some way. And he won't have it.

Edgar chuckles, unfazed by Ben's crude words, “I must say, you make quite the couple.” Ben raises his brow.

But the amusement in Edgar's voice vanishes and it turns cold, “Your satisfaction with this company is a priority to us as long as it doesn't contradict with its best interests.”

Ben's eyebrows furrow, “Meaning?”

Edgar slides open a drawer to his desk and fetches a file and gives it to Ben.

“Meaning that any gimmickry against you is against us…”

Ben opens the file and his eyes widen as they land on pictures taken of you with some… gal.

“That young lady is Lana Miller, a journalist who works for Daily Supes, a vulgar tabloid. A resource claims she and Ms. (L/N) had an agreement. I’m afraid your girl has betrayed our trust.”

Ben doesn't heed Edgar's words as he remembers you reading the same exact tabloid this morning. You. The leak was you? Ben closes his eyes then opens them again, an attempt to digest it.

But why? Everything he ever did to you millions of women wouldn't have even dreamt of it. He took you in, salvaged you from that cunt, made you his. Loved you.

Edgar's rolling his lips talking, but Ben doesn't catch anything of what the formers said. “...I hope you understand.”

“What resource?” Ben asks calmly, yet his teeth grit.

Edgar clicks his tongue, “Theodore Adana.”

Ben snorts. That old fuck, the leader of The Church Of The Collective? Vought can't just believe anything comes out of that fraud’s mouth. For all he understands Edgar attended Theodore’s grandchild's baptism. They named him Alistair for Christ's sake. Why would he accuse you of such a thing in the first place? Could he possibly be one of your previous clients? No, Jack had no business in pulling in religious leaders.

Confusion gnaws on Ben's stomach when he looks down again at your pictures with the Lana chick, and he doesn't like it.

“No,” Ben answers.

“Pardon, Soldier Boy…”

“I’ll handle it.”

It came down to his hands after all.

“But…”

“I said I'll handle it!”

When you wake up, you don't find Ben next to you in bed. Instead, you wake up to your line ringing like crazy.

You pick up the handle of the telephone. “Hello—”

“Everything’s fucking crazy, (Y/N)!” You hear Lana’s voice shriek from the other end, you lift the phone away a bit. Then your eyes widen when you realise it.

“Are you nuts?! Calling me here!” You sit up, hushing your voice in fear of Ben being out in the living room.

“What does it matter?!” She shrieks again, “You have what you wanted, the bastard who killed your brother is busted in the balls. Anyway, we should meet…”

“Like hell we are…” You hiss, “You don't know what's happening here, they're looking for the culprit and if they knew I was the mole, I'd be dead.”

“That’s exactly why we should meet!” She inveigles, “We should hit them again before they know it. I made you a deal for an interview tomorrow night—”

You silence her, “You did what?!”

“Like I said we need to talk, but not with Vought being on our asses.”

You contemplate your options and finally give in. “Okay…”

“Here’s where we're gonna meet…”

You don't know how you managed to slip through the tower's heavy security, but you did anyway. Lana's spot is a park where you two can blend in without causing much attention.

She waves a hand at you and you sit next to her on a bench. You scan the park again. It's buzzing with life, kids shrinking and playing in the yard, families on picnic blankets. Your mind swaps you and Ben with one of those families, conjuring a picture of you two having a happy normal life.

You could've had it, but you fucked it up.

“You did so well, (Y/N)!” Lana says, roiling that image until it perishes in your head. The high pitch of her voice already starts to grate on your gears. “I mean having him snorting some nasty shit… you nailed it.”

You're not sure you should compliment yourself for that. Guilt stabs in your chest, and you fight it. He killed my brother. You reason with yourself. You can believe you're doing this. The man took your brother's life and you're agonizing over what you did to him. He had it coming. Another type of guilt pierces through your chest. You’re practically trying to convince yourself of something you are ready to turn a blind eye to. You can't believe it. Soldier Boy must've really done a number on you.

“Congratulations! You put your brother's soul to rest now.”

But did you put yours by doing that?

You gather your purse and stand up, “I don't want to have anything to do with this or you anymore.” Maybe it's too late, but you said it anyway.

The pompous glee in Lana's eyes vanishes as she looks up at you, “What do you mean? You still have to fight! Do you think Vought will just cut you loose when they find out it was you?”

“Are you threatening me, Ms. Miller?” You spit.

She bolts up on her feet, “No, but I'm not the one who's acting like a cum bucket to my brother's murderer.”

You slap her.

“You fucking slut!” She hisses at you, grabbing her reddened cheek. “I should've never put my hand in a whore’s like you.”

You chuckles bitterly at her low blow. “That’s right. Whores like me can't be trusted.” You shrug, “Now if I hear anything from you and I mean anything… I'll burn you and your stupid tabloid to fucking ground.”

“You’ll pay for this…”

“I’d like to see you try, bitch.”

Lana scurries away and you smile in triumph at her cowardly retreat. You expected more fight, but whatever. You turn on your heel, and your smile wavers as they fall upon none other than Ben himself. You startle on your spot.

Whores like me can't be trusted. Those words echo in Ben's mind as he stares at you. He dressed casually and followed you since you left the tower. He heard everything.

“Ben…” You say breathlessly.

“Was it you?” His voice is stringent, leaving no room for lying.

You look down then up at him again. You nod.

Bitterness mars Ben's face for a moment before it regains composure. He can't show vulnerability. Not to you, not to anyone.

“Do you care telling me fucking why?” His eyes swirl with the pain of betrayal, and it pours down on your back like an ice bucket.

Your breath goes choppy before you regain your aplomb again. Even though your eyes sting with tears, your voice doesn't break as you answer, “You killed my brother. Six years ago, you and your pals burnt down a building while chasing villains, you left many casualties behind, he was one of them. But you don't care, do you?” Your tears break their tension and spill in two rivulets rolling down your cheeks.

A heavy silence envelopes you two, only interrupted by the children's happy squeaks.

