#wonder how he's gonna fix this or if he even thinks he should try

[arkhambug]

JASON TODD hearing you try to mask your accent

“and, that isn’t—,” you enunciate, and jason doesn’t even hear the rest of what you’re saying. your words are coated in some weird neutral accent, and he’s sure you’re not even trying to sound any specific way other than not how you do. you’d started off normal, with that pretty southern twang, but somewhere through the conversation it was like a switch was flipped and you’d eased yourself into whatever this was.

he tries to tune back in, to listen to what you’re saying, but his brows are knitted together, and his nose is crinkled, and he hates this. “the hell are you doin’, ma?”

“what do you mean?” you push out, trying so damn hard not speak how you’re used to, and every word is wrong, not how it should sound coming from that pretty mouth. and jason shoots you a look, one that very much conveys ‘you know damn well what’ with a heavy frown, and you cave in an instant.

you try to explain. that you don’t want to sound like a hick, or a country bumpkin, or uneducated, because you’re not uneducated. and there’s reasons, of course there are, and they’re all stupid to him. coworkers mocking you, or friends making a poorly timed joke. maybe an overheard conversation, just something. but the one that stands out the most is that you don’t want his friends, or his family, or him to think of you that way.

and that’s the most stupid, by far, because how could his brilliant, wonderful partner ever worry he’d think you’re uneducated? he’s seen your brain work, seen you solve things in half the time it takes him to, and that’s when you’re giving him a chance.

and he drags you to him, across the couch, and pulls your face into his chest, and kisses the crown of your head. and he sings your praises, a million words of reassurance — about how you’re the smartest person he’s ever met, about how he could never think that, about how he’d kick someones ass for even insinuating that you weren’t as brilliant as you were

and it doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it okay, even just for a minute. it helps.

yeah idk how to end this????

straight up was gonna just give up at the fifth paragraph and call it

but anyways!! im insecure abt my accent and i want a big ass sweet man to hold me and kiss me and tell me my accent is pretty and that it doesnt make me sound dumb like people say it do 💪💪

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°��� ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the teeth, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the T.V.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

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[shiningstarwrites]

How Arcane Characters Would Tease You

Trigger Warnings: Playful teasing, flirtation, suggestive undertones, and light embarrassment.

Vi

• Vi thrives on playful physicality when teasing you. She’ll corner you against a wall with that trademark smirk, leaning in just close enough to watch you squirm. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just me?”

• She loves catching you off guard. If she sees you zoning out, she’ll casually drape an arm around your shoulders and whisper, “Daydreaming about me again? Happens to the best of us.”

• If you try to tease her back, she’ll laugh and pretend to let you win for a moment before flipping the script. “Oh, you’re getting bold, huh? Careful, sweetheart—I might like that.”

Caitlyn

• Caitlyn’s teasing is subtle and refined, but it always leaves you flustered. She’ll lean in close under the pretense of adjusting your collar or brushing off dust. “There. All fixed. Though I think I’ve distracted you more than I helped.”

• She loves making sly comments during serious moments. If you get flustered over something small, she’ll chuckle softly. “I didn’t know you could be this adorable. Should I be worried?”

• Caitlyn has a knack for watching your reactions carefully and pressing just enough to make you blush. “You’re not used to this, are you? Don’t worry—I’ll go easy on you. For now.”

Jinx

• Jinx teases with pure chaos and energy. She’ll randomly steal your hat or glasses, putting them on and spinning around dramatically. “How do I look? Like your new favorite person, right?”

• She loves poking fun at your flustered reactions. “Aww, are you blushing? That’s so cute! Wait, hold on—do it again!”

• Jinx is the type to lean in like she’s about to whisper something serious but instead says something ridiculous like, “Guess what? You’re stuck with me forever now. Deal with it.”

• She’ll playfully mock your nervous habits or mannerisms. “Biting your lip again? Geez, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

Ekko

• Ekko teases with quiet confidence. He loves leaning into your space and saying something simple but disarming, like, “You always look this good, or is today special?”

• He’ll lightly call you out when you’re too flustered to respond properly. “You’re not this quiet when we’re talking about other stuff. Something on your mind?”

• If you try to brush him off, he’ll chuckle and lean in closer. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re playing hard to get now. That’s cute.”

• Ekko’s teasing always feels warm and intentional, like he’s daring you to match his energy. “C’mon, don’t just stand there—tell me what you’re thinking. Or do I already know?”

Silco

• Silco’s teasing is intense and deliberate. He thrives on subtle power plays, like brushing a strand of hair from your face and lingering just a moment too long. “You’re awfully quiet. Do I make you nervous?”

• He loves making you second-guess his intentions with cryptic compliments. “You’ve certainly caught my attention. I wonder if you even realize how much.”

• Silco enjoys watching you try to compose yourself under his gaze. “Careful—you might blush yourself into a fever if you keep looking at me like that.”

• His voice drops an octave when he teases, making every word feel heavier. “It’s fascinating, really—how easily I seem to unnerve you. Not that I mind, of course.”

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

not pressuring u but pls write for art donaldson:)

Warnings: Established relationship, Stanford era, Sleepy Art Donaldson being The Sweetest, hints of subby Art, smooches

"...You're doing it again, you know."

"What am I doing?"

"You're distracting me, Art."

"How? I'm laying still and I'm being quiet."

"You're staring at me."

"I'm not staring."

"Art."

"I'm not."

"What do you call it, then?"

"...Watching."

You turn your head, brows raised in disbelief, lips pursed as you try to fix him with a stern look. It doesn't hold. How can it, with the way he's smiling at you?

You can see how tired he is from the slow blinking of his heavy lids. It's a wonder that he's still awake; he's been curled up in your bed for the last half hour as you've tried to finish up a paper. It's nearly midnight, and you know that he's been up since six that morning. Between classes and practice, he's had an insanely long day.

"You should be sleeping," You scold.

"'m not tired."

"Bullshit."

He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and nuzzling your pillow.

"I'll wait."

"For what?"

"You to come to bed."

"Are you just going to stare at me until I do?"

"'Course not...I am gonna watch you, though."

You smile, sighing and saving your work before shutting your laptop.

"Alright."

"You're finished?"

"No, I'll finish it tomorrow."

"You sure?"

You hum affirmatively, stepping into your bathroom and cranking the faucet on. You make it through washing your face before you see movement in your periphery.

"I'll be there in a second," You promise as Art drifts into the room. "I'm just gonna brush my teeth."

Art cuddles up behind you, arms curling around your middle as he presses his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath.

"You miss me already? It's been two minutes," You tease before lifting your toothbrush.

"Not just two minutes," Art insists. "Barely saw you today." He tips his head up, nuzzling your jaw. "I was thinkin' about you."

You smile, leaning down and rinsing your mouth out, wiggling your hips back against him as you hinge forward. Art groans low in his throat, thumbs dipping beneath your shirt and gently sweeping over your sides.

"I was thinking about you, too," You admit, turning to face him.

"Really?"

"Mhm. All day." Art's smile widens as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "We goin' to bed now?"

"In a minute." Art leans in, brushing his lips against yours. You smile, sliding a hand into his hair and parting your lips, teasing your tongue tenderly against his. He sighs into your kiss, hands snaking around your back to draw you closer into his chest. You break the kiss slowly, giving his hair a gentle tug and grinning as his eyelids flutter, a sweet flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Come on," You urge. "We can't have you sleep-walking through practice tomorrow."

--

Even with your eyes closed, in the dim room, you can still feel it. You shift a little, adjusting your covers.

"Art," You warn softly, "You're still doing it."

Art's hand cups your face, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone.

"Baby," He murmurs, "If you were in my place, you'd stare, too."

