#you know something is wrong with you when the first time you go to speak to someone directly the first thing out your mouth is like tuned to

[wonkixo]

GOOD GIRLS — y. jungwon

pairing badboy!yjw x goodgirl!fmr genre situationship to lovers (?) synopsis jungwon is your getaway from your highly adorned status as your parents' perfect little girl. warnings suggestive, v rushed angst, fluff (kind of), mentions of sex (although there is no actual smut), mentions of alcohol/drinking, grownup adults being strict/have high expectations?, not proofread :p

AUTHOR'S NOTE one of my favorite tropes ever tbh except i did nawttt do it justice :// i kinda wrote this sporadically as i just wanted to try out a written fic lol. i promise my next written work will be better 🫡 ofc inspired by good girls by 5sos :3 (listened to that banger at least 10x while writing this) likes n reblogs would be greatly appreciateddd <3

"We apologize YN could not make it to tonight's dinner. She informed us late last night that she was unable to make it due to a prior commitment with her tutoring job."

Your parents were ecstatic to be speaking so highly of you to your father's coworkers. Tonight's dinner was intended to honor your father's promotion at his work, but all your parents could speak about was you.

As their only daughter (actually, their only child for that matter), you were their pride and joy. The end of your senior year of high school was approaching, and you were set to attend your top university on a full ride scholarship. Your parents could not have been any more proud of you.

"That's no problem whatsoever. It's lovely to hear how dedicated your daughter is to her studies. It's quite a shame to admit that such children like yours are rare nowadays." Your father's boss chimes in, smiling softly at the two parents.

Little did they know that the little girl they were speaking so highly of, was off somewhere in the backseat of a certain somebody's car.

Your parents left you home alone, anticipating that you would drive yourself to your tutoring session moments after they left. However, there you were in the backseat of Jungwon's car, who had picked you up and drove to an empty parking lot by a nearby beach.

You sat prettily atop his lap, quietly kissing at his Adam's apple while his one of his arms circled your waist with his other hand holding a soju bottle. "You know I love you, right?"

You pulled away from Jungwon, staring at him with adoration after his statement. "Of course I do, and I love you more." Jungwon responds with a small smile, showing off his dimples, before taking a quick swig of his soju.

With the way Jungwon was acting tonight in comparison to other nights, as he was acting less feverish and more so solemn, you knew something was up. "You look like you have a lot going through your mind, pretty boy. What's wrong, Won?"

He slid the soju bottle into the side compartment before resting both his hands on your waist. "Don't forget about me when we graduate."

You tilted your head in confusion. "Why would I ever?" But you knew more than anyone why, especially now, he would be doubting your relationship... if you could even call it that.

For one, there was no clear label between you two. You were not boyfriend and girlfriend. Heck, students around you at school do not even associate you together.

You two ran in different crowds — Jungwon was apart of the popular kids; constantly getting into trouble at school (and occasionally with the law), while you were considered a student of poise and leadership with your top grades and excellent extracurriculars.

The only reason why you two even got to know each other in the first place was truly because of fate.

You two had been assigned as chemistry laboratory partners your junior year. Although your dynamic started off sour at first for obvious reasons, having spent more and more time together brought you two closer.

Restroom breaks during class became steamy makeout sessions in the janitor's closet. After school study sessions turned into having sex in the backseat of his car or in his bedroom.

All that aside, you knew Jungwon was doubting your relationship now because your time together was coming to a close. With graduations came goodbyes, but neither of you wanted to think about leaving each other just yet.

But Jungwon knew you had a bright future ahead of you and he did not want to get in the way of that. "YN, we're graduating soon. You're going to be so successful. You don't need me anymore."

You shook your head in disagreement, placing your forehead against his while you cupped his face in your hands. "Respectfully Jungwon, shut the fuck up."

Your blunt honesty brought upon a slight chuckle from Jungwon and you smile to yourself for lifting up the mood at least a tiny bit. "Jungwon, I couldn't care less as to how my future plays out. All I care about is that you are apart of it. You are my present and you are my future."

Jungwon heard the pure sincerity in your voice and his heart could not help but flutter. "Let's just enjoy each other right now, in this moment. Okay? We'll figure out all our shit later. We'll figure it all out together, Won. I love you."

"I love you so much, YN." In response, you kiss both of Jungwon's cheeks, then his lips, then you reattach your lips to his neck. You suck at his skin harshly, bringing out a moan from the boy under you.

"You're such a vixen, pretty."

"Hmm, you think so?" You pull away from him, admiring the mark you left as the moonlight hit against you two perfectly.

Jungwon turned his head to you and kissed your lips, giving you a taste of the soju's green grape flavor. "You're my vixen though." He mutters against your lips, before pulling you in once more.

The kiss quickly became hot and needy, with the way one of Jungwon's arms wrapped tighter around your waist while the other reached up to your neck, where his hand applied the slightest amount of pressure.

You responded to the gesture with a light moan against his lips and your hips began to move against his. "I want you so bad." You mutter against lips as your hips moved faster against him, indicating your desire.

Jungwon pulled away from your lips and began to trail kisses against your jaw. His hands moved underneath your shirt and as his hands began to play with the clasp, your phone loudly dinged. You groaned as you pulled away from Jungwon and took your phone out your pocket.

Mom <3: Hey sweetie! Sorry to bother.. Are you still tutoring? Wanted to let you know Dad and I will be home soon.. Love you ❤️

"That was your parents, wasn't it?" You nod as you returned the phone to your back pocket. Jungwon's hands returned to your waist and began to fiddle with your belt loops.

"Let's get you home, pretty. We can't let your parents find out just how bad my good girl is." Jungwon looked at you with starry eyes, which were quickly taken aback as you suddenly grabbed his hands on your waist and placed them above his head. "How about no?"

You felt Jungwon shuffle underneath you, clearly turned on by your assertion of dominance. "Good girls are bad girls that just haven't been caught anyway." You gently whispered into Jungwon's ear before your lips reattached to his and your hands made its way to the button of his jeans.

#wonkixo #wonkixo enhypen #jungwon imagines #enhypen imagines #yang jungwon imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #jungwon fluff #jungwon angst #yang jungwon fluff #yang jungwon angst #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enha imagines #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop angst #enhypen au #jungwon enhypen #enha fluff #jungwon #enha angst #enhablr

[forest-hashira]

this absolutely would not leave me alone, in reference to this post. @fushigurro thank u for supporting/enabling me. divider by cafekitsune. this is omegaverse, mentions of heat cycles/sex but nothing explicit. minors dni.

it had been a few days since your synced heat with satoru had ended, and though it hadn't actually lasted longer than normal, it had felt like it, neither of you able to get the kind of relief you really needed. you'd given yourselves a day to sober up and recover, and then you'd had a much dreaded conversation.

you'd been everything to each other since you'd gotten together straight out of school. in all that time, you'd never needed anyone else for anything, even able to get each other through your heats with a little help from some toys. but this had been a brutal wake up call, a reminder that there were some things you'd never be able to do for each other, no matter how hard you tried.

it was unsettling to realize, though, and the following realization that you would have to find someone else to trust in your most vulnerable moments was downright scary. a new partner couldn't be just anyone, especially not if they were going to help both of you when you needed it. in fact, there was only one person either of you could imagine trusting with that.

and so you set up a coffee date.

"you feelin' okay, baby?" satoru's gentle voice pulled you from your mental spiral, and you offered him a weak smile.

"what makes you ask?" you set your drink down on the table, unable to stomach anything because of your anxiety.

"your leg has been bouncing nonstop since we sat down." he peered at you over the tops of his sunglasses, leaning in to rest his forehead against your temple. "it's all gonna be fine, you know that, right?"

"unless he hates us for asking this of him and decides he never wants to speak to us again." you weren't expecting the laugh your words drew from him, and you pinched his side harshly. "don't laugh at me! it's not impossible..."

you could practically feel him roll his eyes at you. "he's not gonna hate us," he soothes, the faintest hint of a purr rumbling beneath his words, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "i doubt he'll say no, either. he's had a thing for you for years."

"he has not!" you turned and looked up at him, wide-eyed.

satoru cocked his head slightly, seeming genuinely surprised. "he has too! he told me once when we were drunk, before we all graduated and you and i got together. you didn't know?"

"of course i didn't know! he never said anything to me. i knew he was in love with you, though."

it was satoru's turn to look shocked. "you're lying to me."

"i am not! we all saw the way he looked at you. it was obvious."

your boyfriend seemed to pale at your words, as impossible as it was. "for how long?"

"from the very first day i met you guys. he still looks at you like that, y'know."

"who looks at satoru like what?"

suguru's voice startled both of you, and you looked up at him with burning faces. the alpha's brows pinched with concern as he sat across the table from the two of you. satoru pushed a black coffee towards him, but it went untouched as he spoke again.

"are you guys okay? you said you needed to ask me something important. is something wrong?"

you and satoru exchange a look, your omega offering you an encouraging nod.

"sort of," you sighed after a moment. "we, uh. well. our heats synced last week, and it sucked. like it was really bad."

suguru nodded, worry still painted across his features. "even with each other and..." he trailed off, glancing around as if remembering you were in a public place, and that it was probably not a great idea to talk openly about sex toys.

"yeah, even with that," you confirmed. "it was really, really miserable, and we really don't want to be caught off guard if our cycles ever sync like that again. which is why we asked you here."

now he really looked confused. "i don't think i understand."

"we need an alpha," satoru replied, his blunt nature a true blessing in that moment. "and you're the only one we trust to help us – to take care of us."

there was a beat of silence, then another. your heart began to pound, and you felt a bit sick all of a sudden. because this was it, wasn't it? your best friend outside of your partner was about to tell you both that you were disgusting simply for asking, and that he never wanted to hear from you ever again. he was—

"oh, uh... really?" there was no mistaking the flustered look on your friend's face, and that surprised you; he was usually so confident. "yeah, of course. i'm honored you trust me like that. anything you need, just let me know. i'll be there for you."

the relief that washed over you was so intense it nearly made you dizzy, and you were certain you would've collapsed if you weren't already sitting down. "you don't wanna take some time to think about it?"

he shook his head. "don't need to. if it means helping you guys, the answer's always going to be yes."

"whipped for us already, huh?" satoru teased, attempting to maintain his composure despite his face being the prettiest shade of pink.

the smile that tugged at suguru's lips was affectionate, his gaze warm as he took in the two of you across from him. "yeah," he agreed softly. "something like that."

#trying to get out of the habit of apologizing for posting things that are “outside” what i usually post so. i'm not sorry! #(is shaking & gripping the sink) #fallon's fics #cw omegaverse #tw omegaverse #satosugu #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nobody look at me rn idk where this came from

[lynnbanks]

Part 2 of Hidden Pregnancy

“You keeping this from him is going to break his heart” and it did.