You search his face looking for anything akin to remorse, regret, that he's sorry, anything… but you find nothing but hard green eyes piercing through your soul.

“Did you get your revenge?” He asks, voice stoic, icy.

You take a step forward, “Ben it's—”

He raises his hand up, stopping you, “Answer the question.”

“You killed my brother, Ben… I wanted to hurt you, somehow.” You say through your tears, “You have my brother's blood on your hands…”

“He wasn't the first and won't be the last.” He asserts, “People die when they come in my way, (Y/N).”

A vein pulses in your temple, “Die… just die?!” You snap, “Those people have names, Ben! Have families, people who love them!” You grit your teeth, your tears aren't stopping, and your voice isn't helping you as it's cracking, “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

You hate him for freeing you, for taking care of you, for making your heart beat, for making you question yourself, for killing your brother.

You fucking hate him.

“I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore.” You do him as you did that bitch. They came and here they go, in then out of your life, like most people do.

With that, Ben leaves you, and you collapse on the ground, you cry your heart out on the grass. Some people try to help you, but you push them away. You sit there all day long, until you return to your original home.

You return to Jack.

🦅 Previous chapter: The Scandal Date.

🦅 Next chapter: coming soon.

🦅 Soldier Boy Masterlist.

🦅 Somewhere In Your Heart Masterlist.

Taglist: @thebiggerbear, @zepskies, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deansbbyx, @deans-spinster-witch

@venus-haze, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @ketchupjasmin, @demodemo909

@mystic-mara, @jqtaro, @pepsicolacoochie, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@leavli, @robertthehoover, @soldiergrimes, @vanessa-boo, @uddiifiigj...

[majoryeager104]

𝑮𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏

007

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

"𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠．" － 𝑗． 𝑟． 𝑟． 𝑡.

Summary: an au where Touya was taken into custody after his initial fight with Shoto. Touya convinced you to take him outside, and the two of you finally have a moment to talk. Really talk.

Warnings: none

Touya Todoroki x gn!childhood friend reader

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“can we go outside?”

His question caught you off guard, but didn’t really surprise you. It seemed like every time you came in he was looking out that window, it was no wonder he would ask. And yet, the rules authorities had set for this environment stood in the way of fulfilling his wish.

“I… I’m not sure about that” you said softly, but he didn’t really give you a chance to elaborate before he was close to you again, his fingers interlocking with yours as he looked at you.

“it would be just us, you know I’m not gonna try anything stupid, I just…I wanna get out of here. Even for just a minute” he pleaded softly, his quiet words making your heart race, just by the genuine hope in his voice, you found it adorable.

You sighed, nodding. You couldn’t really say no when he seemed so desperate. “It’ll be difficult sneaking you out…but okay.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile. The first you’d seen on him in forever. “Great.” He said, his voice gruff but quiet. What an interesting sight, one of the world’s most dangerous people, smiling so warmly at you. You couldn’t help but smile back, before quickly leaving, walking towards the door while he watched.

“I’ll be back to get you tonight.” You said softly, before quickly leaving and shutting the door behind you, not giving him the opportunity to make your heart race any further.

You stood outside of the door for a minute, taking a deep breath. It had been so, so long since he’d held your hands, let alone looked at you like that. You’d wondered if he hated you for making him go through all this, thought he wouldn’t look at you like that again after all of this ‘rehabilitation’ was over. So needless to say, his upfront demeanor had thrown you off quite a bit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you couldn’t be more wrong as you walked back down the small hallway. And now, you were the desperate one. Desperate for confirmation that he still cared, or maybe desperate for him to look at you like that again. Maybe both. Didn’t seem to matter much in the long run, not when you were anticipating seeing him again as you watched the clock for the rest of the day. Silly, how much you checked your watch like it was a date, when he was right down the hall.

——

‘tonight’ came later than Touya expected. It was dark outside his window, and he was reading a book that Rei had recommended for him by lamplight when you knocked. “Come in” he said quietly, not peeling his gaze from the book until he realized it was you. “Hey” you said quietly, standing in the doorway. “When you said tonight I didn’t think you meant almost midnight” he teased, sliding a bookmark between the pages before shutting the novel and standing up, setting it on his bedside table.

You rubbed the back of your neck, shrugging “well, I had to wait till everyone else was asleep so no one would ask too many questions. You know they’d worry.” You replied, but honestly, you’d just been too nervous to go in any earlier and had to mentally cheer yourself on as you knocked.

He stared at you for a moment, a small smirk rested on his face as he finally shrugged, sliding on his jacket. “Alright, whatever.” He said, walking up to you. “So…can we leave?” He took your hand, as if trying to ease your nerves because he knew damn well you had them. You nodded, pulling him out the door. “You better not get me in trouble” you whispered, quietly leading him down the hallway. He chuckled, rolling his eyes as he followed along, his hand still in yours.

You snuck him out the back door pretty quickly, shutting the door quietly behind you both. It was freezing cold out, with snow still littering the backyard.

It was already late February, and before you know it, the snow would melt away and be replaced with flowers and green grass. But until then, Touya would wrap his jacket around your shoulders because he knew you were freezing, and you’d accept it with a blush that he could barely see in the dark, but by the gentle moonlight shining over you.

He didn’t even bring the jacket for himself. He didn’t need it, but he knew you would. So when he saw your blush, and the surprised look on your face, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“come on” he smiled, grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the snow. You couldn’t help but laugh at how childish he seemed, happily marching out into the cold, completely unaffected due to the warmth radiating from his body, his ability. As kids, you’d always joked that you wished you could swap quirks with him in the winter, and maybe he’d learn how you felt in the cold. You always hated it, but you braved the chill because you knew he loved it, and you knew you loved him.

“finally some fresh air”

he teased, grabbing your other hand as well as he faced you, watching your breath puff out and disappear in the dim light. You looked so beautiful like this- screw that, you were always beautiful. He grinned, leaning in close.

“wanna snowball fight?”

“absolutely not!”

