#are horrible at self care without meaning to be

[illustrate-her]

@that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction posted about wanting to read at Merlin/Musketeers crossover fic with Merlin in the 17th century timeline, and for some reason it just jumped into my head, and I wrote this thing in about two hours whilst trying to convince my stubbornly awake toddler to gtf to sleep.

Un-beta’d, very quick and dirty.

Tags: angst, insanity, mentions of serious injury, stuff like that.

___

Time slips on, and on occasion, Merlin will let his sanity slip with it. He keeps half a finger pressed against the magic inside of him, because he knows it will tell him when Arthur returns. Alright - he hopes it will tell him. His opinion on the trustworthiness of magic tends to ebb and flow with the years, and whether or not he is in a particularly bleak period at the time.

Merlin allows himself that too: a decade here or there to really wallow in the awfulness, the loneliness of it. After a couple of hundred years he begins to realise a pattern, that he makes himself Emrys when he is feeling miserable, and allows the hopefulness of his younger body to propel him back into purpose and the will to carry on. 

The sanity though, that is a different thing. Sometimes it just becomes too much to learn the new ways, to assimilate into the societies of the time and not look like, well, a lunatic. And when that happens Merlin seems to give a mental shrug and let himself descend into the swirl of magic inside of him, because when Arthur died, when the prophecy came to pass it was like all of the magic in the world came rushing through him like an open floodgate, and everything that made him Merlin got swept away in the deluge.

So the time slips on. And Merlin lives. Some times he lives better than others, though famine or self-inflicted starvation, injury or cold or despair doesn’t seem to hinder him for long.

Time slips on, but, he reflects one day, slipping almost implies a certain degree of speed. And the time fucking drags.

At some point around the 15th century he decides to leave the land that has now been named Britain: when Arthur returns it would do him well to be advised by someone who knows a little bit about the countries that now encircle Albion across the sea. Every year the world seems to expand, new places and people emerging from the mists, new foodstuff and materials and advances in technology and warfare and medicine and artistry. And despite his oft-experience malaise, Merlin cannot help but find it all absolutely fascinating: he had spent an interesting couple of years learning everything about astronomy and mathematics from a Moorish traveler, found himself moved to tears by the paintings of Caravaggio and the tragic love of Shakespeare. The marvels that can be wrought without even a scrap of magic are astounding, and often it is this undying progress of humankind and their relentless search for beauty and meaning that gives him a reason to keep living.

Sometimes around the early 17th century -  though he has lost count a bit. 1620? 1640? - he finds himself in France, and the magnetic pull of the great and rambling city of Paris draws him inexplicably towards it. It seems to perfectly represent everything that people are: disgusting and beautiful and kind and brutal in equal measure.

He doesn’t care much for the kings of this age, finds them venal and stupid and small-minded. And it’s because of this that the sadness swell within him once more like a horrible dark sucking of water behind his breastbone, because these kings are nothing - nothing - like Arthur, and he feels the loss of the man like an aching in the world. 

What a king like Arthur could do! What peace he could bring, what justice! To see these small men on their thrones when Arthur lies sleeping in Avalon feels like the most enormous of injustices, and Merlin feels the despair slip slowly into his lack of will to try, and his tenuous grip on his sanity loosens like a sail in the wind once more.

So it is in France, in Paris, in the early part of the 17th century - 1610? 1630? - that Merlin finds himself locked within the walls of some castle or dungeon or prison. He cannot remember if he has committed some crime - it does tend to happen, regrettably: an apple taken from a cart or an insult given without meaning, a lack of understanding of social mores of a time or that breeches must generally be worn in public, that sort of thing - but either way merlin is locked within stone walls and iron bars.

He could get out in an instant, of course. If he wanted to. If he had anywhere to go, something to do or anyone who was waiting for him.

Ah, there’s the despair again. What does it matter? He doesn’t need much to live on: the hunger cramps in his belly but he barely notices. It won’t kill him. 

Nothing will fucking kill him.

“Do I…do I know you?” 

It takes a long time for Merlin to respond at all, given that he is so unused to anyone speaking to him but the gaoler, who tends to spit on Merlin more often than speak to him. 

“I’m…I’m sorry?” Merlin says. He looks up, lets his eyes adjust. There is a man on the other side of the bars, clearly having paused whilst walking by this cell.