[celenexox]

Lovebombs after the War-

Matt Sturniolo

summary: when you go and make things right with your boyfriend matt after an argument

warnings: swearing, arguing, fluff

you and matt have been at eachothers throats all day, and to be honest with yourself you don’t even know why, or how the bickering even started, it just did

it is around 7:30pm and you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone alone, if you were not in the situation that you were in with matt right now, the two of you would’ve been on the couch together laughing about something meaninglessly funny

then suddenly, you hear his footsteps approaching, out of the corner of your eyes, you see him stop and stand by the hallway with his arms crossed

“is this ever gonna end?” he asks you, barely above a whisper to the point where you couldn’t audibly hear him that well, but the message was still sent

you’re still mindlessly scrolling through your phone, not really sure if you should even turn up to acknowledge him, so you ignore him, not even knowing why

“so this is what we’re doing?” he says, raising his arms up

“you know what? forget it! why do i even bother trying, you clearly don’t want to resolve the issue” he says even louder now than his previous statement, causing you to flinch vaguely

he walks away and into your bedroom, slamming the door shut

you think to yourself and wonder why you didn’t just respond to him, like a normal human being, none of this would have happened and the problem could have been solved by now if it weren’t for you acting petty

tears start to form in your eyes, you start to feel upset about the situation at hand, and also start to feel bad for the way you treated matt

it is now 10:15pm and the house is dead silent, you finally decide to get up off the couch and do something useful

you went down the hallway very quietly and walk infront of you and matt’s bedroom, the door was closed but you could tell the lights were off

instead of building up the courage to go and apologize you walked a little further down and into the bathroom, you brushed your teeth and looked into the mirror for a second, eyes bags have formed from the lack of sleep and the exhaustion of the tense atmosphere that you and matt have created

you turn the lights off and walk infront of the bedroom door again, you put your hand on the doorknob and wait for a few seconds before ultimately deciding to finally open the door

you open it very slowly and quietly, trying to examine the room from the slight creak of the door opening before fully stepping inside

you could tell that matt was laying on his side of the bed, and you walk inside fully now

you sit down on the corner as his back is faces away from you

you put your hand on his shoulder and in a whisper you start to call out to him

“matt, baby, are- are you awake?”

you hear him sniffle a little before nodding his head, still not turning to face you

he had been crying? you think to yourself

“oh matt, i am so sorry for all of this, and for ignoring you, i was such an asshole”

he finally turns around to look at you, the lights weren’t on but you could still see his features and how his eyes were red and puffy

your heart starts to ache just at the sight of him like this, you had to fix things quickly

“im so sorry baby, i love you” you say, taking his hand and squeezing it

“im sorry too, it’s not just you okay? i messed up as well” he replies, in a soft and raspy tone

“can you forgive me, i never want to see you crying like this” you run a hand through his hair, trying to ease the pain

“of course i can forgive you, and can you also forgive me too?” he takes your fingers off his hair and into his hands

“matt, of course i’ll forgive you” you reply to his apology and kiss his hands

the two of you look into each others eyes for a few seconds before he pulls himself up, now you’re both sitting on the bed

you open your arms and wrap them around his neck, he wraps his around your waist

“i never want to fight like this with you again, promise me that it’ll never get this bad” you words are mumbled into his shoulder

“i promise you, it’ll never get this bad again” matt replies

after hearing those words, you pull him under the sheets and hug him tightly, thankful that the storm has ended so that you could finally go to sleep.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

[yurinaa-world]

"𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀!"

Characters: Scar, Jiyan, Geshu Lin, & Calcharo x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: Kisses while drunk?!

Warnings fluff, spelling mistakes

𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇 "𝒪𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐹𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒹𝓊𝓈"

“Ugh...You’re such a bastard..”

Who would have known that Scar would also join you for drinks—sitting right in front of you with a grin—but now how you two are arguing? Well, it’s just you being a jealous drunk while he’s acting like his usual flirt since he isn’t forcing down a drink every second like you—this argument is completely one-sided.

You take another slip from the bottle—it used to be full but now you’ve left it almost empty—you sigh after your lips leave the bottle.

“You’ve shattered my heart with that insult.”

He’s mocking you! You can tell how he’s holding his laugh! His head was slightly tilted to the side while his chin was on his palm. 

“I hope it’s broken till it can’t be fixed!”  You huff and take another sip of your drink while he hums while ‘taking in your words in for consideration’—he’s just getting some information to tease you with when you're sober.

“Must have been fun to go on your ‘little date’”  

he snickers at your statement, such a jealous little lover of his. "You know you're the only person I'd love." His unoccupied hand went to your cheek, pinching and pulling at it while you frowned with annoyance. "You're my only one, darling~"  He smiled, his eyes closed as if enjoying a wonderful dream. You push his hand away, annoyed by his actions.

"Say that to your new lover."   You sneer at the thought. "Oh please," He scoffs, "who else in the entire world would I burn everything for? I'll give you a hint: it's the same person sitting in front of me"  His voice lowered into an even more teasing tone, leaning in closer to you—your lips inches away from each other—so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body, causing you to shiver in anticipation. His hand on your face is now gripping tightly on your cheek, making sure not to let you pull away as he leans forward and whispers lowly 

"And it's you. you're my everything.~" When leaning to kiss your lips—just like always it's rough—his hand moved down, cupping your jaw as he deepened the kiss, biting the bottom of your lip. You pull away trying to catch air and breathe out while flustered out of your mind.

"Why don't you call me a bastard again, hmm?"

𝒥𝒾𝓎𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈"

“Loosen up Jiyan, you're so tense!

He really should loosen up! always refusing to drink at parties. Even now that’s the case! you're both all alone together so he really should take a break and let his mind just go numb for a while with how much thinking he does.

He might not be able to resist you for any longer with how you are straddling his lap, an arm loosely around his neck and the other with a drink in hand—to get him to try—you were wasted out of your mind.

"You should calm down before you get hurt.” 

He tells you, very gently pushing you off of his lap and taking the drink from your hands. “Aren’t gonna drink it?” You clasp your hands together and beg him. which just makes it worse for him not to listen to you.

He listens to your request, immediately chugging the drink quickly and fast to get it over with just to make you happy.  

He could see how bright your smile was when he finished—how can you be so happy over something so small and how the way you giggled and squealed.

“See! You're not so tense anymore after a drink!”

He just sighs and pulls you close as you lean on him and rests your head against his chest. “You’ve had too many drinks..”

“But I want just one more.” 

𝒢𝑒𝓈𝒽𝓊 𝐿𝒾𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈"

“You’re drinking too much..”

“Huh? I’ve only had three though?” You mutter, laying your head against his shoulder, while Geshu has his arm loosely around your waist—drinking his nonalcoholic drink while you had been drinking till your heart's content maybe too much with the fact you can’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had, and your face was sooo red.

All you feel is fuzziness, mind burry and just in general not having too much consciousness in your actions—yet you keep on drinking, small little cup yet still filled to the brim—with the warmth of his body, the solidity and softness made you want to come closer.

Looking to the side to see him smiling at you lovingly,  his eyes warm as he continues to hold you close. “I don't want to let you go.” You incoherently mumble,  snuggling closer into him. 

 Feeling his fingers gently caressing your hair as he looks down upon you. His lips quirk up further, making you put down your drink, and his hands gently cup his face. leaning ever so gently to kiss him on the lips.

He could just taste the hard alcohol from your lips,  but it didn’t bother him, nor did he mind. In fact,  after a moment or two of kissing, he deepens it.

You respond by letting out a breathy sigh, deepening the kiss.  pulling away, you feel dazed and dizzy but the smile never leaves his face. You stare up at him as if you were even more drunk than before.

“I think it’s time for you to get to bed.”

𝒞𝒶𝓁𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑜 "𝐿𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈"

Ugh…What a pain. Having to deal with you while you’re drunk is a nightmare for him. 

“Come on! Calcharo! Why are you pushing me away~?” Your words are all slurry and muffled because of the alcohol in your system. While you try to hug him yet his hand on your face, pushing you back.

 “Look at yourself in the mirror before talking. you’re a complete drunk mess.”

You pout at his stubbornness, giving up on trying to get closer before grabbing the bottle beside you and taking a deep sip of the alcohol—numbing your system even more, making you feel so warm on the inside.

He grabs the alcohol bottle from your hands, pulling away from your reaches. “enough drinking,”  he spoke sternly.

You immediately frown at his tone, “You’re no fun!” You say in a whining tone. It was true though—you were drunk out of your mind.

Putting the bottle away—far from you—you stare blankly not sure of what to do now while Calcharo eyes you suspiciously. You were planning something and he sure wasn’t wrong.

 Grabbing his arm, wrapping your arms around his,  you pull his body towards you until you are chest to chest, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “I want a kiss.” Gazing up at him with a hot expression on your face.

 he seemed stunned by the sudden action immediately pulling you off of him and covering your eyes. “Ask me when you're sober.”

“What! That is so not fair!”

“Since when did I care about it being fair?”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[theyluvpeach]

six fit under by the weeknd.

toxicex!reader x toxictaken!matt blurb. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ you just can't let him go.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: dom to subby matt. meanish reader?? she knows it's wrong but she doesn't gaf. fem receiving. fingering. (matt the munch🙂‍↕️)

You shouldn't be here. You have one of the most important exams of your life tomorrow, but you here you are. At Matt's frat. You're steering away from every drink you're offered, every alcoholic game that your friends want you to play because you know what's gonna happen.