He laughed, tilting his head as he began to tug you along, spinning in circles, mindlessly dancing as snow fell around you. “Come onnn” he chuckled, leaning in even closer. You laughed, shaking your head. “Too cold!” You said simply, giggling even more as his hands immediately began to warm yours, putting that heat to good use. “How about now?” “Still no!”

He laughed again, the spinning and dancing coming to a slow stop as he looked down at you, his smile fading away as he stared at you, his body carefully pressed against yours, breath in sync, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he finally kissed you. Everything about it seemed so perfect, like he’d been planning this out for ages. Maybe he was, you were never entirely sure.

His warm hand pulled away from yours and ran up and down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. You took that as an opportunity to tangle your fingers in his hair, sighing quietly as your nerves finally eased. He chuckled as he pulled away, giving you another quick kiss before he did.

He had a lazy smile on his face, as if he was dazed by the kiss, and yet perfectly content. You couldn’t help but giggle as he once again intertwined your fingers with his. “I love you” he said quietly, his expression so warm, but his tone so serious, like he was pleading for you to believe him. And you did.

“I love you too” you whispered, smiling softly. At that, his smile grew wider. Pleased with himself for dragging you out here and managing to pull that off, he began to kiss you again.

“hey! He’s not supposed to- ew”

Natsuo’s voice startled you both as he stood in the back door with a flashlight that he shone over you two at the absolute wrong time, a disgusted look on his face.

“you know what? You two do whatever I don’t really care anyway”

he said, walking back in and shutting the door. You glanced back at Touya in shock as a blush crept across your face, all the while Touya watched the window as Natsuo pulled up the blinds to give him a thumbs up before he left. Touya rolled his eyes, looking back down at you.

“we should probably go before he snitches to the rest of em” he said gruffly, kissing your forehead before guiding you back through the snow. “Yeah..” you said breathlessly, blinking as snow fell over your face while you walked. You watched him as you did, the dim moonlight illuminating his figure against the snow. He’s a disfigured, burnt up mess, so why did you find him so beautiful?

He dusted the snow off your shoulders and kicked his boots off on the porch before walking in, watching you do the same. He held the door for you, and slid his jacket off your shoulders as you walked in, as if trying to be gentlemanly despite being so awkward in his movements, but its the thought that counts, right?

You walked with him down the hallway, stopping at his door as he turned to look at you. “That was nice. Thanks.” He said it so quietly you’d think he was sad. Maybe he was, now his time outside was over, but once again you found he had that unreadable expression on his face.

“of course, Tou-“

he didnt let you finish before he kissed you again. It was a quick peck on the lips, but it was just enough to have you blushing. “…’night, y/n” he winked, smiling like an idiot back at you as he opened his door.

“…goodnight”

you said quietly, watching as he gave you one last smile before shutting the door between you once again.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 <𝟹 @greenmanshoe @shaunarcanine @sugurusmoon @hktfbuo @sweetlike-sugarplum (lmk if you wanna join it)

grrr this had me giggling just writing it

Happy new years!!

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: single dad

Bruce admits that he is unsure of the seriousness of his relationship with Daniel Fenton. He had never meant to run into the man after the parent-teacher conference. Yes, his introduction had a breath of fresh air, but Bruce was not naive.

It may have all been a trick, and Fentong was merely waiting to try to get closer to him or his money later on. He has always been optimistic about the good in man's hearts, but Bruce is also familiar with the equal darkness there.

That's why spotting the man in a busy cafe was such a shock. Bruce had gone on a walk between meetings, wanting something sweet to tie him over for the follow-up one.

He walked into a random family-owned place with a spicy smell. Bruce had been browsing the menu when he heard the soft melody for Fairy Tale Ending by Dumpty Humpty. Looking around a pillar, he found Daniel Fenton bobbing his head to the music while tapping away on his old beat-up laptop.

The cashier sees him staring and smiles apologetically. "We don't usually have people here, so we let him play his music. If it bothers you, I can ask him to get his headphones on."

"Oh no. I actually like the band." He assures her, paying for his drink and dropping a ten in her tip jar. He glances at Fenton again, then points, "What is he drinking?"

"Gingerbread Latte and a chocolate croissant," She responds easily, and at that moment, Bruce knows she hasn't recognized him. Not that he expects everyone on the street to point him out in a crowd, but it does mean she won't take pictures of him.

She doesn't know the photos could get her some money from down-on-their-luck gossip rags. He considers Fenton a little longer before nodding at her. "Can I have a gingerbread Latte? The exact same as his."

"You got it."

Bruce doesn't know what urges him to approach Fenton with the two drinks- though the cashier giving him a wink might have clued him in and clears his throat just as Fenton gets to the chorus. Blue eyes blink up at him. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. Hi."

"Good afternoon," Bruce starts, which causes Fenton to snort. With good-natured humor, he grins up at Bruce, and Bruce feels his intrigue rise just a few notches higher.

"Good afternoon to you as well, milord." The man says, one hand over his chest, bending his neck a little in a mock bow. "Has thy golden carriage brought to thy to me?"

"Having a golden carriage is a privilege for only the Roayl family. My carriage is made of silver, I assure you." Bruce laughs, stepping closer. This is different from the cashier. Fenton knows who he is, but he simply doesn't care.

Bruce is merely Bruce to him instead of the wealthiest man in the city and the country. It's....well, it's liberating, like being reminded that there are good and wonderful things still left in life. If this is how Fenton makes him feel only after the second meeting, what else could Bruce experience if he formed a bond with him?

Fenton's eyes catch the extra drink Bruce holds, lighting up when the other man offers it to him. He accepts the cup, offering the chair opposite from him. When Brue sits down, he asks about what he was writing where. Fenton admits to being a fantasy novelist and moves the conversation to what they enjoy reading.

Bruce arrived late to his next meeting but felt lighter, and a phone number scribbled on the back of his hand just like when he was a teenager and traveling states away to attend Dumpty Humpty Concerts.

The rest, like they say, is history.

Danny had quickly become a part of his life. It was odd how giggly the other man made him feel. Danny was a good balance to Bruce's brooding. Ironically, while Bruce believed the best in humans, keeping a calm center persona, Danny was cynical and bubbly. He assumed people were terrible, but there was no reason to give them any mind, and he was unapologetic for being himself.