“Fuck,” Merlin breathes. It’s a word he’s learned of late and it seems to fit a lot of situations. Seeing someone who died around ten centuries ago is probably one of them.

The same brown eyes, that’s the first thing Merlin’s notices: brown eyes warm and lit from beneath like peat water in the sun, framed with lashes that always were a little indecent. He has a neat moustache and beard, fashionable at this time, and his hair is longer, reaching almost to his shoulders in places. 

“Your hair curls,” Merlin says, his voice croaked thin with disuse. “I suppose it was never long enough to before.”

Lancelot puts a hand up to his hair for a moment, his brows pulling low in a frown. “My hair…” he says, confused.

And everything just seems to crash around Merlin as if the whole ceiling were raining down on him because of course, of course: he’s mad isn’t he? This isn’t real. This is just some man. It cannot be Lancelot. 

“What’s your name?” The man who is not Lancelot says. He steps closer and Merlin can see that he is dressed practically but with a touch of frivolity, the lace around the edges of his shirt, the tooling on his doublet. The hilt of his sword is a swirled and elegant thing, just visible hanging from belts slug around his waist with a blue sash. And buckled at his shoulder is a leather pauldron, fashioned with some regimental heraldry that Merlin has not been bothered to educate himself on.

“What is your name?” The man says again, squatting down so that he is on the same eyeline as Merlin. His voice has gone soft, kind.

“Merlin,” Merlin rasps. “Who. Who are you?”

“Aramis. Of the King’s Musketeers.” The man doffs his feathered hat in a gesture of good manners, and his smile is warm and easing across his face.

His smile is not like Lancelot’s. Merlin’s friend had been shy at times, his smile a timid thing, though wonderful for its scarcity.

This man - this Aramis -  smiles too easily and with too much knowing.

“You’re not him,” Merlin says. He feels a lump of something hot and molten lodged in his throat, and only realises that he is crying when the tears scald lines down his cheeks. He doesn’t have the energy to feel shame anymore, dignity is such a pointless thing when you’ve lived as long or seen as much as Merlin has.

“I’m…I’m not him,” Aramis says kindly. “I’m sorry.” He reaches a hand then, through the bars, and lays it on Merlin’s arm without any guile. And Merlin cannot remember the last time that anyone touched him. 

___

Aramis comes back the next day. 

“You know, it’s very strange. I do feel like I know you,” Aramis says, thoughtfully. 

“You look exactly like a man I used to know,” Merlin says.

“And where is this friend of yours now?”

“Dead. Twice over,” Merlin says to the ceiling, because it is too horrible, too strange to say it while looking at this man who is the very mirror of Lancelot.

“I am sorry,” Aramis says quietly. “It is terrible to suffer the loss of a friend. They say that time can heal, a little…”

He trails off because Merlin is laughing, uncontrollable heaves of laughter. “I’m not sure,” he hiccups, breathless, after a while, “A thousand years hasn’t seemed to do much.” He laughs again then, for quite some time. Aramis only sits, a puzzled sort of half-smile on his face.

___

He comes back again the next day.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says, half to himself. And then he shakes his head as if to rid it of something, and settles down to talk through the bars once more.

“I brought you some food, Merlin,” Aramis says. “You’re terribly thin.”

“I always was,” Merlin says, but he accepts the food that Aramis hands him through the bars. “Arthur used to say that’s why my ears stuck out so much.”

“Arthur is another friend of yours?” Aramis smiles.

Merlin genuinely hadn’t meant to speak his name, hadn’t meant to summon Arthur up from whatever place he inhabited in the depths of Merlin’s heart.

“Another dead friend,” he says, with forced levity.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis says. And then, “Will you tell me about him?”

For a moment Merlin hovers somewhere between the desire to keep Arthur close, safe and protected and unknown by this huge and dangerous world he finds himself in. But to speak of him might make him feel as though he were alive once more, and it’s this desire that wins the day.

“He was a King, actually.”

“Huh,” Aramis smiles, though not unkindly, “Like King Arthur himself.”

“What?” Merlin asks, frowning.

“Well, you know. King Arthur. And, who was it…ah…Guinevere?”