Luke showed up an hour after he got the call, not his choice but what can you do? When Jack called him to tell him what happened his heart dropped. Luke has always been protective of y/n especially when it comes to her health because it hasn't always been that great. But the new medication should be helping with all of that.

But if you ask him it is making it worse. She had been more tired than he had ever seen her, more moody than normal and not to mention it wasn't doing the job it was supposed to be if she was passing out. This has happened before but never when he was away and it scared him.

And getting to the hospital an hour after the fact did not make him feel any better. Only after parking and finding her room did he feel a little relief; and that was gone the second he opened the door and saw her face it was obvious she had been crying and Jack looked pale and nervous and none of this was helping his nerves.

“Hi baby, how are you feeling?” he says while running a hand through her hair and scanning her for anything wrong. “ I'm going to go find something to drink,” Jack said getting up to leave but before he could open the door the ultrasound tech came in asking to take y/n back to get her ultrasounds done.

Luke looked confused. “An ultrasound?” y/n really didn't know how much more of this she could take. The ultrasound tech says “Yeah it shouldn't take too long, we just want to make sure everything is ok with the baby.” Luke's heart is starting to beat at an alarming rate he turns to look at y/n but she is avoiding his gaze like the plague.

Before he can form the words to ask what the fuck she is talking about the tech is helping her into a wheelchair and pushing her down the hall. Luke is quick to follow not wanting to panic or cause a scene but he needs answers.

When they got to the room the tech left to grab something and y/n climbed on the bed still avoiding his gaze “y/n what is she talking about? What baby?” y/n finally looked in his direction “Our baby…” “W-what do- what does that mean OUR baby y/n?” y/n can't look at him anymore turning her head “ I'm pregnant Luke.”

“ Okay, are we ready to get started?” the ultrasound tech asked her hands full of the supplies and papers she left to grab “From the charts I have you haven't actually seen your OB yet?” y/n answered her voice horse “no I'm not scheduled till Friday.”

The tech smiled and said, “Well I know the circumstances aren't ideal but this is usually a big deal for first-time parents. Are you dad?” she asked Luke “Um I'm yes” he said trying not to get choked up “Congratulations. How long have we known?” y/n speaks up refusing to look at Luke.

“About 3 weeks now. I'm around 11 weeks I think.”

Luke can't believe what he is hearing 3 weeks his girlfriend has been keeping the news of a baby from him. Why would she do that? The tech continued to ask questions while she prepped the sonogram machine. The air was tense as she put gel on y/n stomach and rubbed the wand around her stomach.

Until she turned the screen toward the two of them showing a tiny blob “ok that is baby and if we move a little this way is the heartbeat.” The fast thump thump thump filled the small room causing both Luke and y/n's eyes to fill with tears. Luke reaches out for her hand and squeezes it. They don't look at each other, just holding her hand is enough.

They stayed like that until the tech finished the exam. Everything she said after was a blur, everything but “ looks like the baby is doing good and checked all the boxes.” which lifted a weight off of both of their chests. “ I will come back with discharge papers and you will be good to leave.” be for walking out leaving them alone once again.

They sit in silence for a minute before Luke speaks up “You have known for 3 weeks and didn't think to tell me?” She can tell by his voice that he is holding back just how mad and hurt he really is. “ I was scared.”

“That isn't an excuse y/n that is our baby I have a right to know.” y/n can't do any more of this “ I don't want to talk about it.” Luke looks at her tired appearance; he hates that even when he is mad at her she still gets what she wants from him. Shaking his head he sits down and waits for the discharge papers.

They make it all the way home without saying a word to each other and y/n gets in bed without saying a word while Luke cries in the bathroom for a good 15 minutes before getting in bed next to her. How could she keep something like this away from him? Did she think he wasn't a good enough partner to raise a baby with? What if they were seriously hurt today? Did she not want him to be by her side with all of these new unknowns?

He only sleeps for 2 hours before getting up for practice he decided he would let her sleep in and when he gets back they will talk about all of this he even left a note saying just that. On his way out he runs into Jack he doesn't say anything just pulls him into a hug. “How are you doing?” Luke shrugged “Why wouldn't she tell me something like that?” Jack shook his head “She told me a little bit about it after the doctor outed her but I think you guys should talk to each other about it. I will say I know that she is acting with fear, not logic.”

Luke kept that in mind when he got home and found her in the bathroom throwing up everything in her system. Getting down on the floor with her and rubbing her back “Let it out, baby. Good girl.” when she has literally nothing left to give she sits up flushed and wipes her mouth. Luke grabbed some mouthwash and handed it to her. She swished it around and spit in the toilet.

Still sitting on the floor Luke pulled her into his lap

“ I'm ready to talk about this y/n,” he says her name so she knows he means business “Okay.” it comes out as a sigh. “ I just- why didn't you tell me? That isn't like you to keep secrets.” she shook her head and pulled herself closer to him “ I'm scared I don't want you to leave me.” it sounds silly the thought of these two ever not being together.

“Why would I do that? Because you are pregnant with our baby You really think I would do that?” she wipes the tears that fall from her face “ I know it sounds dumb but I have this fear that I will have to do it alone just like my mom and my sister; I can't do it, Luke.” he tries to soothe her by rubbing her back “ y/n by not telling me you put yourself in a place where you were doing it alone anyway. And if I'm honest it kind of upsets me that you ever thought of me in the same light as those boys.” he takes a deep breath “ I love you that will never change ever and from now on we are doing this together. I don't want any fears we might have to prevent us from telling each other everything I want to be there for it all.” y/n nodes her head yes in agreement

“ We both are equally responsible for this baby. I know I can't physically carry the baby right now but I will take the weight of everything else and we will do it together.” Luke pulled her up to look at him “I couldn't be happier that you are the mother of my child you are my best friend this doesn't change that okay?” y/n shakes her head yes pulling him in for a kiss “I'm sorry Luke no more secrets I promise” She leans her forehead onto his “I love you. And just so we're clear I don't think of you like that, I was just clouded with fear. And if I'm honest I am really excited to be having a baby with you.” Luke smiled big “We are having a baby! Can you believe it?” with all of the fear out of the way there was only room for excitement and they were going to enjoy the whole journey together.

Y'all know the deal. Hope this is good I really can't tell enjoy and let me know what you think. 💋💋

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #request

[dominimoonbeam]

Anything

Another mugging fic!

David&Babe

tw: mugging, light angst, friendship developing, pack feels, pack dynamics

Anything

They hadn’t called him.

He’d gotten a call from the Department about an incident with one of his pack. He’d rolled his eyes at first and nodded, waiting for another report about some conflict Darlin or Chrissy had gotten into. It wasn’t that the others weren’t possibilities, it was just that Milo would have told him before the Department and Asher was out of town.

But then they dropped a name he’d never heard the Department mention to him before, not since he confirmed them being in his pack. His heart squeezed in his chest. Mugged? What the fuck did they mean mugged?

“Where are they?” He was already out the door, keys in hand.

“What?”

“Where?”

“Oh, um. It looks like they checked themself out of the hospital after making a statement to the unempowered authorities… It doesn’t look like they broke covert although the report does suggest the assailant was empowered…”

David felt sick, teeth too long and hand shaking around his keys. It was too much information at once, all tossed out carelessly by this desk clerk on the phone like none of it even mattered. Hospital. They had been taken to the hospital? What the fuck had happened? And who had mugged them? And why, in the hell, did this asshole think David gave any fucks about covert?

“How injured were they?” he interrupted. They’d been taken to a hospital, but they seem to have left on their own. David wanted to find comfort in that detail but he couldn’t, because he knew for a fact that Babe could and would push through pain and illness. They would sooner walk home with a broken leg than ask someone for help and risk being a burden.

Fuck! Now he was worried they were walking around on a broken leg.

“Um… It looks like they were treated for some cuts and scrapes. There’s a note about a possible concussion but the doctor didn’t seem overly worried.” And the empowered clerk on the phone didn’t sound worried either.

“Cuts?”

“And scrapes.”

David ground his teeth. “What makes you say the assailant was probably empowered?”

“Oh. There’s a note about them being bitten. They kept their story pretty vague though,” he sounded pleased and then huffed a smile. “The unempowered doctors gave them antibiotics in case of an infection.”

David hung up. He had to. If he didn’t, he would somehow kill this person through the phone. He immediately dialed another number, sliding into the driver’s seat of his truck. He put the phone on the dash and started the engine. It didn’t take Milo long to answer. “Boss?”

David hesitated just when he was about to speak. Babe was pack but they were human and they were so private.

“David?” Milo was louder, closer to his phone and focused with concern.

“I’m going to need your help, but I need you and Stealth to keep it quite.” It never even occurred to him to ask Milo to keep anything from his partner.

“There was an incident with Babe. I’m headed to their apartment now. I need you to find out everything you can from the department.” He took a turn and pulled into an alley beside their building, not caring if he was in a loading zone.

“Yeah. On it. Are they okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said without thinking and froze just as he was getting out of his truck.

He didn’t know.

His instincts raged, his wolf rolling under his skin. He didn’t know. A member of his pack—the most important person in the world to his best friend—and he had no idea.

“I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and used Asher’s spare key to get into the building. He couldn’t wait for the lift, taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t until he was in the hall that he knew something was wrong, something other than everything else wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it until he was at their apartment door.

He knocked, but already his stomach was twisting because his senses told him they weren’t there. Not only was their apartment empty, but their scent was so faint in the hallway that he knew they hadn’t been there in hours, probably not since they left for work that morning, definitely not with any cuts.

Cuts.

Bites.

His skin crawled and he wanted to growl and whine at the same time. He needed to see them. He needed to know how bad this was and do everything he could to fix it.

He scrolled his phone numbers and tried to call them. It went immediately to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he pushed the heel of his palm against his temple. Did they even have their phone? Where would they be?

He could have the pack find them. If they fanned out, they’d have them in no time. But then he would be making this moment, this day—their day—pack public. And he didn’t know yet if that was okay with them.

Asher hadn’t called him yet. Which meant, either they were on the phone with him right now, or he didn’t know yet.

David needed eyes on Babe. He needed to be able to tell Asher he was looking at them and that they were okay, or he would lose his mind.

He tried to think up places Babe would go on his way down the stairs.

Where would he go if he was unempowered and recently attacked by a vampire? They’d called it a mugging. Had the biter really robbed them? He flipped his keys against his palm but stopped one step toward his car. The hospital wasn’t far from here. Even on foot, even slowed by injury, they would have been there by now. So, if they didn’t go home, where did they go?

He called Angel to ask if Babe had come to their place. No. Angel had questions, but David promised to explain soon and they promised to call if they heard from Babe until then.

His phone rang almost as soon as he hung up.