After their third date, Bruce has worked up the nerve to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, only to have the other man laugh. "I thought we were boyfriends?"

"I didn't want to assume."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? Look at those soft hands. You've never seen a day of work. Gentle-handed man," Danny teased while watching the people around them. Bruce knew there wasn't any real danger, but Danny had a habit of watching their surroundings in public places.

He didn't like being caught unaware. Bruce thinks he's in love. The thing is, Bruce has thought that before, and every single time, his relationship had fallen through.

He had a hand in it, but that didn't mean his partners never broke his heart one way or another.

But this time, things would be different.

Dick had pointed it out when he ran into the two at the grocery store. Danny had invited him to help pick out dinner while Dani had been on an overnight field trip at the planetarium. His eldest had cornered him when he returned the next day, smiling widely.

"Danny seems excellent. He's like an undercover goth dating an undercover prep. You both are literally the opposite of each other and seem to like spending time around each other."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bad or good thing, but he was happy that his kids approved of him dating again. He did get a little nervous about Damian, only to find out his youngest had come to idolize Dani, and that only made him hope the relationship would work out even more.

He could see it now, Danny tapping away on his laptop while Dani painted next to him in the Wayne Manor yard- Both preferred to be in nature- on cozy weekends. His children crowding the breakfast table while Danny sang songs from bands he'd never heard.

Birthday candles are being blown out with the cheering family. Christmas mornings followed the candle lighting of Hanukkah on the previous eight nights. Graduation ceremonies that will bring Bruce to tears despite claiming he has trained too hard to do so. Boyfriends and girlfriends, the two could tag team into scaring while their children regretted ever bringing them over for an introduction.

Danny would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before bed and the first thing he saw in the morning light.

Bruce wasn't sure how their relationship was going, but he hoped, oh, he hoped.

[ladybirdswritings]

invisible string - clark kent (superman) x reader

description - you catch the eye of a handsome stranger at a party you dread being at, and now he’s paying you a visit.

notes - david corenswet superman / clark kent au !! reader is bookish and shy, clark is… curious. VERY AU. just a little romance fic, leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33

part one <3

two …

People pleaser. Those were the words meant to be scribbled upon your cobbled grave. That thought echoed like a fallen mic as you scurried around your backyard to rearrange the chairs until you deemed them perfect.

“Let’s do a fire pit at your place like old times!” he’d said. Your brother, always so painfully—social. Now sure, a part of you was excited. You’d bought far too many sugared pastries and spiced crackers to count, along with moscato and cheese to pair with it all. Even so, the thought of actually sitting with everyone and opening your pretty mouth was already exhausting you.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you grabbed it quick. Your brother’s name mirrored in your eyes.

“What’s up, Axel?” Christ, you sounded cheery.

“Hey, uh—everything is set up, right?”

The tone of his voice coiled around your nerves like a snake.

“No. Why.” You were exasperated, because you could suspect his next words before he even uttered them.

“Well, I told everyone to start heading over, so—”

Your eyes widened to saucers, skin heated to a powdered pink. You shook your head in fervor, as if he could see you through the screen.

“Axel, I’m not ready! I’m still in my pajamas, my hair isn’t done, and—”

“Well, the sun already set, and it’s fine. You can just change real quick.”

Frustration settled into your bones like an icy chill. This was not the first time he’d done this. You had pimple patches on your face, your hair in an unruly bun, your brows untamed, and your lips unlined.

Vance would be coming over, that you knew. And you could NOT face him in this state, let alone anyone else.

“Look, traffic is bad anyway, so it may take them a minute. Go change and finish setting up later. It’s fine.”

You could only offer him a frustrated huff before slamming your finger against the red ‘end call’ button, far more aggressively than necessary.

“Fuck.” You breathed into the fresh January chill, rushing inside and whipping your head from side to side to figure out where to even start.

With haste, you tugged the patches from your clammy skin and rushed to the restroom to scrub at your face.

Your hair looked horrendous, so you’d have to slick it back. You slathered on moisturizer and dotted concealer over your skin, pinching bobby pins between your teeth as you tamed your thick waves into a ballerina-like bun.

Your quaint house hummed as the doorbell rang, and your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cursed, hiding bobby pins between your silken locks. Seconds passed far too quickly, but you selfishly stole more time as you curled your lashes and glossed your pale lips. It wasn’t enough, you thought, but it would do.

A quick spray of your perfume, and you rushed to the door—stealing a shaky breath before your hand wrapped around the handle and pulled it open to find…

Him.

Hand raised midway to a knock, eyes wide and curious behind his lenses, hair unruly and skin chilled.

“Hi,” he breathed, and your gaze followed Clark’s eyes as they sipped on the sight of you.

It hit you then, as his eyes trailed down your years-old grad tee, your pink hedgehog pajama pants, and your awfully fluffy Snoopy slippers.

You forgot to change.

Red blossomed like wildflowers, the chill from the door not enough to ice your heated skin and wide eyes. And there it was again, that lazy, lopsided grin.

You had half a mind to glance behind him, wondering what girl he’d undoubtedly brought along—but he was alone.

You’d kill your brother later, for not telling you he’d be attending. An entire stranger.

“Hi,” you breathed back, exasperated, laughing in coy embarrassment at yourself before stepping aside and motioning for him to come in.

His hair brushed against the top of the doorframe as he gently stepped inside, severe blue-gray eyes scanning over your home, which was still very much under construction. Still very much a mess.

He grasped strawberries and dark chocolate in his veined hands, and your stomach threatened to demand some—you covered it with a cough.

“Your home is beautiful,” he offered, soft, turning to you as you shut the door and stood awkwardly against it.

“Thanks,” you murmured, wishing the floor would part and tug you away.

He peered at you for a moment, mouth set in a thin line before his lip twitched. That pinch, which now seemed familiar to you, settled between his brows as invisible gears turned in his head.