His eyes widen a little bit when he sees the look on Merlin’s face. “I don’t know anymore, really. My English is not so good, so I’ve not read it. But Athos sometimes likes to rave about English literature when he’s drunk enough Armagnac. Not wine, funnily enough - that just makes him maudlin - but Armagnac? That’s when we get the Shakespeare, the Chaucer, the rest of it…”

He trails off. “La Morte d’Arthur. It’s a book about a king from Britain called Arthur...” He clears his throat. “I’ve not read it.”

“Fuck,” is all that Merlin can say.

___

“Why are you in here, Merlin?” Aramis asks one day. “What did you do?” He looks as though he’s bracing himself for some awful reveal, but Merlin can only shrug.

“I don’t know. Can’t remember.”

“You…can’t remember?”

“I must have done something,” Merlin elaborates, Nothing, you know, awful,” he hastens to add. “But possibly something illegal. Or mad. It’s likely I’m here because I did something mad. It has happened before.”

“You’ve been imprisoned before?”

“Oh,” Merlin puffs out his cheeks with a sigh. “More times than I could count actually. Never for anything awful.”

“Just something mad,” Aramis supplies.

“Yeah. That.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin says after a while, and stretches out his long legs, and lets his head thunk back against the rough walls of the cell. “I could get out of here right now if I wanted to.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“Not really. I don’t see why I should.”

___

“I’m going to petition the Queen to have you pardoned,” Aramis beams one day, sitting on the floor outside the bars with an alarming clatter of pistols and blades.

“Why do you have so many weapons?” Merlin frowns, “Surely it just sort of gets in the way after a point.”

“I have exactly as many weapons as I need, thank you very much, and if I didn’t I’d be dead by now. Only this morning I narrowly avoided being shot through the head because I had this,” Aramis pats lovingly at a blade in his belt. “Besides, didn’t you hear me? I said I’m going to petition the Queen to have you pardoned.”

“Why would the Queen listen to you?” Merlin says, dubiously. “And did you bring me any more of that apple pastry?”

“No, Constance says there’ll be more tomorrow, and the Queen and I have…well, we are…we speak sometimes.”

Merlin sits up, a rush of something invisible and heavy suddenly falling onto his chest. “Aramis. You should stay away from queens. Take it from me.”

“You’re speaking nonsense,” Aramis says, waving a hand. 

“Frequently,” Merlin nods.

“She gave me this,” Aramis says, pulling out a small crucifix on a chain about his neck, and there is something small and tender in his voice and oh Gods he’s in love with her, isn’t he? He’s in love with the Queen. 

“Fuck, Lancelot,” Merlin moans, screwing his eyes shut. “You never learn, do you?”

___

Aramis doesn’t come back the next day. 

Or the next.

Or the next.

And then there is another man, tall and dark-skinned and looming.

“You him then?” He asks, voice gruff, as though throwing out a challenge before one can be made to him. “Merlin?”

Merlin opens one eye. “The one and only.”

“Huh,” the man says, “Barely more than a boy. You’re the one he’s been comin’ to see every day?”

“Aramis?” Merlin says, sitting up, “You know Aramis?”

“I do,” the man nods. “Yeah I do. He told me to come and see you. He was…he made me promise. Dunno why.” He scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly, and it’s only then that Merlin notices the stretched thin quality of this man, the way his face is drawn and tired.

“What’s wrong,” Merlin says, bolting to his feet. “What is it?”

“Aramis…” the man says, trailing off. He takes in a deep breath. “Aramis got…he was run through. Right in the gut.”

The world spins, settles to a point of excruciating clarity. 

“Is he dead?” Merlin asks, voice very still.

“Not yet,” the man says, and the yet dangles there like a hanged man because it is suddenly very obvious that yet means soon.

“Aliese.” Merlin feels his eyes flash gold, and it’s like a relief singing through his whole body to use his magic after so very long. The lock on the barred door clicks somewhere deep within its mechanism, he shoves it with his shoulder as he steps through. “Where is he?”

___

He can feel the wary shock of the man next to him as they hurry through the streets of Paris, hasn’t failed to notice how the man has one hand on his pistol and one on the hilt of his huge sword, both hanging from his belt, and uses his chin and a snapped word to indicate which direction they must go. 