Milo.

David answered.

“Are they okay?”

“I don’t know,” he ground out again. “They aren’t at their apartment.”

“What?”

David looked up and down the street. It was getting dark. “Was their phone stolen?”

“No. It was broken. They were on their way home from work, just got off the subway—”

David pivoted, looking in the direction of their stop.

“In their statement to the cops, they called their attacker a biter at first—said he cornered them before they could get out of the underground station and took their jacket and their bag. They didn’t have any money or cards on them so they must have left the hospital on foot. They can’t have gotten far.”

“Did they have their keys?” David started walking toward the subway station.

Milo was moving on his side too. “It didn’t sound like it.”

If David was in Babe’s shoes, he would just want to go home. He would want to be in his own space with the door locked. But if they didn’t have their keys, they couldn’t get home. They could, of course, call him. He had the spare. But he wasn’t sure they would even if they had their phone.

He descended the steps into the subway.

“I can start at the hospital and track them.”

“Are you at the hospital now?”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good.” David hung up just as the call would have cut out anyway. The air was colder underground, the lights yellow and the hallways echoing with the hum of a passing train. The afterwork crowd had thinned out and it wasn’t quite late enough for the party crowds.

He hopped the entrance and shivered when he inhaled their scent.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain how relieved he felt when he saw them standing there on the platform. They looked awful. Their pants were dirty and their shirt bloodstained and torn. He’d never seen them even mussed let alone a complete mess before. One hand clutched at the bandage around their wrist, squeezing as they frowned and stared, seeming to scrutinize the tracks.

For one horrific second he thought they were going to jump. They kept cutting glances up and down the tracks and shifting their weight where they stood at the edge.

“Babe.”

They jumped and spun around too fast.

He closed the distance and caught their hands in both of his to tug them that one step forward, away from the edge.

They stared up at him, one eye blood-red where it should be white and their cheekbone bruised in dark purple clouds. Their jaw was scraped up like they’d landed on the ground, matching their scabbed palms in his hands. “What are you doing?” David asked, trying so hard to keep his voice low and soft—trying not to growl or yell because of the fear that had built in his chest from the moment he heard their name on that call.

“Oh,” they exhaled and their shoulders dropped. They looked down at themself and flushed. “Sorry. It’s been a bad night. I was mugged but it’s fine.”

They didn’t know he knew about that. “It doesn’t look fine.”

They turned toward the tracks again. “I kicked my keys when he went for them and they went down there… If he got my keys he could be at my place and if he didn’t, well, I need them.” Their voice was tinny, carefully logical but fragile in that desperation.

David nodded, still holding onto their hands and very gently drawing them another step away from the tracks. “I’ll look.”

Babe exhaled hard and shook their head, wincing at a pain in their body and stopping short in the gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find them. You’ve probably got someplace to be.”

David stared at them. Was it shock or did they really think he was just passing by? He folded their hands inside of his. This was the first time he’d ever touched Babe. Pack was very physical but David had never been good at building those relationships. With other wolves, it was easier. It was simpler. With the non-shifters in the pack, it had always been so much harder. He knew now that he’d made a mistake when he thought that was okay—that he didn’t need to build on those bonds as well. Babe was looking at him like a work associate being nice to them on a rough day. It was polite but unexpected and certainly unnecessary. They expected nothing from him.

“I don’t have anywhere to be. I came here looking for you,” he said, their hand spasming in his.

They looked down at their joined hands for the first time, as if just now registering the contact. And then their eyes widened and their face shot up to seek his gaze again. Their words rushed out of them. “I didn’t break covert.”

It was a gut punch.

They pulled their hands out of his and took a step back, chin pressing high as they tried to stand taller. “I would have let you know after… After I got home. I just…” They looked over their shoulder at the tracks and their lost keys again, frowning.

David nodded. First problem first. He could do that.

He stepped around them and up to the edge of the platform, eyeing the shadows until he spotted the bundle of keys on a ring. He jumped down.

“Be careful!” Babe rushed to the edge.

David could hear the trains and knew exactly how long he had. He snagged the keys, pocketed them, and jumped back up onto the platform. He was just turning them toward the exit when Milo came down the steps, slowing and stopping at the sight of them.

“Hey,” he said to Babe, gaze flicking over the state of them.

David heard the way the other wolf’s pulse quickened, the edges of rage tucked behind his teeth.

Babe sighed, shoulders drooping as they started up the stairs. “I guess this is a thing now.”

Milo frowned and turned to follow them. “How was this not going to be?”

David shot him a warning look but Babe didn’t wither under the badgering tone. They sighed again, a little groan of annoyance now. They were slow on the steps but neither shifter was going to rush them.

“I mean, I figured I could go home and clean up before it had to be public knowledge that I got mugged. Asher is going to be—” They stopped and swung around.

Both shifters stopped, arms out to stabilize them if they were falling over.

“Does he know? He’s going to panic and think I died.”

David blinked at the rush of words. He shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” He really just wanted to see them—to be able to tell his best friend that they were in one piece and breathing.

Babe sagged in relief, nodding, almost slumping into the railing with the weight of it. “Good. Good. Just, let me clean up and I’ll video call him. That’ll be better.”

David wasn’t sure it would be, but he nodded.

Babe started the upward march again. David had never realized how many fucking steps their were until he watched this human drag themself up each one. He could swear he could hear Milo’s teeth grinding on the effort not to pick them up—the same as his.

“Do you know who it was?” David asked, trying to distract all of them while getting a little information.

“What?”

“The biter,” Milo helped.

Babe jerked a little, free hand flying to the bandage on their wrist. “I’m not going to turn am I?”

Milo laughed.

David groaned. “No. Asher really needs to take you to those classes…”

They exhaled tired relief. “Never saw him before. He cornered me and tossed me around. Bit my wrist and then laughed. He wanted my stuff, my phone, my keys, and my wallet.” They swallowed, looking up at the last stretch of steps.

David squeezed his fists until his fingers popped to resist scooping them up.

They continued to walk. “But my phone was busted from his initial attack and the keys I’d kicked. The next train was coming in. He took all my cards though and said…” Babe stopped then they reached the sidewalk atop the steps. They took a deep breath.

“Said what?” David asked.

They opened their eyes and looked at him, not seeming to know what he was talking about at first.

“What did the vampire say?”

A shudder rocked them when they remembered and it was like watching a person remember to be afraid. “Oh.”

“Babe?”

They looked up the street toward their building. “He said he’d see me later.”

Milo growled low in his chest and David felt relieved at the sound if only because it was the echo of the one he was holding back.

Babe looked at them both. “He didn’t mean it though, right? I mean, that’s just something someone would say to scare. There’s no reason for him to bother with me again.”

David frowned. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Babe nodded like he was agreeing with them, relieved and started down the sidewalk.

David tipped his head toward Milo, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Find him,” David growled. “Get Darlin to help you and hunt him down. I want him in pieces in a box by morning.”

Milo nodded once and was gone.

David joined Babe, close at their side but not quite touching, always ready to catch them or buffer anyone else out of their way. It was one of the longest walks of his life but they both sagged in relief when they reached their apartment door. For a second Babe thought they’d lost their keys again, until David pulled them from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“You don’t have to stay,” they said when they were inside.

He shut and locked the door. The lock was just for them. Nothing was getting past him.

Babe let out a little laugh. “I’m going to clean up, okay? I’ll call Ash after that. Just… Just wait, okay?”

David nodded and stayed in the living room when they headed down the hall to their bathroom.

He kept his senses focused on their breathing, hearing it even through the shut door and the spray of the shower. It took everything he had not to move when they started crying. They needed that moment alone and he wasn’t going to take it from them. He was going to pretend he hadn’t listened, even if he was, even if he had to just in case they passed out.

He texted Angel to let them know that he had found Babe, everything was okay, but he’d be over at Asher and Babe’s for a while.

-

Babe tried not to cry. Really they did. It was stupid. It wouldn’t help anything. Oh god but it had been such a bad night. They’d been so scared and then so embarrassed and now they were a mess and they’d have to call Asher and he’d feel terrible and the whole pack knew and it was going to be a big deal and how could they even convince anyone it wasn’t when their face looked like that!

They stripped down and bunched all their clothes into a tight ball, cramming them down into the trash and then tying off the plastic bag and throwing it into the corner. They felt like a mess. They felt out of control and like everyone was looking. It made their skin hurt.

They showered, trying not to wallow and take too long because they knew David would still be out there. Poor guy was stuck having to sit in their living room, thinking they were falling apart. If they could show him they were fine he’d probably feel okay to leave.

They cried some more in the shower, hoping to get the last of it out. They cleaned up, dressed in some soft sweats and a hoodie with long sleeves. Their palms throbbed, the scrapes deep and matching the ones on their jaw. It was going to look even worse tomorrow. And their eye… they could barely look at it, the white gone red.

When it was as good as it was going to get, they marched back down the hall to their living room. David wasn’t there. Their heart lurched but just as soon as they’d started to panic that they were all alone, they found him in the kitchen. He had the fridge open but had stopped to stare back at them. “I forgot that living with Ash, there’s never any leftovers.”

They exhaled, letting some of the strain in their chest go with that breath. “Yeah. I can make you—”

He shot them a look that was between outrage and shock. “I’ll make us something. What do you want?”

“Oh. You don’t have to.”

“French toast, right?”

Babe stared at him, the sleeves of Asher’s hoodie bunched up in their palms, pressing into those scrapes. “What?”

“When we do pack get togethers overnight and make waffles or pancakes in the morning… Ash always asks for French toast,” he said as he pulled the eggs and milk out and then found a loaf of bread. “He never used to ask for French toast. He has a whole thing about pancakes being superior to all other breakfast options. He started asking for French toast when you joined.”

Babe felt heat rush their face and something ease in their heart. They sank into one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, nodding. “Yeah.” They loved French toast.

David nodded and then took out of phone and waved it over his shoulder. “Do you want to call or do you want me to?”

Tears stung their eyes. It was stupid. Everything was fine and they just needed to let Ash know that.

They held out their hand and David passed them the phone.

It wasn’t hard to find his number and it only rang a couple times before that voice they’d been missing so much picked up.

“Hey buddy. What’s up?” Asher sing-songed, thinking it was David calling.

He was on some trip to meet and get to know other packs on the continent, a gathering out in the wilderness to build relationships. Baby sighed.

The levity was gone from his voice. “Babe? What are you doing on David’s phone?”

How the hell were they supposed to say this? “Everything is okay. Everyone is okay. I just… My phone is broken.” True but not all of it. They closed their eyes. “I got mugged in the subway and my phone got broken. David had to walk me home.” Nope, not quite. “There was a police report and I had to go to the hospital, but I’m okay and I didn’t break covert or anything.”