“I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

You winced, ready to lie to be polite. You couldn’t find the energy.

“It’s fine,” you began, but he shook his head. “No, see—I think those fluffy hedgehog pajamas are perfect bonfire attire. But please, I can manage for a little bit. Is the fire started?”

Something about the way he spoke. So smooth and contemplative, his eyes seeming to scan over you and your words as if truly considering them… it blossomed a warmth in your tummy.

You simmered it as soon as it burned. He was definitely spoken for and simply being polite. That was what you decided. No man that pretty, that perfect, could be interested in someone like… you. Soft, shy, you.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook your head, pinching the space between your brows.

“My brother was supposed to be here early to help, but he… yeah.”

You let your hand fall to your side to find that lopsided grin on full display. Cautiously, he placed the strawberries and chocolate atop the cardboard box holding your new side table inside. He motioned to them,

“For the bonfire. Let me? I can get it started for you while you… yeah.” He finished similarly to you, huffing a laugh at himself, which you mirrored.

You gazed on at him, wondering for a moment if you were an utter fool to allow a stranger to play with fire in your backyard as you tore the hedgehog pajamas from your clammy skin.

No intuitive warning came.

“That would help me a lot,” you whispered, shifting from the door as you led him to the backyard.

Immediately as you stepped through the doorway, the chill licked at your skin. Your breaths were clouds pushing past your teeth, hands wrapped around yourself immediately.

“T-the—oh,” you paused, feeling brown suede blanket your goose-kissed skin.

“Is this all the wood?” He didn’t so much as offer you any acknowledgment that he’d laid his jacket over your shoulders—changing the subject before it could even be visited. Your next inhale was laced with honeyed whiskey and chai.

You could only nod, hugging the suede closer as he lifted the bag of wood. His muscles flexed beneath his knit long sleeve, and you knew then that you were staring simply because you noticed.

The pinch in his brows returned as he pushed his glasses up with his wrist and turned the bag in his veined hands.

“This is more than enough,” he spoke, shifting his eyes to you with that same lazy grin. “Go get warm, I’ll get it started.”

You were eager to comply…

By the time you’d finished properly combing and braiding your hair, lathering sparkled amber upon your skin and vanilla on your neck, you were shaky. Though he eased your nerves, you felt every bit impolite as you swiped through your sweaters—settling on a cream one with navy lacings.

The doorbell didn’t ring once, and your brother was still yet to arrive. So either fate was bored or luck was handsy. You winced as you scanned your impression. Pretty, warm but pretty.

Despite not wanting to face him, you made your way outside to find him seated by a scorching fire, legs outstretched and a book pinned in his hand. His glasses fell lazily on the bridge of his nose, and his attention snapped up once you approached.

You could tell by the bookmark scattered in pink bows that it was your copy of Belladonna he held in his hand. You flushed a rich scarlet.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, pulling it to a close and setting it aside. “You left it out here, and I got curious.”

You shook your head, gently sitting in the chair vacant beside him. His jacket settled in your lap like a fragrant blanket.

“Don’t apologize, I love that book.”

You spoke so low, the breeze nearly stole it. You sniffled as you outstretched your hands toward the flickering flames, sighing contentedly as the fire warmed your skin.

“We never finished our conversation,” he declared, and you glanced over to find that curious blue-gray gaze already peering at you. His lip twitched, “It’ll probably be easier now that there’s no more football talk in the background, hmm?”

You grinned, soft but prominent. “You don’t like football?”

He outstretched a hand of his own, waggling his fingers against the smoke. “I love football, but I love books more.”

You hummed at that, nodding your pretty head as you considered his words. “That makes no sense,” you decided, more to yourself than anything, but… he huffed a hearty laugh.

“No? How come? Do my boots and flannels give me away? Or maybe it’s the glasses, I look like an imposter, don’t I?”

Suddenly, like the fire, he was alive. Comfortable and burning with low embers. It extended to you, perhaps rubbed off of his very jacket. Perhaps it was the lack of others that made you relax your tense shoulders. Perhaps there was a spell in his laugh.

“No—god no. I just mean… well, in my experience, men that look like they’ve torn themselves from a Pinterest board don’t often act like they’ve torn themselves from a Pinterest board.”

You were both complimenting his looks, which he was very much used to, and undermining his character, which he was not at all used to.

His lip twitched.

He liked it.

“Tell me your favorite book, Y/N,” he decided, his voice a soft lick of seduction you couldn’t quite understand, with your pretty eyes fluttering to anywhere else but his own.

His voice settled deep in your tummy, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be selfish. If there was a model waiting for him at home, you’d mourn the heartbreak of the revelation later. Now?

“That’s an awful question to ask an avid reader.”

His grin was a slice of the moon in a sea of darkness, and you found yourself admiring it for a stolen moment.

“You’re right. Maybe I was testing you.”

You could only purse your pretty lips at that, “Did I pass?”

A moment of silence fell between you both as he glazed his blue-gray eyes over your flushed face. Slowly, oh so slowly, drinking you in like warm honey. When he was satisfied, his lazed grin appeared once more.

“Yeah,” he whispered simply, a ringlet of his unruly waves falling to a swirl upon his forehead. You itched to trace it, to push it back.

You were no expert in the slightest. Flirtations always flew right over your busy head. But now, with only the lick of fire reminding you that the world was indeed moving, you found his eyes locked upon your glossed lips. Or were you mad?

“Do you want a strawberry?” he whispered, eyes still considering what colors were scattered in sparkles on your pout.

“Yes,” you squeaked, and it was enough to break him from whatever spell your sparkled gloss had him under. He blinked, clearing his throat as he reached over and pulled a plump berry from its Tupperware, handing it to you.

Your fingers brushed, but opposed to pulling away, you both remained there. As if frozen in time, tips of your fingers grazing one another around the berry, your eyes locked where they met, and his locked where you stared.

“Let me take you on a date,” he blurted after far too long a moment, voice deep and laced with an air of nervousness. You froze, wide eyes fluttering up to his own to find mirth or humor. Neither were present.