One way or another, you're ending up in Matt's room by the end of the night. You hate admitting it yourself, but he's your Achilles' heel. You can't stop yourself from giving into him.

You run one of your hands through your hair, letting out a deep sigh. "You good?" One of your friends asks, seeing the distressed look on your face. "Fine. I'm fine." You say, beginning to walk off towards the kitchen.

One shot won't hurt.

Five won't be that bad.

Ten won't lead to a terrible hangover. You can handle it.

You can't remember how many shots you took. All you know is that frat boy who said he could take more shots than you is probably throwing up.

You're stumbling off to the bathroom when you realize that you left your phone somewhere in the kitchen, you groan. You just need to check how your makeup looks and maybe pee, then you'll be back in there.

You stumble back as someone bumps into you. "The fuc—?" As soon as you look to see who bumped into you, his cologne fills your nostrils.

"Matt." His name files out of your mouth before your brain can catch up with your actions. He looks you up and down, "You look good."

"I know." You say, "Where ya going?"

You raise an eyebrow. You both know that you know exactly where you're going, you know this frat like the back of your hand.

"Bathroom." You begin to walk again just for him to block your way. "Matt." You say sternly, searching his eyes for the reason he's doing this and you're met with lust. Pure lust.

"You should come to my room."

"I need to check my makeup." He rolls his eyes. "You know I have a mirror in my room." You know know that, you remember when you caught him fucking some girl in front of it.

"Need to pee too—" You try to walk off, but he grabs your wrist, "Come to my room."

"Matt." You say sharply. You're trying so hard to resist, trying so hard to get him to back off. "Please?" He says, low and whiney.

You bite your lip. "Will you finally leave me alone after?"

He nods.

"Fine. Move."

You can see him staring at you from the corner of his bed as you push up your lashes and bend down slightly to fix your dress as you fix your twisted bra. "You look good."

"I know." You repeat. "Like....really, really good." He stands behind you in the mirror. You didn't even hear the bed creak when he got up.

You barely have to blink before his lips are on yours. Your eyes flutter shut. God, how you missed the feeling of his lips against yours.

It's embarrassing how much you let him get away with. He picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist as he carries you over to his bed.

When he throws you on his bed, it's like deja vu, the good kind. A moment you wouldn't mind staying in as his chain dangles in your face, and your eye contact becomes sinful.

Until the thought that he has a girlfriend appears in your mind. You swerve his kiss. "I get you all the way to my bed, and you do thi-?"

"You have a girlfriend."

"Oh, c'mon—" He says, staring down at you with disbelief in his eyes. "Knees."

The way his body instantly responds to your command makes you smile. You wonder if his new girlfriend knows he has this side to him.

You sit up slowly, admiring the sight in front of you. She probably doesn't, the first time you tried to be in control Matt freaked the fuck out.

He stares up at you with those puppy eyes. He knows what those do to you. "You're terrible." It comes out way softer than you wanted it to but you can't think with the way he's looking at you.

He smirks. "You let me kiss you." You scoff and cross your arms. "Before I remembered you had a girlfriend."

"Don't you want me to fuck you?" He presses, parting your legs and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Remember that time I fucked you so hard you couldn't go to class in the morning?"

You avoid his gaze. Your panties are soaked, to say the least. "Yeaaah, let's refresh that memory." His hands slip up to the hem of panties, "Couldn't move, had me carrying you 'round all day...Let's go back to that. Let me take care of you, baby."

His words are getting to you. Bad. You won't give in, you won't. You remember how your heart broke into a million pieces when you found out Matt was cheating on you. You won't do that to another girl.

Yet, you still let him slip off your panties. "Fuck, you're dripping, sweetheart. You were craving me, huh?"

You won't give in. You won't give in. Yet you make no moves to push him away as he presses soft kisses from your inner thigh up to your core.

Fuck it.

You pull his head back his hair, causing him to let out a whimper. "You're not fucking me."

"What—?"

You tug on his hair harder, making him whine. "You're eating me out." He eyes you with disobedience, "Do you seriously think you deserve think to feel good after what you did to me? You're lucky I'm even letting you near me."

The venom in your words is wounding, but he still doesn't think you're serious. "Y/n—"

You lean foward and tug his face to you. Making him let out the most pained sound you've ever from him. "One more fucking word Matt. One more word that isn't you saying yes, you're not even gonna get this. I'm gonna storm out of here, find your girlfriend and telling her what a fucking asshole you are." He gulps as you threaten him gravely, but the tent in his jeans gives off another emotion than scared.

"Th...that hurts." He whines. "What's it gonna be, Matt?"

"I'll...I'll eat you out." He mumbles. "Louder."

"I'll eat you out."

You finally let him go from the deathgrip you have on his hair. "Are you gonna be a good boy?" He nods eagerly. "Say it."

"I-I'll be a good boy for you... Mama."

"Good boy." The way his ears turn pink almost makes you feel bad for how mean you just were to him. Almost.

He wets his lips and leans in before licking at your clit, he eyes you. You tilt your head at him, knowing exactly what he wants. "Gotta do more than that if you want praise, baby."

He furrows his brows together. Matt slips his fingers inside you, making a scissor motion. You gasp at the stretch. You haven't been the most sexually active ever since you guys broke up.

"T...tell me I'm doing good, please?" He mutters against you, causing you to moan. You want to, but you'd rather see him needy and wanting.

You bite your lip and refuse to let out any moans as you watch the attention he's paying to your clit increase and feel his fingers reach deeper inside you. "Ma, pleasepleaseplease—" He mutters against you again, placing sloppy kisses down your pussy. "M being a good boy, isn't that what you wanted?"

You let out a loud gasp as he reaches that special inside you, "S-see— m making you feel good? Please?"

You can't take it anymore. Him thrusting into that spot repeatedly with his fingers causes you to fall flat against the bed. "Yeah— you're being a really good boy Matt— being ah— such a good boy for me—" You say, getting interrupted by moans. It only spurs him on more, making him latch onto your clit.

You practically scream. "Matt— matt— ohmy— Your back arches off the bed. "Please." He whines, taking a break from sucking your throbing nub. "Can you feel clenching down on my fingers."

"Wan' me to come for you—?" You choke out. "Please, Mama, been so good for you."

"Fuck—fuuuuck— baby, m coming!" You scream, coming all over his face. You whine as he spreads your legs wider to lap up your release.

You pant heavily as you come down from your high, squirming as you feel Matt still working in between your legs. "M..matt." You say weakly, he ignores you. Pussy drunk.

You pull him by his hair. He pouts, slowly pulling out his fingers. "Just wanna taste you." He says, hair sticking to his face from your release.

You smirk down at him. "Bet you're all hard from that, huh?" He nods slowly. "Tell you what," You sit up, "Make me come again, and I'll think about letting you fuck me."

The way he immediately tries to dive back into you makes you laugh. You have to throw your doggy something.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns

[erwinsvow]

can we have rafe try to grovel ?? :((((( shy reader deserves better !!! <3 https://www.tumblr.com/erwinsvow/751213087399510016/what-if-rafe-ever-hit-shy-reader-from-built-up?source=share

he will grovel!! side note i dont know how i feel about this its just for the sweet anon who wanted part two

the moment rafe shuts the door and traps you in the room, between his body and the wall, you know some part of you has just broken that you'll never fully be able to fix.

everything in your body tells you to look up at rafe and do something. slap him back, push him away, turn around and storm out of the room and try to at least show him you're just as mad as he is—but none of that actually happens.

hot tears keep spilling down your cheeks, and you stay frozen like that for what feels like forever, staring at the floor of rafe's bedroom. the sound of rafe's heavy breaths fills the space, though you can barely detect it over the way your heart is pounding in your ears.

you want to leave. but you don't know where you even would go. before the events of the last hour, there was no where you wanted to be more than wherever rafe was. and now, staring at the floor instead of up at the boy who you had gladly given your heart to only for him to snap it in half with his bare hands and deliver it back, you stay frozen, waiting for rafe. you are always waiting for rafe.

"kid, i-" you finally look up, through wet lashes and almost painful eyes fluttering slowly, and rafe stops talking the moment you do. you don't know why, but it doesn't take you long to figure it out. there's a mark on your cheek the size of his hand, probably an imprint from his ring too.

it's such a shame—you always loved that ring.

you snap out of your thoughts when rafe keeps talking, though there's still blooding rushing in your ears. he sounds muffled, his mouth moving and expression looking, you can only imagine, somewhat close to yours—sad and angry all blended together. you keep blinking slowly, listening but not really listening, waiting for him to finish so you can leave.

how stupid you must seem to him, and to yourself, you think pathetically. he just hit you, and you're waiting for him to finish, so you don't impolitely interrupt. you should drive straight from tannyhill to a therapist's office—though you think not even a licensed professional could help you figure out what exactly is wrong with you.

the thought makes you laugh, corners of your mouth turning up and a rush of air leaving your throat. half a laugh, half a sob. the gutting realization has just hit you—whatever was wrong with you, rafe was the only one in the world who seemed to understand you.