The pause seemed long even if it was only seconds. “Oh Baabe,” he said so gently that their heart melted. “I’m so sorry. You’re sure you’re okay? That must have been so scary.”

They exhaled so much relief, dropping their head forward onto their folded arm on the counter. Thank god he hadn’t freaked out. They weren’t sure they could handle that right now. They just wanted normal. “It was but I’m okay.”

“You’re home now?”

They nodded and then remembered they had to actually say it. “Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking tough, Baabe. I’ll be there in the morning.”

They sat up, dragging a breath. “You don’t have to—”

“You know I’m coming home. Really, you’re giving me an excuse to do exactly what I want, which is to come back to you. So just hang tight, okay? Order delivery or something, sleep in, and I’ll be there when you wake up, okay?”

Babe hummed something close to a yes.

“David’s there?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I talk to him? I’ll be home soon, okay? I love you so much, Baabe.”

“I love you too,” they said and then held out the phone.

David took it and held it to his ear.

-

David turned back toward the eggs.

“Who?” There was no smile or light-heartedness to Asher’s voice now.

“Milo’s on it.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad.” He couldn’t give him details without Babe overhearing. “I’ll text you.”

“Broken bones?”

“No,” he was fast to answer that.

“Unempowered?”

“No.”

Asher growled.

“Milo’s on it,” David reminded. “I’ll have it for you when you get here.”

“David…” Asher started, human voice shuddering with the effort to stay in that form when probably his whole wolf was trying to shift out and run.

“Anything,” he said.

“Just… stay with them until I get there? They’re tough but…”

David nodded. He’d never intended to go anywhere. “We’re making French toast. We’ll be here when you get back to town.”

Asher grunted and hung up. It wasn’t like him to be short on words but David understood.

Babe had their head in their arms again. “You don’t have to stay,” they said as soon as he started cracking eggs. “I’m probably just going to sleep.”

“Great. Then I can pick what we’re watching.”

Babe lifted their head and looked at him before relenting with a nod. “Sure. You’re a good friend. Asher’s lucky to have you,” they said, voice quiet with the soft compliment.

It made his chest swell but his brow pinch. “You’re pack, Babe. Yes, you’re Asher’s mate, but you’re also pack.” He sighed. “You should have called me from the hospital, not because this was some sort of trouble you needed to report but because you needed help.”

“I didn’t.”

“You could have used help,” he reworded for them and felt the echo of his words in words spoken to him by Asher in the past. “You could have called any of us. You don’t have to call me if you don’t want to, but Milo or—”

“My phone was broken.”

“There are phones in the hospital. You know you could have called… and I know why you didn’t. But you don’t need to need us to call us. It’s okay to just want us to show up.”

They pressed their lips, thinking about it.

He cracked another egg. “And stop worrying about covert.”

They looked up. “But you worry about covert—”

“Yeah. It’s my job to worry about it on behalf of the pack. You don’t need to give a shit about it. When someone hurts you, all bets are off, and I will handle everything else.”

Babe blinked at him and then finally asked. “The vampire isn’t going to come back for me, is he?”

David huffed, looking for the cinnamon on the shelf. “No. You don’t ever need to worry about that.”

Babe sighed and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

#redactedverse #redacted asmr #fanfic #babe & david #pack feels #pack dynamics #mugging fic #light angst #developing friendship #<3

[strwberri-milk]

I'm heartbroken and devasted bc Gojo a comfort hcs pls with the LDS boys😭I'm literally crying seeing every other edits 😭

i love some good hurt comf

Zayne catches the change in your demeanour immediately. He knows that you're upset and he'll ask you point blank what's wrong. No matter what it is, you'll feel him pull you into his chest, holding you tightly and telling you that it'll pass.

He's very solution oriented so if it's something he can offer a solution for that's where his brain will go. At first it might seem cold and callous of him but you've quickly learned over time that it's his way of showing you how he cares. He wants you to feel secure and to him, fixing your problem is the best way to cheer you up.

If it's a more emotional or less tangible problem to solve then he's a little lost for words. He gets quiet, trying to figure out what to say to help you feel better. You'll have to lean into him, wrap your arms around him tightly and thank him for just being there for him to snap out of it, holding and gently running his hand over your back and offering generic words of comfort.

Xavier is also solution oriented but he's also good at emotional support. When he sees how upset you are he'll try his best to figure out what sort of support you're wanting at that moment and offer it to you. He's usually perceptive enough to figure out what you need fairly quickly, providing you with the support you want.

Regardless of what he ends up deciding you need you'll end up in bed, surrounded by comfortable blankets and pillows. He'll hold you close to him, speaking to you in that soft voice of his as he tells you what you need to hear. He plays with the hem of your clothes, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you spill all your upset at him.

Rafayel can definitely find a solution but he typically doesn't go there. To him, there's nothing cuddles and gentle words couldn't solve and honestly, he's kinda right.

Rafayel immediately starts prepping some of your favourite treats and tugs you into his lap no matter how much you complain. He holds you close, offering the soft thrum of his heart to slow your speeding thoughts. You feel yourself calming down a little, resting your cheek against his chest and sighing softly, running your thumb across the back of his hand. For once he's quiet, letting you tell him all about how you feel. He offers little noises that confirm he's listening to you, really taking it all in so he can comfort you as much as you need.

#love and deepspace x reader #lnds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #lads rafayel x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader

[riririnnnn]

You know, majority of the Fandom including myself seem to have forgotten that another match is going on alongside BM Vs PxG:

Nagi has been miserable since the BM match and considering this panel:

I can place a safe bet that THIS is probably the BEST time to reveal Nagi's backstory. I mean, this has happened earlier too: a brilliant player goes downhill -> backstory revealed -> the player makes a comeback. Of course, there are chances that Nagi will make a comeback without his backstory being revealed, but I can't think of any other better moment than what we currently have.

I understand that many of you are getting confused now like Nagi's backstory? Huh? Don't we know a lot about him already—we, literally, have a spin-off Manga of him!?

And you are not wrong, but it ISN'T his backstory—it is just his story BEFORE he got into Blue Lock/Soccer while a backstory explains why a person is the way they are, and we surely don't know why Nagi is the way he is.

You might argue that, "Some people are just lazy without any reason," and I agree, I wholeheartedly agree with it and that's exactly what I thought about Nagi too until I saw this:

And my whole life turned upside down.

I did know about his parents' Laissez-faire method way before, but at that time I didn't think about the effect it might have had on Nagi's character as a whole.

Of course, I don't have a first-hand experience in parenting, but I do have a first-hand experience in being parented—some children are just naturally independent and CAN do things on their own at the first try (my sibling) while some children NEED someone to guide them around until they become comfortable enough (me), so considering Nagi's behaviour, I kinda think that hands off parenting wasn't the one for him 'cause this:

isn't exactly something to be happy about, you know. Yes, yes, I understand the deeper meaning of it, but you get the gist of what I'm trying to say, right?

Speaking from personal experience again, people who had to take care of themselves from a young age and had to carry their own responsibilities usually turn into a very hardworking, considerate and kind person or they become 'lazy' like Nagi—they burnout.

One more thing to note about the burnout 'lazy' people are that they are very efficient in whatever they do 'cause they used to have so many things to do in their hands that they just naturally happen to follow the least energy consuming path which in turn becomes a habit—no wonder Nagi got into Hakuho and is usually good in whatever he does.

Further, I do think that some times, his parents kind of nearly appear neglectful:

If my calculations are right, then he was only 15 years old when he moved out into a new place in a new city on his own. He was also fresh outta middle school! Crazy!

And no, we actually haven't gotten any 'neglected child' backstory till now—from a broader perspective, Kaiser had abuse as his backstory while Lorenzo had abandonment as his backstory.

Him being an unintentionally neglected child also explains why he went along with whatever Reo told him to do.

You see, judging by Episode Nagi Chapter 22.5 alone, he seems like someone who appreciates actions and words, and that's exactly what Reo has been doing from the start. Reo has shown his efforts openly to him—he is very verbal which was something Nagi's parents, probably, weren't.

I don't think it's very surprising if someone who is craving for validation and affection for his whole life gets attached to someone who finally gives them everything that they wanted and needed.

What do you guys think?

#blue lock #bllk #nagi seishiro #雪 ranting

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[firstkanaphans]

Eye of the Hurricane

[a deleted scene from Wandee Goodday, episode 5]

Pairing: OyeiCher Summary: Yei makes up for all of the nights he's missed; pwp Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1200

Yei tossed Cher onto the bed they had shared for years and although Cher laughed, there was still a lingering storm raging inside him. It wasn’t the downpour from earlier, but it was still there, a squall in the darkness, lying in wait for the perfect conditions to strengthen once more.

But then Yei kissed him and just like that, the stormy waters of his mind quieted because Yei’s kiss was the exact same as it had been the very first time, full of tenderness and love, and Cher knew that such pure devotion couldn’t be faked. 

It had been two days since Yei had given him anything more than a good night peck and Cher found himself devouring him like a man starving. He hadn’t realized until that very moment just how hungry he was, but despite Yei’s reassurances, Cher knew something was off. Although other couples might be able to go days—or even weeks—without sex and still be satisfied, that had never been the case for them. Sex was an integral part of how they showed their love for each other. Cher craved Yei and he craved his body, every second of every day. He had always thought the feeling was mutual. 

Until now.

Cher pushed Yei away from his lips so he could speak. “Something’s wrong,” he said softly, reaching up to cup Yei’s face in his hands. Yei was still sweaty from his workout, but Cher didn’t care. He savored the taste of salt on his tongue. “I can tell.”

Yei sighed, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned forward and rubbed his nose against Cher’s affectionately. “Not with us,” he promised. “Never with us. I’ve just been a little stressed lately. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“But if you’re stressed about something, I want to know. I want to help.”

“Do you want to help or do you want me to fuck you?” Yei teased.

Cher opened his mouth to argue that those were two very different issues, but before he could get the words out, Yei kissed him again. And although he knew he was only doing it to distract him, Cher had to admit it was working.

When you’d grown accustomed to having sex everyday and then were suddenly deprived of it, your body began to respond to pleasure the way an addict’s would. Although Yei had given Cher only a small taste, he was already hungry for more, wanting to savor every memory, every touch, just in case they were to suddenly disappear again.

He clearly wasn’t the only one.

The sweet kisses quickly turned dirty and in no time at all, Yei was pulling his sweat-damp tank over his head. Cher followed his lead, slipping out of his own shirt, kicking off his pants, and the next time they kissed, there was nothing between them at all.

Cher’s hands roamed Yei’s slick skin as he breathed in his boyfriend’s post-workout musk and although he liked to complain, they both knew he secretly loved it. There was something about it that thrilled him—Yei dirty and him clean. He liked to imagine that his pristine body was being defiled, irrevocably changed by the touch of Yei’s hands.