After a long moment of your silence, your processing, the pinch between his brows returned, and he wrapped a warm palm around your slender fingers. He huffed a laugh at himself, shaking his head. Humor did kiss his gaze then as he found your eyes once more.

“Please.” He corrected.

The berry was trapped between your palms, the only barrier between your hand being held by the handsome stranger. Clark.

And he wanted to take you on a date.

You heard the ring of the doorbell, the approach of the car, and your shoulders tensed once more. His waiting gaze flickered toward the doors in anticipation, and as your silence stretched, he unraveled his fingers from your palm.

“I’m sorry—“ he began, but you quickly interrupted.

“Just say when…”

[kookoomyboy]

take your mask off, darling.

⊂❀⊃ pairing : jungkook x oc

⊂❀⊃ genre : silent!jk, artist(?)!oc, genuinely just a little thought into words tbh lmao

⊂❀⊃ wc: 1305

⊂❀⊃ summary : drabble | helping you from getting caught by the cops; you as an insolent girl who does graffiti on walls.

⊂❀⊃ a/n : these characters make me wanna write more about them tbh

< jjk titles,,> ♡ kookoomyboy ®

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

A dark brown leather, but worn out jacket hung over your shoulders, slumping due to the weight of the bag full of potential tools you had in them, the night washed over the sky, a few dimly lit, flickering street lights were the only form of light in your life. literally. Kicking and rolling the few stones that lay unattended on the floors of the walkway, your eyes slowly lift up from gazing at the rocks, and fix them on the few clean and ready to be done walls in front of you. 

Stopping on your tracks, the sound of the bag being practically thrown on the ground stinged your ears because they had metal bottles of spray paint in them. Yes, those were your tools of comfort, yes you are very fond of painting the walls with your talent. No one would ever want a known “bad girl” of the college you studied in to take part in the art competitions, because, just because they thought you would create trouble. 

Society never bothered to change. Just because you wore shabby but expensive, worn out but still expensive shoes, they looked upon you as a trouble maker. So naive of them. But since you were bestowed upon with the title, you changed your personality accordingly. Not a strong move, but isn’t that how people work on other people? Isn’t that how the rumors and thoughts of others affect you, in the most hurtful and changing way?. Indeed yes. 

Exactly why now, you stood here in the utmost “dangerous” part of the alley, where guys with cigarettes stood god knows where, with their prying eyes, it was the typical place that screamed “unsafe”, but you still felt nothing but pure bliss when you shook the spray can, the light tapping sound as the paint mixed well, and when your hands moved freely with the strokes, you had liberty. 

Liberty. 

Something you were deprived of all your life, just because your parents didn’t want anything but the best for you, but they knew less about how you were suffering your way through, each breath you took in used to feel like a burden. You were done with all the things your parents imposed on you, just to be perfect, so done, that you made your way out of the place you once called home. 

Getting yourself enrolled in college was the last thing you had in your mind, you really thought you could live with the small jobs you used to do, inexperienced, but you had the will to live anywhere but never with  the people who suffocate you. But that’s when, a very polished boy, all his records clean, and very attractive to your senses, came into your life, as your roommate. You wondered why he chose such a small place to live in, because considering his appearance, he was of a great background. But you never believed in judging a book by its cover. But he was a book you longed to read, to get to know, and ironically, he was always so indulged in reading. 

You’d walk into your house after college and see him sprawled on the sofa, reading. Then you’d get out for some fresh air into the balcony, and there he’d be reading. And like that, you just decided to keep yourself away from him, so that you wouldn’t become a scar to his beauty; a blemish. 

Your thoughts were occupied with him, and him only while you stroke on the wall with the spray paint. Mindlessly, your hands, merged with the rhythm of thoughts in you, stroked “田柾國”  onto the surface of the wall, just like how it’s etched in your heart. You were an enthusiast in Korean culture, and mastered Hanja, a traditional writing system that consists of Chinese characters. 

A small chuckle escaped and melted into the air, as you suddenly snapped out of the daze his love put you in. Yes, you love the guy, Jeon Jungkook. Even though you would never confess to him, you held onto his thoughts, painting and making them shine with adoration you held for him. “Shit- I just wrote his name in Hanja.. No, this isn't how you're supposed to behave, Y/N.” You mumbled and mentally face palmed at the carelessness. As you were about to stroke on more of the graffiti onto the wall, a faint noise of a siren, possibly of the cop vans, echoed vividly, around the empty alley like an alarm, a warning. 

Your ears perked and the thought of getting into trouble electrified your spine like it usually doesn't and the pieces of fear pricked into your head wounding your previously soft thoughts. Feeling as if you weren't meant to be in love, or so for your overly boosted brain. If you get caught, you will definitely be expelled from college. Not that you mind, but you would have to stay away from Jungkook if so. 

Wasting no more time, you stuffed all your stuff into the backpack you possessed and rushed with folding up the ladder you stood in, and putting it aside to clear off any traces of your presence. The sirens grew closer and closer as your breath hitched seeing the vans pull up, the headlights lighting up the streets. 

This was it. You were about to get caught. But just as the cops were surrounding the place where you beautifully painted the graffiti on, a pair of hands swiftly scooped you into the nothingness of the small walkway behind the walls and in no time, the person, whoever it was, connected their foreheads with yours, in an attempt to look like you both were just mere couples in heat. The torch light by the cops passed through the alley and into the small pathway behind and immediately retracted, seeing the two of you connected to each other, probably allowing the “privacy”. 

The cops went out of sight, but still the man had himself attached to you, his hands tenderly gripping your waist in a ring and his breath fanned over your face. You were slow to notice, but that’s the flavor of mint Jungkook timidly asks you to buy whenever you go out, the one smell that makes your heart tumble in an approximately infinite number of somersaults

“Jungkook?” You cautiously whispered, his face too close to yours to let you breathe. 

“Darling, you’re one little troublesome thing aren’t you?” Now that’s not the Jungkook you know. His voice seemed deeper than the galaxies his eyes held for you. 