"baby?" rafe asks, and you actually snap out of it this time—looking up at your boyfriend, wondering if he knows you haven't heard a single thing he's said so far.

"i think i should go home," you reply, wondering where your keys are and where your wallet is. you don't keep track of these things anymore, usually since rafe drives you everywhere and pays for everything.

"okay. i'll bring you, just let me go get-"

"no, i-" you stop yourself—about to apologize again. everything running through your mind makes you choose your words carefully. "i'm gonna go home."

"you didn't drive here, kid. i picked you up, remember?" rafe looks back at you and you feel a fresh wave of tears take over. you hadn't remembered.

"oh."

"listen, kid, i'm so-"

"i'm going home," you repeat firmly, mostly to yourself. "i'll just-i'll walk."

"y'not walking. it's dark and-"

"rafe, stop." the way you say it, he actually listens. you don't sound like yourself, you can tell from the way he looks at you, rafe's face doused with concern and apprehension. you look away, turning to face the door. "i'll be fine. i need to go."

"c'mon, kid, don't go," he says, and every bone and muscle inside you wants to listen, to do what he says like you always do. you feel more hot tears coming up, stopping them seems impossible yet you know crying is useless. it already happened and the damage is already done.

you turn around from your position, knowing it's a mistake. rafe gets closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. he holds your face like he always does, except there's one big difference—you flinch the moment he starts moving.

"baby," rafe says quietly, and everything in you stops for a moment. brain lagging, breath catching, even the tears stop for a second while you look up at your boyfriend. "i'm so sorry. i am so sorry. i fucked up, okay? i know i did, but please don't go."

"rafe, i can't stay," it comes out just as quietly, a notch above a whisper. "you hurt me." it comes out wrangled in a sob. rafe wipes away some of your fresh tears with his hands.

"i-i know. and i'm gonna regret it forever, but-" rafe stops, and you stop too. you chew on your lip nervously, realizing it's going to bleed from how much you're biting down. "can-can i at least bring you home? please?"

"okay," you give in-but you shouldn't have.

you don't even know how you're gonna explain the mark on your face to your parents, or why you're home so early when you said you were sleeping over. every movement feels exhausting—grabbing some of your things and walking down the stairs to getting into rafe's truck. the drive to your place isn't very long, only ten minutes, and you stare out the window the whole time. it feels like hours with the way rafe looks at you at each red light.

rafe pulls into your driveway and you look up at him expectantly, though you're not sure why.

"can you-can you turn the headlights off? i don't want them waking up," you say, after what feels like ages of silence.

rafe turns the lights off but doesn't say anything. it's not until you reach for the doorhandle that he does—it's almost muscle memory for him. he leans over you to pull the handle and open the door for you, but you flinch so hard when he moves that he can't even get the door. instead he looks back at you while you stare up at him. without any words, you both know what the other is thinking.

"goodnight, rafe," you say, your own hand on the door now.

"wait, kid," he says, and you stop your movement immediately. even in this situation, you can't help but listen. "can i see you tomorrow? please?"

"i don't think that's a good idea."

"c'mon. we-we have to talk about this. i can't just.. not see you. i'm gonna go crazy."

"i need to go rafe." the second you say it, you start feeling bad about it. it's so engrained in you—trying to avoid hurting rafe in any and every way possible, that the very idea of not giving him what he wants makes your chest ache painfully. "i.. i have to think about it."

he leans over, slowly this time so you don't get scared again, opening the door for you like he always does. you climb out, getting your bag and trying to pretend everything's fine until you get inside your room.

"good night, kid. i'll talk to you tomorrow."

without replying, you walk inside. rafe's truck stays in your driveway until you lock the door, and he doesn't drive away until minutes after.

surprisingly, you make it to your room before you start crying. and you don't stop crying until the sun comes up.

[jamesmcalover]

cinematic

Fred Hechinger x afab!reader

Warnings: fluff, awkwardness???

Summary: reader works at the cinema and a really cute blonde man walks in one day

3.5k words

Tiny pearls of sweat were beginning to run down my forehead, which I quickly wiped away with the sleeve of my work uniform. It hadn't been a busy day at all, but it was hot.

"They still haven't fixed the AC," I mumbled to Nick, my co-worker, who only shrugged his shoulders. He was busy filling up a bucket of popcorn for the customers he was currently serving.

It wasn't even a hot summer day, but it still felt like a sauna behind the counter. All the machines designed to keep the food warm also kept us warm, turning our workspace into a humid, sticky mess.

"Excuse me," someone said behind me. I turned around quickly, ready to put on my best customer service voice, only to freeze mid-sentence. A very pretty blonde man was standing in front of me. He was wearing a blue shirt with the Metro Goldwyn Mayer logo – the one with the Lion – on it. He must have really enjoyed movies. His eyes were a really pretty shade of blue that made it hard for me to focus.

I blinked, trying to shake the daze from my mind. Get it together, I reminded myself.

"Hi, how can I help you?" I asked, forcing a professional smile.

"Hey," he said, smiling. I noticed a small gap between his teeth. "Could you point me to Theater 4?"

The request was simple, but something about the way he asked it made me stumble over my words for a moment. I could feel his gaze lingering, as if he was waiting for me to answer, but all I could think was how familiar his face looked.

"Uh, sure," I said, shaking myself out of the moment. "It's down the hall, to your left. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," he said, smiling at me again. My heart skipped a beat.

He turned to walk away, and I found myself watching him go, that same nagging feeling settling at the back of my mind. Where did I know him from?

"Well that was awkward to watch," Nick's voice startled me, snapping me out of my daze.

I turned to look at him, my heart still fluttering from the interaction. "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrayed me with an edge of uncertainty.

Nick gave me an amused look. "You were staring at him like a deer caught in headlights."

I flushed, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed. "I wasn't staring," I muttered, half-defensive, half-embarrassed.

"Uh-huh," Nick said, his grin widening. "So, you don't know who he is?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean? Should I?"

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "It's Fred Hechinger, dude. You seriously don't recognize him?"

I stared at Nick, confusion written all over my face. "Fred Hechinger?” The name didn’t ring any bells, and Nick could see my blank expression clearly.

"I thought you were a film nerd," Nick said, raising and eyebrow as I struggled to connect the dots. "His face is on every poster and screen in this building right now."

My gaze instinctively shifted towards the big infor screen advertising the newest movie, Gladiator II. The bold poster featured the man that I had just spoken to, alongside Pedro Pascal and Paul Mescal.

"You really didn't recognize him?" Nick asked.

I felt my cheeks heat up as the realization hit. "I… I mean, I thought he looked familiar, but I wasn't sure," I admitted, flustered. "No wonder I couldn't stop staring. I bet he thinks I'm some weird fan."

My stomach flipped at the thought. I'd been acting like an awkward idiot in front of a pretty well-known actor without even realizing who he was.

Nick smirked. "Well, if you're gonna act like a fan girl, at least do it when I'm not watching."

"Shut up," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I'd made a total fool of myself. "I didn't know, okay?"

The rest of my shift dragged on in boring monotony after the brief encounter. Nick had already clocked out, leaving me alone behind the counter. With the last movie nearing its end, I began cleaning up, wiping down the counters and restocking the shelves with candy.

The quiet hum of the soda machine and the muffled sound of a movie playing in one of the theaters were my only company. I tried not to think too much about earlier, but Fred's face kept popping into my mind.

I was deep in thought, wiping down the popcorn machine, when the sound of footsteps startled me. I turned around quickly, half expecting it to be my manager reminding me to lock up. Instead, it was him.

He looked slightly sheepish but undeniably charming, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. "Hey," he said, his voice soft and a little hesitant.

"Oh," I stammered, caught completely off guard. "Hi. Um… Can I help you with anything?"

He smiled, one of those soft, slightly crooked smiles, and shook his head. "No just... thought I'd come back and... I don't know," he said, his gaze flickering down for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. "It's quieter now."

I blinked, caught off guard, then glancing around the empty lobby. "Oh yeah. We're almost closed," I replied, trying to sound casual, "How was the movie."

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, and shrugged. "It was good. A little intense, but I like that kind of stuff."

