#I was using a reference and it wasn’t him

[aventurineswife]

thank😭 god😭 your req is open😭

Anyway, can i request AE Sunday x Cheerful reader who showers him with a lot of affection? Like a lot of pda(holding hand, hugging him, complimenting him, etc) and um, perhaps the reader love language is gifting gift and physical touch too. I think i just love AE Sunday so much

Love your works! Have a great dayy <3

“To Be Held, and To Heal”

Summary: Onboard the Astral Express, you find yourself drawn to Sunday—a composed yet quietly conflicted figure with a celestial air. With your cheerful nature and love language rooted in physical touch and gift-giving, you shower him with affection, praise, and unexpected joy. As your warmth gently unravels his guarded exterior, Sunday grapples with his ideals, past traumas, and the unfamiliar feeling of being genuinely loved. Through every hug, compliment, and handmade token, you remind him that happiness isn’t just a dream—it can be real, and it can be his.

Tags: Sunday x Cheerful!Reader, Fluff, Comfort, PDA, Gift Giving, Physical Touch, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soft Sunday, Protective Sunday, Love Language, Reader-Initiated Romance, Dreamscape Themes.

Warnings: Mentions of past emotional trauma and guilt, Brief references to religious trauma and disillusionment, Soft emotional vulnerability.

A/N: Thank you and you too!! <333

Sunday wasn’t used to this.

To the warmth. The hands that reached for his without hesitation. The arms that looped around his waist while the stars outside the Astral Express whirled by like fireflies in a jar. The little gifts you left by his door—handmade, thoughtful, wrapped with crooked ribbons and hope.

You were sunlight through stained glass. Brilliant, blinding at times—but never painful.

He often wondered what it was about you that made his wings tremble when you smiled at him like that. Maybe it was the way you loved so openly, without shame or fear. A kiss on the cheek when passing in the hallway. Fingers intertwined as if it were natural to be connected, anchored. You never asked him to change. You simply... gave.

And Sunday, for all his lofty ideals and celestial poise, didn't know what to do with that kind of love.

You caught him reading again, curled up in the observation car with the dim planetary glow casting gentle shadows across his features. His halo hummed faintly, eye-symbols glowing like quiet sentinels.

“Sunday!” You plopped down beside him, startling a soft flutter from the wings behind his ears.

His gaze drifted up to meet yours, calm as a lake. “You always enter like joy itself.”

You grinned, unabashed. “And you always talk like you're narrating a dream.”

You scooted closer. His tailcoat brushed your side. Then, without pause, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands seeking his like magnets. He hesitated—but only for a breath—before lacing his fingers with yours.

“Did you like the little gift I left you?” you asked. “The carved dove?”

His eyes softened. “It reminded me of home. And of you. Which... I suppose is the same thing now.”

Your heart did a flip. He had no idea the way your name sounded from his lips—like a prayer finally spoken aloud.

He wasn't perfect with touch. Not at first. His responses were tentative, awkward even. A wing that twitched when you kissed his cheek. A slow, stunned pause when you gifted him a handmade charm stitched with tiny stars.

But over time, he began to respond.

A hand placed gently on your back during conversations. A thumb brushing your knuckles beneath the dining car table. His halo tilting ever so slightly toward you—something you learned was his version of leaning in.

One evening, you found him alone in the observatory room, standing near the glass wall where galaxies stretched endlessly across the dark canvas of space. The starlight caught the edge of his halo, illuminating the soft lines of his face.

He was gazing at nothing—and everything.

You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking about. You knew.

“I used to think... if I could give the world peace through dreams, that would be enough,” he said quietly, eyes following the trail of a comet as it arced through the void.

You stepped beside him, the reflection of your silhouette joining his in the glass, and gently wrapped your arms around his waist from behind.

“But you forgot that peace means nothing if you can’t feel it for yourself.”

His breath hitched—just a little. He closed his eyes and leaned back into you, your presence grounding him like gravity. Trusting. Soft.

“I still don’t know if I deserve this.”

You kissed the spot beneath his halo, right where his hair fell against his neck. “Then let me keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Sunday wasn't used to this. But he was learning.

To love in the light, not just the dream.

To hold your hand and not look away.

To return your smile with one of his own—quiet, reverent, full of wonder.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe...

that joy wasn't something to protect others from.

It was something to be held. Given. Shared.

Like a gift.

Like a touch.

Like you.

I actually liked the ending wtf...

[cheriecoke]

˚₊‧꒰ა WAKE UP CALL ! — bucky barnes

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. following a spontaneous lead from valentina's assisstant, bucky calls you to let you know he’s driven halfway across the country and picked up a few strays.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. written as f!reader in mind but can be gn!, phone call, thunderbolts era, established relationship, takes place right before the scene in the gas station, pet names, veryyy light angst, steve mentioned — 1.4k words

𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. this is just a little practice fic i wrote post-thunderbolts! it's based loosely on my oc, who was in the og avengers, so there are references to that and her fighting/having powers. but feel free to imagine it however you want <3 can be read in the same timeline as this fic, but it's not necessary to read.

The phone rings once, twice, then a third time, before Bucky’s apologetic, softened voice runs down the line.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he starts off gentle, before his words are coming out in one barely coherent string, like he can’t get them out fast enough. “First of all, I’m sorry. I should’ve — I should’ve told you I was leaving. It wasn’t — Well, I was gonna stay out of it, but the whole thing with Valentina…” Bucky trails off. His voice grows quieter, like there's someone else in the room with him, before he picks back up again.

For a few seconds more, he babbles, almost like he’s afraid to let you speak. He sounds slightly flustered, and more than exhausted — but that’s evident only to you, who has known him so well, for so long. 

Then, he concludes his little speech, less than eloquently. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I should’ve called earlier. I’m sorry.” 

You pause, letting your spoon rest against the side of your coffee mug, trying to make sense of all the words he's just said. The coffee swirls inside the cup, shading a lighter color of brown, before it settles, stilling completely.

Outside, the sun is already beginning to beat hot on the concrete, though it’s not even noon. Which tells you that sometime between the gala last night and the crack of dawn, Bucky had already gotten himself into some sort of trouble. 

“It’s nine, Bucky,” you say, taking a long sip of your coffee. You’d only just brewed it, but you’d used enough creamer to cool it to a drinkable temperature. “I wouldn’t have answered had you called any earlier.” 

He exhales on the end of the line, and says nothing. You can’t tell if he’s relieved or not. 

“When's the last time you slept?” 

“Doesn't matter. I'm fine," Bucky says. You can hear him shifting, his jacket rustling as he brushes up against something. He changes the subject quickly, going back to the matter of calling, which is more than enough to have you worrying. “Listen, I meant to call last night when I got back, but they gave me all these packets to read and—”

“Bucky,” you cut him off, before he can launch into another disgruntled tirade about all the paperwork he hates reading. “What’s going on?” 

This time, the pause on the other line lasts a few moments longer. 

While Bucky never lies to you about anything, he struggles, sometimes, when it comes to communicating. Occasionally, he omits the truth, or says nothing at all, because he wants to keep you safe, and he knows you’ll drag yourself into the danger with him. 

Despite all the years you've been together, Bucky still can't quite fathom that someone would put themselves in the crossfire because of him. He always accused Steve of having something to prove, and he thinks the same of you, when the truth is, you both just love—loved—him enough to put your lives on the line. 

Bucky hesitates on the other end before answering, his voice hushed, growing quieter again. “I don’t know everything, yet.”

You close your eyes, lean your head against the wall. For all the shit he gave Steve for jumping head-first into things, Bucky’s never been much better, in your opinion. “Bucky—”

He doesn’t let you interject, insistent on regurgitating all his words before you can chew him out. “Remember Valentina’s assistant I was telling you about?”

You wrinkle your eyebrows together. “Yeah. Did she actually give you something?”

Bucky exhales as you take a seat on the couch, curling your legs up into your chest. It’s been over a week since he’s been back home, and you miss him already, even if you’re used to being apart. 

He explains, briefly, about the people involved in Valentina’s dirty work, ones he can use in the trial against her. You’ve heard of them all, infamous in your line of work, including John Walker, who you’ve had the displeasure of meeting before. 

Bucky’s story is finished up quickly, a messy wrapping, tied up in nothing more than a knot. You can’t tell if he’s leaving out details, or if he really just doesn’t know them all. 

You purse your lips, pulling at a loose thread in your sweater. “You should’ve taken me with you,” you say, before falling back into the couch, your eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling, where the paint looks off. The longer you gaze at it, the more it starts to look like a discoloration, one you’re not certain is real. Maybe your imagination is just desperate for something to fixate on. “I could’ve helped.” 

Bucky’s smooth, silky tone soothes the aches in your heart and mind. “It was nothing.” He sounds louder, then, as if his mouth is leaning closer to the microphone. “Besides, you told me you wanted to stay out of all this.”

A frown takes over your features. You had said that; it was the entire reason you hadn’t moved to D.C. along with him, and sometimes, you wonder if he thinks you hate him for working in Congress. “It’s still your career. I don’t want to be completely uninvolved.”

“I know."

You’re grateful for the sincerity in his voice. You’re not a fan of most politicians, but you hope he knows that you'll support him, love him, no matter what.

“If I really needed your help, I would’ve called.” He laughs, then, a small sound. “I just didn’t. This time.”

You can picture his small smile on the other end, can envision the lines forming tighter around his eyes. In the near decade since he’s regained his memories, he’s only aged a couple years. Oftentimes, you wonder if you’ll ever catch up to him, if one day, you’ll look older than the man who has lived through more than a century. 

It’s a strange thing to think about. 

“Will you be home soon?” you ask, softly, surprised by how vulnerable your voice sounds. 

The house feels colder without him there, empty. It had been your choice to stay in New York, but sometimes, you wish you would’ve just moved with him.

There is evidence of your life all around — books you love, pictures of friends you still have, and those that are gone. Your favorite restaurants are still just a walk away, memories of your existence on every avenue. 

It’s home — it just feels less like one without Bucky Barnes in it. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe sooner than expected. I don’t think they’ll want to keep me in Congress for much longer, now.” Bucky goes for humor, but you don’t laugh, and neither does he. “Are you okay?”

Things haven’t been bad, lately, but you’re tired. It’s been one thing after another after another, after another, for years. 

The world just won’t let either of you rest.

“I just miss you.” Too much emotion seeps into your voice, and there’s a cloud settling over your heart that makes you want to cry into the phone.

You don’t, though. It would just make him feel bad, and make you feel worse, and you’re more than old enough to handle being alone for another week, even if you don’t want to.  

Still, he sounds even more apologetic on the other end. “I miss you too. So much.” There’s a sound behind him — it’s faint, but it sounds like a groan. One of the hostages is waking up, it seems. “I have to go, sweetheart — I’m sorry.” 

He’ll never stop apologizing, even if these things are out of his control. Sometimes, you feel selfish for wanting so much of his time when he has the heart and the strength to save the world. 

“It’s okay,” you say, even if the words sound a little dull to your ears. “Promise me you’ll call when you get the chance?” 

“I promise. I love you.” 

The words make you smile. It is, perhaps, the first genuine one you’ve had since he answered the phone. You lean your head back in the cushion, settling into it, before repeating the words back to him. 

The line goes dead. 

thank you so much for reading! please consider leaving a or reblog if you enjoyed ❤︎ black divider by k1ssyoursister

[acrosstheujiverse]

hihi ur introvert uji w reader headcannons came on my for you AND IM So GLAD omg i love it sm.

we see alot of introvert uji w the extrovert members but can u do a extrovert partner please 😭🙏

dynamics of an introvert and extrovert

【📂】 summary: scenarios you have with your introverted boyfriend, woozi, as an extrovert. 【🖇️】 pairing: introvert!jihoon x extrovert!reader. 【💿】 genre: FLUFF!! 【🧺】 tags: so sweet it makes your cheeks hurt from smiling; MY HEARTEU.  【📦】 w/c: 833

📬 — author’s note！thank you for your request, anonymous :)) sorry this took some time to write. i enjoyed working on it and hope you like it!

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it was at the annual high school talent show that you first fell for jihoon. he was one of the vocalists in a five-piece band, and his voice brought a kind of warmth to your heart.

you had talked with the other four members—jeonghan, joshua, seokmin, and seungkwan—but never once with jihoon. seeing him after the band’s performances was rare. you could never get the timing right.

it wasn’t until university that you finally had the chance to befriend him.

your love for jihoon would be loud—meaning everyone knows you two are dating. don’t get it twisted—you don’t talk about jihoon all the time. it’s just that when the topic of relationships comes up, you just happen to have a lot of loving words about him.

people notice how, whether he’s with you or not, your eyes and whole demeanor just scream “in love” the moment his name is mentioned.

you never fail to shower him with all the love you have—from whispering sweet nothings in bed to surprising him with thoughtful gifts.

jihoon sometimes wishes he could say the things to you that you so easily say to him.

“happy birthday to my ray of sunshine,” you once told him.

jihoon was confused. a ray of sunshine? you nodded eagerly and explained how—even though he’s quiet—he has a powerful presence whenever he’s on stage. like the sun, he lets his music speak for him.

sometimes… your love could be just… a bit overwhelming for an introvert like jihoon. sometimes, the way your energy fills every room, your endless words, and your bright, unfiltered affection make him retreat into the quiet corners of his mind to recharge. it’s not that he loves you any less—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. your warmth sometimes feels like too much to hold all at once, and jihoon needs those silent moments to gather himself and return to you with a full heart. but no matter how much he needs space, he never doubts the depth of your love, even if it’s louder than he’s used to.

you were one of the few lucky ones who ever received a long text message from jihoon—seungkwan was the other one.

you knew that jihoon would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“you were never hard to love, ji.”

you were always aware of his subtle gestures of affection—more than even he knew.

for jihoon, you would be his stars. you and he are of the same mind and body, but of different magnitude and abundance.

“unlike the moon, you don’t need the sun to shine. stars emit their own light. you shine brightly without me… but you shine more brightly with me.”

you once overheard him telling jeonghan, “they’re the chaos that makes me feel alive… but also the calm that brings me home. they’re like a supernova—blinding and explosive in presence, yet the light they leave behind lingers in quiet beauty for ages, guiding me even when they’re not near.”

you thrive in crowds, while jihoon thrives in corners. at parties, you’re the life of the room—he’s the person standing behind you, holding your drink and your jacket, quietly smiling because you’re shining.

jihoon always listens to your stories with an unreadable face, but later he’ll casually reference a small detail you didn’t even think he was paying attention to.

he’ll walk you to your class or the train station even if it’s out of his way—he won’t say much, but he’ll pull your hand into his pocket when it’s cold.

you once told him, “i love you,” at a crowded campus café and he went completely red. he didn’t say it back right away—but that night, he sent you a playlist titled “if i could say it better.”

jihoon won’t start pda, but he doesn’t pull away either. the first time you kissed his cheek in public, he stared straight ahead, then later texted: “can we do that again?”

when you’re venting loudly about something, he just lets you go off—then offers the most practical, well-thought-out advice that makes you pause mid-rant like, “how are you this calm?”

he sometimes writes lyrics about you, but he uses metaphors so layered even you have to ask, “is this one about me?”

you like grand gestures. he likes quiet consistency. you bring the spark; he keeps the fire going.

you once tried to surprise him with a flash mob dance (it was seungkwan’s idea). he panicked, ran the opposite direction, and didn’t stop blushing for three days.

on days when you feel overstimulated or burned out, jihoon wordlessly tucks you into bed, turns off your phone, and lies beside you with his hand resting over yours.

you said “i love you” first. jihoon said it second—at 2 a.m., curled around you, with your name whispered like a secret he finally let himself say out loud.

your relationship is like a sun and a star—separate lights, different intensities, but existing together in the same sky. never competing, always orbiting.

- fin.