They had walked right out of the prison. Merlin had only needed to cast a little spell, a small easing of things so that eyes glazed over him and attention settled elsewhere as he passed. They walked right out and no one even said a word, and is it testament to the fear and shock - not of Merlin but that Aramis’ death is imminent - that stops the big man who walks beside him from asking questions or demanding to know what exactly Merlin is doing.

He is led through a doorway and into an internal courtyard, up some worn stone staircase and into a suite of modest rooms. A young man startles to his feet beside the bed, and another is leaning heavily against the wall with his back to them and a half-drunk bottle of wine hanging from his lax grasp.

“Who’s this?” The young man says.

“Aramis’ friend.”

“Send him away, Porthos” says the man leaning against the wall without bothering to turn. “If he is truly his friend he will not want to witness what comes next.”

The big man - Porthos - crosses to the bed and drops to his knees beside it, and it’s only then that Merlin really looks. Aramis is lying there, his face a sweating and awful shade of spoilt milk. His eyes are closed and bruised around with blue shadows. His breath comes rattling and sullen.

“Aramis,” Porthos says, and his voice is horrible and filled with a false kind of easiness, “Aramis? Can you hear me? I’ve got someone here for you. Your friend. Merlin.”

The man in the bed does not move, shows no sign of hearing anything that is happening in this room.

Merlin can hardly breathe. He sees Aramis in the bed but he sees Lancelot, dead, laid out in the boat that he sent out into the lake. He sees it all and a thousand years is nothing, is nothing.

“Do you have yarrow?” Merlin asks, crossing quickly to the side of the bed and shouldering Porthos out of the way. “Ah…Achillée Millefeuille?”

“What would we do with that?” the younger man says, dubiously. 

“It’s an old wives tale,” the man leaning against the wall states in a monotone, “Said to stop bleeding.”

“It works,” Merlin insists, “Especially when I can help it along with magic.”

The room falls silent. “Magic,” Porthos says after a moment.

“Why did you bring him here?” Spits the older man, by the wall.

“Because Aramis asked me too, Athos!” Porthos says, jumping to his feet angrily. “Because he is Aramis’ friend and Aramis is dying’!”

“Don’t do this,” the young man says, his voice high with desperation. “Not now.”

“Fuck it,” Merlin says, and rips down the blanket over the dying man’s abdomen, and places his hands where there is a mess of dark blood and bandages. 

It’s not like with Lancelot, or with Arthur. Their deaths had been sullied by dark magic before Merlin could even think to help them. Aramis’ wound is deep and awful but it was made with a mortal blade, untouched by sorcery. 

Merlin couldn’t do it for Lancelot, or Arthur.

He will do it for Aramis.

He closes his eyes and reaches deep within himself, to that swirling maelstrom of power. He reaches further, pulls from the hewn timber of the floorboards that still hold some echo of the trees they once were and the vast forests in which they once grew. He pulls down deeper, reaching through beam and plank and flagstone, through to the earth beneath, alive with living things, alive with a magic that is so simple and so ever-present that it could never die, could never even be noticed.

“Come on,” he spits.

Merlin pulls. Merlin heaves. He feels his body shaking uncontrollably, his teeth chattering. He feels his eyes burning painful and hot with magic until he cannot see anything anymore through the sun flare glow of them. He feels all the air leave his lungs and the way they cramp around their emptiness because there is no room for breath, no room for anything but the magic.

All the glass in the windows blows out, and Merlin keels sideways. He doesn’t hear how the room erupts in shouts. He is unconscious before he hits the floor.

___

The dark is comforting, and warm, and friendly. He doesn’t want to open his aching eyes. He feels like every part of his body has been punched.

“Merlin,” says a voice. “Merlin. Are you with us?”

“Can’t I sleep a little longer Gaius?” Merlin groans, and then memory blooms like a flower, and he understands that Gaius is long dead, and that the man speaking to him was about to be.

“Aramis,” Merlin says, and tries to sit up but the room spins him back to a groaning horizontal. He screws his eyes shut again.

“Easy,” Aramis says. “I don’t know what in God’s name you did but I imagine it rather took its toll.”

“What did I do?” Merlin says, cracking one eye open.

“Well. I no longer have a hole in my stomach,” Aramis says, thoughtfully, “Which I…I don’t want to think about right now.”

___

At the Porte Saint Honore Aramis looks assessingly at him. It’s so much like the kind of look Lancelot would have given Merlin that he can’t help but grin back. It doesn’t hurt so much, anymore, and he’s not sure why but he is very grateful.