“I was just doing what I like.” You shrugged off, just like you weren’t standing wide eyed with a racing heart, not because of fear, but because of being in love, It felt right with him.

“Same.” He whispered before holding your jaw and diving in, bringing back your lips in his as you were utterly shocked, but your senses kissed him back, with the same passion. He walked backwards, out into the street where the wall stood, his name in Hanja shone brighter than ever, in the moonlight.

Pulling out, he rested his forehead on yours again, but you walked off towards the broken switches that controlled the flimsy bulb that hung over on the most dark alleyway and turned them up, the lights going out as the both of you were lit with just the dim moonlight, which seemed to disappear into the clouds, as if they were sucked in suddenly.

“Why did you do that, Y/N?” He asked you, but a smug smile played on his lips.

"We're surrounded by the moonlight, symbolized as the twinkle of love. Tell me our truth, Jeon."

[hksdlgsyappage]

Backburner

Spencer Reid x readet

C: Angst

Summary: After weeks of silence, you sit in a café, reflecting on the painful realization that Spencer Reid had never made them a priority, for always being second place.

I haven't heard from Spencer in days. It's been weeks, actually. Not that I expected anything different. His job has always come first—always. The BAU, the cases, the people who needed saving. And I was always the one waiting, lingering in the background, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'd remember me.

But he never did. Not really. Not in the way I needed him to.

Flashback:

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I remember the first time I realized I wasn’t a priority to Spencer. We had spent hours together after a particularly brutal case, talking over dinner. We laughed. We shared things about ourselves that we hadn’t told anyone else. It felt real. And for once, I didn’t feel like I was on the outside of his world.

But the next morning, it was gone.

He was already back at the office, drowning in paperwork, absorbed in his work like he always was. I sent him a message, a simple one: “Good morning! I hope you’re doing okay.”

He didn’t reply.

Not for hours.

And when he did, it was the same as always. A few words. Casual. Polite. Nothing more.

I told myself it was fine. That I had to understand. That he was busy, that he was doing important work. But deep down, I knew what was happening. I wasn’t a priority. I was just the person who was always there when he needed someone to talk to, but never someone he would choose when things got hard.

Present:

I’m sitting in the same café where we used to meet—before. Before he pulled away. Before I realized that my feelings were just a shadow in his life. It’s almost ironic, really. I had told myself that if I was patient enough, if I gave him the time he needed, he’d see me. He’d come to his senses.

But that didn’t happen.

It never happens.

And so, I gave up. The final nail in the coffin was a week ago. I had waited by my phone, staring at the screen, hoping for a message that never came. And when it did, it was just another case update. Another report. Another moment where I wasn’t a part of his life.

I could feel myself slipping away, feeling like I was fading into the background of his world. It hurt more than I thought it would. It still does.

So, I walked away.

Flashback:

We were in his apartment, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. It felt familiar, comfortable. I wanted to stay there forever, nestled in the quiet of his presence. But I knew it wasn’t right. I couldn’t keep pretending like this was all okay when I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t.

"Spencer," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t do this anymore."

He stopped what he was doing, a frown forming on his forehead. "What do you mean?"

I swallowed, trying to find the words. "I can’t keep waiting for you. I can’t keep being your second choice. You say you care about me, but when it comes down to it, you’re always focused on something else. Someone else. I’m just here when you have time for me, but I’m not enough to be a priority."

His face hardened, his jaw clenching. "That's not fair."

"No," I replied, my voice shaking now, "what’s not fair is how I’ve let myself be treated like I’m not enough. I don’t want to be an afterthought. I don’t want to be on your back burner anymore."

He didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t argue. Just stood there, silent.

And I left.

Present:

The door chimes as it opens, pulling me out of my thoughts. My heart stops, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m imagining it. But no, it’s him. Spencer.

He’s standing in front of me, his face unreadable. I want to ignore him, I want to tell him to leave, but I can’t. I can’t just shut him out when everything inside of me is screaming for him to stay.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice quieter than I remember. "Can we talk?"

My hands tremble, the remnants of anger and hurt still fresh in my chest. The audacity of him to think that now, after everything, we can just talk. After weeks of silence, after everything I put into this... now he wants to talk?

I look at him, my mouth dry. "You can’t just walk back into my life, Spencer. You can’t just show up now like nothing happened. You left me. I waited, and I waited, and you never even noticed. And now you think that you can just... what? Make it better?"

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "I know I screwed up," he says, his voice breaking. "I’ve been... I’ve been a fool. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second place."

I want to scream at him. I want to tell him how much it hurt. How much I still feel the emptiness of his absence. But I just stay silent, because I already know. I already know the answer.

"I’m sorry," he continues, his words almost a whisper. "I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I was so focused on everything else, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "You think saying ‘I’m sorry’ is enough? You think that makes it better?"

His eyes widen in pain, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. But I can’t stop now. I can’t let him off the hook. Not when I’ve been holding myself together for so long, waiting for him to notice.

"I don’t even know who I am anymore when you’re around," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I put everything aside for you, but you never asked me to stay. You never asked me to be a priority. I can’t keep doing this. I’m done being your afterthought."

His eyes search mine, desperate now. "I never meant for you to feel like that. You were never an afterthought. You—"

I stand up, cutting him off. "Then why did I feel like I was always on the back burner?"

I turn to leave, my heart heavy, my throat tight. I don’t know if he’s following me, if he’s even said anything. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my own pulse, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me.

But before I reach the door, I feel his hand on my arm. It’s warm, and I want to pull away, but I don’t.

"Please," he whispers. "Don’t go. I’m trying. I will do better. I want to be better for you. For us."

I look at him, my face wet with tears I hadn’t realized I was shedding. "You can’t just want to be better, Spencer. You have to actually do it."

I pull away from his grasp and walk out of the café, my chest heavy with the weight of the words I’ve said. And as I leave, I know something for sure: this time, I won’t wait.

[gotham-adrenaline]

The Importance of Abnormalities

Author note: Really pushing my autism/alexithymia on Tim this time but I cannot be contained- not beta read to even heavily proofread cause it is past 1am...