I tilted my head. "So, you're a movie buff?"

"Something like that," he said with a small grin. I looked at the poster on the wall behind him again. He looked nothing like the character in real life, his face was much friendlier, much more approachable. I knew that he was an actor now – thanks to Nick – but I didn't want him to know I knew.

"Have you seen Gladiator II yet? I heard it's a pretty good movie," I said, trying to act cool.

"Yeah," he replied, a slight laugh escaping. "A few times, actually."

"Oh, so you're one of those people who rewatch movies over and over again?" I teased lightly, folding my arms across my chest.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You could say that. It's, uh, kind of a special project to me."

"Special how?" I asked, tilting my head again, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a second, his grin faltering slightly, before shrugging. "It's the biggest movie I've ever been in."

I blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. I wasn't expecting him to admit it so casually. "Oh. You're... an actor."

"Yeah," he said, his grin turning slightly sheepish.

"That's, um, really cool. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you earlier. I'm… kind of bad at keeping up with celebrities. I, uh... I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Fred," he said, offering a slightly crooked smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. And don't apologize, honestly, it's kind of refreshing. Most of the time, people either freak out or start asking for pictures."

"Guess I missed my chance to fangirl, huh?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood. He chuckled, and for a second I was distracted by how cute he was.

He tilted his head, his smile widening just a bit. "Well, since you missed your chance to fangirl, how about grabbing a drink instead?"

I blinked, not entirely sure I'd heard him right. "Wait… are you serious?"

"Yeah," he said with an easy shrug, though there was a hint of nervousness in his expression. "If you're free after your shift, of course. Unless you have better plans, like, I don't know, reorganizing popcorn buckets or something."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Reorganizing popcorn buckets is a pretty thrilling way to spend an evening, but I think I could make some time."

"Great," he said, his smile widening. "I'll wait."

"Wait, really?" I asked, startled.

"Yeah. Unless you'd rather bail," he teased, leaning back against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

Never in my life had I gotten things done so fast. I wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline of Fred watching me doing my work or excitement of knowing I was going to grab a drink with him – or both – but I managed to close up that cinema in record time.

As I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door, Fred straightened from where he'd been leaning against the counter, hands stuffed casually into his pockets. "Ready?"

I nodded, trying to suppress the nervous fluttering in my stomach. "Yeah. Do you have a place in mind?

He tilted his head, considering. "I passed a bar a couple of streets over on my way here. Looked low-key. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

We stepped outside, and the cool night air was a relief after hours spent in the sauna-like heat of the cinema. The city felt hushed, the kind of quiet you only get after dark, punctuated by the distant sound of cars and the faint hum of streetlamps.

The walk was short, but I couldn't help stealing a few glances at him along the way. Under the soft glow of the streetlights, he looked so different from the posters plastered all over the cinema. Less polished, more real. And when he caught me staring, I felt a blush creep up my neck.

"You know," he said, a teasing edge to his voice, "I think you do recognize me."

I scoffed, looking away to hide my embarrassment. "I already told you I didn't."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced.

"You don't mind hanging out with your local cinema employee, do you?" I joked after a brief pause, trying to ease the tension I felt rising in my chest.

Fred glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "Not at all. You're better company than half the people I've met."

The bar wasn't crowded, which was a relief. The dim lighting and faint buzz of conversation made it feel intimate without being suffocating. Fred held the door open for me, and I thanked him, stepping inside and scanning for a spot to sit.

We slid into a booth near the back, and Fred leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "What would you like to drink?" He asked, so I scanned the menu quickly.

"I think I'll just go for a beer," I replied to which he nodded and excused himself to go over to the bar and get our drinks.

The faint hum of a jukebox lingered in the background, and the soft glow of fairy lights hanging above gave the place a cozy, low-key vibe.

When he came back with two ice-cold bottles of Heinecken, I thanked him.

"I could've payed myself, you know?" I said, offering him a playful smile.

He waved his hand dismissively, setting the bottle in front of me. "Don't worry about it."

"Is this what you usually do after a movie? Find a random bar and invite strangers?"

Fred smirked, shaking his head. "Nope. This is a first, actually."

"Oh, so I'm special, huh?" I teased, leaning back against the booth.

"Something like that," he replied, his grin widening.

For a moment, we just sat there, sipping our beers, and the comfortable silence felt surprisingly natural. This wasn't something that happened to me, not in real life. Actors didn't stroll back into empty cinemas to chat with nobodies like me. And yet, here he was, smiling across the table like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"So," he said, leaning back against the booth, his gaze settling on me. "You still haven't told me your movie recommendation. What's something you think I have to watch?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think hard. "Hmm… depends. Are you looking for something fun or something that'll emotionally destroy you?"

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Emotionally destroy me? Sounds intense."

"Sometimes you just have to sob hysterically over fictional characters," I said, almost laughing at myself for that weird comment.

Fred thought it was funny, though, and laughed, warm and genuine. "Okay, hit me. What's the most devastating one you've got?"

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and listed off a couple of films, my enthusiasm growing as I talked. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on me, and it was only when I stopped talking that I realized how closely he was watching me.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You just… really light up when you talk about this stuff. It's nice."

I felt my cheeks heat up and took a sip of my beer to hide my embarrassment. "Well, you are talking to a cinema employee. Movies are kind of my thing."

"And here I thought this was just your day job," he teased, his tone light.

"Well, it is," I said, laughing. "But it doesn't mean I don't love it."

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "I get that. It's nice when work doesn't feel like… well, just work."

"Exactly," I said, smiling. "And you? What's the best part of your job?"

Fred hesitated, his expression softening as he thought about it. "I think it's when people connect with something I've done. Like, when they tell me a character or a story meant something to them. That's pretty special."

I nodded, leaning forward slightly. "That makes sense. And I guess playing an emperor probably didn't hurt, huh?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "So, you did recognise me!"

I felt my face getting red and hot immediately. "I'm sorry, I just- I didn't wanna seem like some weird fan. I've probably made it really worse now, though."

Fred's smile softened, and his eyes held mine for a moment longer than I expected. "I think it's cute."

My face burned even more, and I ducked my head, letting out a nervous laugh. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm not," he replied, still grinning as he took another sip of his beer. "It's nice. Refreshing, even. You don't get that a lot in this business – people pretending they do't know you."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "To be fair, I actually didn't know at first!"

"Which is even better," he teased, his voice warm with amusement. "Honest confusion. It's a rare thing."

I peeked at him through my fingers before lowering my hands with an embarrassed smile. "Well, good. I'll just keep being 'refreshing,' then."

"If you had recognized me, what would you have done? Freaked out? Asked for an autograph?" He asked with a playful grin and I laughed, shaking my head. "No way. I probably just would've stared at you more than I aready did and made it even more awkward. You know, like a real professional."

He laughed too, the sound bright and genuine. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. I like this version of you better."

The way he said it, so casual but sincere, sent a flutter through my chest. I smiled, trying to play it cool. "You don't even know me yet."

He tilted his head, his expression soft. "Then let's change that."

And just like that, I felt the flutter again, stronger this time. I leaned back in my seat, trying to suppress the goofy grin threatening to spread across my face. "Alright, Fred. What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he replied simply, his tone light, but his eyes serious.

For a moment, I just stared at him, caught off guard by his answer, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "That’s a tall order."

He shrugged, leaning back with a playful smirk. "We've got time."

And somehow, sitting there in that dimly lit bar with a half-empty beer in my hand and Fred Hechinger watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room, I believe him. There was something about the way he looked at me – like I wasn't just another face in the crowd – that made me feel seen, and it scared me how much I liked it.

I don't remember how long we sat there, lost in conversation. The bar seemed to dim around us, the hum of other patrons fading into the background until it was just the two of us, trading stories like old friends.

Eventually, the bartender gave us a look that said it was time to go. I glanced at my phone, surprised at how late it had gotten. "I should probably catch the last train," I said, half-apologetic.

Fred stood with me, pulling on his coat. "I'll walk you."

"You don't have to do that," I replied, but he was already waiting by the door.

Outside, the city felt different – quieter, softer, as if the night itself had been holding its breath for us. The walk to the train station wasn't long, but it stretched just enough to let the silence settle between us, comfortable and charged.

When we reached the stairs leading down to the platform, I turned to him. "Well… thanks for tonight. I had fun."

Fred smiled, hands shoved in his pockets. "Me too." And there it was again. The way he looked at me, steady and unassuming, like he wasn't in a rush to let the moment end.