Yei pulled away from Cher’s lips and began to kiss his neck instead. Then his collar bone. Then his chest. He continued to make his way down Cher’s body until his mouth was hovering sensually over his dick. When he spoke, Cher could feel the words against his skin.

“May I?” Yei asked, his eyes glinting.

“Please,” Cher said, lifting himself up onto his elbows, but no sooner had Yei taken him into his mouth than he collapsed back onto the sheets once more. Cher moaned, twining his fingers in Yei’s hair—not pulling, just needing to touch.

Yei hadn’t known how to do this when they’d first started dating because he’d never been with a boy before, but Cher had taught him. Cher had taught him everything. Now, he was an expert. He knew how to do things with his tongue that even Cher couldn't and he had seemingly no gag reflex at all.

He worked up a rhythm, moving his lips up and down Cher’s shaft agonizingly slow the way he did when he wanted to draw things out, but Cher had been waiting for days already and he had run out of patience. He thrust up into Yei’s mouth, forcing him to take him deeper, and he could feel Yei smirking around him as if that was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Yei liked to treat Cher like a prince, but he liked Cher to treat him like a slave. So Cher began fucking into his mouth, showing Yei exactly what it was he wanted, and Yei took every inch of him without complaint. It felt, at least a little bit, like an apology, and Cher got so lost in the sensations that he didn’t notice Yei reaching for the lube until a finger breached his rim. 

Cher’s body opened for Yei like it was an extension of his own and soon, Cher was alternating between fucking up into Yei’s mouth and back down onto his fingers. He couldn’t escape his touch. Every inch of his body was at Yei’s mercy and that was exactly how he liked it.

And then suddenly, it stopped.

Cher whined, trying to push Yei back towards his dick, but Yei only laughed. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Cher was too far gone for words, but he nodded because Yei was right. That did sound better. Yei smirked and then situated himself at Cher’s entrance before very slowly pushing inside.

He wasn’t wearing a condom—they hadn’t had need for one in years—and that familiarity soothed Cher more than words because if Yei was actually cheating on him, he wouldn’t risk hurting Cher like that. He wouldn’t be irresponsible with his safety. His life. Not when he had spent so many years trying to protect him.

Their bodies fit together as if they had been carved specifically for each other and Cher hooked his legs around Yei’s waist as he began to thrust, his rhythm steady and electrifying, but Cher could tell that the time apart had affected Yei too because his stamina wasn’t what it had been.

He buried his face in Cher’s neck, letting out a desperate mewling noise, and Cher cradled him as he began to thrust deeper and harder, using his hand to stroke Cher's cock just the way he liked. Cher could no longer hold back his moans.

Right at the brink of orgasm, Yei looked Cher in the eyes to make sure he was listening as he said, “Why would I want anyone else when I have you?”

Cher came first, coating Yei's hand with his seed, and Yei swallowed the sounds of his pleasure on his tongue as he followed close behind. 

Afterwards, Yei held Cher the way he’d been longing for, warming both his body and his mind, as he whispered a string of sweet nothings in his ear. “So good…My Cher…All mine…”

But despite that, Cher fell asleep that night on his own side of the bed while Yei fell asleep on his.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet.

#can't stop won't stop #wandee goodday #oyeicher #wandee goodday fic #oyeicher fic #sarah writes things

[pinkiemachine]

GOTHAM FILES: SEASON 7

SO, to start off, Jason has begun to form the Outlaws in a mini series going on in the background. His new team consists of himself, Roy Harper (Arsenal), Artemis of Bana-Mighdall (Amazon warrior), and Bizarro, (botched Superman clone).

BUT FORGET ALL THAT—SEASON 7.

The opening arc issssssssssss 🥁 🥁 🥁

THE KILLING JOKE.

Joker is back, he’s out of Arkham, and this time… his scheme is particularly diabolical. He’s discovered Batgirl’s secret identity. By the end of this harrowing tale, after many ups and downs, Joker escapes… after having shot Barbara in the back and paralysing her from the waste down. This shatters Barbara’s world. So not only has her identity been leaked (eventually making its way to the public) but now she’s lost the ability to walk and she’s lost the ability to be Batgirl. Basically, everything she ever wanted to do for Gotham, for her friends and family, feels completely out of reach now, and she doesn’t know what to do.

I mean, first of all, she needs to go underground to keep her and her father safe, but after that… she needs to do some serious soul searching. The conclusion of which is this: she may not be able to use her body to its fullest extent anymore, but she still has her sharp mind. She can still help. She can be the BatFam’s “Guy in the chair.” Or in this case, “Gal in the chair.” She takes the new Codename “Oracle” and sets up her headquarters in an old, abandoned clock tower. (She can’t be seen at Wayne Manor, ever. They’d link her (Batgirl) back to Bruce and then the secret would be out.) But now she’s kinda starting to feel like she’s found her groove again. She has a purpose again.

Damian continues his training under Bruce, Dick and Star navigate married life, Jason is gallivanting off with the Outlaws, Tim has actually been chosen by Bruce to kind of become Bruce Wayne’s apprentice in a way—Bruce thinks that one day, maybe he could run Wayne Enterprises—Stephanie and Tim continue to work on their relationship, Batwoman makes another appearance, Batman and Catwoman start to date a little more seriously (much to Damian’s chagrin), things move forward, and then we meet Cassandra Cain.

Specifically, Barbara meets Cass. See, this girl is very similar to Damian in that she was raised to be an assassin. However, her twisted father’s approach was to prohibit her from speaking ever, so that she had to rely solely on body language and facial expressions. This allows her to read people exceptionally well. She can tell if someone’s going to attack her, how they’re going to attack her, and when they’re going to attack her, all before they can even blink. Thing is, she’s not a natural-born killer. After she took her first life at just eight years old, she freaked out and tired to run away. She managed to escape a few years later. Now she had popped up on Oracle’s radar, and she sent in the BatFam to sort out the kerfuffle. When Bruce meets her, he can tell that she’s not like the deranged lunatics of Gotham, she’s just a kid. A kid with no clear direction in life and a dark past. He lets her crash at the Manor until she can get a few things sorted. They also need her help to bring down her father, another known criminal. Barbara, though, recognises something within Cass that she sees in herself. A feeling… that you believe you’re broken… like something’s wrong with you. Cass has been trying to learn to speak since running away, but she’s really bad at it. The only thing she’s good for is knowing how to kill people. Even her friends. She feels like she’s a broken human being. Barbara for a while felt literally broken, due to her legs. Like she wasn’t good for anything. And even now, she sometimes feels like she’s only good for one thing: sitting behind a screen. She takes Cass under her wing and she begins to teach her all the things she learned as Batgirl. Together, they both heal and learn to move past what they both thought they were. In the end, Babs becomes much for comfortable and confident in her new role as Oracle, and Cass redeems herself by becoming the new Batgirl. Steph also adopts her as her best friend/Batsister immediately.

After that, Barbara gets the idea to start the Birds of Prey (an elite squad of girl superheroes which she manages from her chair) and everything’s going pretty well for a while.

We get introduced to Luke Fox, aka Batwing, (I need to research his story more, soorrryyy…… there’s a lot of charactersssss)

Harley Quinn has just begun her redemption arc! Well, I mean, I will have been hinting at this for several seasons, but now it’s official. Now she’s coming back to the sane side.

Damian is finally allowed to go to school at Gotham Academy (though he insists that he always arrive via helicopter. He accepts no substitutions), and while we’re talking about Damian, let’s see how he’s doing with the whole “murder” thing. He’s, uh… not as bad as he was when he first arrived… so that’s good. But at the same time… he, uh… he still has some room for improvement. He’s got a little bit of a temper, he’s still stuck-up, and although he’s able to follow Batman’s no killing rule, he does still plan to go back to his old ways as soon as his time with Bruce is over. His destiny is still to become the new Demon’s Head and rule the New World, remember? BUT THEN…

The grande finale of season 7. His name is Heretic… and he’s a bad dude. So bad, in fact, that he manages to kill Damian. HOWEVER… that is not where the finale ends… it’s only just started… no cliffhangers this time. Bruce, naturally, does not take this death well, but he’s also not going to crumble this time. This time, he knows it’s possible to bring Damian back, and he will go to the ends of the Earth to make that happen. He pursues every single conceivable avenue available to him, and he Does. Not. Rest. until he brings his son back to life! The other Batkids are there too, helping, and together, they manage to save their little brother. (I forget how they do that in the comics just now, I’ll come back and edit this later XD) Anyway, this is the second most crucial moment in Damian’s life. Now, he has experienced what it’s like to die… to be on the other end of a sword… and he’s moved by the fact that not only his father, but his entire adoptive family (who’ve famously hated him), all came together to save him. It completely redefines his definition of love and it opens up an entirely new feeling for him: empathy. From this moment on, he doesn’t even try to take another life. He’s starting to think that maybe he doesn’t want to.

Oh, and also, Starfire’s pregnant! 🎉

Part 8 👇

Part 6 👇

#dc #dc comics #batman #bat family #bat brothers #bat sisters #Bruce wayne #dick grayson #Nightwing #Jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #Stephanie brown #spoiler #Cassandra cain #batgirl #Barbara gordon #oracle #Batwoman #Starfire #Starfire x Nightwing #Gotham files #fan fiction #fandom #head canon #robin #Damian Wayne

[argisthebulwark]

I'd Die A Drunk, I'd Die For You

summary: Lucky you, you're his emergency contact! Unlucky for you, there's been an emergency. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Farkas, Brynjolf, Balimund, Vilkas, Cicero warnings: explicit depictions of blood & injury, alcohol consumption masterlist

Farkas

You are absolutely fucking terrified when the guards knock on your door. Sunrise is only a few hours off yet you'd hardly slept, putting off rest until you got a handle of your work. Recruitment requests, work orders, summons from the Jarl, orders for new bedding and maintenance for the hall... sleep simply doesn't fit into your schedule. Everything else falls away when you hear that Farkas is hurt. The guard has hardly finished speaking before you're rushing out the door, snatching a coat over your pajamas and slippers falling off your chilly feet when you hustle through Whiterun. Your mind conjures up awful scenarios that turn your stomach while you're tripping up all those damned steps. Bursting into Jorrvaskr hardly draws any attention. Companions and priests scurry around where Farkas is laid out across the grand table, bloodied linens clutched to his wounds while Vilkas barks orders. Your heart sinks when Farkas spots you, eyes unfocused but grinning. Bandaged fingers beckon you closer and you shuffle toward him, sinking to your knees. "What did you do?" Fat tears roll down your cheeks when you comb through the mess of his hair. Farkas' hand rests on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed when he sucks in a sharp breath. "Made it home. Just like I promised." He smiles again, trying to cover up the pain with humor. "Don't tell Vilkas you're my emergency contact - 'fraid he'd lecture us both." "You were supposed to come back in one piece." You swipe at the blood drying on his cheek, desperate for a sense of normalcy. The fact that you could be losing him chokes out all rational thought. "Tried my best." He pants, face flushed as Athis mumbles about a dislocated shoulder. "Don't worry - it's not that bad, I'll be fixed up in no time." "You're bleeding all over the table." "Not the first time." His laugh is rough but offers you a touch of comfort. "Probably not the last time, either."