[bradshawed]

His & Hers

summary — one-sided rival pilots idiots to lovers

warnings — idiots, grief, fluff, soft gooey shit, more idiots, jake being helpful?, multiple references to carole & goose, slight reference to nightmares/lack of eating, brad brad wooing the crowd *swoons dramatically*, no use of y/n, gender neutral, questionable timeline, not proofread, therapy mentions, no clear ending, voldemort references

note — i was replying to the original post, clicked save to drafts and then it went poof for some silly reason so i’m starting it again. the original post was for one-sided rivals to lovers with bradley bradshaw where he was so incredibly smitten with you, falling in love whenever you got angry, “she’s so cute when she’s mad”. hope i did it justice and sorry for the long wait @charliedaltonsgfsblog!!!!! massive thank u to ml @bruisedboys for motivating me to finally finish this, i love u <3 tempted to give this a pt. 2 hehe lmk if anyone's interested!

word count — 961 words

masterlist & tgm minilist!

...

"Give her my ring-"

"Ma-"

"She’s the one for you baby, keep it, you’ll know when it’s time."

That was one of Carole's last wishes among the others for their home, his reconciliation with Mav, and the promise that she'll be okay, finally with the love of her life, watching and protecting her baby bird every step of the way.

That was the first time you let your guard down. Bradley had been missing from classes all week, and you were getting worried. You were both notoriously known for being stuck at the him. Wherever you went, Bradley followed, with a cloud of sexual tension bickering surrounding you both. Rivals. Academic and in every other sense of the word, but the silence was getting to you, as well as the constant glares and questions from nosy students "concerned" for their star athlete.

Game day was the worst and your fuse blew. You marched over to the little cottage where the Bradshaw's resided, fists clenched and speech prepared, but the sight of your rival crying on the floor clutching a stuffed goose toy wasn’t what you’d expected.

"It'll pass", you told him. "Stay", he begged.

And you did, you never left his side for a single moment. By now, you'd seen it all, the hollow eyes, life drained from his soul, the concerning weight loss, and more. You supported Bradley through it all, developing a routine. You brought him notes from the classes he'd missed and you'd work on homework together, cooking one of Carole's famous recipes. You helped him sort through everything, holding your baby bird through the tears and the nightmares, gladly cursing up a storm about Maverick when he finally got the courage to apply to the academy. You did it all... together.

But then just like that, a switch flipped when he was back on his feet. Your walls came back up. Bradley remembers how quick you'd switch from a concerned friend to rivals. Funny how that works. It's still the worst form of whiplash he's ever experienced. But he understood, he always has, you wanted something familiar and you were scared that it could be something more, so he went along with it.

Four years later and Bradley was busy touching the heavens. You followed him, naturally. So it's safe to say you were chasing your sun this time, but he just didn't know it. That's where you met Jake Seresin, at flyboy academy.

Bradley watched as you fell head over cowboy boots for Jake. It only made sense since you were two sides of the same coin, but Jake knew, he always had. He was your best friend but it never became anything more, as much as he wished it was. Jake Seresin broke up with you, even if he says it was the other way around, not that you'll ever understand why. The blonde helped you get into therapy, knocking a whole load of sense into you. Sure, maybe it didn't cure your mean streak, but now you weren't so afraid all thanks to a fellow flyboy.

Years passed and you were both stuck to the hip, where possible. More often than not, you were flown around the world for some sort of disciplinary action and Bradley tried to keep in touch. You both managed as much as you could, but it was hard. Then you were both called back to Top Gun. Same time, same place... but not for the same reason.

You weren't good enough. Or at least that's what you heard when they told you that Bradley, Jake and the others were back for some special detachment of some sort and you were just here to teach (they figured it would help with your insubordination). Pissed would be an understatement.

So, while they were busy with their fancy flying shit that you weren't even considered for, you flew yourself in circles realising you needed to get your shit together because as good as you were, you couldn't spend your career flying like he-who-must-not-be-named simply because you weren't a man and didn't have a guardian angel (technically by extension you did but you refused his help). Maybe this post was good for you...

Weeks flew by and your baby bird had returned with a few new scars, and a plan to reunite with his evil godfather? "Promise me you won't call him he-who-must-not-be-named to his face tonight." You glanced up at your handsome aviator with a mischievous grin, replying with a noncommittal shrug before patting his chest and sauntering off towards the devil in Ray-Ban's talking to Penny. Fuck that was more solid than you expected it to be.

You'd both been talking for an hour or so, the long part over and now enjoying a beer, when some sailor boy almost collided into you slurring, "Heyyy pretty, why don't ya ditch the old man and come home with me, we could 'ave some funn?" The whole of the Hard Deck held it's breath, Mav ready to unleash hell when you replied, "How about you take your filthy hands off of me or I'll shove this beer up your ass. Better yet, take ten steps back out of this lovely establishment and piss off, this old man is better company than you and your friends over there could ever dream to be." You smirked as he scurried back towards his friends, Mav letting out a satisfied whistle, raising his beer to the sound of the bell.

You raised your beer in thanks to Penny, chuckling as your fellow daredevil pointed out the lovestruck expression on Bradley's face, "you've got him wrapped around your finger". You smiled, "he just doesn't know it yet".

"Oh he does."

*Cue Mav sharing a conspiratorial look with Jake*

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Sad trauma HCs because I’m feeling angsty

Please be aware of discussions of triggering topics below including discussion of eating disorders, self harm, suicidal ideation, and anxiety and depression.

Also sorry for any possible errors/mistakes, I’m typing this on my phone at work

I’ve been thinking about this the last few days, but I think EJ has an eating disorder. In my canon, he was raised in a cult, and part of the process was that he was conditioned to eat human meat while being groomed as a sacrifice for the demon he fused with. As a human, human meat wasn’t appetizing to him, he didn’t enjoy it, but he did it because he didn’t have a choice. Now, however, as a demon, it tastes good. It bothers him, how he knows he was once human, how he hated eating humans then, how it disgusted him, but now it tastes so, so incredibly good, and now he actually needs it to survive. It makes him feel less human, makes him feel more like a monster, and causes him extreme distress. Sometimes he can go months and be fine, and sometimes he’s throwing up after every meal, refusing to eat for weeks, starving himself to the point of collapse, and Slender has to sit with him and help him eat to make sure he doesn’t starve to death. He never knows when his eating disorder is going to resurface once he has it back under control, and sometimes it’s a constant fear in the back of his mind. He hates this part of himself, knowing he’s the reliant doctor to the others constantly reminding them and helping them be healthy, and yet he can’t even help himself.

Jeff has a bad habit of burning himself on purpose. After the incident, after being intentionally tied up and set on fire, he couldn’t be around fire, couldn’t even look at it, for several years. He’s started working on getting used to it, and now he can be around it, although things like bonfires making him very uneasy and anxious, but smaller flames are fine. He’s got a little lighter he carries around sometimes, a nice metal one, and when he gets a little anxious he’ll flick the cap back and light it, just sitting and staring at the flame. However, sometimes, he hovers it just a little too close, holding it under his hands or his arms, or his legs, allowing the flame to lick at and burn his skin. He feels like he deserves it, like he should be punished for all he’s done. He used to do it more when he was in his late teens, and doesn’t do it as much in his 20s now (mostly due to Slender and Liu looking out for him and trying to keep an eye on him as they’re aware of this habit of his), but every now and then they’ll catch a new burn somewhere and know where it’s come from, especially with Jeff avoiding eye contact, his eyes dewy with unshed tears. It puts him into an unhealthy spiral of feeling ashamed of his burns and scars and hating the way they look and hating having them on his body, to feeling the compulsive need to continue to add more and more and more as a form of punishment and self loathing.

BEN has been trying to force himself to get used to water with what he’s been referring to as “exposure therapy” by himself, although it’s been making his trauma so much worse. He’s been having to adapt to how he showers in the years since he’s been at the mansion, using a mix of cleaning wipes and having someone help him shower, but his depression and anxiety have made his self hatred over his trauma spiral in recent years. When he thinks the house is empty he’ll fill his tub up as far as it’ll go, and force himself to sit in it. He sobs and shakes and screams until his body shuts down and he can’t even move, the water feeling suffocatingly chilling no matter how hot he runs it. It feels like a form of torture and harm, and it is, even if he won’t admit it. If he’s struggling particularly hard, he’ll submerge his head under the water. He doesn’t need to breathe as a ghost, even in physical form, so he can’t drown anymore, but sometimes he dreams of drowning and dying again while he’s under the water, a twisted part of him thinking he deserves it, just like his dad always said he did. Slender and BEN’s closer friends like Jeff and Toby have started catching on from how shaken and traumatized he seems whenever they return home, no matter okay he tries to present himself, and they’ve been making sure that BEN is no longer ever left completely alone in the house anymore. They’ve also been making sure whenever BEN needs to clean himself or shower, he no longer attempts it alone, and has to at least have someone in the room. BEN feels embarrassed, hates himself for being so weak he can’t even do it alone, no matter how much people try to reassure him that it’s okay and he’s not weak, that he just needs help and that’s okay.

Tim has started having severe anxiety attacks on a regular basis. While his own trauma isn’t that bad all things considered, he’s been trying to take everyone else’s onto his plate, been trying to help as many people as he can, and he’s overwhelming himself. He can’t handle the weight of trying to help so many traumatized people at the same time, his mind constantly running trying to think of who needs help, a shoulder to lean on, who needs comforting. Even trying to manage Toby alone is an extremely difficult task with his own level of trauma, but Tim is trying to juggle everyone at once. When he’s alone at the end of the day he collapses, sobbing and shaking and getting nauseous, sometimes throwing up from stress and anxiety, pushing his body to its limits. Some nights he can’t even sleep because he’s so overwhelmed, and that makes it so much worse. Brian and Slender have started catching on that something is wrong with Tim, but they haven’t fully caught on to the severity. He lays collapsed in a heap on his floor, eyes wide, breathing ragged, choking on the anxiety of taking on so many problems at once. Sometimes the others notice, politely deny his help when he offers it, noticing the dark circles and anxiety behind his eyes, telling him he should rest instead, but his inner perfectionist tells him he’s not trying hard enough. He’s become so dependent on being the responsible, dependable brother figure that he can’t be anything less than perfect at it.

[oimoitalaina]

Ironheart vs. Thunderbolts - how to properly reference Sam Wilson

I truly think the writers of Thunderbolts did not understand the genre they were working with down to the simplest exchanges. And one of the best examples of this is the moment where John Walker says “on your left”. Anyone who has watched the movies knows that this line is very significant for Sam and Steve’s relationship. The phrase evolved from their fateful connection in Captain America: Winter Soldier all the way to Endgame. “On your left” starts as a playful exchange that leads to an unbreakable friendship. The phrase grows when it is repeated in Endgame by Sam, ushering in one of the greatest sequences in the MCU. It represents Sam and Steve’s devotion to each other, the fact that they will always have each other’s backs.

Which is why it is beyond baffling that anyone thought it was a good idea for JOHN WALKER to say this line in Thunderbolts!

This moment doesn’t land at all. The intention behind John saying this line wasn’t for him to be consciously referencing Sam, because this is something that was just shared between Sam and Steve. The *intent* is that this moment is a moment of serendipity. Characters saying the same things without knowing it, connecting them together. And it would be a nice moment, if it worked. But it doesn’t! Because John harassed, insulted, threatened, and finally tried to murder Sam. And now he’s the one parroting a phrase that genuinely means a great deal to Sam. All the positive feelings the audience has regarding the phrase belong to *Sam*. So when John says it, he’s essentially appropriating the line. This white character takes it from the Black character who gave it meaning and uses it himself for a cheap but ultimately hollow callback. 

Thunderbolts is guilty of a lot of wrongdoings to many characters, but one of the greatest in my opinion is how it treats Sam. Because Sam has no presence in this movie until he’s mentioned offensively in the post credits scene. Despite the fact that Sam’s best friend Bucky, who *just* told him he loved him in Brave New World, is in this movie. And even though Sam is literally Captain America and would be the first person to call when shit goes down, he’s not mentioned. Sam is a victim of erasure, he is actively removed from a story that he should be a part of. For a thinking audience, this moment provokes a combination of confusion and disgust.

Now compare this to a more recent example in episode two of Ironheart. Near the end of the episode Riri says the phrase “aliens, androids, and wizards”. Now in comparison to John saying “on your left”, this moment sparked delight for me and other members of the fandom. Why is that the case when it is, on paper, so similar to what Walker did? The answer is respect. The writers of Ironheart clearly demonstrated respect when referencing Sam in this moment. Because while “aliens, androids, and wizards” is another iconic phrase of Sam’s, it does not bear the emotional significance of “on your left”. Sam says the former line during his delightful back and forth with Bucky in episode two of Falcon and the Winter Soldier. It is a cute phrase, but it doesn’t grow in emotional significance over multiple movies like how “on your left” did. It doesn’t represent, say, Sam and Bucky’s entire relationship. So Riri repeating it does legitimately feel like a moment of serendipity. I heard the line and thought “oh, Sam <3!”. Which is all it meant to do. 

So that is how these two seemingly similar moments contrast. Walker saying “on your left” is a moment of appropriation and erasure that fundamentally disrespects Sam’s character. Meanwhile, Riri’s repetition of “aliens, androids, and wizards” is a delightful moment that uplifts Sam’s character and connects him to a new hero.

[wolkentage]

cw: mentioned death

synopsis / beginning / prev / next

[transcript]

Alexander: That’s it! I’m done with this walking disaster causing trouble nonstop. I’m calling FutureLabs first thing in the morning! Darren: Alex, calm down. I get you’re upset but - Alexander: Upset?! Oh, I promise you - I’m more than upset! Darren: So what? Your plan is to call FutureLabs - and then?! Ask them to take him back? Darren: Brilliant idea, really. I’m sure nothing will go wrong when we send a severely traumatised boy back to the place that openly admitted it wasn’t suited for his case… especially if Avery’s theory turns out to be true. Alexander: Theory? What theory? Avery: … I’m not sure if now is the right time to talk about this. Alexander: I asked: what theory?!

(...)

Alexander: No, that's impossible. We checked Saheen's records. They state that there were ten participants in his study. Darren: I saw their remains myself. It's true. Avery: What if there were more people involved than mentioned? Alexander: That doesn't sound like Saheen. You know he's a perfectionist who is very meticulous with his data. Avery: Killing people didn't sound like Saheen either. And look where we are now. Alexander: Avery, you're my best friend and I respect you a lot but we all know Saheen is a soft spot for you. I don't think - Avery: You think it's all a coincidence? Finn's symptoms? His diagnosis with Behring's? We know Saheen dabbled with the motherplant's genetic code! It all fits too well! Darren: Geez! Both of you! Stop it! Darren: It’s been a long night for all of us. Let’s have this conversation tomorrow, after everyone has gotten some rest. *towards Alexander* I can drop you off at the hospital if you want.

For years, I acted like a coward - turned a blind eye to the past just to protect myself. Tried never to get entangled in what he left behind. There’s this famous saying: "A person often meets their destiny on the road they took to avoid it." If only I had known that these past two weeks were merely the end of the beginning.

author's note: Finishing this act just how we began: with Avery contemplating life choices. 🙂 🙃 Also that saying he refers to is from Jean de La Fontaine. I slightly altered it (it's originally "A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.") but I'd like it to be gender-neutral in the canon of my story. 🫡

[geekfinsta]

Baby Face | Si-eun X Black!reader

At first it was odd being the only black girl in a Korean school, it was much different then American schools but soon I had gotten used to it, you made a few friends but not much which you didn’t mind cause you hated big friend groups but one of those friends was su-ho, it was lunch time so you started to head towards the cafeteria which all the rest of the students were either going or going somewhere else they had no business doing but that wasn’t your business.

As you were searching for suho, you heard your name getting called your eyes landed on suho and someone sitting across from you so you headed towards them smiling and greeting them “hi” I said and sat down beside suho.

“Your not eating lunch?” He ask eyeing you “why? So you can steal and eat it?” I narrowed my eyes at him, he huffed and rolled his eyes and he jumped “OH, sieun this is my girl best friend [ name ]” he introduced us, I looked at sieun and smiled “hi, I’m [ name ]”

He didn’t say anything but starred at me which I did the same analyzing his face “you gotta cute baby face” I said smiling, I saw him shift a little and his ears turned red “right, that’s what I thought” suho said with a mouth full of food “what I tell you about talking with food in your mouth?”

“Sorry mom” he said and continued to shove more food in his mouth “one day you gonna choke” I said putting my hands in my lap looking at him with a slightly disgusted look.