He reached a hand out to my face. I noticed it slightly shaking. He carefully brushed a single strand of hair, I haven't even noticed it was in my eyelashes, out of my face.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost as if he was afraid to break the quiet between us. His hand lingered for half a second before he pulled it back, tucking it into his pocket again. The corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish smile, and I wondered if his heart was racing as much as mine.

I swallowed, my heart fluttering at the unexpected closeness. "It's okay."

I tried to find something to say, anything to fill the space, but my mind felt blank—too full of the way his touch had made my breath hitch.

The streetlamp above us cast a warm glow, and in its light, he looked almost unsure.

"I should–"

"I want to see you again," he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm.

My breath caught, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. He looked so certain, like it wasn't even a question worth hesitating over.

"I mean… if you'd want to," he added, the confidence faltering just slightly.

I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at my lips. "Yeah," I said softly, my pulse quickening. "I think I'd like that."

Fred's face lit up with a grin, one so genuine it made my stomach flip. "Good."

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us moving. It felt like the kind of moment you didn't want to break, like holding onto it a little longer might make it last forever.

But the distant rumble of the approaching train reminded me that time didn't wait. I shifted, glancing toward the stairs. "I should probably..."

Fred nodded, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah." He hesitated, then added, "Text me when you get home?"

Before I could respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt from the bar we were just in. He smoothed it out awkwardly, then handed it to me. I took it, unfolding the paper to find his number scrawled across it in slightly messy handwriting.

I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest. For some reason, this felt like the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. It meant he’d been thinking about giving me his number back at the bar. "I will."

He stepped back just enough to give me space, his hands back in his coat pockets. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Fred."

I turned and descended the steps, the sound of the train growing louder with each step. At the platform, I glanced back one last time. He was still there at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the glow of the streetlamp. He raised a hand in a small wave, and I waved back just as the train doors slid open.

As I sank into a seat by the window, the night’s events played over in my head like scenes from a movie, too perfect to feel real. But as the train pulled away, I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face.

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let me know if you want a part 2 <3

[jenomi]

gala night with jeno

pairing: non-idol!jeno x afab!reader content warnings: FLUFF! :3 & suggestive if you squint

✧･ﾟ: *✧*:･ﾟ✧

"babe are you ready? we're gonna be late" you hear your fiancé jeno call from the kitchen.

"yes yes yes" you trot out of the room quickly carrying your heels.

tonight, you were attending the annual summer gala hosted by your company. it was one of the most talked about events of the year for it's grandeur and auction items. you were feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness, but knowing you'll have jeno by your side brought you comfort.

"okay" you quietly whisper to yourself as you finish putting on your heels and check your hair and makeup in the mirror by the door. you stand up straight and smooth out the material of your dress. "how do i look?" you turn to face jeno.

"beautiful." he says on an exhale.

your heart skips a beat as you step closer to your fiancé and fix his tie. "you look handsome as ever" you whisper laying your hand on his chest as you tilt your head up to give him a kiss and a smile.

he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. as you pull back with a smile, jeno follows your lips.

"this is why i didn't put on any lip product yet" you laugh lightly and you swear you hear jeno moan softly. you quickly finish your lip routine in the mirror before receiving a text from your friend who's also attending the gala tonight.

"okay kimmy just texted me saying her and jaemin just left their apartment. we should go too" you say grabbing your clutch and typing a quick reply to your coworker/friend.

jeno grabs his car keys, "mm let's go" he smiles and kisses your cheek before opening the door for you.

he holds your hand down to the car and makes sure you step over any gaps, grates, and puddles in your heels. you smile fondly at him each time, you wonder how you could fall more in love with him, yet it happens more and more everyday.

as you pull up to the hotel that the gala was hosted at, jeno makes sure your door stays locked so valet can't open your door and help you out of the car. he wants to do that himself, and it makes you laugh every time. your silly, jealous fiancé.

the building was beautiful, lights framing the stairs leading up to it and the hotel lights illuminating the clear night sky.

you bump into your friend and her boyfriend as you're waiting for the elevator. you exchange greetings and feel grateful that you and jeno have friends to help keep you company. jeno and jaemin grew close through you and kimmy, even planning hang outs without the two of you. you both laugh and say that they're in love.

you all enter the ballroom fashionably late as the auction begins. you both don't plan on going home with anything, but you do your duty and place bids on things you wouldn't mind having but once the price gets too high, you tap out. nonetheless, you both still try to have fun, whispering silly comments to each other and having to hide your laughs with your panels.

"that vase would look amazing in our boat" jeno whispered. you don't have a boat.

"my mom would love that" you whisper about a clutch completely covered in jewels. she would hate that. "so would mine" jeno responds. his mom would hate it even more.

when the live auction concludes, you and kimmy head to find your supervisors to say your hellos and have your chats while jeno and jaemin take to the silent auction. if jeno sees something he'd think you'd like, he'll place a generous bid on it. in years past, you've come home to him gifting you a beautiful yet simple necklace that he'll shyly reveal that he won at the gala you attended together. your eyes light up when you receive such an unexpected gift, that he tries to continue the tradition and win something he knows you'd love each year to be the reason for the surprised look on your face.

after a few glasses of champagne (but not for jeno, since he's driving) and a healthy amount of mingling, you and jeno start your goodbyes and head home. you're thoroughly tipsy at this point, clinging onto jeno's arm or having jeno's arm secure around your waist. you giggle as you enter the empty elevator to go down to the lobby.

"i love you" you rest your chin on his chest.

his eyes crease as he smiles, "i love you too baby" and leans down to give you a peck on the lips.

as you exit the building, you squeal as your fiancé carries you bridal style down the stairs earning you a few stares and some smiles. jeno didn't care. all he cared about was you - he knew your feet were hurting from being in your heels all night, and he didn't want you hurting yourself any more than you already have.

jeno sets you down on at the bottom of the stairs with a pat on your ass before he hands his ticket to valet to get his car. as you wait, jeno wraps his jacket around your shoulders. you weren't cold, but jeno always worries and doesn't want you to get sick. he walks away for a moment, leaving you confused since valet is already grabbing his car.

you see him approach a younger couple and shyly ask, "hi. sorry, do you mind taking a picture of me and my fiancé?"

they happily agree and you and jeno pose lovingly in front of the illuminated steps. jeno wraps his hand around your waist and you turn your body towards him and place your left hand on his chest. you both smile for the camera but then jeno leans down to give you a kiss on the cheek. you giggle as you turn to look up at him and place your hand on his neck.

you momentarily forget your picture was being taken until the young girl gives the phone back to jeno. he thanks her right as his car pulls up.

of course, jeno opens the door for you before tipping the valet driver discreetly with a handshake. you watch the interaction intently before jeno gets in the car.

"you know its customary to tip valet, right? you don't have to do a secret handshake" you tease.

"yea, but i feel cool doing it" you laugh at his honest response as he leans over the console to buckle your seat belt for you. he pulls back before leaning in to give you a quick kiss again before putting the car in drive.

as jeno drives home, you unlock his phone to look at the pictures you just took. they were beautiful, honestly almost as beautiful as your engagement photos. the lighting was perfect, and you could see the sparkle in both your and jeno's eyes. your engagement ring sparkles on your hand against his chest. and in the photos before he leans down to kiss you on the cheek, you can see jeno looking down at you like you're his whole world and it makes your heart strings pull. and in the last few photos, you're both looking at each other with silly smiles and nothing but love in your eyes. your diamond ring catches the moonlight in the last photo, making it shine brighter than ever just like your love for each other.

you quickly send all the photos to yourself before reaching over and grabbing jeno's hand and giving him a kiss on the cheek. he smiles at you and kisses the back of your hand before focusing back on the road. his hand rests innocently on your thigh, but you both know the main event begins when you get home.

[evilminji]

You know that Post about Danny becoming the False Villian, Expose?

To train all these kids, who are running around with shitty priorities and the self preservation instincts of lemmings? Because they were arrogant. Didn't listen to the concerns of those they "protect". Didn't listen to the concerns of a fellow Hero. So now, they WILL learn, at the hands of a "Villian".

Cause he TRIED pointing things out nicely.

Was met with a brick wall of condescension and dismissal.

THAT post.

You know where he would not only do that, but go APESHIT into it? Because he is a Hero and holy SHIT these kids are gonna get themselves killed? Gonna kill somebody ELSE? Have fucked up priorities and live in a fucked up system they do not even question?

Boku No Hero Academia.

Why the FUCK are you posing for the cameras? Why the absolute FUCK are you beating that man down on the worst day of his life, instead of TALKING him down? Why are you jumping too conclusions and splitting up and playing for the crowds? Why. The ABSOLUTE AND UNFORGIVING FUCK do you seem to ASSUME that every innocent soul, that doesn't look default generic human, is the AGGRESSOR in every situation you arrive at?!