Brynjolf

Something has gone terribly wrong. A pair of guards knocking your door down sent your heart at a dangerous pace - they're at your home. You've been so careful to ensure that nothing ties your personal life to the Guild - had someone been caught? None of the recruits knew your real name and no one in your inner circle would ever rat you out. Their mention of Brynjolf's name wrenches you out of that spiral. You're nodding along to whatever they're saying, allowing them to escort you through Riften. Your skin feels too tight when you descend into the city's jail, too many eyes on you for comfort. They still haven't explained what the hell he did but if they know his real name it must be serious. Slumped against the stiff cot, Brynjolf grins up at you. His eyes shamelessly take in the mess of your crooked tunic and mismatched boots, cheeks flushed and looking far too relaxed for a man in a cell. He gazes at you, clearly ignoring the bloodied state of his knuckles. "Care to explain why the guards darkened my doorstep?" You seethe, paying no mind to his damned dimples. Now is not the time to let him distract you. "Ah, sorry love - put you down as my emergency call. Just in case they found me floatin' down the river." "And your hands?" "Heard some cunt talkin' about you in a less than savory way." He sighs, examining the clearly broken hand. You ignore the way your heart melts a bit. My hero." You deadpan, glad to see the guard fumbling through his keys. Brynjolf lurches forward, arm already around your shoulders before the guard's even finished opening his cell. "Knew I could count on you." You smell the alcohol on his breath when he leans closer, steadying himself on your shoulder. "You are going to pay me back for this." "Anythin' you want. Name it and 'ts yours."

Balimund

Mouth agape and blinking far too much, you try to process the question. Of course you know Balimund - why the hell is a nervous acolyte asking you this in the dead of night? They urge you toward the Temple of Mara, quite tight lipped and only telling you to hurry. You stumble up the steps, knees weak when you see him - the shirt is ripped away from his torso, injured arm laid out and surrounded by priests. The yellowish glow of healing magicka emits from their cupped hands but you see it; red, angry burns climbing up toward his shoulder and blood drying on the shreds of his tunic. His eyes are squeezed shut as their hands ghost over his injuries, paying close attention to each wound. Acolytes flutter around offering aid, one dabbing sweat from Balimund's forehead while the other pours fresh water into a basin. "Oh, honey -" "It's fine." He grunts, eyes squeezed shut. You drag a chair near him, wishing so badly that you could take away the pain. "What happened? Why didn't you wake me?" "Didn't want to worry you." His good hand clutches yours, allowing you to hold it to your chest. "Tried to add more fire salts to the forge, guess I went a bit too fast." He winces, fingers tense around yours. "Glad you're here, though." You do what you can, keeping his attention away from the healers fretting over his arm. You swipe at the soot on his face and press kisses to his unharmed fingers, doing all that you can to keep his spirits up.

Vilkas

When the guards on your porch asked after your ex, you were petrified that Vilkas had been hurt. He must have come back bloodied from some mission, confused when they led you straight past the temple. The relief of him not being injured only lasts a moment before reality sinks in - something else is wrong. You gut continues to sink when you follow them past the steps of Jorrvaskr, hands shaking at your sides as an endless stream of questions bombard your mind. You haven't spoken for a few weeks, taking some time away from the Companions after the break up - how much trouble could they have caused in that amount of time? Vilkas had never been reckless with anyone else's life but you'd gotten sick of watching him risk his own. All thoughts cease when you see him. Dark eyes stare up at you, bruises blossoming over his cheek. His hair has grown longer than he likes and blood dries on his split lip. Despite all the issues you've had, the fights and distance that wrecked your relationship, your heart still flips when he smirks at you. "You look awful." You lie, ignoring those sharp teeth his grin exposes. It's terribly difficult to avoid the memory of how they feel on your skin. "Did you get in a fight?" "You look nice." He counters, seemingly unbothered. "Is that my shirt?" "Shut up or I will let you rot in here." You will not admit that it is absolutely his shirt you'd been sleeping in.

Cicero

"We found your name written on this man's arm. He won't talk - can you please come with us?" Oh, you're in for trouble. If one of your assassins had been caught and isn't sticking to the script drilled into each of your skulls it must be dire. Tying your real name to it can only make the situation worse. Simmering in your anger you prepare to lecture whoever was dense enough to get caught. You freeze upon realizing where you are - you aren't staring into a jail cell. Flanked by two guards you're standing in the middle of the Jarl's longhouse, their healer intensely focused on your Keeper. "Cicero." You swoop down, all pretense forgotten when you press a nervous hand to his forehead. His eyes flutter behind closed lids, familiar clothing torn and stained. You can only pray that the blood isn't his. "What happened?" "We found him crawling back to town. He wasn't making any sense but it looks like he was attacked." The guard pipes up, your stomach dropping at the thought. He'd only been gone a few days but you recall his parting words - finally feeling confident enough to take a job on his own, promising you that he doesn't need you watching his every move. "My love." You murmur, kissing at his clammy forehead. You've never seen Cicero so quiet, even in sleep he mumbles. This just feels wrong.

#skyrim #writing #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #Farkas #Brynjolf #Balimund #Vilkas #Cicero

[jezabelle9299]

Nightmare Cure S.R x Reader

Authors Notes: Exceedingly long rambles of a person with too much time on their hands. 2.5k words, reader does clerical work in the building, fluff, some angst, mentions of nightmares, loss of a parent (father) as a teenager, reader with hair long enough to braid, and Spencer with hair long enough to pull back (Jesus Reid save me), kind of mentions when he was carrying around hair ties all the time. Mutual pining, idiots in love, all that good stuff.

Working in the FBI building was interesting to say the least. You did clerical work, as far from the danger as possible, and that was how you liked it. Working on the same floor as the BAU, sometimes you got to chat when they were in the office. You liked all of them but you definitely had a favorite, Dr. Spencer Reid. You talked to him the most, and perhaps also pined for him in a totally casual, not at all weird way that you would never speak of, especially not to your lovely, and also very nosey coworkers. Something was different with him though. The dark circles around his eyes were larger, he was walking past your desk to get to the coffee maker far more frequently, and he just had this sullen look about him that made your heart break. 

One afternoon, when most of the others in the office had left early before the holiday weekend, you followed him to the kitchen as he passed your desk. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey. What’s up?’ He looked to you while blindly piling sugar into his coffee mug. 

“I was just wondering, are you ok? I mean as much as you can be?”

He was nervous and you worried you said the wrong thing, making things worse. Maybe he didn’t think you guys were that close? Before you could spiral, or make an attempt to retract your questions he sets down the sugar and clears his throat.

 “Oh-uh I’m ok, just trouble sleeping you know? Can’t really relax at night.”You knew he was talking about nightmares. They were common with the field agents, but no one ever talked about them openly. You’d had your share, although yours didn’t come from the job. 

“Oh. I had similar problems once, i-if you want I could kind of show you my routine that helped? I have a guest bedroom if you wanted to try. Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

“That sounds nice, thank you y/n, really.” He was certain that anything that had helped you wouldn’t help him. If he couldn’t fall asleep in his own bed, a new place wouldn’t help. But he pined for you as you did for him, so he wasn’t going to turn down a chance to spend more time with you, especially at your house. He wanted to know everything about you, and he appreciated that you wanted to help him in the first place. 

Ok! If you want to come to my house at like 6:30, I’ll cook?”

“ I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He had a faint blush and you really hoped it was a good blush, not a scared one. He was so cute. You’d just finished your paperwork, and it was already 5 o’clock so you had to get ready. 

You stopped by the store to get the supplies for dinner, you really hoped he liked it. It was almost 6 by the time you put everything away so you cleaned up as much as possible, putting fresh sheets on the bed in the spare room and getting out everything that brought you comfort during your bout of nightmares. Yours came from the death of your father, that happened soon after the death of many of your grandparents. You couldn’t imagine his nightmares, with the things that he saw everyday, but you hoped these things would help him, at least a little bit. Soft blankets, lavender candies, and a candle you thought he might like, all stacked neatly on a chair in the corner of the room. The candle was supposed to smell like old books, and you’d light it soon, that way it’d already fill the room by the time he arrived. 

6 o’clock came and went so you started cooking, setting the table while everything got started. 6:30 on the dot his car pulled up in the driveway, and out came dr.Reid, with an overnight bag and-oh my god. He brought flowers, more specifically he brought your favorite flowers, even though you had never told him. You checked on dinner as he walked up the drive so that you wouldn’t forget as soon as you saw him. 

You opened the door and he just stared for a second. “Uh-sorry-hi, you look nice”

You were wearing a dress, but this one was much more casual, and with gym shoes instead of the heels you typically wore to the office since you were still buzzing around the kitchen. Because of the messiness of what you were cooking you had an apron tied around your waist. He was still dressed in his 3-piece suit he wore to the office today. 

“Oh, thank you, you do too-but I hope you brought something more comfortable in that bag.” When he looked back down at his back he remembered the flowers he was still holding.

These are for you! -You know as a thank you, for helping me. I asked Garcia for your favorite, I hope you like them.” He awkwardly grabbed them so he could hold them out to you, and you stifled a giggle at his flustered attempt to hand them to you as you accepted them. You started to turn as you opened the door wider, welcoming him in. 

“They’re perfect, thank you, Spencer. And please come in, the guest bedroom is the second on the left if you want to set your stuff down while I put these in some water and finish up dinner?” He gave a quick nod and a tight smile as he started down the hall, while you buzzed through the kitchen, first finishing seasoning the food, and then putting the flowers he got you in water. You still couldn’t believe he got you flowers. 

When he came back through the hall you discard the apron on its usual hook, and set the food on the table. As you eat you make small talk about your days, until he changes the subject. “You mentioned earlier you had the same problem, what was causing your nightmares?” Instantly you became uncomfortable, you were really hoping he wouldn’t ask, although you should’ve known better.

“Ah, Dr.Reid the profiler, I should have guessed you’d ask.” You made an attempt to laugh it off, but he only focused on you more. You cleared your throat, ready to get this over with. 