“You gonna save me?” He ask I didn’t say anything but stared at him “right?” “And if I say no?” “Sieun gonna save me” he shrugged “no I’m not” sieun said.

I started at him surprised and started laughing while suho threw a fit “ah, your not gonna safe me? I thought we were best friends” suho shook his head in disbelief, looked at me and sieun and shook his head again “what a shame” he said making me laugh.

“You laugh is cute” suho stopped what he was doing and looked at sieun, I slowly stopped laughing without smiling “you gotta cute baby” we starred at each other for a little while before suho said anything “if you guys are gonna flirt and eye fuck each other then do that somewhere else, I’m eating” I sigh and rolled my eyes “your always eating” “so? After school you guys wanna go out to eat”

“how can you talk about food while you’re eating?” Sieun eyed suho “why y’all on my dick?” He dropped his hands on the table looking at me and sieun, neither both of us answered but looked at each other.

I busted into giggles while sieun grinned and looked away trying not to laugh “what? What so funny?” Suho ask and I shook my head “nothing, just eat your food” “y’all never answered my question” “…which was?” He eyed me “can we go out for dinner after school” “yea sure”

Suho continued to eat while talking to us about nonsense, soon the bell had ring meaning lunched ended, we got up and started heading towards the exit of the cafeteria, “I’ll see you after school?” Suho ask with his arm around my shoulder looking down at me “I guess”

I sigh and shrugged his arm off my shoulder “bye suho” “bye shorty” he teased and I rolled my eyes and look at sieun “bye baby face” I smiled at him and entered my classroom.

“Dude she totally liked you” suho said as he putted his arm around sieun shoulder “don’t fool around” “I’m serious, she never talked to a guy like that, you should ask her out” sieun stopped walked and looked at suho “you know what you should do?” Suho didn’t say anything waiting for sieun to continue.

“Stop eating before you get bloated” and walked off as suho was left in shocked “at least I’m eating good” he yelled catching up to him as sieun mumbled a ‘whatever’ but sieun did think she was cute and pretty, when she came over to the table he felt his stomach filled with butterflies.

“She’s pretty” seiuen said referring to her, suho grinned at him “you two would make a great couple, the smart but serious psychopath, and the pretty pink bubbly smart but not so smart girl”

[avenging-fandoms]

Mine Now - CM Punk

Summary: requested by anonymous- I will absolutely combust if you write cm punk smut (please) Seth Rollins has been your mentor and friend for a few years. CM Punk has been taunting Seth about you for weeks. Seth doesn't know you've been thinking about being with CM Punk since the first time you saw him decades ago.

Content warning: smut. 18+. USE PROTECTION. things may have been changed a bit

idk i feel like punk fucks like small hands so here's a reference video.

please like and reblog!

gif divider credit: @enchanthings-a

The Staples Center shakes when Seth Rollins' music blares through the speakers and fans sing along to the 'woah's'. You stand next to but kind of behind him with your hand folded in front of you, taking in all of the fans for Seth and smiling at those who acknowledge you.

You've been with the WWE for nearly half a year, only being introduced a few weeks prior in a Royal Rumble. You didn't win, but you did last with 7 girls left in the ring with you being number 17, so you count that to yourself as a win.

Seth cheered you on from the side of the ring as your mentor, but he kind of made it about himself. He wanted to look like an angel for helping a new wrestler, but he was still a good mentor. He's a hard-ass when he needs to be but always your cheerleader.

It kind of made you feel bad for how much you crave CM Punk.

When you arrived, Seth warned you over and over about Punk, telling you he's a snake and can't be trusted, but he didn’t need to. You grew up watching CM Punk with your WWE-obsessed brother, you knew he was a pompous asshole who didn’t care about anything or anyone but himself. 

Seth absolutely loathes CM Punk while you had to hide you were smitten with him, and him taunting you and Seth wasn’t helping get rid of those feelings.

Seth jumps up and over the ropes, throwing his arms out and the crowd cheers. You step up and bend through the ropes and stay near them, letting him have his moment on the microphone.

"Los Angeles how are we feeling?" The crowd screams and cheers, your eyes scanning the signs and laughing at a few funny ones. When Seth puts the mic to his mouth again, the crowd starts to cheer Punk's name. Seth laughs and looks at you in disbelief. "We're out here in the middle of the Staples Center to talk about that hypocrite's name you all are chanting, weren't you small brains just chanting my song?"

It was a mix of cheers and boos and you wrap your fingers around the rope, sitting near the buckles and watching Seth. "That snake, for weeks, has been non-stop telling my mentee how I'm not good enough to teach her how to win, he's been telling her to leave me for him," he laughs into the mic and your cheeks flush pink and you try your best to hide it with your hair.

Fans shake their signs of CM Punk support in Seth's face and he narrows his eyes. "CM Punk can only give you advice on how to come crawling back on your knees, begging for-"

Static. An electric guitar. Drums. Fans scream and cheer, and you grip the rope tighter when you turn around. The screams erupt when CM Punk steps out and smiles, nodding as he looks around. His large arms are displayed in his tight black tank top, blue jeans hugging his hips perfectly, and the grey in his beard making it harder to peel your eyes from him. You move closer to the buckle, watching as he walks down towards the ring with his eyes focused on Seth.

Punk jumps up onto the ring and holds on to rope as he shit talks Seth, doing a double take when he sees you in the corner. He gives you a smirk and keeps his eyes on you when he enters the ring. He was given a mic and steps close to Seth, taking in the chants of his name before licking his lips and putting the microphone to his mouth.

"Seth, you really need to stop worrying about me, and worry about being a better mentor. I mean, you jump in the ring and jump around like a monkey and don't even help your girl up?"

Punk's hand gestures to you and you stand up off the buckles, holding the ropes on either side of you. Punk's attention focuses on you, his Nikes taking him closer with a devilish smirk on his face.

"I've seen it every single time you two come out. Even when it's your match, he doesn't help you up, he gets up first and watches you climb, not offering a hand." He's inches from you and he notices the quickening pace of your breathing, eyes hazy as they scan over his face. "He doesn't treat you like he should be, sweetheart, which is why I've been telling you to find a new mentor."

Even with your eyes stuck on Punk's, you notice Seth starting to charge in a blur. "Watch out!" You warn and Punk's hands push your head down as he takes Seth's punch to the head and you slide out of the ring.

"Seth, stop!"

It was no use. The pent up anger from the past weeks, the past few years, was coming out at this very moment. You yelled for a ref, begged Michael Cole to call someone, but nothing works. Seth just throws hit after hit and Punk was stumbling around, Seth hitting him with a Pedigree. You back up into the announcer's table and shake your head.

The crowd boos and wails as CM Punk pants on the ground with his eyes squeezing tightly, holding his stomach. You step closer to the ring and scream for Seth to stop. Punk can't even lift his head before Seth pulls him over in front of you, grabbing a fistful of his hair and picking Punk up on all fours. Your feet move to stop him as Seth points at you, ignoring you and stomping on his opponent’s head. You have to turn away. Seth jumps and yells around the ring, CM Punk struggles to get up and your eyes are suddenly locked on him. 

Punk’s hands lay flat on the ring and he pushes himself up, shaking his head and sitting on his knees and ripping off his tank top. Directly in front of you.

Your mouth goes dry as his hands lay flat on his thighs. His chest heaves as he regains his breath, rolling his neck slowly, your eyes following the sweat beads falling down his front and hitting the top of his jeans. Your eyes go up and you’re met with his. A soft smirk plays on his lips as you both notice your knees starting to go weak. 

While Rollins yells his nonsense, Punk regains his ability to stand and waits for him to turn in his direction and throws a few punches to his head. Punk holds Seth over his head, turning to you. He sends you a wink and hits Seth with a ‘Go To Sleep.’

The crowd erupts as CM Punk stands up, looking around the arena as his song starts to play. Seth rolls onto his stomach and you slide into the ring next to him, tapping his back. 

“Hey, hey. You alright?” You bend down and move his hair out of his face, Seth's face twisting and grunts escaping his mouth. "Do you need help getting up?" Seth can't open his eyes from the pain, wrapping an arm around his head and you feel heat behind your body.

Tattooed fingers slide across your jaw and hold your chin, tilting your face up where you’re met with CM Punk once more. His thumb rubs over the bone gently and you gulp.

Your attention was no longer on Seth and solely on Punk. This was everything you wanted but you knew you'd lose everything with Seth.

He tugs your chin and you stand, the crowd making the arena shake. Punk has been divorced for a few years and has never showed interest in anyone, not any of the other girls Seth trained. You knew you may just be a pawn, but if CM Punk was by your side, you didn’t really care what you were as long as it was his.

“Are you leaving with me?” He lowers his lips to graze your ear. “Do you trust me?” He speaks.

Your body shivers and without thinking, you nod. Punk flashes a real smile at you and drops his hand to hold yours. He holds the rope open for you, and you hear yelling.

"Y/N! What the fuck are you doing?!" Seth yells and grabs your ankle, making you fall into Punk and he kicks Rollins off of you.

"Leaving with someone who'd never purposely trip her!" CM Punk spits at Rollins who holds his head and rolls around the ring. You look at Seth with sad eyes before ducking out of the ropes, thanking Punk. You go to hop down but he stops you, hopping down first and grabbing your hips to bring you down.

You lose your breath when you hold onto his biceps, thanking him with a squeak. He puts a hand on your lower back as you walk up the ramp, Seth still yelling, almost falling over the ropes.

"We're done! If you leave with him, block my fucking number!" Seth screams and you turn your head, throwing him a thumbs up before you and CM Punk leave the stage.

Your body seems to go into shock once you're out of view of the public, really understanding that now you were with CM Punk. You stood up and chose him, leaving behind a friend you've had for the past 3 years.

"Are you okay?" His voice snaps you out of it and you look up at CM Punk.

"I, uh, I think?" He laughs softly and you chuckle in disbelief. Yelling gets louder and Seth appears from the back. He rushes too quick and body bumps you into Punk's bare chest and slams your nose into it. You yelp and bend out of the interaction, Punk taking notice and shoving Seth back.

"Are you fucking serious? Get your shit together, you're showing her more of a reason to drop your fucking ass," Punk hisses and shoves Seth again. You cradle your bleeding nose and Punk throws Seth into a TV, heading over to you and holding your hand. "Come on, we'll go see medical."

"No, no, I just need a towel," you wave but he grabs your wrist and shows you your bloody hand.

"That is a lot of blood, sweetheart. It wouldn't hurt to at least get checked out." He wraps an arm around you and holds your elbow, the other hand holding your nose. Someone rushes over with a towel and you thank them, Punk holding your nose and letting the blood soak the towel.

Punk's hand never lets go of the towel until he sits you on the table and a medic checks you out. You wince as she presses on your nose but she notes no breakage or fracturing, just a hard impact and a bloody nose. She said you might be sore for a day or two and to just ice it.

She leaves the room and someone brings Punk a new shirt, his biceps still bulging through, the sleeve begging to rip. "Hey, at least you aren't broken," he chuckles to break the silence.

"Still can't believe he couldn't calm himself to not almost break my fucking nose." You lean back against the wall and hold the tissue to your nose, shaking your head. "Then again, I did leave him for his sworn enemy," you smirk and Punk shakes his head with a nasally laugh.

"Are your keys in your bag or purse?" He stands over you and you furrow your eyebrows.

"You're trying to steal my car? You could've just asked for a ride, Punk."

"You can call me Phil, sweetheart, and I don't think you can drive with your head tilted up with one hand on the wheel. I'll drive you home," he smiles and holds out his hand to help you off the table, putting his hand behind your back and walking with you to get your things.

"I'm sure it stopped bleeding by now, I can drive." You pull the tissue away and a string of blood starts to fall and you quickly put the tissue back on your nose, looking at Punk. "My keys are in the little zipper in my purse," you mumble and he grins.

Phil grabs your bags and you two head for the garage. "I can take my purse, you know."

"Why, you don't think it looks good on me?" Phil flips his hair and you giggle.

"Uh, Punk? There's some post-show interviews-"

"They all saw what just happened. They don't need any damn interviews," he snaps and the employee stammers on his words and you mouth a 'sorry,' with a small shrug. He was mean, but he was right.

You get on the elevator and when the doors close, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and closed your eyes, leaning your head on Punk's arm for the ride up to the 6th floor.

The ding disturbs your peace and Punk moves your bags to his left arm to wrap his other one around you, letting you rest on him for the walk to your car. He didn't ask you where your car was but used the lock button and followed the sound just so he also didn't disturb you.

He opens the passenger door and you hop in, Punk putting on your seatbelt with his free hand. He gently closes the door and you immediately lean your hot skin on the cool window.

Punk puts your things in the backseat and hops into the driver's seat, head hitting the ceiling and it makes your shoulders jump with a quiet laugh. "Hey! Don't laugh at me, brat," he pinches your thigh and you squeal.

You open your phone and give him the GPS app to head home, putting it on the stand. "So you know where you're going and I can rest."

He smacks his teeth with a head tilt. "You're just so smart, hon." He starts the car and backs out of the spot. Your ETA gave you an hour to be home and you had the rest of the week to relax now that you had an injured nose that made it hard to wrestle.

Phil pulls out of the garage and starts the journey to your house. Your nose was lightly bleeding now and you put your elbow on the door, loosely leaving the tissue on your nose when you lean against the glass with closed eyes.

He gets off the highway after 15 minutes and notices all the drive thrus and rubs your arm with his finger. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, hon, but are you hungry? Do you want me to stop anywhere?"

You stretch and blink your eyes open, looking around and scrunching your nose. "I want some crab rangoon," you yawn and he nods, excited.

"Sounds like a plan. If there's a restaurant by your house we'll order it before we get home so it's ready then you can relax with your crab rangoon." You nod and shift your body, putting your bloody tissue in your car trash can and leaning your head down on your arms on the center console.

Punk moves his hovering arms down and rests his elbow on the console, the rest on your head with his palm on the side of your head. Sleep almost took over until Seth's entrance song blares through the speakers.

You turn the volume down and sit up, rubbing your eyes and looking at Phil. You hit 'answer' on the screen and Punk looks at you. "Y/N?"

"Yes, Seth."

"Why do you sound far away?" You lean closer into Punk and try not to yell in his ear.

"What's up, Seth?" You keep it short and dodge his question, you're annoyed with him. You understand his anger, but not being able to control it enough to watch where he's going and making your nose bleed.

He's quiet for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry for running into you, I was so frustrated and wanted to find Punk and-"

"I get it, Seth, and I'm really sorry for everything that's happened and how it happened. I am not going to accept your apology at the moment 'cause I'm still really pissed you rushed us instead of approaching us like an adult, but I appreciate it. I'm sure you don't accept mine either and that's fine."

Phil grabs a tissue from his pocket and dabs some blood that drips and you give him a soft smile, eyes disassociating on his beard as silence fills the car.

"Are you not driving?" Seth asks and you scoff with a soft chuckle in disbelief.

"It's hard to drive with blood randomly dripping from your nose, no, I'm not."

Seth sucks his teeth on the other line. "You're right, I don't forgive you."

Three beeps and he's gone. You shake your head and sit back in your seat, looking at Phil. "He's a baby, he'll get over it." He reaches over and squeezes your chin, smushing your cheeks a bit and you look at him. "I warned him, didn't I?"

You can't form words. His fingers move against your bone and you can only nod. He drops his hand and dangles it over the center console, drumming to the song on the quiet volume.

You're awake now so you turn the music up to 15, loud enough but quiet enough. You have 20 minutes to go, which was surprising because the conversation with Seth felt very short.

"I'll order the food now, it's like 5 minutes from my house." Punk nods and hands you your phone as he travels on the highway. You order your lo mein and 2 orders of crab rangoon, turning to Punk. "I should've asked before, do you want anything?"

"Fried rice, please." You nod and he opens his mouth to add something but you do it for him.

"No meat please, the rice and veggies are fine." Punk looks over at you and tries to keep his eyes on the road. You didn't have to ask him if he wanted meat, you knew he never would. You hang up and put the phone back with an ETA home of 15, the same for the food.

"How'd you know?"

You look at him with an embarrassed blush to your cheeks. "I've watched you for a while, Phil. I've.. oh my fuck, this is humiliating. I've had a crush on you for many years."