Danny would have a conniption. Just a full body rage seizure, as his Ghost-y lil brain LIT UP with the BURNING NEED to fix everything, everywhere, at once. Right. Now.

But do they listen?

Ha!

Cool, cool cool cool cool..... he's gonna burn the entire country dow- No! That way lies Dan! Breathe, Fenton. Just.... Breathe. You can fix this.

The older ones may be set in their ways, but the younger ones are still learning. They can get better. BE better. They're kids. They just need opportunities to grow. And they WANT to be Heros, right? All he has to do is show them HOW. Poke their weak spots and point out their mistakes.

He can do that!

And just? Out of NO WHERE? This foreign villian decends upon Japan? What's worse, seeming to TARGET HEROS STUDENTS. Young, just debuted, Heros. Everyone freaks out. Older Heros closing rank, where they can, to try and Protect These Kids(tm).

But they can't be everywhere at once.

And this menace? Seemingly CAN be. Can make copies of himself. Use Ice. Fly. Energy beams. Intangiblity. Invisibility! What monster are they DEALING with?! That plays the flamboyant fool, dispensing deadly peril, only to then turn around, and in chilling sobriety absolutely destroy seasoned heroes?

That LECTURES them while doing it.

He's undermining the people's faith in the system!

(But should they have faith in it? Doesn't he have good points? Aren't they getting stronger, faster, better heroes for facing him? Where did he come from? Hasn't anyone else noticed that not a single civilian has gotten hurt, at his hands? That he annihilates any true villians foolish enough to think he's on their side?)

(How many "thugs" and "minor villians" have these guys not noticed, they wonder, who have just... disappeared. Come into contact with this guy and then? Stopped. Turned up somewhere else, weeks later, healthy again. Smiling with illegal lifestyle support gear, a new job, a new life, and better future. Finally free of the violence.)

Amity may be at peace by the time Danny turns 20(-ish? Maybe? Is he? Clockwork! How old IS he? You've sent him on so many of your weird timebend-y missions he lost count!). But? Danny is a Heroic Protector Spirit. His Obsession has demands. And his Human sides Space Obsession will never really be quite strong enough to support him.

You know, since it can't die.

Just because it HAS a Soul aspect to it, doesn't mean it'll ever come into practical use. So? The more powerful Heroic instincts it is! And honestly, he wasn't even planning to STAY. Just check the place out. You know, compare his options. But... *twitch*

They Are Doing It Wrong.

So now he lives here!

.....it's awful! They don't even have any space exploration! No studying, no stars, no futuristic moon base! Nothing! And he doesn't even SPEAK Japanese! In human form? He has no idea what anyone is saying! At least the Sorta-But-Not skeleton Ghost guy across the hall is helping. Dude might be taller then his DAD. Seriously ecto-starved though. It's like he somehow GAVE all his body's ecto to someone else!

How's he supposed to heal like that?! Guy really needs to learn how to take care of himself.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[kaciebello]

No need for mail

Masterlist Badger express ★ Lorenzo Berkshire x Hufflepuff! reader (fem) Summary: While doing a school project, Lorenzo tries his luck. With the help of the wind and the sun, he falls harder and harder.  Warnings: no use of y/n,  Authors note: Haiya! This is a sequel series to the whole delivery one. This one is gonna focus on the boys separately! hope you enjoy it! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) And just so you know, it always has been him. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ( and yes I know he's a slut, not here tho, maybe next time.) word count: 1.1k Song: Married In Vegas - The Vamps

Light breeze messes with his hair. He does not care as much as his attention is on the mooncalf nest that rests below the cliff. The girl next to him is doing the same. Her hair is held together in a braid with a yellow ribbon wrapped into it. They are both lying down at the edge of the cliff, one wrong move and they would be rolling down. He turns his face to her.

“Why are we doing this?” He whispers, yes whispered as he has already been scolded once for speaking at his normal volume. Apparently, it would scare the weird animal away and that is not what they want.

“It's a school project, I told you that.” She says, her gaze not moving away from the big-eyed cows.

“I don't think Hagrid would care if we pulled everything out of a book.” He argues back but knows there is no way out of this. He's finally being let in on a Hufflepuff sacred. No wonder they always get the best marks in ‘care for magical beasts’. They simply just vibe with them. The girl just shook her head at him.

The girl scooted a little bit more over the edge. Lorenzo's hand flew over to her and grabbed the back of her shirt. For a witch, she does not have even an ounce of self-preservation in her body.  A small rock fell from their shuffling and landed near the nest. Scaring all the mooncalf, making them run and hide.

“look what you did!” the girl says and, with the help of Lorenzo, sits up.

“Me? I'm not the one trying to throw myself off the cliff!” he says, now too, sitting.

The girl scoffs and gets up to make her way over to the blanket where they set their stuff. He makes his way to her and sits down right next to her. Their knees touching. They both pulled out their notebook, he wrote down his observations and she finished her sketch of the animal.

Silence falls upon them as they both do their own thing. Lorenzo's eyes shift to see her sketch, only to see a familiar face. He does not know if he should call her out or not. But since he considered himself her best friend, a fact she constantly denies, he decided to do the first option.

“AYO, is that me!” Startled, the girl closes the notebook so fast it makes a thud so loud that he's certain the mooncalf all hid again. He tried to take the notebook from her, but she threw it on the other side of the blanket. She restraints one of his hands and the other one lands by her back.

When Lorenzo noticed how close they were, a smile crept on his face.  She noticed too, as his legs curled a little. She turns her body to face him more and places her other hand near his, probably so she can quickly grab it if he tries something.

He noticed her eyes were scanning his face. A breeze messes with his hair again. The girl blinks and lets his arm go, going to fix it for him. He places his, now free, arm on her thighs, squeezing them to make sure his arm lands where he wants it to without actually looking.

The two friends stay silent. Not an awkward one, but a comfortable one they always seem to find themself when they are together. 

“You're so pretty, I wish I could get you pregnant.” She breaks the silence. Lorenco can do nothing but chuckle. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. His arms now sneaking around her waist. Pulling her closer to his body.

“Ditto” He murmurs. He can feel her shake with laughter. She was now playing with his hair, something he could let her do all day if he could.  That's why he peels himself off of her. She just looked at him confused. Lorenzo just shakes his head and moves a little, before ploping his head down on her lap. He makes sure to grab her arms and slam it on his head for good measure.

She looks at him with a shocked expression before sighing. Nonetheless, she does what he wishes for and plays with his hair. He flashes her a smile full of pearly whites. 

“You're annoying.” She says looking down at him. he pokes her side making her squirm a bit.

“But you still love me.” he sings back to her. She does not answer to him. They fall into silence again. The girl is not looking at him. Something in the distance caught her attention. He did not mind, as if she were to look down on him, she would see a fool in love.

A sun framed her head and made it look like a halo. He was smitten.

“So you know how you just wanna be friends?” He says making her give him attention. Looking down at him her arm came to a stop.

“Yeah?”

“That's cool and all, but I'm like in love with you.” 

“Same” The girl just breaths out. Lorenzo did not expect her to say that. In a second he has decided he is not letting her change her mind.

He shoots up and cages her with one of his arms while the other one goes to her neck and pulls her closer. He does not give her a chance to register what is going on.

Their lips met, softly than someone would expect with how fast Lorenzo was with his moves. She took a few seconds before kissing him back, her arms cradling his face.

The kiss was sweet and slow, a fairytale-like.

Soon they ran out of breath, the girl gently pushing Lorenzo away as he tried to chase her into another kiss. Still, with closed eyes, he lends his forehead to hers.

“That was-” A low whistle cuts him off. Cursing under his breath, Lorenzo opened his eyes and straightened out. there stood four of his friends. A whine leaves him.

“AYO I DID NOT KNOW YOU HAVE A GAME LIKE THAT.” Draco makes sure that he can be heard all the way back to Hogwarts. Multiple praises and hollers sound on the little cliff they found themself on.

All the boys make their way to Lorenzo, lifting him up and repeatedly tossing him in the air. All he could do was catch a glimpse of the girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair laughing. Not even noticing the love note falling out of his pocket and getting lost in the wind.

tag list: @daisiesformylove , @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @anyam444 , @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet , @iwishigotswallowed , @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @bunnyhopsstuff , @deluluassapocalypse

[sweetlyvibe]

TENDING TO YOU

Atsumu Miya’s day started like any other, with volleyball practice at Inarizaki. But when their captain, Kita, called for a brief team meeting before warmups, something felt off.