“When I was 17, a few days before my 18th birthday my father died. Heart attack, totally unexpected. It took a while for the nightmares to start, but once they did it took a long time to get rid of them. That’s why I developed this whole elaborate routine, anyway. They were mostly you know existential everyone I’ve ever loved will be ripped away from me without a chance to say goodbye kind of stuff. Super fun I know.” You made another attempt at laughing off the discussion and this time he got the message. He gave you a reassuring smile, and changed the subject. 

“What comes next in the amazing Y/N goodnight routine?” He got up from the table and ever the gentleman, he offered a hand to you to help you up from your seat. You got your excitement back instantly, beaming up at him, ready to get to the next thing, your favorite part.

“Oh get ready, it’s movie time!” He looked relieved at your smile coming back as you did a little wiggle, as though you just couldn’t contain your happiness anymore.

“Yeah? What are we watching?” He barely got out through his little laughs. It wasn’t a full laugh, but more of a shaky exhale he smiled all the way through. 

“Well when I started I watched Say Anything on a near repeat- but this is your night so I picked something I hope you’ll like. To get the full effect though these outfits aren’t going to work at all. Go get into your pajamas, and I’ll grab the movie.” You quickly cleared the dishes into the sink first, and then bounced down the hallway to your room with Spencer laughing as he trailed behind you. It felt so domestic, and if this was what it was like to be in a relationship with him, any girl he dated would be the luckiest girl in the world. 

You threw on a t-shirt and some striped pajama shorts, then went to your bookshelf and grabbed the dvd you thought he’d most like. When you were walking back to the living room, you set the dvd down on a small table lining the hall. You attempted to stop in the bathroom to grab a hair tie, but when you walked in Spencer was already standing at the sink. 

“Oh-Sorry!” You started stammering, even though he wasn’t doing anything. Just standing at the mirror, with his glasses on the sink trying to get out his contacts. 

“Oh it’s ok, I just wanted to get my contacts out before we started. I know it freaks some people out. It’s Ommetaphobia, fear of things touching the eyes. It’s pretty common and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No-I don’t mind, I just needed to grab a hair tie, I didn’t mean to get in your space.” You reached past him to grab two from the counter next to his glasses and then quickly put them on your wrist and separated your hair. He watched you in the mirror as you started to braid, until you finished the first one. You let yourself take in what he was wearing, a blue star trek t-shirt, and some black doctor who pajama pants. They were so wonderfully him. As you tied it off the braid, his eyes snapped back to his own in the mirror and he quickly swapped his contacts for glasses, looking away from the mirror as he removed them, as he wasn’t completely sure that it wouldn’t bother you. As you tied off the second braid your eyes followed him in the mirror. He had his glasses on, a look you loved but hardly ever saw. 

He looked back at you and smiled, before turning back and grabbing a hair tie from his own wrist and in possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, pulled his own hair back, into a small ponytail as he walked back into the hall.

When you made your way back to the living room Spencer was already there, looking at all of your books like they were the most interesting thing in the world. When he looked back at you, you made a big show of holding up the dvd. It was called Forbidden Planet, it was sci-fi and even if it was extremely old and the effects were outdated you hoped he liked it. His face lit up as soon as he saw it, and you knew you made the right choice. 

“That was my favorite movie when I was a kid-I’d watch it all the time, How did you-? It’s almost impossible to find.” Tears were welling up in his eyes and your heart broke. He was going home with that dvd. You wanted to tell him how you thought of him, and hold him, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Not tonight, this was about him. You settled for a “I hoped you’d like it” and a gesture for him to sit while you set it up. 

While you watched the movie he told you everything, and if he was anyone else you’d think he couldn’t possibly be paying attention at the same time. He told you about how it was made, how it affected the sci-fi genre, and every other fun fact he could think of. You were happy to listen. When the credits rolled the clock on your phone read 10pm-a little early, but you knew he needed the sleep.

“Party’s over doctor, it’s time to get ready for bed.” He gave an overdramatic pout, but got up. You stood together while brushing your teeth, only having one bathroom forcing domestic bliss. You continued talking to him while you turned off lights and made sure the door was locked.

 “I swear if you need anything let me know, my door is literally always open, I can’t sleep with it closed.” You turned away from the hall, away from the bedroom he was standing in as he put his work phone on the charger from his bag. You put on a record of classical piano quietly to help you both sleep as you remembered the pile of stuff for him on the chair. “I almost forgot- on that chair in the corner, there’s some stuff for you if you want it- if you’re still having trouble I mean, the lavender is supposed to help you sleep. I read this thing that said it produces these chemical compounds that act essentially as sedatives, figured it was worth a try. 

He knew. He already read articles on different theories for helping insomniacs sleep. But something about how you said it, how you set things out you thought he’d like, how you took care of him. It was too much for him. He was glad you weren’t in there, that you couldn’t see him. He didn’t want you to see him cry, and if you looked at him with that sweet smile, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from asking for what he really wanted. He wanted to tell you how he felt, to tell you what this meant to him, to hold you while you slept.

But you were too good. Too sweet. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, he knew even if he overstepped you were too nice to tell him, especially at this hour. You had a tendency to do that- putting others before yourself to ungodly degrees, and he wanted you to feel more comfortable than that. In the morning he would tell you. When you could ask him to leave without sending him away in the dark, because he was sure that you wouldn’t like someone like him. You were perfect. 

But tonight was enough. He got to see what it was like, if he had been someone you loved. You both said a quick goodnight, with a promise to see each other in the morning. For the first night in months he slept peacefully. Maybe all the ritual and routine helped, but it was mostly just you. You cared, and he got to have you as the last face he saw at night. He got to fall asleep in a bed that smelled like you, with your books on the walls and your music playing, and it was perfect. He loved you, and he just had to get up the courage to say it. 

That was the first of many nights Spencer stayed with you, and the last one he slept in the guest bedroom. He still had nightmares- sometimes, but you were always there to comfort him with a reassuring touch. Most nights he had dreams, and he dreamt about you the most. 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader

[brucewaynehater101]

I once read a fic where dick, Jason and Tim are not human and that Damian and Bruce are the only humans (Alfred doesn't count) in the manor basically the fic was about how bruce took care of non human dick jason and tim and when damin came he had issues with them but came to accept them in the end and that got me thinking an au where the batfam are not human except bruce. like hes the only FULLY human in the family. like the in the fic dick was a doll that cam to life, but i also read somewhere that dick was a tentacle monster thing because of hugs (i dont remember it well because i read it when i was half asleep) Jason probably had something to do with gotham, like all the chemicals made him immune to most things and also being in the streets probably messed up his health and also he might be born? Made? Not human and that was before he DIED and was dipped in the Lazarus pit, which probably has supernatural consequences, and made him even more not human. Tim was probably cursed by an artifact that his parents brought home when he was young or he was just born (maybe bred, I'm pretty sure rich people can breed their own child) that way that makes people question if he is human or a sickly Victorian child in the wrong era, he also must be good with the shadows if he can follow batman around (and we are not yet talking about his age is he forever 17 or did he age, if so how old is he?)

Steph is the child of a supervillain and is probably an ally kid, so she is kinda similar to Jason but with more drugs and the spoiler thing. (i dont have any idea with her) Cass was probably trained and experimented by David Cain to act the way she does (nobody know if she's human or not and it freaks people out) Damian probably was the most human among Bruce children as he is made by his DNA, but if he was also dipped in the Lazarus pit then maybe there's a chance that's he's not human, but that can just be league training. Duke has powers and was living in the streets when is parents got joker gassed and was also living in the zero year when riddler was mayor and made a we are robin movement (sorry if i got his character wrong) Nobody knows actually if Damian and Cass are human as they possessed abilities that no Normal human can like blending in the shadows too well that that can't be seen (even when it's a light shadow you can't see them unless they want to be seen) but they were also trained assassin's and maybe those were the consequences of their childhood (at least most heroes or people hope)

The same can be said to the others, dick can perfectly blend in the shadows and when he fights he tends to pull stunts that no normal human can pull (does he even have bones how can he bend like that). Jason is like a tank and somehow is quieter than he looks, he can be stabbed and will still keep fighting like nothing happened. Tim doesn't sleep and he lost his spleen and still doing okay. Steph knows where to go, Cass can read you like a book and can probably kick superman's ass without a sweat, Damian was raised by demons and duke can bend the shadows to his will.

And somehow some way

BRUCE IS STILL HUMAN

like this man gets fear-gassed in the face, poison ivy's multitude of poisons, joker gassed. and whatever gotham throws at him while running a company and getting little to no amount of sleep and still function like a normal human being while actually BEING 100% human. and it just confuses the kids a lot (sorry if the English is bad. English is my secondary language and most of the time i speak my first language which is Filipino and I'm typing this on my laptop while most of my family are sleeping. and most of these points are from my drafts, my only saving garce is autocorrect )

You're perfectly alright. No worries at all ^^

To summarize, you want to think about an AU where Bruce is human and the rest of the Bats are not? We can definitely explore that, but first, I think I know what fics you were talking about.

For the Dick is a doll one, I can't find it. It's making me sad cause it was a great one of Bruce continuously adopting kids that others want to harm/kill due to their nature. Just Bruce fighting against his instincts so he can provide them love. It's cute.

For the Dick has weird hugging abilities, I think "you can swear in my hoard" by Inkpotsprite is the fic you were thinking about. Tim and Dick are the only confirmed non-humans, though.

For a fic where the batkids are born as a variety of angels or demons and Bruce is a human, the "heaven sent//hell bent" series by AstraEllis is good.

There's other ones, but feel free to reblog/comment suggestions.

As far as the AU, I agree that Bruce pushes his body past what's considered human limits (they all do). It would be funny if the JL had discussions about that in confusion (the humans and non humans trying to figure out how he manages to do everything he does without powers).

If you want to create an AU going over specifically what each batkid could be if they were non-human, let me know!

EDIT: A commentor revealed the fic name for the doll one!!! "You, Me, and the Humanity in Between" by JUBE514

#dc comics #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!! #dc au

[emswritingsstuff]

Pink Lighter (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: While on a watch with Daryl, you offer to light his cigarette. Small embarrassment ensues. Just a silly drabble!

Warning: Smoking cigarettes (Daryl)

WC: 779

--

The wind sent small chills down your spine, the watchtower not proving to be any kind of shield from the outside air. Taking watch at night wasn’t your most favorite job here, but it flew by depending on who you were with. 

But not tonight though, tonight you were with Daryl. And it could not be any quieter and boring. Nothing against the guy, but you both were different people and had nothing to really chat about. It also didn’t help that he wasn't super talkative in the first place. You could maybe count on one hand how many full conversations you had with him, and you’ve known him since the Quarry. 

He’s never been mean to you, sure he had his moments were was a dick, but was never direct. His company was appreciated though, you weren’t sure what it was about him but you felt safe. Like if anything were to happen, he’d get you both out of it no problem. It's what you liked about him. 