He can't help but laugh. He rubs a hand over his beard and looks at you. "I mean, it wasn't hard to tell. You couldn't even look at me." You roll your eyes and push his shoulder.

"Well, since we're friends now, I thought you'd like this song I found." His mouth curls into a smile when he hears the beginning of his entrance.

-

"That is the definition of comfort food," you groan and lay back against the couch, a hand over your full stomach.

"I have to agree," he follows you and leans his head on his knuckle, looking at you. "You don't regret this, do you?"

You roll your head over to look at Phil and shake your head in the cushion. "I don't, I really don't. I don't have my friend anymore but.. fuck, I'm with CM Punk, I can't regret too much."

Punk laughs and sits up, holding out his hand. "Let's go get you cleaned up, there's some blood dried around your nose." You take his rough hand and stand up with him, grabbing your bags and leading him to the bathroom in your room.

He puts your bags next to your door and meets you in the bathroom, smirking down at you. "I can't see your face very well from down there." You hop up on the counter and he finds a washcloth, wetting it with warm water and tilting your chin up.

"You don't have to do all this, I can do it myself," you explain and he gives you a look.

"I know you're not used to it, but I want to take care of you, you don't have to do everything alone." He puts the cloth in the sink and washes his hands, slapping his wet hands on your thighs before drying them on a towel.

"Hey!" You giggle and grab his shirt from the bottom and pull him between your legs, wiping up the water with the cotton.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he chuckles and you look up at him, your spine straightening. Phil's hand was hesitant to touch your skin and you push his hand onto your hip, and it activated everything. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his thick chest, your fingers gripping his shirt and pushing up to his hair.

Punk's fingers tug at your shirt and you push him away, giving him a smile when you hop off the counter, walking backwards and keeping your eyes on his. "Come and get me, Punk."

You try to move around him but he catches you by the waist, spinning you into him and holding your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart."

He stands in front of you and moves your hair out of your face, tracing your features with his other hand’s fingers. “Phil..”

He smirks. “Is it okay to touch you?” He whispers in your ear and your fingers dig in his biceps when you nod. His face disappears in your hair, finding your neck and leaving soft, wet kisses down. “Lay on the bed, hm?”

Punk moves away from you and watches you lay on the bed, pulling his tank top up off and throwing it on your pillows. Your hands explore his hot skin, pulling him down to kiss you. Your legs wrap loosely around his waist and his hand pushes down your thigh, gripping and smacking your ass.

You whimper in his mouth and he pulls away to disappear between your legs. Punk pulls your pants down swiftly and over with his shirt, groaning as he falls to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. He yanks you closer and spreads your legs open, kissing from your ankle to the very inside of your thigh.

When you feel his breath fanning over your heat, your legs instantly snap closed. Nerves build in your chest when you feel his hands snake up your thighs and push them to the bed. You pant softly when his breath fans over your body, going up and kissing you slowly.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Don’t be nervous. Just tell me to stop if you need me to,” he pecks the corner of your mouth and your head follows as far as you can as he kneels on the ground again.

Punk learns his lesson and snakes his arms up and over around your thighs, your legs dangling on his back. “Beauty, just absolutely divine,” he groans and kisses your clit and the skin around it, his tongue laying flat and licking up, moaning at the taste of you. “Fuck, you taste so delicious.”

His mouth engulfs your pussy and he flicks his tongue up and down between your folds, focusing on your clit and moaning when your fingers grip his hair.

Your thighs tremble around his head and pick your head up to look at him when he slides two thick fingers into you, making eye contact with you and holding it as he pumps his fingers and flicks his tongue, his left hand pulling his jeans down a bit to stroke his cock. Your chest heaves and you fall back against the back again, whining and twisting your hips against his tongue.

Punk stands on his feet but doesn't break away when he lays on the bed, flipping on his back and making you hover your hips above him while on all fours. He smacks your ass a few times before forcing your hips down, tongue immediately finding your clit.

Your arms give out entirely and your face falls into his shirt that fell off the pillows. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands holding his elbows to keep you in place. You bury your face in the cotton, biting down on it and pulling up with a loud moan.

"As much as I'd love to taste you cum on my tongue," he pants and pulls you down over him and you squeal. "I want to feel you cum around me, sweetheart." He kisses your chin and bites the skin, smoothing his hands over your ass and spanking you again.

You hold the back of his neck and roll him back over to be above you, Punk completely taking off his pants. He tilts his head to the side slightly when staring at you, leaning a hand down to grip your tank top, the other hand joining and ripping the material in a swift motion off your body.

A loud gasp escaped your throat and you pull him down, kissing him rough and sloppy with your fingers pushing through his hair. "Go ahead, sweetheart, put it in." Phil lifts his body so you can grab his cock, a pleased sigh escaping his lungs and his head leans against yours. You tease his tip up and down your pussy, desperate groans escaping Punk's lips. "C'mon, kitten, let me fill you," he grunts and you spread your legs, pressing your forehead against his as you push his cock into you.

"Fuck, don't move, fuck," you wince and shakily grab his face, letting your hands fall to hold his shoulders. Phil kisses your forehead and brushes your hair out of your face.

"I'm all yours, Y/N. Tell me when you're ready." He kisses the corner of your mouth and you let out a long breath, moving your hips slowly and nodding at him. He pulls his hips up and thrusts into you slowly, his jaw hinging to the side and his eyes roll. "You feel so.. fuck," Punk moans loudly and falls on top of you, laying his cheek on your shoulder with his nose pressed against your cheek.

His right arm wraps around your waist and holds your back up, strings of moans and your name falling from his swollen lips. You turn your head and wrap a leg around his waist, moaning in his mouth and scratching his beard. Your tongue smooths over his bottom lip and you whimper at the ghost hole of his lip piercing, sinking your teeth in and pulling back.

Phil growls and rolls onto his back, holding your hips to hold you up and thrust rough and quick into you. You hold onto his wrists for stability and drop your head, watching his face twist in focus and pleasure.

"Fuck, look at you." He licks his lips and drops your bodies back to the bed, letting you take control. Your hands squeeze his knees and move your hips up and down slowly, smiling and running your tongue over your teeth when you watch his eyes roll and head fall into the pillow, biting his hand.

"Look at you," you purr and smooth your hands up his torso, stopping at his face and kissing him slowly. His lips fall loose and he moans against your teeth when you smile. Punk's large hands massage your ass and smack it, gripping tightly and moving your hips for you.

"Oh my fucking god," he moans with veins popping in his neck. Phil's tattooed fingers push through your hair and hold it in a pony tail, picking your head up to look at him as he thrusts fast into you. "Fuck, this pussy's all mine, all fuckin' mine," Punk pants.

Phil keeps your hair in his hands and presses his forearms together behind your head, laying you on your back with your head resting on his arms. His thighs open your legs wider and you nip at his chin when you feel every inch of him inside of you. He pushes his hips deeper, grunting and moving in slow circles, your eyes fighting to stay open.

"Who does this pussy belong to, sweetheart?" He whispers in your ear, his biceps engulfing your head and your hand holds onto one for support. He pulls his hips back all the way then snaps his hips into you again, both of your moans dancing in the air. "I need words, or I won't move."

Punk pulls his knees next to your hips, pulling your leg over his shoulder and kissing your calf as he looks at you through his sweaty hair in his hair. "Please, Punk, more," you whimper as you scratch his thighs. He chuckles slowly and shakes his head, smacking your thigh.

"Use your words," he leans down, "Who does this pussy belong to?"

He tilts his head to the side and presses his forehead to yours, kissing the corner of your mouth. Phil starts moving his cock out of you and your hips twitch, your fingernails digging into his back.

"You, Phil, fuck," your hands press against his thighs when he starts his fast pace again. "I'm all yours, Punk."

A low growl comes from his throat and he frees his arms, pulling your hips off the bed and rubbing your clit with his thumbs. "Atta girl, all mine."

Punk tears his eyes from your face to watch himself fuck you, his eyebrows dropping in a furrow with his lips slightly parted. "Phil.. I'm.." Your eyes fall heavy and he pulls his hand away, stopping all his movements and you let out a loud whine.

"Such a brat, I want to watch you above me." He holds you close to his body and flips you two once more with pulling his cock out, letting you get comfortable before nodding he was ready.

You hold his knees for stability again and you start to move, his fingers finding your clit and your legs start to give. "You got it, baby. Keep going, you're almost there." Punk's eyes now roll and he fingers start to slow.

Your movements get heavier and slower, your fingers squeezing his legs for support. "I'm.. I'm.." you can't open your eyes and your breath sticks in your throat when Punk holds your hip with one hand and quickly thrusts into you, rubbing your clit until your orgasms hit the both of you hard.

Your body gives out on you and you fall on top of Punk who wraps his arms tight around you, trapping your arms underneath to rest next to his body. He moves his hips slowly to pump every inch of his seed into you.

Phil's hands push against your back, dragging up your hot skin and rubbing the tips of his fingers between your shoulder blades. You pick your hands up and lay them on his biceps, tracing the outlines of his tattoos with your lips parted against his shoulder.

He pulls his hips down and you whimper at the empty feeling when his cock pulls out of you completely. You lay your whole body weight on top of him, your bellies moving against each other's as you breathe.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Need anything?" Punk kisses your forehead and brushes the hair out of your face so you can look up at him.

"I think a nice shower and some sleep would be perfect right now," you kiss his pec a few times and he sits you both up, holding out his hand and helping you up. Your legs shake underneath you and Punk smirks to himself in victory. "Oh, shut up," you grumble and he laughs, holding you close as you both head for the bathroom.

Phil takes his time in the shower washing your hair and body, making sure every finger cleans every cell on your skin. You've never felt so beautiful, so worshipped. You wash him and can't help but squeeze him in his thighs and biceps, desperate to sink your teeth in them.

You pull on a pair of sleep shorts and see the black on your pillow. You drop your towel and throw on the tank top, turning to Punk with a smile. "How do I look?"

He kneels down to grab your towel, looking up at you with his arm draped over his knee and the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I think I'm going to give you every shirt and sweatshirt I own just to see you in them."

[nqrancia]

no thoughts, head empty, i think it’d be hilarious to call some of the jjba character your “current” boyfriend just to fuck with them. so could i get Rohan, Mista and Diego react to reader calling them that? thank youuu ❤️

“𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.”

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : rohan kishibe, guido mista, diego brando

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : how does your bf react to being referred to as your current boyfriend

𝐚/𝐧 : this one was fun to write, tsym for requesting diego! i’ve been brainrotting over him recently :)

𝐑𝐎𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐊

He’s not mad, he’s just disappointed.

Rohan is more than familiar with the trends of today, and is also more than aware of their stupidity. At least, that’s what he believes them to be. It’s not the initial statement that bothers him, it’s the notion that you thought he would be dumb enough to fall for the little trick you attempted to pull on him.

“I’m a bit offended you thought that would work on me.”

He won’t admit it, but he does think about that moment more than he wants to.

───

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐎 𝐌.

Appalled, offended, incredulous. Any negative word that could be used to describe the look of betrayal on Mista’s face was the only way to properly read it. He almost immediately thinks he’s done something to wrong you, which he hasn’t, but he doesn’t know that! The man almost felt his soul leave his body. “What do you mean “current boyfriend”?!”

“Babe, did I do something wrong?”

Even his Sex Pistols are freaking out, thinking you’re leaving him. They need their snack distributor, and it has to be you. You always have exactly what they’re craving.

“Mista says he’s sorry for whatever he did wrong!”

As soon as you tell him it was just a small prank, he lets out the biggest sigh of relief he could muster. A weight was just taken off his shoulders, and he’s even more relieved that you aren’t leaving him. “Thank god! I thought this was your own messed up way of telling me you were breaking up with me!”

You have to promise that you won’t call him that again, or he thinks next time he will actually die.

“Never call me your “current boyfriend” ever again, I am your boyfriend for life!”

“I would hope at that point you’d be my husband instead, Guido.”

“Details.”

───

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐁.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you were doomed. Though his face was kept in a calm expression for your audience, he was internally setting everything in the vicinity on fire. “Current boyfriend”? What exactly did the phrasing of those words mean? Were you trying to insinuate that in the near future you were going to break up with him? To his knowledge, he hadn’t done anything to anger you. But your words gave him a sense of an internal panic.

After your entourage of reporters had come to interview the both of you, he immediately turned to look at you and scoffed. “Current boyfriend”? I see how it is.”

He is not taking this little prank so well. His feeling of betrayal is expressed in harsher words and blunt statements, and will act this way until you apologize properly to him. To others, his actions might seem childish, but you understood why he reacted this way. Diego wasn’t one to care what was lost as long as he didn’t need it or didn’t see a reason for its use, but you were different. He didn’t like humans, yet you were “tolerable” enough to be allowed to be his. He had found trust in you, yet his heart was still fragile.

Which was exactly why he turned to teasing to mess with you, to convince you to fold and ask for his forgiveness.

“Yes, my “current significant other” loves to watch me race. They come to every event just to watch me achieve victory. Cute, isn’t it?”

Diego won’t stop until you apologize, and you have to be as honest and concise as possible with it as well. He won’t accept a half-hearted, shell of a reason. You have to be clear with him and express your want for forgiveness. If you word your sentences correctly, you might just get him to crack a small smile.

“If there is a next time, I won’t be so nice about my teasing.”

@𝐧𝐪𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 ݁₊˚⊹☆ - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[hanjicakes]

꒰ 𝜗𝜚 ꒱ beware

synopsis .ᐟ - you and chris were never meant to work out, but when he shows up again, can you actually resist?

content info .ᐟ - nonidol!chan x gender neutral!reader, but the word 'girl' is used for reader once but in a slang way yk?, they both ain't shit, lots of mentions of alcohol, reader has canonically been to jail and has an alcohol problem, chris is an alleged cheater, chan referred to as chris

word count .ᐟ - 4.1k words

author ' s note .ᐟ - hey... it's been a while... my phone broke so lowkey wasn't focused but i'm here now!! this was in the drafts for a while and also can we tell i CANNOT write toxicity?? go easy on me guys

my mastrlist ૮₍›ᆺ ‹ ₎ა

You should’ve listened to your friends.

Your subconscious replays those words over and over again. You weren’t made for each other. You were terrible for each other. What made you think this could possibly work? Jealousy seeped into your bones, ran through your veins, and ruined every relationship you ever had. This time wasn’t any different— it never was.

You lean against the cool bar as you down the most recent drink you ordered. You had lost track of the number of glasses you sent back to the bartender. It didn’t matter much, anyways. They weren’t going to stop a paying customer, no matter how intoxicated they already were. The loud music doesn’t help the pangs in your head. The bass rattles through your core. It feels like you’ve been chucked into a giant blender with all the hateful words, the sour tears, and the glass bottles you finished alone and the only thing you can do is continue to drown yourself.

Slowly, you move away from the bar and towards the dance floor. Drunk, sweaty bodies crowd together to thrust and grind against each other in a practice that is nowhere near elegant or appropriate. You know you came with your friends and you glance around in hopes of spotting one of them. You spot one of them squished in a leather booth with a man you certainly didn’t know. Their mouths are connected in an almost animalistic way and they don’t seem to be letting go anytime soon. You look away and shudder slightly. Turning around to return back to your sanctuary at the bar, you recklessly run into a man standing off with his friends.

You barely recognize that you spilled your drink until the coldness seeps through your outfit. You mentally curse yourself for wearing something that stains easily. Your mind whirls with a possible response for this accident and the one you choose is to get defensive. You immediately stand up to your full height and grip your glass.

“Why the hell are you standing in the middle—” You begin, only for the words to die on the tip of your tongue. Bile bubbles inside your gut as you look eyes with the man who wasn’t much of a stranger at all. He stares down at you with a furrowed brow, his plush lips curled downwards into a disappointed scowl.

“You drink too damn much, you know that?” Chris says. His voice is low and you’re sure you are the only person who heard him. Despite all the music blasting, his words rattle through your core and shake your mind into a jumbled mess. You try to speak up again but nothing escapes your mouth except a weak whine. He looks at you as if you were nothing more than a waste of time— a disappointment who drained the life out of him. On one hand, you did. You sucked out everything he had to offer and then more. On the other hand, he made your life a living hell.

Maybe you were meant for each other. In some sick, disgusting way.