“Are you well enough to travel?” Aramis asks, dubiously.

“I’m fine, Aramis.”

“Are you an angel, Merlin?”

“An..a..no. No I’m not, Aramis.”

“Hmm,” Aramis says, assessing him once more. “Well, regardless, I will pray for you at the church of Saint Sulpice this evening.”

“You think I’m in need of saving?” Merlin is well aware that the attitudes towards magic - witchcraft - have not improved particularly despite the passage of time.

”I think you’re in need of protecting,” Aramis says, simply. “I think you’re quite extraordinary and I think I will pray every day for the Lord to watch over you because you saved my sorry, sinful life. Merlin.”

Merlin looks at those brown eyes, those same eyes. “I couldn’t save my friend. I couldn’t save any of my friends. I am glad to have been able to save you.”

“Where will you go?”

The countryside spreads out like a blanket around the city, darned patches of fields and woodlands. But Merlin can feel it again, that little tugging sensation somewhere inside his ribcage. 

“Home.”

“Britain?” Aramis says, and then makes a small moue of distaste at Merlin’s questioning raised eyebrow. “I assumed. Your accent is atrocious.” 

Merlin laughs. And it feels so good. 

“Yes,” Merlin says, “Britain. I can’t be gone for long. I’m waiting for someone.”

The countryside spreads out like a blanket, and time spreads out quite similarly, and perhaps there are bits darned here and there, mends and rips and added patches. Perhaps a person can come again, in a different place and a different time, and Merlin has to believe it’s true because that means he’s still holding on - somewhere, somehow - to the faith that Arthur will come again.

Time spreads out, and Merlin wonders if maybe all these years might be worth something after all, and that for a while at least, he might try being part of the world again.

[hlreesespeanutbuttercups]

The price of not being tidy

That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea. Let’s do it and see what happens (Prompt)

Pairing: Stephanie Brown x f!reader

Synopsis: Journalist reader and the Bats try to come up with a plan for breaking into warehouse storage unit (currently hired by a kids party bc this is Gotham and People Do Not Care).

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: none

A/N: I literally just wrote this and put it straight on here so if there are any mistakes please let me know!

border is by @enchanthings-a !

“What if you guys just dressed up as like, Disney characters or something?”

Silence.

“Or like, parents with a kid? If there’s a kid’s party happening then like… I mean, it seems a good idea?”

Your voice trails off. Four pairs of terrifyingly blank white lenses stare you down as you do your best not to shift awkwardly under the heat of their gazes. You’ve not felt this self-conscious of yourself since high school, which is ridiculous. It’s not even a bad idea and you know it. So why are they still staring at you like you’ve suggested they burn down a convent?? You’re pretty sure you can even feel the pensive stare of Oracle from half a city away.

“Yeah…That’s… yeah ah I don’t know…”

“Not happening.”

“Well…”

“Yeah you know I don’t think that…”

“It’s on parr with the kind of ideas Drake comes up with.”

“Bitch?”

You don’t even know why you’re there to be honest. You’re a journalist, and a respected one at that. Realistically there had been no reason for you to share your intel, especially not when you knew the bats had their own stakes and objectives in this, stakes and objectives that could easily cost you your story. You could have been in and out, a quick undercover operation that was all too familiar to you.

There had been one glaring problem; also known as your girlfriend. As soon as you’d promised her to let her in on any cases involving gang activity you could feel yourself regretting your decision, and now here you were. God you should have just lied, why didn’t you lie??

Earlier that day you’d been battling your blender (unsuccessfully), so wrapped up in trying to disembowel the damn thing without getting your hand blended that you’d barely even noticed the presence of your lovely girlfriend. Steph had emerged at the vocal sounds of your distress, her head poking through the doorway of your shared bedroom as she blearily took in the scene. Sensing no immediate threat (thankfully for you, because she was in no state to be much use against an attacker) she’d begun to cross over to where you were nearly in tears from frustration. The chaotic mess on the table had stopped her in her tracks. 

Finally, at long last the stupid thing whirred into life as you sagged in relief into the counter before turning around to grab the fruit from the fridge. You were frozen however, by the sight of Steph rifling through the papers you knew should have cleared away, goddamnit. 