Pairing: Tim Drake x Kon-El/Conner Kent

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: nothing really though Tim thinks a lot about feeling "different" than the rest of the world (very hinting towards autism)

Look, Tim wasn’t stupid. It would be impossible by now to be unaware of his own… eccentricities.

Not many people stalked and then blackmailed their way into a family of vigilantes to essentially babysit a grown man running around every night in a bat costume. He was completely aware he was a bit outside the norm.

But most days it was easy to forget that everyone around him didn’t function like he did. Life was busy, he was busy, and his family wasn’t exactly known for self-analysis and being introspective of their feelings.

Today was not most days.

It started firmly in “most days” territory, with a nap before breakfast and Damian accusing him of trying to “lure Titus into a life of debauchery” when Tim attempted to slip the dog some bacon on his way down the cave. He had only just opened up a file when, immediately, as if it had sensed Tim trying to be productive, his phone began to ring.

Kon calling to ask for a bit of help with a stealth mission was not an everyday occurrence, but Tim pushing down the swell of warmth in his chest absolutely was a regularity (Kon called him, Kon could have contacted so many people but he chose Tim to help, trusts Tim even after everything Tim’s done-), so Tim could ignore the disruption to his routine and suit up so Kon could come get him.

The mission went well, really well actually, which could be considered odd with their track record but by the time Tim and Kon had finished, he was tired enough to disregard that and let Kon fly to the nearest safe house for them to crash in for the night.

The safe house only having one bed was somewhat standard too, and yet that’s where everything seemed to get weird.

Kon showered first and was already curled up in the bed by the time Tim slipped out of the bathroom, hair wet enough it would be a nightmare to fix tomorrow if he went to sleep now… but that was a future Tim problem. Present Tim was busy very pointedly not looking at how adorable Kon looked buried under the covers (he always bundles himself up even though he can’t get cold, just his eyes and hair peeking out and it makes Tim's chest a bit too tight). So he grabs himself a blanket and gets ready to curl up in an armchair to sleep for at least 10 hours when Kon, voice soft in a way to Tim can only describe as “safe”, breaks Tim’s worldview like it’s nothing.

“Hurry up and get in bed, it’s cold.”

And that is not how this usually goes.

Stranger yet is that Kon doesn’t get cold, and Kon knows that Tim knows that, which means that Kon is concerned about Tim getting cold, wants Tim curled up in bed with him and oh god his heart is racing, there is no way Kon hasn’t noticed-

Kon shuffled a bit around behind him and Tim turned before he could stop himself, taking in the sight of the clone sitting up partially and blinking at Tim like he’s the one being strange here when once he’s being completely normal.

“Tim,” Kon has this little smile like Tim is the one being cute and maybe a little ridiculous when he most definitely was not- “Come on, seriously, I’m tired.”

And when Tim didn’t move, Kon’s smile slipped away, and no no that was not allowed-

“I- if you’re okay with that, obviously. Don’t wanna freak you out.”

And oh, it was way too late for that, but Kon looked nervous and Tim could fix that. He was sliding under the blankets before his brain realized his body moved.

Kon settled back down onto the bed and stared at him in a way that made Tim wonder if he’d learned mind reading recently, or worse if Tim’s thoughts were written all over his face, if his heart rate gave away how much he wanted to curl up as close to Kon as he could and not move until he was physically forced away-

And maybe somehow Kon had known (or maybe Kon wanted it as bad as Tim had) because he reached out slowly, giving Tim enough time to move away before pulling Tim into his chest and that was all the permission Tim needed.

Pushing his face into the curve of Kon’s neck, Tim went completely slack in Kon’s arms. The clone gently rubbed his hand on Tim’s back, and god Tim’s muscles must’ve disintegrated or something, Tim is a detective so he should really look into that- and yet Batman could walk into this room right now with an assault rifle and stripper boots and he probably wouldn’t even twitch.

“All good?” Kon is using that safe voice again, which sounds even nicer up close, his chest rumbling under Tim’s hands.

And Tim knows he’s different, okay? He knows, because he spends most of his days neutral to most of life and apathetic at worst. Sometimes he just can’t connect to things in the way everyone else seems to so simply, can’t summon the emotions the world wields as easily as breathing. He has to monitor his face to make sure he doesn’t ruin a new Wayne Enterprises contract or scare a victim on a crime scene.

He feels emotions, he’s still human, but it’s hard enough to know what he’s feeling and even harder to make sure everyone else can identify the emotion correctly when his facial expressions don’t ever seem to display them naturally.

But this? This is easy. Loving Kon was so natural to him that it sometimes hurt.

There hadn’t been any second-guessing in years, not since he first identified the feeling pushing at his rib cage in a desperate bid to get out, and that love had only grown, a hungry creature that Kon often unknowingly fed.

People always make love seem so gentle and Tim could relate to that too, sometimes. When it feels like laying in the sun in the backyard of the manor or taking a warm shower after a good workout.

But so often, Tim’s love was just so… forceful.

He had nearly destroyed himself in his attempts to satisfy his parents, stalked Batman and Robin for years and threw away what was left of his childhood to save his city and Batman himself (because he was too late to save Robin and he knew he could have done more-), put himself into harm's way time and time again for his friends, searched the whole globe and manipulated the League of Assaains to find Bruce-

And he’d never want to make Kon uncomfortable, to scare him, but sometimes he felt as if he’d crack the whole planet open if Kon truly needed him to. Would take the very air out of his lungs if Kon needed the oxygen.

When Tim loved, he loved hard.

Tim knew he wasn’t normal. He just couldn’t find himself to care if it meant loving Kon like this.

And since Kon asked and now that he’s thinking about it, he was all good right now. Tim sighed into Kon’s neck sleepily.

“Yeah.”

Kon’s arm around his back tightened. It felt like a shield from the rest of the world and he let out a breath that felt far too controlled, something that Tim would read more into if he had any brain space left for anything other than being warm and safe and happy and-

“Good.”

And that was the last thing Tim heard before drifting off to sleep.