The crinkle of fast food wrappers is almost like music to your ears. You and your friends had just spent the last few hours walking around the new shopping mall in your city and were, quite frankly, worn out. You sat on the hard, plastic food court chair, slurping on your slushy while two of your friends bickered over which movie you all would see later. One argued that a thriller was getting better reviews online. You didn’t care too much about what you guys would go see. You reach across the table and break off a piece of the soft pretzel you purchased.

A warm feeling of comfort settles over you as you watch your friends chatter away with each other. Life had gotten so busy for all of you that you rarely spent time together anymore. As the argument over movies gets more heated, you decide it’s time to intervene before they claw at each other’s throats. Parting your lips to speak, a deep masculine voice speaks up and causes your friends to go silent.

“You guys are trying to go see Scream?” He asks. His lips raise into a smile and he shows off a pair of teeth that are white enough to make even a dentist envious. His cheeks dip slightly and two dimples make their appearance. He was undeniably handsome with slightly ruffled hair and loose curls. He had an accent when he spoke, too. You weren’t sure where it was from— it wasn’t British but it didn’t seem American, either.

“Yeah… What about it?” Your friend, Sana, speaks up. There’s a slight smile forming on her face as she looks over him. You almost chuckle at how she isn’t able to hide her attraction. Part of you can’t blame her. He looks like he could’ve been sculpted out of marble. His smile widens a bit at her sharp response. Your head tilts slightly as you watch him formulate a response.

“Me and a few of my mates,” He says, gesturing to two other men sitting in another booth. One wears a black tank top while the other is basically drowning in his hoodie. “We were plannin’ on seeing that movie too, y’know? Thought you guys might want to see it with us.”

You glance over to your friends and raise your eyebrows. You weren’t completely opposed to going out with them… This man— who you still didn’t know the name of, oddly enough— seemed nice enough. You lean in closer to your friends to whisper between each other.

“He’s cute.” You mutter, letting your eyes flicker over his sturdy frame for a second too long. He spots your gaze easily and gives you a small wave.

“Please, don’t start right now…” Soyeon says. Out of the quirky characters that made up your friend group, Soyeon seemed to be the most level headed on. She was headstrong and made the better decisions of the group. Still, most people didn’t take her advice.

“We should go.” Sana blurts out, “Him and his friends are cute. And, the movie theater is a public place. They can’t axe murder us there, right? We could use some fun…”

After a few moments of hesitation, Soyeon nods her head. The three of you pull back and look back at the man in front of your table.

“What’s your name?” Soyeon asks. Her tone doesn’t allow him any chance to avoid the question.

“Just call me Chris, yeah?”

︶︶︶︶

The movie theater is almost dead silent as the audience waits for the unexpected twist. Unfortunately, the movie wasn’t as good as the reviews made it seem. While it did have a few comedic moments, the plot was rather predictable and the same as any other slasher movie. Your fingers drum on the side of your leather recliner and your eyes are glued to the screen. You know if you look away, you’ll make a fool of yourself. After a minor argument with Sana, you managed to claim the seat next to Chris. She and Soyeon sat next to his friends, who were decent guys in their own right. 

You can’t help but steal a glance at him. He seems to be focused on the movie. Your nails dig into the seat before turning back to the large screen in front of you. Just as you were about to forget about the ungodly handsome man beside you, he leans in to whisper to you.

“Are you nervous?” He mutters. His warm breath fans over your ear and you swear you feel goosebumps form over your skin. You take a moment to mentally prepare yourself to look at him.

“No,” You lie. You were nervous, just not because of the film. You were nervous because you were already ridiculously obsessed with a guy you know damn near nothing about. Your mind ridicules you for being so careless with these things but Lord knows you could never stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. “Just… Bored, I guess. This movie is kinda shitty.”

He snickers at your statement and that simple sound sends butterflies whirling around inside your stomach. A small grin forms without your control.

“Shitty, yeah? Well, I’d have to agree with that.”

“Mh…” You hum. “Uh, hey… Where are you from?”

He lets out a faint hum in acknowledgement of your question before actually responding. “Australia. Why?”

“You just have an accent. I couldn’t figure out where it was from.”

“Yeah, I mean, I get that a lot. Have you ever been to Australia?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I could take you, y’know.”

You look over to him and meet his eyes. Something in you tells you he is being dead serious and you furrow your brows.

“Why would you do that? We just met, you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, well…” He murmurs, glancing back towards the screen. The main character is trying to find a hiding place but clumsily trips over a loose extension cord. There’s a few quiet groans emitted from the audience. Chris turns back to you.

“Maybe I want to get to know you.”

The bitter taste of cheap alcohol lingers in your mouth and forces you to lick your lips. Your mouth felt so damn dry, it was insane. You pull your knees up to your chest while shifting slightly over the leather seats of Chris’s car. You weren’t sure when you left the party. Part of you could still hear the music ringing in your ears so mauve you were just parked outside? All you really remember was your friends telling you not to leave.

“Girl, we just got here!” Sana protested. Soyeon stood beside her with crossed arms and a grimace.

“Are you seriously leaving us for a man…?” Soyeon muttered. She sounded like a mother. One who was most certainly disappointed in the choices her too drunk daughter was making. You rolled your eyes.

“We’ll only be gone for, like, five minutes… We’ll come back before the party ends, alright?”

The words were pretty disingenuous. You weren’t sure when you and Chris would come back and, frankly, you didn’t care. He could keep you all night if he really wanted to. You are pulled back to your reality when you feel soft tugging on a strand of your hair. Chris is sitting beside you in the backseat, mindlessly fidgeting with the locks of hair. You brush his hand away and stare at him slightly. The corners of his eyes were tinged with red, but he held a big gummy smile on his face.

You poke your finger inside his dimple and chuckle slightly. “What are you smiling for? We’re just sitting here…”

“Well,” He murmurs, “You’re pretty and I’ve got you in my car. I think that’s a reason to smile.”

“And, why exactly are we in the car…?” You question. Your hand moves down to caress the curve between his neck and shoulder. He leans faintly into the touch and you feel his hand begin to roam over your back. His palms were soft and warm despite the air being on in the car.

“Why don’t you tell me why?” 

The both of you are quiet for a second. The alcohol flowing through you has you feeling a bit bold— more bold than you probably should. You snake your hand into his dark brown locks and tug on the curls. He lets out a faint grunt, one that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if it were anyone but him. It’s like all of your senses are on high alert around him. You don’t want to miss a single detail about him. You pull his head down a bit so you can meet his lips in a drunken kiss. It’s rough at first, trying to guide his head, but you both manage. His lips are soft and the faint taste of bubblegum and beer linger on his tongue. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hip as he leans in closer, absorbing the heat you emit.

“Damn,” Chris mutters. His words only add fuel to the fire inside your gut and don’t let him go— not until you both are breathless and weak.

You pant lightly while pushing back some of your hair. Looking up at Chris sends a slight shock through your body. How could one kiss leave you feeling electrified?

“Do you wanna head back now…?” You ask quietly. The whirl of the air conditioning in his car fills the quiet between your words.

“Nah, I think we can stay here…”

︶︶︶︶

Six months was a hell of a long time. You weren’t sure the last time you committed to something for that long, but you managed to commit to Chris. Unsurprisingly, many people doubted that you would last. Well, basically everyone did. Your friends always told you to take things slow and now to rush things because that’s how you get your heartbroken. It’s safe to say you didn’t listen because after two months of dating, you had already met his parents. Now, on the six month anniversary, you were about to make the biggest commitment of your life.

“A tattoo!?” Your friends say so loud, it makes a few people standing nearby uncomfortable.

“It’s not like it’s going to be his face or anything…” You murmur, stirring around your coffee with a wooden stirrer. “It’s a cute thing, stop acting like I’m fucking crazy.”

Soyeon scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You sure as hell are if you are getting a tattoo with this guy. It hasn’t even been a year! You always rush these things and—”

“You’re going to be looking for tattoo removal places in three months, y'know. Your relationships never last…” Sana says.

You groan heavily. “You guys always do this. I’m happy with Chris, alright? Stop meddling, we are fine… Maybe for once, you guys could be supportive?”

Sana and Soyeon share a concerned glance before Soyeon speaks up. “You know, the last time we did that, we had to bail you out of jail.”

“That guy was an asshole! Chris is different…”

“Maybe,” Sana says. “But, you are also… Reckless, when it comes to break ups.”

You bite your bottom lip slightly. They were being ridiculous, they always were. You never did anything that was unjustified— at least, in your eyes they weren’t unjustified. Maybe you did have a problem. Everyone else did. You raise your coffee mug to your mouth and continue your outing in uncomfortable silence.

Maybe you were too reckless.

The bright light from your phone screen illuminates your face as you scroll on Instagram. Okay, scrolling is a slight understatement. You were stalking. A bad habit, you know, but it was necessary.

You shift under your blanket as you scroll through your boyfriend’s following list. Your eye twitches whenever you see him following another girl, but you try to ward off that feeling. Eventually, you decide it’s time to give up. You didn’t have any reason to be worried, after all. You power down your phone and begin to focus back on the movie you had turned on. It was a Scream sequel, and it was just as bad as the original. While you reach for your bowl of chips, your phone vibrates with a message from an unfamiliar account. You stare at your phone for a while before picking up the device and reading over the message.

"hey, ik u dont know me, but ik chris and like hes been flirting with this girl all night and ik u two r dating, so i thought u should know"

You chuckle slightly at the message, not completely believing it at first. This was just some random person trying to ruin your day. You begin to type out a response to give them a piece of your mind when another message pops up. A series of photos, all of them depicting Chris being comfortable with a pretty girl in a green dress. Too comfortable, you think.

Your eyes scan over the photos again and again. It looks like Chris, but maybe it’s photoshop. Maybe it’s AI. Maybe you are just being paranoid. But, you remember seeing him leave in that jacket earlier. And he’s wearing the same watch he always does. Your lungs hitch when you see the final detail— a dark butterfly tattoo on his wrist. One that matches the butterfly on your ankle. It seems like the world around you quiets and disappears, leaving only you and the images. After that, all hell breaks loose.

You barely have time to think when you open your contacts and press the dial. You call his phone again and again to no response. That’s when you open your messages.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

R u joking me rn? Ur fucking CHEATING on me??

U have to be insane

This is crazy

UR CRAZY

Do u want me to die?? Is this how u treat me??

Answer ur damn phone Chris

Miserable fucking bastard

Chris <3: What the hell are you talking about?

Answer my damn calls

Where are u right now??

Ill find u rn

Im going to kill u

In the middle of your next spew of texts and violent threats, your phone rings. You hardly think before pressing the answer button and immediately yelling into the speaker.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? After everything I’ve done for you—”

“First of all, you haven’t done shit. Why are you blowing up my phone?”

His voice is quick to cut you off and his tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard. He’s pissed off, probably just as much as you are. Your grip on the phone tightens.

“Why am I blowing up your phone…? Are you serious? You’re out all damn night, feeling up other girls, and I should just stay quiet? What, did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I’m not with other girls? I told you I was going to Changbin’s party. Stop acting fucking crazy.” He retorts.

“Crazy?” You repeat. Something about the word sends waves of heat running through your body. You push back the blankets and sit up. “You think I’m crazy? I’ll show you fucking crazy. Don’t call me again.”

There’s a faint scoff on the other line. The sound of house music can be heard muffled in the background. “Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”

︶︶︶︶

You weren’t ready to accept that your friends were right. You fell in love too fast and ended up getting burned. The last few days have been spent hiding away in your apartment, trying not to rip your own hair out. Part of your heart yearned to crawl back to him, like a dog looking for water in Arizona heat. Another part of your heart wanted to watch him suffer the same way you were. You still watched his stories on a burner account. Seeing him still go to parties, still visiting friends made you outraged. You were supposed to be the best thing that happened to him—  He got a tattoo for you, after all. You were supposed to mean something to him.

The familiar taste of hard liquor helps you manage the stress, though. As unhealthy of a habit it was, it worked surprisingly well to help you forget. Well, you could never forget. You could never forget the lingering kisses and longing touches that set your skin on fire, but you could numb the pain of missing it.

You fidget with the empty, your mind blurred with heavy thoughts. You couldn’t understand the strange feeling of grief in your heart. How could you miss someone so badly when they only lived a few blocks away? At the thought, an idea pops into your head.

You slowly move from the couch and towards the storage closet in the hall. It was just as messy as your life was, but that wasn’t the point. You search deep into the back until you find exactly what you were looking for. Your old softball bat.

The walk to his house felt enthralling. Your entire body buzzed from head to toe with adrenaline and it seemed like for once, you were able to forget all about how upset you were. You could hardly care about the time of day, or night for this matter. Your feet drag along the concrete as you turn the block and spot the house he shared with a few buddies. Parked just outside the garage was Chris’s car. The same one that you shared your first kiss in. That was where you bawled your eyes out or indulged yourself in all his sweetness. The sight of it brought back a disgusting amount of memories. Memories you were ready to destroy.

Approaching the vehicle, you glance up towards the house. All the lights were off, so you assume everyone must be asleep. You let out a shaky breath and wind your arm back before swinging full force. The way the steel warps from the hit is almost mesmerizing. You wind up again and take another hit. This one sets off the blaring car alarm. You could care less if someone wakes up from it. You move to the side and take another hit, knocking out the passenger window. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

You are pulled from your stupor at the sound of someone yelling at you. Not someone, Chris. You could tell before turning around and even then, the sight of him looking at you from his open window brought a drunken smile to your face. His brows were so furrowed that they basically became one. He still manages to ignite such a fuzzy feeling inside of you no matter how much you convince yourself you hate his guts.

“Get the hell away from my car!” He shouts out, his hands gripping the windowsill. A few of the neighbors have begun to peer their heads out their doors or look through the blinds. You could care less about their eyes watching you. All you could focus on was Chris.

“I told you I would show you crazy, didn’t I!” You reply to him, holding out the bat for him to see. “This is your last time calling me crazy!”

Chris stares at you for a moment, completely bewildered. He grunts before slamming the window shut. You can only assume he’s coming down to stop you so you get your arm ready for one last hit. You raise your bat before slamming it down on the windshield. The glass cracks around the spot of impact and just as the front door opens, you take off running.

In a split second, you are returned back to that club. And he’s in front of you again, staring at you like you are nothing but garbage from his past. Your mouth is suddenly dry and it feels like no amount of alcohol will help it. You finally break eye contact and look down at the ground. In your peripheral, you noticed his bare wrist. He must have rolled his sleeves up. Despite that, something sticks out to you.

“You kept the tattoo…?” You murmur, looking back up at him. His face relaxes slightly and it was obvious he wasn’t expecting that question from you.

“Reminds me not to make mistakes. Like you.” He says, his tone flat.

“Geez, you’re still a dick…”

“You broke my fucking car windows.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t cheat on me.” You say. His lips twitch slightly like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. The air settling around the two of you is heavy.

“Something tells me you aren’t ready to let go.” He says as if it were fact.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, really.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. Something in you didn’t completely trust him. You know you shouldn’t. But, you know he’s right. Even months later, you weren’t ready to let go. You weren’t ready to let go of the memories and the dreams. You weren’t ready to let go of the man who gave you the best few months of your life.

“You ruined my life.” You say.

“You ruined mines, too. Let’s call it even.”

“... So I can call you again?”

Chris tilts his head at your question. After a moment, though, a sly smirk forms and you catch a glimpse of those beautiful dimples.

“Yeah, you can call. Only if you lay off the alcohol.”

[oddlylovingaddiction]

Part 1: here , Part 2: here , Part 3: here , Part 4: here , part 5: you’re here!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don't have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family, Reader x Conner “Kon-El” Kent (romantic.). Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest

TW: Angst, abuse in the form of neglect, descriptions of anxiety, reader’s dead mom gets brought up, pregnancy.

You made a good choice to spend the day in bed, your body felt almost like mush and you had no energy to do anything but relax in the comfort of your husband and bed. You could hear your joints pop every time you stretched almost like bubble wrap, your belly felt a comfortable full from the breakfast and lunch Conner and watching your favourite show? Absolute bliss.

But the gnawing feeling in your stomach is still somewhat there, and Conner notices it. “You feeling okay?” He nudges your side playfully making you laugh softly.