In that mess of shipping records and witness testimonies was the definitive proof that something absolutely no one wanted in Gotham had recently been shipped to a warehouse in the west dock. It didn’t take a genius (which your girlfriend was) or anything less than a five second scan of these papers (which she’d done) that this was the work of a gang hoping for more control. The gang you’d been researching for the past week. Without Steph knowing. The sigh had left you before you could stop it.

It hadn’t led to the blazing argument you’d been fearing, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t pissed as hell at you. And whilst she was letting you and all your elderly neighbours know exactly how pissed she was, you’d stayed silent. She was right to be annoyed but in your defence you knew exactly how delicate this was- one wrong move would alert every member of this gang and they’d disappear (their new weapon with them), but probably not before putting a bullet in your head. 

This was not talk Steph understood; she was a vigilante, and as such had her own priorities, her own patrols. She wouldn’t be there every second of the day to babysit you until your enemies either gave up or forgot about you, but of course this was a hard pill for her to swallow. You couldn’t hold it against her, but you also had to be realistic.

Half an hour later saw you finally cave, deciding to simply give up all your research. Technically she’d have forced her way into it regardless but that wasn’t the point. The point was you were being cooperative. Your head had been leant back against the back of the couch in defeat, but what she said next had your head whip up to look her in the eyes with so much force something strained in your neck.

“What.”

“You know you’re not the only person who’s been interested in them recently, right? Tim’s had his eye on this gang for about a month now”, Steph continued on like you weren’t seeing your stealth operation go up in flames in real time, “You know he’s going to insist on coming along. Plus Dick is home from Bludhaven, and Damian has only just been cleared for action again. There’s literally no way he’s sitting this one out.”

“You’re not serious. Steph this has to be undercover, they’ll see you all coming from a mile away but if I go in alone-“

“Absolutely not, and also, I’m sorry but you do remember we are like, actual vigilantes right? Like, we are literally known for stealth more than anyone else. Ever.”

Her voice had taken on an incredulous tone, and see you get it, but like also you know them. There is literally no way your story is making it, god you’re so fucked. Your boss is going to kill you, you are so getting fired-

“Listen” her voice was softer now. Clearly your horror at the situation hadn’t gone unnoticed as Steph came over to sit next to you on the couch. She took your hands in hers, and you faintly registered the scent of your favourite body lotion radiating off her (god, she was such a thief, you knew she’d been stealing it), “I can’t see you get hurt, and at least this way I can feel certain you won’t. I’ll even help you convince them not to go in guns blazing, just… can you trust me?”

Steph’s eyes were always expressive; crinkled up in laughter, sharp with focus, hard with anger. Right now her gaze was unwavering, deep blue eyes searching for confirmation that you did, that you trusted her, that you would follow her into a burning building if she asked you to because you would. 

“I… Steph you know I can. I do, I just,” you sigh ,”I just wish there was a way I could guarantee this will go well. And the more people you add to the mix the more variables there are that I can’t control.”

You both sink back against the sofa, letting your legs entertwine and her head fall softly onto your shoulder. It’s as close to an apology as either of you will get. She doesn’t answer. She knows there’s no real rebuttal to that, knows better than anyone that trying to put limits on her family is futile. You sigh, and you let a smile ghost over your lips as she does the same seconds later. Tonight is going to suck.

All of that has led you to this, standing to one side as a game of ’no you’re worse’ escalates with every sentence. This is probably the most worked up you’ve ever seen Red Robin get, you think to yourself idly. You’ve never really spent much time with him in fairness. While he seems like a likeable guy, you’ve yet to get over the awkwardness of dating his ex, not to mention how busy he always seems to be. Truly he doesn’t seem to have an off button, so this typical sibling bickering is almost humanising for you. 

“My plan to get us into Nanda Parbat was perfectly viable! You’re the one who nearly caused it to fall apart all because you couldn’t act the part-“

“That is such bullshit, me acting as your prisoner would never have worked, you just wanted en excuse to hold me at knifepoint-“

Throughout all this, Spoiler was stood next to you, uncharacteristically silent. You were just about to nudge her to check in but before you could she finally spoke up.

“What if… I mean what if we actually did? Like, just go undercover as guests.”

Silence once again. This time not directed at you, which is nice. Steph continues undeterred.