“The manager won’t be with us for a while,” Kita said, straightforward as always. “She’s caught a pretty bad cold, so she’ll need to rest. I’ve arranged for a substitute to step in temporarily.”

Atsumu’s heart skipped a beat. You were sick? He didn’t even notice you feeling unwell yesterday. He leaned forward, hands bracing on his knees, eyes fixed on Kita as if the captain might reveal more. He didn’t like this at all.

“You all better behave for the substitute,” Kita continued. “I’ll bring some supplies to her after practice. Make sure she has everything she needs.”

But Atsumu’s mind was already running wild. You were home, probably curled up in bed, miserable and alone. The idea of you being sick without anyone by your side didn’t sit right with him. Without thinking twice, he bolted out of the gym before Kita could finish.

“I’ll go!”

The knock on my door was loud enough to startle me, even in my feverish state. Sitting up slowly, I blinked at the door, confused. Kita told me he would drop by later, but it was way too soon. Did he skip practice for me?

Groaning, I shuffled over to the door, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. When I opened it, though, the last person I expected to see stood there.

“Tsumu?” I croaked, disbelief making me blink again. “What are you doing here?”

There he was, Atsumu Miya, holding two shopping bags in each hand, his face flushed—either from sprinting over or the awkwardness he was clearly not used to feeling. His hair was a mess, and his jacket was slipping off one shoulder. He looked as flustered as I felt.

“I, uh…” He hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping inside, as if he owned the place. “Kita was gonna bring this stuff over, but I thought I’d save him the trouble.” His voice was casual, but his eyes were scanning me like he was trying to figure out what to do next.

“You… skipped practice?” I asked, my throat scratchy as I spoke.

Atsumu put the bags down, suddenly busying himself with pulling out tissues, medicine, a water bottle, and… a can of soup? The guy bought canned soup. How could I not laugh at that?

“I couldn’t focus knowing you’re sick,” he muttered, half-avoiding eye contact. His voice softened. “Besides, that substitute manager isn’t gonna do the job half as good as ya do.”

I watched him fumble around my small kitchen, acting way more comfortable than he had any right to be in my space. It was kind of sweet, even if he looked absolutely lost. Atsumu Miya, the loud, confident setter who could command a court like no one else, was completely out of his element here.

“Tsumu, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he cut me off, voice softer than usual. “You need to rest, and I’m here to help. So let me.”

It was clear he had no clue what he was doing. He kept glancing around, probably wondering what else he should be doing. But the effort—God, it made my chest feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fever.

I smiled, despite myself, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. He was trying so hard, even if he was in over his head.

“Fine,” I murmured, feeling too tired to argue. “But at least let me show you how to heat up the soup properly.”

He grinned at me, the smugness returning just a bit. “I knew you’d need me.”

Rolling my eyes, I tugged the blanket tighter around me and sat on the couch. Maybe Atsumu was inexperienced at taking care of someone, but the way he tried—earnest, awkward, and just a little bit proud—was enough to make me feel better already.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Communication is good. It's wonderful, even! But screaming matches? Especially ones that last this long, aren't healthy in the slightest. In fact, all they do is damage relationships. So, after convincing Barbra and Tim to go upstairs, promising that he'd be up in a few minutes with Dick, he went back to where Bruce and Dick were screaming at each other.

Nothing had been thrown yet. Small mercies.

God, Danny hated being a mediator. Why couldn't people just work out their problems by talking? It'd make his life so much easier. Was that so hard to do? Too much to ask? Apparently.

"And you-!" Bruce rounded on Danny the second he closed the door behind him. "You don't get to come into my house and-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mister Wayne." A few days into his running away, Danny discovered a new power. He can't control it, but sometimes, when he's angry or needs people to shut up, the inside of his throat goes cold and his eyes narrow. It's really cool, from Danny's perspective, and pun fully intended. Something about Mister Wayne had brought that power to the surface, and thank the gods for that because Danny really needs to be listened to right now. "I told you earlier that my name was not a fight you wanted to pick. I think I should reword that. I am not a person you want to pick a fight with."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, meeting Danny's glare with his own. "Is that a threat?"

"Yes, Mister Wayne, that was a threat. And you can hold me to it. I will win any and every fight you try to pick with me."

Dick kept glancing between the two. He had a bad feeling about these two interacting like this, but something was stopping him from getting them apart.

"I have your name and your face. It won't be too hard to get you arrested for several crimes."

"Framing a child, Mister Wayne? Good luck with that. I don't exist anymore. Besides, I can threaten the same thing about Batman, and that holds significantly more weight than anything you could do to my name."

"If you're not scared, then you'll give me your whole name."

"That was a horrible fish for information, Mister Wayne. You're slipping. You must be getting rusty in your old age."

"Danny-"

"Dick." Danny held his hand out to his - on paper - responsible adult, "C'mon, Tim and Barbra are waiting for us upstairs."

Danny lead Dick out of the room, Bruce staying behind and obviously glaring at the back of Danny's head. When the door shut, Dick sighed, every bit of tension he hadn't felt melting off of him. "Sorry about him."

Danny shook his head. "Don't apologise, Dick, you didn't do anything to spark that. However," he glanced at him from the corner of his eye, still holding his hand, "Screaming matches aren't going to fix anything between you two. I don't know if you even want a relationship with him, but he's right. We came into his house, so it's up to us to be polite. You may be his kid, but you are a guest in his home until you two can form some kind of positive relationship. The hostility between y'all right now? That demotes you to 'house guest' instead of 'visiting child'. Got it?"

"..yeah."

"Good. Now, Tim and Barbra are waiting upstairs; go find them."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to go apologise to Alfred."

"Alfred? Why?"

"Bruce may claim this as his house, but Alfred's the one who takes care of it. It's his haunt, so I'm gonna go apologise for almost starting a fight."

"Um, alright..?"

***

Dick found himself wandering into the room that had been given to Tim. It was bare bones and barely looked used, but that's where he found Tim and Babs. He sat next to her.

"Where's Danny?" Tim asked.

"I- He's gone to talk to Alfred for a minute."

"Oh? Why?"

"I don't..he wasn't really clear on that."

"Oh."

The three lapsed into a silence that hovered somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable. Tim was on his bed, messing with something on his phone, smiling occasionally or chuckling softly. Dick and Barbra sat together on the couch against the wall between the two windows. None of them spoke for a while.

It was a lon twenty minutes of sitting, doing nothing. Sometimes one of them shifted, but no conversation was made.

The door opened. "Wow. Did I end up in a graveyard or something? Y'all're quieter than the dead." The three flinched back as if struck. "Sorry, that was in poor taste." He closed the door behind him and sat on the foot of Tim's bed. "Seriously, though, why're y'all so quiet?"

"Waiting for you," Tim answered, "What'd you talk to Alfred about?"

Danny waved his hand in the air as if to physically dispel the words. "Nothing you need to worry about. Good news, though, I have a standing invitation to the Manor, so.."

"Is that a good idea?" Barbra asked, "You and B, well...You didn't really.."

"Yeah," he smiled, "Alfred's given me permission, and that's all I need. I won't be going with you guys to the Bat Cave, though."

"What?" Tim's voice pitched up a bit, "Why?"

"That's Mister Wayne's haunt. Because he doesn't like me, I'm not gonna risk even thinking about going down there."

"But you'll come and go from his house?"

"Yes."

"Weird."

"I don't make the rules, Timmy." Tim snorted softly. Barbra smiled.

"I hate to be the one to bring the mood down again," Dick said, "But why were you wanting to go to the Cave?"

"I just said I wasn't."

"Yeah, but why would you ever need to go down there?"

At this, Danny looked a bit sheepish, turning to look away from the others and rubbing the back of his neck. "Alfred said we're staying the night."

"What!" Dick shot up from his seat.

"Are you coming on patrol with us?" Barbra asked Dick, her eyes expectant.

Tim grinned. "That'd be so cool! You two should totally join us!"

Dick shook his head. "I really-" He cut himself off, making the mistake of looking Barbra and Tim in the eye. He sighed. "Alright, I'll join you guys for the night. But I don't answer to Bruce."

"Yay!"

"Wouldn't expect ya to."

"What about you, Danny?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I don't do the whole vigilante thing anymore."

"'Anymore'?" Babs raised her eyebrow, "That's a story I wanna hear."

He blushed. "It's really not,"

"You'll be on comms, though, right?" Tim wondered.

"I, um.... Sure. I'll join you guys on comms."

"Yes!"

"But I'm still not going into the Bat Cave."

Part 13 Part 15