“I’m fine, I just think there’s just the residue of anxiety that’s kind of lining my heart, you know what I mean?”

He chuckles, “oh I know that feeling. It feels like it’s chewing on you.”

“Exactly!” You smile, happy he understands what you’re talking about. “Perhaps I feel this way because I’ll eventually have to talk to my family about what I saw… I’m really not looking forward to that conversation.”

There’s a moment of silence, you don’t expect him to reply just to listen. The TV sounds kind of muffled as you stare at his hand unconsciously, you can feel him staring at you as well. The setting sun gently cracks through your curtains and shines on both you and him, almost illuminating you both like you were some tragic scene from a movie. Two people who needed their family but ended up creating their own. Conner brings his hand down and towards your belly, gently touching it before awkwardly pulling away.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters which catches your attention, making you look up at his face.

“For what?” You ask confused at his sudden apologetic behaviour.

“The fact I didn’t tell you that your family were superheroes.” He whispers, his face scrunching like it was physically hurting him which earned a soft chuckle from you.

“Oh please, don’t be sorry. You didn’t know I was a Wayne. Still have my mother’s maiden name after all.”

“Yes but…”

“No, you didn’t know and you said it from the first time you revealed the fact you were superboy along with telling me about the other super Kents, that you didn’t want to tell me the other heroes identities to protect me. I respected that so neither of us knew.” You firmly reply, you don’t want him to feel guilty by your other family’s mistakes.

“Yes I know but if I had known that you were in that house and I had met you earlier maybe I could’ve protected you from getting hurt.” He genuinely looks like he’s about to cry. “I never want to see you crying. Especially the way you cried on the floor like that.”

You softly laugh again, “jeez, if I had known I was marrying such a caring man, I’d probably have married you sooner.” You pinch his nose teasingly, to which Conner makes a fake ‘gah!’ Sound like it’s personally hurting him even though it’s definitely not. Perks of being a super. “I remember the first time we met drunk at a bar and the next morning I remember I caught you trying to leave me your number on the nightstand.” You suppress your laughter. Conner groans at the memory.

“Don’t remind me of that okay?”

“Remind you of what? The fact you tried ditching your future spouse?”

“I wasn’t doing that! I had work to do and you were still asleep so I thought it would be okay since you would just call me later.” He whines dramatically

“I don’t knowww…. Seemed like I was nearly ditched, because how do I know you would’ve picked up?” You grin at his exasperated expression.

He trips over his words momentarily struggling to explain himself before he sighs, “You know what? Keep believing I was going to ditch you hot stuff, because no matter what in the end we got married and have a beautiful child on the way, so no matter what I see this as a win in my books.” He gloats patting your pregnancy bump, as you scoff playfully.

Conner gentle rests his hand there as you both bask in soft marital bliss before you both suddenly feel a soft kick.

“We should sign the kid up for kickboxing.” You laugh.

“Does it hurt or something?” He asks concern once again blooming on his face.

“Surprisingly yeah. It’s not super painful but still a bit uncomfortable. That’s the thing about pregnancy nobody tells you that the kicks hurt.” You shake your head shrugging.

“It’s lucky the baby can’t catch any sunshine otherwise those kicks would just hurt.” He huffs making you laugh.

“Yeah lucky me otherwise this would all be way messier. Thank god I’m not see through.”

“You may not be see through but I do have X-ray—“ he says making you laugh before getting cut off by his phone ringing.

He glances over at the phone and gives you an apologetic look, “one second love.” He says kissing you on the cheek before grabbing his phone and walking out the room. You decide to relax and rewind the movie since you both weren’t paying attention at all.

“WHAT THE HELL YOURE DATING ONE OF MY SIBLINGS AND YOU DIDNT TELL ME?” Tim yelled into the phone which made Conner wince and pull away, he did say he’d call Tim later but to be honest he was kinda just saying that to get Tim off his back.

“I didn’t even know dude! It’s not like you both share the last name either and you never mentioned having another sibling.” Conner groans annoyed that he had to be stripped away from his love, however he does his best not to be too mean to Tim, he is… was? his best friend. Honestly he’s not sure where he stands with Tim right now. The love of his life was neglected and Tim took part in that neglect, even if it wasn’t deliberate. But that doesn’t erase him and Tim’s history, he was someone on his side during the rocky times of his life before you came into the picture.

But Conner also knew about your history. It was something you bonded over late at night as you stared down at the city, both of you sat on the edge of a random building, he remembered that moment because he never felt more understood and in love in that moment. If you asked him it would probably be that moment he decided he wanted to marry you, not only because he felt seen but when you looked down at the traffic below, the soft yellow lit up your face making his heart feel like it had stop beating. He swore in his vows to protect you and not let you get hurt ever again, especially not like that.

And he’d be damned to the hell inside his head if he saw you on the floor crying again.

He knows you’re not bothered by the fact you were sobbing on the floor, he remembers you telling him about your childhood and how you used to do the same thing occasionally when something triggered the memories of your mother who you told him had passed, so it’s no wonder you’re probably less shaken up about that part. But he can’t get it out of his head.

“How could you not know?! We even look alike!” Tim squawked breaking Conner’s train of thought and bringing him back to reality as he furrowed his brow, pulling his phone away a second to think about what he just heard before putting it back to his ear.

“You’re both not even biological related to each other though?” Conner monotones.

“Still though.”

Conner rolls his eyes, before replying “anyways to be serious, I… I’m not sure what to do.”

“What do you mean ‘what to do’?” Tim replies confused, his voice a bit concerned.

“You know, I.. our friendship.” Conner pauses, the silence is deafening from the other line. He’s not sure what to do, he cares about both you and Tim. It’s just that if he were to choose, it would be you. “I want to stay friends but.. I just..”

“… I get it.” Tim’s voice doesn’t sound malicious or angry, maybe a little sad? But he didn’t sound like he was crying. “I understand man, A spouse and a child on the way, of course you’d be upset and worried especially about it all and you’d want to stand by their side, it’s only natural.” He paused not saying anything for a phew seconds before adding on.

“I never knew how much I was hurting my own damn sibling, I thought it was the right thing to do. I wish I never listened to Bruce, the damn man probably couldn’t tell a hug from a threat and now I can see not just I but this entire cursed family fucked things up royally.” Tim’s voice cracks as he sounds like he’s about to cry. “Hey… how is…” He trails off, too nervous to say your own name but Conner was the same way. The whole situation made your name feel like glass that could be shattered, it made them both nervous but Tim far more. Like he never deserved to say it in the first place.

“Doing well. We are just watching a movie in bed, it was a rough night but we are doing well, including the baby. To be honest I think we are lucky that nothing else happened, stress isn’t good for anyone especially pregnant people.” Conner gives a forced laugh trying to make the situation lighter.

“Yeah.” Is the only thing replies, and Conner winces when he hears soft sobs on the other line.

“Hey man. We.. are still friends. I still care about you… just right now-” Conner goes to say but is cut off.

“I’m not crying over that dumbass, it’s the fact I made someone cry like that… that’s making me cry.” Tim sniffles, and Conner internally sighs in relief because he really didn’t want it to be because of him. “I’m going to fix this okay? I’ll work on my family here, it’ll take a bit but just make sure both of you are okay alright?”

Conner smiles softly before replying, “Yeah, if you need help call me okay? Though knowing you, you probably will because I don’t mean to brag but I am literally super—“

“Alright wrap it up.” Tim snorts smiling softly, “I’ll… call you later.” He adds on softly

“Alright.”

Then Tim hangs up and Conner breathes a sigh of relief finally feeling like a small weight was lifted off his back but that didn’t the largest weight.

What about you? Will you end up reconciling with them? Do they really deserve your forgiveness? Abuse is abuse even done with the best intentions. It made him anxious. But for now he knows you are waiting for him in bed and that’s what he needs to focus on.

Worry can come later. You come first and always will.

[somuchforahobby]

hi! i was listening to illicit affairs today and it was so obiwan x reader coded. i was wondering if maybe you could write something about maybe master obi-wan x padawan reader where they were kinda maybe fwb(with hidden feelings) but now feelings are known and it kinda just turns angsty bc of the whole jedi code thing and maybe obi kinda starts to distance himself??? idk where im headed with you but hopefully you get the gist😭😭 anyways love your writing 🫶

Hiiii, thank you for your request. I hope this suffices your idea. This is the first time I write masterxpadawan; i think you can tell it is not really my vibe buuuuuut i tried my best while tiptoing the edges. I added an evermore reference too :p Summary: The above basically Word count: 2.5 k Warnings: Mature language - implied smut

“Pay attention,” the warm voice of your –new– master called, along with a gentle tug of your braid.

Your disdained eyes met his –nothing but kind– gaze before returning to the front, where Master Yoda explained the Trials to take.

***

“Are you alright?” His brows were furrowed as he leaned toward you, his hand catching your bicep before you could completely fall.

His touch made you uneasy. The perfect Jedi, so controlled, so disciplined. You thought of all the times you and your friends ranked him as the hottest Master in the Order.

Blushing, you stood straight in one swift movement. “Yeah, all good.”

“Don’t be nervous, you’ll do just fine.” His voice was meant to calm you, but his fingers on your skin were doing everything but.

***

“Master!” you whined when he took the holopad from your hands.

“Stop, you need to sleep.” He sat beside you on the couch.

“But the first exam is tomorrow.”

You leaned toward him, trying to grab it, but he held it just out of your reach.

“Precisely.” With your hand on his thigh, you pushed yourself higher, but he held your shoulders to keep you in place.

“I said stop.” His voice grew firmer, and the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t joking.

You sank back into your spot, looking at him with puppy eyes.

“You need to relax, or you’ll fail. Would you like to meditate together?” His warm baritone lingered in your ears.

“No.”

You knew it was foolish to act like this—reckless, upset, rebellious. But no matter what you told yourself, every time you faced him, you ended up doing the same. You needed the distance.

He sighed. “I understand you’re upset. I was… similar when I was your age.”

“At my age, you had already killed a Sith,” you interrupted, stepping defiantly closer.

“At your age, I had killed my master’s murderer.”

“I couldn’t even do that.” Tears gathered in your eyes, and you turned away to hide from him.

“I’m happy you didn’t,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “For you, my dear, I wish your heart never taints with the darkness of taking another being’s life.” With two fingers, he raised your chin toward him.

“But I’m to be a Jedi.” Tears fell freely down your cheek, his thumb now trying to catch them all.

“You are to be a Consoler. You are to negotiate this Galaxy out of war, not to fight it.”

You sniffled. “You’re the Republic’s greatest negotiator and still fight.”

His eyebrows rose in amusement. “And look where it has brought us.”

You scoffed.

His thumbs cleared your cheeks. “You are powerful, wise, smart—and you will pass your trials tomorrow, just as you would have passed them months ago. I believe in you.”

“Thank you” the words hurried out of your mouth.

His touch was burning your skin, your eyes dancing between his intense gaze and his lips.

“I should go” You stood up, walking to your room without looking back. “Goodnight, Master,” you muttered before closing the door.

***

“Congratulations” Obi-wan said with a smile, his hands hidden in his robe.

He had sent you a message to meet him in one of the higher balconies, nothing in sight but the bright Coruscanti sky and his bright blue eyes.

“Thank you, master”

“Don’t, I am hardly that.”

“In the books you are” You sighed, “in the books you have two knighted padawans”

He scoffed, “makes me sound so old” 

“What should I call you, then?” 

“You could call me Obi-wan” He offered you a hand.

With a smile, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug.

***

You stood before the High Council, balancing yourself between your toes and heels, a playful smirk on your lips as they explained your next mission.

“You are to gather intelligence” Master Windu explained.

Your eyes move lightly to steal a glance to your former master, crossed legged on the left.

Your signature nudged his and couldn't help the warmth that spread in your belly when you felt him playfully nudge back. The sly smirk on his lips could’ve passed as pride in his padawan, but the glistened look on his eyes was enough to raise your romantic delusions. *** The map predicted three days to arrive at Coruscant. You sighed, exhausted.

Your legs were growing numb in the small cockpit, your energy almost completely drained. 

“Requesting permission to land on an ally ship or planet for rest.” You sent the holo to the Council.

A flashing light on the panel alerted of an incoming message. 

You smiled at the figure of Obi-wan, looking even more handsome in armour.

“Sending you coordinates, I am nearby and, of course, you can rest a day or two.”

With a smile on your face you changed your destination.

***

“I’ll let the General know you’re here” Cody greeted as you landed. 

“Thanks” You smiled as you handed him the keys.

It had become regular that after some missions you found your former master’s ship to rest for a day or two, almost knowing its distribution and functioning like your own hand.

“Master?” You walked into his quarters to find him meditating on the floor.

His eyes glinted at the sight of you, saying your name with a smile. “How did it go?” He guided you to the sitting area.

You sank on the couch with a sigh, your fingers massaging your closed eyes. “Awful. I was forced to leave my lightsaber outside the negotiation room, I felt… naked” you scoffed. “But they are not joining the Separatists, we do have some… things to do on this planet to ensure it but, nothing too bad.” 

“What did they ask for?” His hand fell on your head, massaging away the growing migraine.

“A Jedi temple, for starters. And security, they want some clones.” You nuzzled closer to him.

“Mmm” His chest rumbled, “and how are you feeling?”

“Ahhh” you sighed, “exhausted, but also so tense.” Your head was on his chest now.

“Did your master ever explain to you how to decompress?”

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think so. What’s that?” You raised your sight to him, the angle making him look celestial.

Obi-wan moved to press his back against the couch, and grabbing a pillow he guided your head to lay on his lap. “It’s a relaxation method, in times like this is strongly recommended by the Order. But it’s different for everyone.” 

“What do you do?” 

“I meditate, mostly. Swimming also helps. It must be an activity that allows you to relax your body and mind, at the same time.” His hand continued to apply pressure on your temples.

“This” you patted his hand on your head, “works for me” you smiled with half lidded eyes.

He scoffed, “not entirely, your body is still tense.” 

You had to take a few deep breaths to loosen your shoulders and legs, but your back remained stiff.

“There are many methods, perhaps you could talk to your friends, try their methods and see.” 

“What does Anakin do?” 

You saw him try to swallow the embarrassment as he looked away, “he visits a certain Senator and engages in private activities with her.”

You smiled, “he fucks?”

You could see the blush rising through his neck, “I’ve never actually asked, but it’s my guess” 

“And the Order allows it?” 

He looked down on you, somewhat of a tease on his lips, “desperate times call for desperate measures.” 

“I guess I’ll try Anakin’s way” 

He looked away, suddenly very interested in the white of the ceiling. 

“Can I still come over to your ship to decompress?”

“Ah, well, if—“ he swallowed, “sure, I mean, yeah. There are plenty of rooms, just, uh, let me know—or Cody, uh, so you can have privacy. And of course the clearing of your—mmm—plus one.”

You smiled at his awkwardness, your hand rising to touch his arm.

“I wouldn’t bring anyone” 

“No? Uh, well you can ask the guys if they’d be, mmm, interested? Not that there’s a reason not to, just, eh, you know, boundaries, consent and all.” 

“Would you?”

“ASK THEM?” He finally turned down to see you, his eyes widened in horror and a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. “I think that’s not something they should discuss with their General.” 

You laughed. “No!” 

He sighed, looking away from your face. 

“Would you be interested?” 

His gaze returned to you, but the shyness had been cast away. In his eyes you found something darker. “It is not appropriate.”

“I did not ask that” your fingers found his nape, threading locks of luscious hair.

His eyes closed at the sensation, and through the Force you felt his hesitation. 

“These are desperate times, General. And I need your guidance.”

That was the last thing you said before he lost himself on your lips, his fingers quickly finding their new place beneath your navel.

***

The cloak covered his head in a way you could only see the tip of his nose. 

You smiled to yourself as he took it off, dropping it on a sofa.

“The Temple is not my favourite place to do this,” Obi-wan said as a way of greeting.

“You could leave the logistics to me” You stood from your seat, locking your hands around his neck, “Just wait for my arrival, and considering your room is bigger than mine… would be the wiser course of action.”

His hands quickly found your waist, “yeah, and have you walking around the master’s wing? why not?” 

You pushed yourself on your toes to kiss him with a muffled smile.