In the midst of your thoughts, you were brought back down with deep grumbles next to you. You look over to see Daryl with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, flicking his lighter but no flame erupting. He angrily flipped the zippos lid down and stuffed it back in his pocket. When going to take the cigarette out of his mouth, you’d remembered the pink BIC lighter you had found on a run. You had never really used a lighter before, but it can’t be super difficult right? 

“Here,” you held the lighter down under his cigarette and he quickly turned to you, giving you both less space so you don’t have to stretch as much. Attempting to flick the lighter a few times, nothing happened. Were you doing something wrong? Probably. 

Retracting the lighter back, you flicked it a few more times before looking back up at Daryl. “Sorry, let me just, uh, give this to you,” obviously embarrassed, you had gotten a tiny laugh out of him, which was a massive win to you. He took the lighter out of your hands and made quick work of lighting the cigarette and handing the lighter back. “Tha’ was adorable,” he said after taking a drag and blowing it out. 

Great, now you feel even more embarrassed. Quickly looking away as you stuffed the lighter that had proven to be useless to you at least. “Don’t ever bring this up again, I’m beyond embarrassed.” He laughed again and patted your back, he did the zipped lip motion and proceeded to focus back on his cigarette. 

Time passed and the silence was more comfortable than it was before, you had no clue when the shift was set to end, but part of you wished it wouldn’t end. It was kind of fun being with him tonight.

You had felt a tap on your shoulder, and you looked over to Daryl, with another cigarette in his mouth. You knew what he wanted so you quickly handed him the lighter. A ‘thanks’ was mumbled as he lit it and handed the lighter back. 

As he smoked, he spoke up for the first time in a while “Why do ya even have tha’?” he gestured to the lighter still in your hand. You looked at it and cleared your throat to speak. “Found it a while back, figured it could be useful for at least something. Or to actually have light when people ask for one.” All Daryl could do was chuckle at your reasoning, it was understandable. But it was dorky, in a good way that is.

“Well ya gotta learn to actually light it,” You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah I know, just never had the opportunity.” He tilted his head, showing he understood. Daryl barely knew about your past before the end, but he knew you didn’t seem like the type to smoke or light random fires. 

Flicking sounds of the lighter filled the room after he’d finished speaking. You were determined to figure this out, and after about 20 flicks later. The orange glow of the flame casted over your face. Overjoyed you jumped up and cheered, probably looking crazy to someone looking into the watchtower. All Daryl could do was smile at your behavior. 

“Look at that! I did it! Finally!” You lit the flame again and pointed at it, showing it off like crazy. “Proud of ya,” Daryl said, genuinely, as he rubbed your shoulder. 

Time had come for your shift to be over, as you both walked to your respective cells Daryl pulled out one last cigarette and gestured you over to him. “Gimme a light?” 

You laughed and happily did so for him.

--

Note: Based off an actual experience I had not knowing how to use a BIC lighter in front of my sculpture professor. I think about it all the time. hashtag humbled. Also, sorry if I barely conveyed Daryl's accent, I struggle w that, but this is all for fun lol!

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #x reader #the walking dead x reader #fluff #twd daryl

[brainmuncher]

Okay I'm going to describe a superhero... you ready?

Okay, so this superhero is a teenager who died and came back to life with the ability to speak with mythological or dead figures with just a single catchphrase. He has had multiple abilities depending on canon but commonly has the ability to change his form from insubstantial to solid and turn invisible. He also has a ghost guardian that he can summon.

Who's your guess?

huh? Danny Phantom? pffft no,

I'm talking about Kid Eternity of course!

Yeah... I had to stop and stare at the wall for a second after learning about him. And its not even like an inspiration thing, not on Kid's side of things anyway. He was first shown in December of 1942 and had quite the run of comics. He's been around for a long time... like he was in Teen Titans!

Really makes me think about Danny Phantom though. Like ignoring the implications that Butch might have caught the idea of DP from Kid, I just want to think about crossovers.

Cause there is quite the love for DP x DC crossovers for some people. And I really feel like this brings something really interesting and different to think about when it comes to that. Theres a lot more to Kid Eternity's origin and powers then just the broad strokes I listed but man... I have so many thoughts about it. Like Danny is a historical figure because of his stunts with time. Could you imagine Kid summoning him with his powers because of that??? Or Danny explaining his origins and someone pauses and is like 'Wait a minute... I know someone like that' and Danny takes it the completely wrong way.

I dunno man. This character came out of nowhere and kicked me in the teeth I swear. Definitely going to be thinking about him for a while. Might do an even deeper dive on the character later but not right now.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #I'm sure that im not the only one to make this connection #I just had to rant about it for a second #Cause wow I did not see that coming #I'll probably hunt down his comics later and see if there's a way for me to read them

[moonyspetwolf]

Okay so I’ve seen like 20 videos on tiktok of people saying they have no idea how exy is played so I’m gonna make a post about how I understand the rules. I’m not really an athlete but I know a bit about sports and I also coincidentally went to the same school that PSU is based on

(I haven’t read the books in like 5 years so if I’m wrong about something feel free to correct me)

First thing, exy is played inside, not outside. The game can’t work in an outdoor stadium and I’ll explain why in a minute. The stadium is like a combination basketball court and hockey rink. Wood flooring and plexiglass walls surrounding the court. There are two goals on each end.

Okay so the lineup. From what I remember there’s 4 positions you can play on an exy team: dealer, backliner, striker, and goalie.

Backliner is pretty straightforward just classic defense. They protect the goal and focus on the other team’s strikers. I think it’s similar to basketball where they’re assigned a mark (opposing striker) who they have to cover during the game. That doesn’t mean they’re not free to move or check other strikers either, but basically they try to stop the other team from scoring any goals. I’m not sure if it’s against the rules for them to make an attempt on a goal or not.

Strikers are similarly straightforward. They’re straight offense. Their job is to get as many goals as possible. They work against the opposing team’s backliner and shoot at the goal

The dealer is the most confusing position but I think they basically control possession of the ball, so I think their job is to get the ball from the other team and make sure it gets to their strikers. At the start of the game or after any breaks they’re the ones who deal the ball and try to pass to their teammates. Idk if they operate similar to backliners or not, like checking, tackling, etc.

The goalie is the same as any other sport- their job is to protect the goal. Goalies have special racket that are bigger and heavier than other players. They also wear special padding to protect them since they’re constantly getting exy balls chucked at them and often have to use parts of their body to block them.

(Side note: if exy balls are anything like lacrosse balls they seriously hurt to get hit with. They’re dense and heavy, when they work up enough speed it feels like getting hit by a slightly bouncy cannon ball)

From what I can remember, at any given time there are two backliners, two strikers, one dealer, and one goalie on the court for each team. Players are subbed in and out as needed (I might be remembering the numbers wrong, maybe they have 3 backliners at a time idk)

Exy is a high contact sport similar to lacrosse, so players are free to use physical force against each other. They can check, tackle, and basically do whatever it takes to get the ball. Just like in hockey, players often get into fights. Excessive use of violence can get them flagged by referees, but it’s by no means a gentle sport. Players go into it with the expectation of getting thrown around and bruised.

Players wear padding and helmets to protect themselves, but bruises, sprains, concussions, and broken bones aren’t uncommon within the sport.

There are some basic rules for how the game is played. Exy is kinda like lacrosse in that players pass the ball back and forth with their raquets. I don’t know a lot about all the rules of lacrosse but I know exy has a rule about possession that’s similar to basketball. In basketball a player has to dribble the ball while they’re moving, if they hold it in their hands without dribbling for too many steps it’s called traveling and it’s a foul. Exy is the same, a player can only be in possession of the ball for 10 (?) steps before they have to pass it. If they carry it farther than that it’s traveling (idk if there’s a special term for it in exy speak). There are ways for players to get around this. They can either pass the ball to a teammate after they’ve taken their 10 steps OR they can rebound it off a wall, catch it in their racquet, and keep moving. This is the reason exy has to be played inside and not outside, so that the players can use the walls. If it’s played outside they can’t rebound the ball and they have to rely strictly on passing back and forth, which isn’t always possible especially if a player is being heavily guarded. I’m not positive if this possession rule applies to all players or only strikers, but it would make sense for it to be all players.

I can’t remember if the books say anything about who is allowed to shoot at the goal. Obviously strikers can but I can’t remember if there are any rules saying backliners, dealers, and goalies can’t score points

The game is played in 2 halves, a total of 4 quarters. I’m not sure if the book ever says how long each quarter is but it’s probably safe to assume each is 15 minutes, so a total of 1 hour playing time. However with timeouts, breaks, penalty time and other interruptions games usually last far longer.

The foxes are a unique team because they’re much smaller than pretty much any other team in the league. They only have 9 players by the end of the year, so they can’t sub players in and out as easily. Most teams have upwards of 18 people so the players are usually on court for a much shorter time and have more time to rest between playing time. In the foxes vs. Trojans game, USC decided to play with the same size roster as the foxes meaning they rarely got to sub out players, which is why they were so exhausted by the end. Throwing yourself around a huge court at top speed for an hour is tiring.

That’s all I can think of at the moment, I’m not an expert and it’s been a while since I’ve read the books but I think exy is a pretty cool sport :)

#literally 2 people said they wanted to hear it that’s more than enough for me :)) #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #mostly I wanted to make this because I think the rule about counting steps is really neat bc it makes the sport wayyyyy harder for no reason #tfc #exy #the raven king #the kings men #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #renee walker #dan wilds #the foxes #foxes #ao3 #the sunshine court #palmetto state foxes #psu foxes #sorry this is so long #and also probably unnecessary because this is a made up sport from a book series but I don’t care #it’s my hyperfixation I get to decide how seriously I’m taking the rules of exy #sorry for the long post thank you if you bothered to read all that I love you :D #long post #but yeah I went to the same school as Nora that she based the books on and it was super weird because I was a student when I read them and #I did NOT realize she went there too and it weirded me out how similar psu was to my school until I looked it up #I was like ‘they’re driving on cherry road? I LIVE ON CHERRY ROAD’ #help how do I make this a read more post so it’s not 20 miles long #I FIGURED IT OUT

[bitegore]

Oh okay so i'm evil evil today huh

#you know something is wrong with you when the first time you go to speak to someone directly the first thing out your mouth is like tuned to #truly ruin their day over nothing. like calculated to fuck them up badly #it wasn't the intention i was shooting for but there's only so many ways to put a bullet in someone's head #also god that's a pretentious way to say aiming for a weak point is bad even if it was meant to be a joke that landed worse than i expected #i'm picking up all the worst phrases from this fic my friend recced me #ok ‼️ don't talk to me unless you're willing to take the risk of me putting my foot directly in any open wounds you may have inadvertently #revealed to me today i guess ! im getting off socmed now before i torpedo my entire social life