“Just think about, it’ll be more of a hassle to go undercover but if we do it right, we can figure out the layout ahead of time and scope out any guards. It’s not ideal but this way I get a happy girlfriend with a story for her boss, and we probably won’t get shot at. I know Alfred at least would prefer he didn’t have to stitch us up again so soon after the last incident.”

You have to stifle a snort at that. Bringing in Alfred is a low blow, but an effective one. And the others do seem to be considering it. At the very least the bickering has paused while all parties involved mull it over.

“We’d have to figure out the guest list. Find out who we can pose as…” Dick trails off before his head snaps over to Damian who immediately bristles.

“No.”

“You know the kid, he’s in your year, no? You didn’t get an invite or anything like that?” He presses.

“I did. But I have no intention of going. Besides, I can be of more use with the weapon.”

Don’t make me be social, was what you could hear between the lines. He really was just a teenager, you noted with some amusement. It was so easy to forget sometimes.

“You’re our only real shot at getting in right now. Spoiler’s right- if we can do this without a fight then it’s worth a go. I can go in with Robin as his brother, but we need to get as many people in without it being suspicious.” With this, Dick tilted his head toward Steph almost like he was asking permission, “Red Robin can stay on the outside and run surveillance.”

At this she seemed to realise something, and Steph’s head twisted sharply to look at Nightwing properly. 

“What? Bro you are not stealing my girlfriend, why can’t I go in with the kid?”

Nightwing held a hand up in placation.

“Listen, I’m the only one officially associated with Damian Wayne. No one’s gonna question me if I show up with my girlfriend to chaperone him, but if you do…” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Agh fine, but you’d better keep it friendly, got it?” she levelled him with a threatening glare and wrapped a possessive hand around your waist, earning a light smack on the arm from you. Steph could be ridiculous sometimes, but both of you knew that there was no chance of Dick making you uncomfortable. Out of all the bats, he was (barring Barbara) the one you’d talked to most, and he was one of the most easy people to get along with you’d ever known. It was almost freaky how well Dick seemed to gel with just about any person he met. Hopefully it was skill that could come in handy tonight.

There was a brief pause as everyone took in the plan, but you noticed that one name had been left out in all this.

“So… if you, Robin and I are heading in, and red robin is outside running surveillance, where’s Spoiler gonna be?” You asked curiously.

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, a shit-eating grin started to make it’s way onto Dick’s face. You felt Steph stiffen behind you as she took in his expression and all the doom it spelled out for her. 

“All parties need entertainment. And I heard something about a magician making an appearance at this one.”

“Asshole. I can’t even do magic, what the hell am I meant to do? Pull a bunch of scarves out of a hat? I don’t even have a top hat you dick.” She hissed, “I can’t be anything else? A waiter? Literally anything else?”

“Oh I don’t know, I think I want to see you pull a rabbit out a hat”, you snicker, tracing little patterns on her arm as you turn your head just enough to give her an sly look over your shoulder, “I think it could be sexy, get you a Zatanna costume or something.”

You hear a few huffs of amusement, and you feel more than hear the scoff Steph lets out which vibrates on your back from where she’s still pressed up against you. 

“Please, if I’m pulling a Zatanna, I’ll get the real thing. I think I’d pull it off, don’t you?” Her voice is right next to your ear, a low tone that you find ridiculously attractive, actually. She knows it as well, the tease. 

A loud clap brings you both back to the present and you’re reminded that you two are very much not alone. And that your girlfriend’s ex is stood like two metres away. Dear god, if your cheeks hadn’t been flushed before from her teasing they were on fire now.

“It’s sorted then, Red is on surveillance. Robin, our lovely journalist and I will attend the party as guests, and Spoiler has exactly… three hours and twenty-six minutes to come up with something spectacular to dazzle Gotham’s elite.” 

You hadn’t pinned Dick as someone particularly vindictive, but based off the glee that seemed to radiate off him at Stephanie’s plight, you’d clearly misjudged. You suppose nothing brings out typical sibling energy quite like an undercover stealth mission. 

Steph clearly didn’t appreciate the countdown. Nightwing was narrowly able to dodge a canister of, did that say shark deterrent on it??, before Tim stirred next to him, his tone dry.

“This is honestly a terrible, awful, incredibly stupid idea. Let’s do it, I want to see what happens.”