***

“Master” you called when he pulled away to breathe.

“Don’t” he swallowed, “don’t call me that” he continued nipping his way down your neck. “Feels wrong”

You tugged at his pants, pushing them down his hips. 

He panted on your collarbone.

“Does it?” 

***

He was leaning against the headboard, a holopad on his hand, reviewing the latest mission report. Your head rested against his chest, you were reading on your own, but from the romantic novel holo he brought you on his latest trip to the capital.

His fingers danced on your skin as a way to soothe himself, while the rhythmic beat of his heart grounded you.

***

“MASTER” Anakin yelled from the other side of the door. 

You rolled your eyes as Obi-wan stood up, grabbing a robe on his way to the door, and out of your eyesight.

“Yes?” 

“I would like to review some strategies before bed. What are you doing?”

“Uhhh, flexing”

“Cool, can I come in?”

“No”

Anakin laughed, “Come on, master.”

You hurried to hide beneath the covers, that way he’ll know there’s someone here but won’t know who.

His footsteps came to a halt by the end of the bed.

“MASTER” He laughed as he yelled, his footsteps growing fainter with every step. “A little heads up would’ve been nice” Anakin was giggling like a youngling.

“I told you you couldn’t come in!” Obi-wan scolded him. 

“Put a sock on the door or something” 

You heard the whoosh of the door and you uncovered your eyes to find Obi-wan walking back to you, a deep blush in his face.

“A heads up would have been nice indeed.” You teased.

Tumbling in bed next to you, he pressed his lips to yours, moving to continue the job where he left it.

***

Your head was spinning when you managed to land. 

“Welcome back, ma’am.” Cody’s easy smile made you feel safe.

You’re hurrying to move, but your legs failed to respond. The last thing you saw before blacking out was Obi-wan running your way.

When you woke up he was next to you, along with a medical droid.

“hey” you managed a sly smile. 

“Good morning, my dear” his thick coruscanti accent filled your ears. “How’s your head?” Obi-wan sat next to you on the little medical bed.

You smiled, “never had any complaints” 

He blushed, his hand rising to your cheek, “You scared the living Force out of me” 

“I’m sorry. It was selfish of me, come all this way just to crash out.” You scoffed, “all I kept thinking was that I wanted you to be the last thing I saw.”

He looked at you with concern in his eyes. “Why?” 

Your medicated and weak state had your mind bubbling, “because I love you” you spat.

Obi-wan did not reply, instead he leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead before leaving the medical bay.

***

You were discharged three days later.

Three days where Obi-wan had not returned to see you.

So you hopped on your ship and left without saying goodbye.

***

He says your name like he’s hurting, staring at you gravely. “Now that the war is over I would very much like to see you back in the Temple, where we can discuss…what happened. Please send me a message as soon as you receive this.” 

You repeated it every few days in the loneliness of your rooms, but still ignored him when you passed by him in the hallways.

***

The High Council congratulated you on your last mission, forming a smile on your face.

“A wise Jedi you became, a padawan you can take” Master Yoda said with a sly smile.

“Thank you, masters. I will meet the initiates later today and let the Force guide me.” 

“In this new phase, you shall concur with your former master for guidance.” Master Windu stated.

You nodded with a smile, “I’ll be happy to” you turned to Obi-wan with a wide smile.

One that everyone saw as natural but he knew it was not. With a wink his way, you left the room after bowing your respects.

***

“That’s enough” He whispered in your ear as his fingers wrapped on your bicep, pulling you inside a utility room. “We need to talk.” His blue eyes embedded in yours.

“No, we don’t”  you shrugged his hand off. 

“Darling, please” his voice is coarse.

“Don’t darling me” your immediate response came harsher than you expected it, a raw reaction of a still open wound, “there is nothing to talk about. I said I love you, you didn’t say it back, what’s left to say?” 

His hands found your shoulders, grounding himself, his lips were in a thin line. “its not that I don't feel the same, but” a sigh left his lips, “the Council is never going to accept it.”

You scoffed, “too bad we don’t know anybody in the Council that can negotiate changes for the Order.” Your head moved sideways in disbelief. “I really need to go.” 

He stopped you again, “we need some sort of closure”

This time you pushed him away, “I don’t need it!”

“I can feel your anger brewing.” He said in his infuriatingly wiser voice.

“And I am fine with it, alright?”

“Hate leads to—“

“To the same place where love leads! Seems like you will be my ruin either way.” You pushed the button door. “What I need is for this to die.” 

You allowed yourself one last look before turning away.

His blue eyes seemed brighter with the line of water threatening to fall down, his knuckles white and lips quivering. A single nod was the only response you got.

A tear rolled down your cheek, “Goodbye, Master.”

You cleaned your face with the back of your hand as you walked back into the busy hall of the Temple.

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Rick’s parents

Since we got some hints of Rick’s parental issues this episode, I thought it would be interesting to talk about headcanons!

(credit to Summathyne for editing the photo we see in child Rick’s bedroom in Rickternal Friendshine of the Spotless Mort)

We have (slightly) more information about Rick’s dad, so I’ll start with him. We know that Rick craves his approval due to his request for Unity to have ‘the stands packed with every man that remotely resembles my father’ and their subsequent chanting of ‘go, son, go!’. Additionally, based on their appearance, he seems to have worn glasses and formal clothing (tie and shirt). In the photo, he seems more physically distant, not touching Rick or Rick’s mother. My headcanon is that he was clever and valued intelligence, but that he disapproved of Rick’s more abstract ‘sci-fi’ ideas since he didn’t think it was realistic, hence Rick’s desire for approval from him. I see him working a well-paid but ‘boring’ job that used his smarts, something like an accountant. I think he would’ve been emotionally unavailable at best and cruel at worst, based on both Rick’s personality and desire for his approval.

Rick’s mom seems more affectionate here, although this could be just for show or purely in physical terms. She’s only touching Rick, so maybe her relationship with Rick’s dad wasn’t good? This would make sense for Rick’s attitudes towards marriage/relationships that persist even into S7. We’ve never heard anything about her from Rick, so it’s a lot harder to draw conclusions. However, his lack of mentioning her makes me think that she was either ‘better’ than his dad (so he doesn’t seek her approval in the same way, similar to Beth), or much worse (so he doesn’t want to think about her). I do think it’s interesting that she looks a bit like Diane. If she was nicer to Rick than his dad was, it could make sense as to why he found comfort in Diane’s presence. Even though both of Rick’s parents are obviously dressed up for the photo, she looks especially so, making me think she might be kind of ‘high society’ or concerned with appearances. Then again, Rick is just wearing a t-shirt, so maybe not. While Rick has never mentioned his own mother, he does call out the White House guy for being a bad son for not knowing his mother’s address in The Rickchurian Mortydate, which could show that Rick valued her.

Finally, I want to address the ‘Uncle Slo’ reveal in Unmortricken. Rick calling him uncle means that he was likely related to one of Rick’s parents (by blood or by marriage), a close family friend, or otherwise an adult who had some significance in Rick’s life when he was a kid. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like it’s common in a lot of Latin American cultures to refer to people older than you as aunt/uncle, so there would be a lot of ways Rick could’ve known him. However, Prime says ‘still family though’, which makes me think that he was related to Rick or close enough with the family to be considered part of it. Slo Mobius’ wife is the same ‘species’ as him, so perhaps he was adopted or a close family friend. My headcanon is that he’s Rick’s dad’s brother and Rick’s dad hates his time powers.

Anyway, what are your thoughts/headcanons?

[sturnzsblog]

Not worth it 4

Summary: Y/N never planned on falling in love with a gangster — until she met Matt. Mysterious, dangerous, and fiercely loyal, he drags her into a world of crime, secrets, and bloodshed. What starts as passion turns into obsession, violence, and survival.

warnings: Violence & gun use, Murder / blood / graphic scenes, Kidnapping / captivity, Torture / psychological manipulation, Mentions of death, trauma, & PTSD, Toxic relationship dynamics, Jealousy / possessive behavior,Alcohol / drug mentions,Language / explicit content (sexual & violent),Loss / grief, Mental health struggles (depression, anxiety, dissociation),References to past abuse (implied),Emotional manipulation / codependency

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The morning light sliced through the blinds like thin razors, turning the room gold and sharp. I lay still in Matt’s bed, curled up beneath one of his worn hoodies, the weight of the night pressing into my chest like I’d never get up again. The memory looped in my head on repeat — the man’s face, the way his hands had gripped me, the panic, the scream that never left my throat… and then the shot.

The recoil.

The silence after.

I pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help. It couldn’t. My skin felt too thin. My soul felt cracked down the middle.

I hadn’t cried last night. Not after we got home. Not even in the car with Matt gripping the steering wheel so hard it left marks. But now, in the quiet of the morning, my body betrayed me. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks, soaking into the collar of his hoodie.

The sound of a door creaking open made my breath catch.

Matt.

I heard his footsteps — slow, uncertain — then the shuffle of him pausing just outside the bedroom. I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

Maybe he’d go. Maybe he couldn’t look at me the same anymore.

But the bed dipped beside me, and a familiar calloused hand rested gently on my thigh.

“I know you’re awake,” he said softly.

I didn’t answer. Just breathed, barely.

His hand stayed there for a long time. Not pushing. Not asking. Just… there.

Finally, I turned over, my eyes meeting his. He looked exhausted. Pale. Haunted in a way I’d never seen before.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I whispered.

Matt nodded. “Me either.”

We stared at each other for a long beat. My throat burned.

“I killed someone, Matt.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “You saved yourself.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “It doesn’t.”

He reached out, cupping my face. “Come on. Shower. You need it.”

⸻

The water was too hot, but I didn’t care. I sat on the floor of the shower, knees to my chest, as steam curled around me like smoke.

My sobs were silent at first. Just the kind that shake your ribs and leave you gasping for air.

Then I felt arms around me — warm, solid, Matt.

He was fully clothed. Wet. Kneeling behind me, pulling me into his lap as if I could fall apart at any second. Maybe I already had.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, again and again. “I’ve got you.”

I turned in his arms and pressed my forehead into his chest.

“I didn’t want to do it,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said.

“Does it make me like them?”

“No. Never.”

I looked up at him. “Do you still see me the same?”

His eyes softened. “I see you clearer. Stronger than you know.”

I kissed him then — not out of desire, but out of desperation. A plea for connection, for something to make me feel human again. He kissed me back, slow and steady, before pulling away gently.

“Not now,” he said. “You need to breathe first.”

So I did. With him. In his arms. For as long as I needed.

~

By nightfall, I wasn’t ready — but I went anyway.

I sat in the passenger seat of Matt’s car, eyes fixed out the window as the city flickered past in smears of red and yellow. My hands rested in my lap, cold and stiff. Matt’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white. Neither of us spoke.

The job was simple. A meet-and-scan. We weren’t supposed to engage — just monitor a suspected drop between a mid-level supplier and a contact from a rival crew. Chris and Nate were already posted outside the back alley, and Skye was running recon from a cafe across the street.

Me? I was bait.

“You’re sure about this?” Matt asked suddenly, his voice slicing through the tension.

I turned my head, meeting his eyes in the glow of passing streetlights. “Are you asking because you don’t think I’m ready, or because you don’t want me involved?”

His jaw tensed. “Both.”

I gave a weak smile. “Too late either way.”

He didn’t reply. Just sighed, pulled over, and handed me the earpiece.

“I’ll be watching,” he said, brushing his knuckles down my cheek. “Don’t try to be a hero.”

I swallowed. “I won’t.”

⸻

The alley reeked of sour garbage and gasoline. I slipped through the shadows, heels light against cracked pavement, the echo of my breath loud in my ears. Chris’s voice buzzed quietly in the comm.

“Target entering from the north side. Heads up, Y/N.”

My heart pounded as I rounded the corner, pretending to be lost. I pulled out my phone and glanced around with feigned confusion. A man stepped out from a side door — tall, greasy hair slicked back, eyes that ran down my body like a scan. He looked like a wolf in human skin.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he drawled. “You lost?”

I blinked. Played innocent. “I—I was looking for the metro.”

“You’re far from it.” He stepped closer, slow. Predatory. “But lucky me.”

Chris’s voice was in my ear. “That’s him. Keep him talking.”

I nodded slightly, then looked up at the man. “Do you work around here?”

He smiled like he knew something I didn’t. “Something like that.”

I laughed softly. “You don’t look like a desk job kind of guy.”

He chuckled and closed the distance. “I can show you what kind of guy I am.”

Before I could respond, his hand darted out — fast — and grabbed my wrist.

My heart seized.

I tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, yanking me forward until my back hit the wall. I gasped as he shoved me, one arm pinning me by the throat. Cold metal pressed into my side — a gun.

I froze.

“You think I don’t know why you’re here?” he hissed, lips inches from my ear. “You’re one of them. Pretty little spy. Think you can fool me?”

“I don’t—” I started to say, voice choked.

His hand slid to my waist, fingers creeping. “I could ruin you right here. Leave you a message for your boyfriend.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“Please—don’t—”

I wiggled under his grip, struggling, breath cutting short. My fingers clawed at his arm, trying to find space between his hand and my throat. My other hand reached low, slowly, quietly—

He didn’t see me pull the small pistol from beneath my waistband until it was pointed at his foot.

His eyes widened.

I pulled the trigger.

Once. hit him in the big toe.

i think

The sound was deafening.

He dropped instantly, crumpling to the ground, a gurgled breath escaping his lips. I stumbled back, choking on air and adrenaline, hands shaking violently.

“Y/N?! What happened?!” Matt’s voice thundered in my ear.

“I… I had to—” I couldn’t finish.

Chris was the first one to reach me, followed by Matt, who looked like a madman storming through the alley. He caught me just as I collapsed into him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered over and over again. “You did what you had to do.”

But I did feel okay.

I actually felt great?

The ride back to the safehouse was silent, heavy — the kind of silence that screamed.

I was still in Matt’s lap in the back seat, my head pressed against his chest, the rest of the crew scattered in their own vehicles. I barely remembered how I got here. My gun was gone. My dress was torn at the collar. My throat burned from where he’d held me.

Matt hadn’t let go of me since he picked me up from the alley floor. His hands were tight around me now, as if he feared I’d disappear if he blinked.

“Does it hurt?” he finally whispered, voice like gravel.

I shook my head slowly. “Not like it should.”

He kissed my temple. “You’re safe now.”

But I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t even feel real.

As we neared the penthouse, a strange tension built in my chest. Something wasn’t right.

That’s when the first bullet cracked the passenger mirror.

Chris cursed from the front seat, jerking the wheel hard. “Fuck! They found us!”

Matt pushed my head down instinctively, covering me with his body as another shot rang out.

“It’s an ambush!” Nate shouted through the comm. “Three cars behind us—same tags as the rival crew from the club!”

“Everyone split!” Matt barked into his mic. “Safehouse protocol!”

The car screeched into an alley. I could hear the rubber burning beneath us as Chris took the corner at a deadly speed. Matt gripped my hand.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I blinked up at him.

“If anything happens, you run. Got it? You don’t stop. You don’t look back.”

“No,” I whispered, grabbing his shirt. “I’m not losing you.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not planning to let that happen.”

More gunfire.

Screams.

Glass shattered.

The car jolted violently as we hit a barricade, sending me and Matt tumbling against the seat. Chris cursed again, bleeding from his temple.

“They’re on foot now!” Nate’s voice crackled through.

Matt looked at me, eyes wild and feral. “Stay here.”

“Matt—”

“Stay.”

And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

I stayed curled in the backseat, panting, ears ringing. The shots grew louder. Closer. Then — silence.

Dead silence.

I opened the door slowly and crept out, trembling legs dragging me down the alley, heels crunching glass.

“Matt?” I whispered.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Not Matt.

A man — tall, built, unfamiliar. He smirked when he saw me and started walking faster.

My heart seized.

I turned and bolted.

His footsteps pounded behind me.

I didn’t have a gun. Didn’t even have my phone. All I had was fear and adrenaline.

I turned a corner — and slammed straight into someone’s chest.

Strong arms wrapped around me instantly.

I screamed.

“Y/N! It’s me—Matt!”

I gasped, burying my face in his chest. “He—he was behind me—”

Matt didn’t hesitate. He shoved me behind him, gun raised. A beat passed… but no one came.

We waited another moment before he turned and cupped my face.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded frantically.

He looked like he didn’t believe me.

⸻

We finally made it back hours later — bruised, breathless, bloodied.

Matt didn’t speak to anyone. He just carried me straight to our bedroom, closed the door, and collapsed onto the bed with me.

He pulled me into his arms, our bodies tangled, his forehead pressed against mine.

“I can’t keep watching you get hurt,” he whispered. “I’ll fucking lose my mind.”

I pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t want this either. I didn’t sign up for war.”

Matt nodded slowly, brushing a piece of glass from my hair. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

I nodded, chest tight.

We stayed that way for a long time. Quiet. Breathing.

Then Matt tilted my chin up and kissed me — slow, deliberate, full of all the pain and tenderness he couldn’t put into words.

And the rest of the night was ours.

taglist 💋

@n00dl3zzz @pip4444chris @sturnzzlovee @bernardmatthews @xsturnkay @katiebae333 @dummyslut00 @eszt1 @kalel2005 @nessaisabelartemas333 @sturnxvibes @jaybirdie34 @izzylovesmatt @sturnxluvv @courta13

[anonymousewrites]

Nobody's Soldier (Book 1) Chapter Twenty-One

Found Family! Supernatural x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Bullies and Victims

Summary: (Y/N), Dean, and Sam learn that bullying is more complicated than it seems.

            “We came back here so you could talk to a teacher?” said Dean, impala parked in front of Truman High. It was empty, after school hours having arrived, but the teachers would still be there.

            “He’s a good guy,” said Sam.

            “Well, whatever,” said Dean. “Go have your Robin Williams ‘O Captain! My Captain!’ moment. Just make it quick.”

            “You know that movie?” said (Y/N). Dean pretended to be so macho all the time that it was a surprise.

            “No,” lied Dean, putting on Led Zeppelin while Sam got out of the car. He hummed along to the song, and (Y/N) watched Sam walk into Truman High.

            “So you guys went to high school?” said (Y/N).

            “We changed schools every other month, but yeah, kinda,” said Dean. “Not everyone has a mom and dad to teach them like you.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. They leaned forward to the front seat. “It’s just so…weird to imagine you guys in high school.”

            “It was weird for us too,” said Dean. “It was always new schools, new ‘friends,’ and the old news we’d leave again.”

            (Y/N) nodded slowly, coming to appreciate that, despite being hunters, their parents had really fought to give them a semi-normal childhood.

            “And then, before Sammy grew big and tall, he got some dicks bothering him,” huffed Dean. “And he wouldn’t let me stop them.”

            “Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself or the bullying will get worse,” said (Y/N).

            “You think so?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I didn’t go to public school, but I saw how these kids acted. The bullies aren’t gonna stop just because someone tells them to. They stop when the person they’re bothering makes them.”

            “Like you did?” said Dean, glancing back.

            “That guy called me a queer,” said (Y/N), scowling. “So I called him a dick, and he got pissy.”

            “Fair reason to hit him,” said Dean, raising a fist, and (Y/N) fist-bumped him. “Shouldn’t call you that.”

            “I mean, it’s true, but it’s not an insult,” said (Y/N), shrugging casually.

            “It’s not,” agreed Dean firmly, and (Y/N) watched him stare out of the care with a strange look on his face.

            Huh. (Y/N) tilted their head.

            “Dean! (Y/N)!” Sam ran out of the school, panting. “It didn’t work.”

            “What?” said Dean, frowning.

            “A girl got possessed and attacked me,” panted Sam. “I fed her salt and took her to the nurse, but—”

            “That means Barry wasn’t our ghost,” said (Y/N).

            The case wasn’t finished.

l

            “That ghost is dead,” said Dean as Sam poured alcohol over the cut left on his arm. “I’m gonna rip its lungs out.”

            “Do ghosts have lungs?” said (Y/N), and Dean shrugged, angry enough to make it happen.

            “It knew my name,” said Sam slowly. “My real name. We burned Barry’s bones. What the hell?”

            “Well, maybe it wasn’t Barry. Maybe we missed something,” said Dean. “We just got to go back.” He stared at the files on each of the kids who had been possessed. He frowned. “No way. How did we not see this before?”

            “What?” asked (Y/N).

            “Check it out,” said Dean, taking out a page. “Look, Martha Dumptruck, Revenge of the Nerds, and Hello Kitty—”

            And he keeps saying he’s not a nerd, thought (Y/N). That was a lot of references in one sentence.

            “—They all rode the same bus,” said Dean.

            “Okay, so maybe the bus is haunted,” said Sam.

            “Well, that would explain why there’s no EMF at the school but not the attacks,” said Dean. “I mean, ghosts are tied to the places that they haunt. They can’t just bail.”

            Sam frowned. “Unless this one can.”

            “Huh?” said (Y/N).

            “There’s lore about spirits possessing people and riding them for miles,” said Sam. “Then, whenever they leave the body, they’re bunged back to their usual haunt. But until then, the ghosts can go wherever they want.”

            “So the ghost grabs someone on the bus and walks around in their body until it attacks someone, exhausts itself, and is thrown back to the bus?” said (Y/N).

            “It’s possible,” said Sam, shrugging.

            “Ghosts getting creative—well, that’s super,” grumbled Dean. “Guess we have a bus to look at.”

l

            A drive and broken lock later, Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) were in the haunted buss. The EMF meter beeped rapidly, showing this was indeed the right vehicle.

            “Definitely ain’t clean,” said Sam.

            “Here, ghosty, ghosty, ghosty,” said Dean, holding a salt-loaded sawed-off shotgun. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

            “I’m sure waving the gun around will get it to come out,” said (Y/N), looking around.

            “Well, where’s it gonna go without a body?” said Dean, shrugging.

            “Man, I don’t get it,” said Sam. “No ever died on this bus, and it’s not like there’s a body hidden in here.”

            “Yeah, but a flap of skin, a hair, I mean, hell, a hangnail, something’s got to be tying the ghost to this place. We just got to find it.”

            “Right,” said (Y/N), looking carefully at each seat.

            Dean sat at the front of the bus and rifled through the objects kept in the glove compartment by the driver. A book, a bible, some papers…He paused and frowned. “Got a new driving permit. Issued two weeks ago.”

            “Just before the first attack,” said Sam, heading to Dean.

            “Who is it?” asked (Y/N).

            “Dirk McGregor, Sr,” said Dean. “39 North Central Avenue.”

            “McGregor?” said Sam.

            “Yeah,” said Dean. “Why?”

            “I knew his son,” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            “You’re weirdly connected to this case,” said (Y/N). “Which makes sense since the ghost knew your name.”

            “How did you know him?” asked Dean.

            “He bullied a lot of kids. I…beat him up,” said Sam, grimacing.

            “Good for you,” said Dean firmly.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            Sam just grimaced. If this was it amounted to…he wasn’t sure he was proud of it. “We should talk to McGregor Sr.” He needed to focus on the case. “See what he has to do with the case.”

            “Right,” said Dean.

l

            “So, you were friends with Dirk?” asked McGregor, looking at Sam.

            “Yes, sir, during high school,” lied Sam.

            “I don’t recall Dirk having many friends at Truman,” said McGregor, sighing sadly. “Here, sit. Sit down.” He kindly gestured to the couch and armchair across from him.

            The hunters sat down.

            “When did, uh, when did Dirk pass?” asked Dean.

            “He was eighteen,” said McGregor, looking down at his hands. The death of his son weighed heavily on him.

            “What happened to him?” asked Sam.

            “Well, there was, first, drinking, then drugs, and then too many drugs,” said McGregor, swallowing.

            (Y/N) kept carefully still and silent as the father spoke of his son.

            “And then he just slipped through my fingers,” said McGregor. “It was my fault. I should have seen it coming, you know? Dirk, he, uh—well, he had his troubles.”

            “Troubles?” asked (Y/N), trying to keep their tone gentle.

            “School was never easy for Dirk,” said McGregor. “We didn’t have much money, and, well, you know, kids—they can be cruel. They picked on him.”

            Just like he picked on others, thought (Y/N). Well, when you treat people like shit, they might, just might, start to dislike you. They grimaced. That was not a nice thought they’d just had.

            “They picked on him?” said Sam, furrowing his brow. Dirk had been the bully when he’d been at Truman.

            McGregor nodded. “They called him poor and dirty and stupid. They even had a nickname for him—Dirk the Jerk.”

            Sam swallowed. He had given that name to Dirk.

            “And after what happened to his mother…” McGregor shook his head.

            “His mother?” said Sam.

            “Yeah, Jane, my wife,” said McGregor. “She died when Dirk was thirteen. Cancer.”

            Sam swallowed. He’d beat up and given a nickname to a kid who’d just lost his mother. He knew how difficult that could be.

            “I was working three jobs, so it fell to Dirk to take care of her,” said McGregor.

            (Y/N) felt like the universe was slapping them for their earlier rude comments.

            “And he was a great kid. He made sure Jane got her medicine,” said McGregor. “He helped her, cleaned up after her. But you know, you—you watch somebody die slow, waste away to nothing…” His gaze fell. “It does things to a person. Horrible things.”

            “I didn’t know about his mother,” said Sam, voice strained.

            “He-He wouldn’t talk about her,” said McGregor. “Not even to me. Lot of anger in that boy.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Sam softly.

            “Well…” said Dean. “We’d really like to pay our respects, Mr. McGregor. Um…do you mind telling us where Dirk is buried?”

            So we can dig him up and burn his bones? thought (Y/N).

            “Oh, he wasn’t,” said McGregor. “I had him cremated.”

            (Y/N), Sam, and Dean paused. If he was cremated, then how was he a ghost?

            McGregor swallowed sadly. “All except for a lock of hair.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “To remember him by.” The Victorians did that.

            McGregor nodded. “I keep it in my Bible, on the bus. That way he’s with me.”

            (Y/N) almost felt bad that they had to burn that lock of hair and take away a father’s reminder of his son. Almost. The ghost had to go.

l

            “Where’s the bus?” Dean stared at the empty spot where the bus had been.

            “Not here,” said Sam, grimacing.

            “Why the hell not?” groaned Dean.

            (Y/N) pursed their lips. “Because the football team is traveling for a game.”

            Sam and Dean looked at them. “A whole bus full of jocks is being driven around with a ghost that wants to kill guys like them?” said Dean.

            “Uh, yeah,” said (Y/N).

            “Where are they playing?” said Sam. Dean could get the impala to the bus. Baby had the speed.

l

            Pop! The bus’s wheels hit the nails Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) had laid out and swerved off the road. It slid to a rough stop, and (Y/N) was glad it didn’t flip over or hit anything. The rough terrain was enough friction to stop it without any danger to the students inside. Plus, the bus had clearly been speeding up, and (Y/N) knew that meant Dirk had a new victim.

            The bus driver stepped out of the bus, and (Y/N) saw a thick black liquid dripping from his nose. Ectoplasm. Dirk had a body to use.

            “Dirk!” shouted Sam, and Dirk turned to face him. Sam held his shotgun of salt tightly.

            “Winchester,” sneered Dirk. “What are you gonna do, shoot me?”

            “Don’t need to,” said Sam.

            Dean jumped out from behind Dirk and threw a rope around his arms, restraining Dirk, who thrashed against it.

            “That rope is soaked in saltwater, Dirk,” said Sam. “You’re not going anywhere.”

            Dean darted into the bus to cover. “Alright, everybody, stay where you are. You’ll be okay.” The students and coach looked at him in confusion.

            “Aren’t you the P.E. teacher?” said one boy in confusion.

            “Not really. I’m like ’21 Jump Street,’ ” said Dean. “The bus driver sells pot. Yeah. Gotta arrest him.” He noticed the boy’s distinctive bruise and narrowed his eyes. Leaning towards him, he said and spoke lowly. “Call another kid a slur and I’ll personally remind you not to, got it?”

            The teenage boy swallowed and nodded nervously, no idea how Dean knew about it but terrified.

            “You got it?” said (Y/N), holding their shotgun towards Dirk.

            Dean rifled through the Bible. “It’s not here!”

            (Y/N) looked at Dirk. “Where is it?”

            “No way you’ll every find it,” sneered Dirk.

            Sam grabbed Dirk’s collar and slammed him against the bus. “Where is it?!”

            Dean exited the bus and stood with Sam and (Y/N).

            “Sam Winchester,” said Dirk. “Still a bully. You…You jocks. You popular kids.” he looked at them all, and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. On no planet were they one of the cool kids or jocks. “You always thought you were better than everybody else. And to you, I was just Dirk the Jerk, right? Now you evil sons of bitches are gonna get what’s coming to you!”

            “I’m not evil, Dirk,” said Sam lowly. Swallowing, he let go and stepped back. “I’m not.” Was he convincing Dirk or himself? “And neither were you. Trust me. I’ve seen real evil. We were scared and miserable, and we took it out on each other—us and everybody else. That’s high school. But you suffer through that, and it gets better. I’m just sorry you didn’t get a chance to see that. You or Barry.”

            “Nothing is gonna get better for me,” seethed Dirk. “Not ever.” He strained, and the ropes broke. Surging forward, Dirk reached for Sam.

            He raised his shotgun and fired. Once, twice. The bus driver collapsed as Dirk was expelled from his body.

            Wham! (Y/N) was tackled by a football player, now possessed by Dirk. They let out a cry as they hit the ground. Dean grabbed the shotgun they dropped and fired. Dirk jerked but didn’t get expelled, anger fueling him. Sam raised his shotgun, and Dirk lunged, punching him. (Y/N) shook themself off and pulled themself to their feet.

            “Find the hair!” said Sam as he grappled with Dirk. Dirk landed a punch, and Sam groaned.

            (Y/N) darted into the bus and went through the glove compartment. “No there! Check the driver, Dean!”

            Dean knelt by the bus driver and felt his pockets. “Sorry, man, this isn’t what it looks like.” Nothing in the pockets, and Sam was taking a beating. In a moment of desperation, Dean pulled the driver’s shoes off, and a lock of hair tumbled out. Dean fumbled with his lighter, cursing as the spark failed to become a flame.

            “Light it up!” said (Y/N), tossing their lighter to Dean, who flicked it on and touched the hair.

            “Aaaah!” Dirk let out a cry as the hair burnt and his spirit went with it. A black haze rose from the body he was possessing, and it become fiery sparks as it fled into the air. The football player’s body slumped over, empty of a spirit. Dirk was gone.

l

            “How was it?” said (Y/N) as Sam returned from his actual talk with Mr. Wyatt.

            Sam’s brow was furrowed. “It was…good.” He was left with a lot of thoughts.

            “You okay?” said Dean, seeing his expression.

            Sam sighed as he sat back in his seat in the impala. “It’s just…I helped make this ghost. I was just as bad as Dirk. I made fun of him and lashed out at him like he did with other people.”  That wasn’t all he was thinking of, but some things had to remain inh is mind. Dean wouldn’t ever understand the desire to leave this job. He was committed forever while Sam wanted more. He wanted peace. He wanted happiness.

            “It’s not your fault,” said Dean. “He was a dick and you stood up to him.”

            “I gave him a name that haunted him,” said Sam. “It is my fault.”

            “No,” said (Y/N). “He didn’t need to keep killing and hurting people after his death. People always have chance. You were a kid. He was a kid. You both made mistakes, but you tried to become a better person, and he didn’t. That’s sad, but it’s not your fault.”

            Sam let out a scoffing chuckle. “You were also fighting people. What if they’re going through a hard time?”

            “Then it’s still wrong of them to take it out on me,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. “People get consequences of their actions. And context explains behavior but doesn’t excuse it.”

            “Wise words from the fourteen-year-old,” teased Dean.

            “Hey, I’m right,” said (Y/N). “But I guess if that guy I hit was having a tough time, I’d hit him and then tell him to stop taking his anger out on other people. It’s still a dick move.”

            Sam chuckled, still not convinced of his innocence but glad that someone saw him as not evil. People saw him moving closer to that every day. Guilt flashed through him as he thought of Ruby, demon blood, and his false promise to stop.

            “See, Sammy? If the kid can see it, you can, too,” said Dean.

            “Right,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) smiled, Dean grinned, and Sam managed a small smile.

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