“I too am eager to watch Spoiler make a fool of herself. I’m sure it will make up for having to pretend to enjoy myself.”

If Nightwing was taken aback by Damian agreeing with Tim (something you’d been told was about as rare as a blood moon) it didn’t show.

“Right then, we meet back here at six. The party will already be underway when we arrive, making it easier to go unnoticed. Red Robin should have no problem with that, but I’ll make sure to pass on the message to Robin. Make sure he doesn’t try sneaking in a carpet bomb or something.”

You visibly start at the new lack of vigilantes in front of you. When the hell had they even left? You’d put a bell on them if you thought it would actually do anything but somehow you got the idea any bell on them wouldn’t ring unless they wanted it to. Fucking vigilantes. Your mind finally finishes catching up and all your thoughts ground to a stop, too stuck on the words carpet bomb to come up with a response. Was that just a bad attempt at humour? Had that been a problem before?? 

“Well, I’ll be going too if there’s nothing else. It looks like I’m gonna have to break out something formal.” At this Dick pulled a face, eliciting a vague noise of disgust from Steph.

“You’re not the one who’ll be suffering tonight, dickhead.”

The grin that spread across Nightwing’s face at her name-calling made him look almost boyish. He gracefully bent to pick up the can that had been so lovingly lobbed at his head and lightly tossed it to you, before throwing you a teasing wink and turning to disappear out the window on silent feet.

For a second the only noise was the creaking of old floor boards and the faint wail of a police siren.

“So… any ideas for the magi-“

“Ughhhhhhhhhh.”

A/N: if you got this far i hope you enjoyed, again if anyone has any feedback it's all appreciated! I'll be uploading this to my AO3 as well under the same name!

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[inkskinned]

even 2 years ago people still said autism with a whisper. it was also how people sometimes whisper lesbian, like they're afraid of uttering a slur. autistic was either an insult or it was something terrible, a horrible burden only select people endure. "select people" were usually 9 year old boys and skinny white men.

they are not hispanic young adults with a dog and a life and friends. i can make (sustained, calculated, painful) eye contact. with certain people, i don't even have to count how many seconds i am holding their vision - i can just look at them. i can wear clothes that bother me, i will just have a worse day than usual. i might cry about any changes to my schedule - but change is scary! this is normal!

when i was 16 it was OCD. i mean that was the thing everyone said. i totally have ocd. they would arrange 6 colors of gel pen in rainbow order (no worry for indigo feeling left out) and they'd be "so ocd" about it.

if you struggle with intrusive thoughts, be careful at this next paragraph, but. at 16 i developed a compulsion that involved self-harm. my ocd was convinced i was simply forgetting that i'd hurt someone terribly - a thought that persisted for no clear or delineated reason.

at some point i will probably write about how the idea of "morally pure thoughts" was hell for me and others with ocd, but this was the odd dichotomy for many of us: they liked our "aesthetic", but were genuinely repulsed by our lived experience. "intrusive thoughts" now means "cutting your hair in the sink" instead of talking yourself down from believing horrible things. "so ocd" is a label without any true understanding.

it's something i've talked about before - in multiplicity - but i firmly believe in the veracity and necessity of self-diagnosis. i think it saves lives and it saves tragedies from occurring. as someone raised in a house that wasn't safe, self-diagnosis was, for many years, the only viable option. 15 and honestly googling: am i depressed or are there demons affecting my behavior.

but it is not genuine self-diagnosis anymore, most of the time. it is a strange, blanched version of that whispered word autism. now certain traits are constantly seen as "autistic" - any passing intense interest. any flubbed social interaction. people say it while laughing - a touch of the 'tism.

and i like the acceptance! i do. i like that people are talking about it. i like that if i self-identify, more people speak up and say me too, bitch. but there is something-else quietly happening, the way it happened to OCD. the quirky, "fun" parts have been washed and sanitized and removed of all suffering. now it is just something that makes you "a little bit silly."

it took me 27 years on this planet before i learned to make friends. something about me just seems incredibly odd, i guess, some kind of radiation monitoring. someone once (in a way that was almost friendly) told me i am doing the right things, but in a way that's off-putting. i have scoured myself raw attempting to be charming.

someone on tiktok does a deep dive into their particular passion. the top comment says "what kind of autism is this lol". like we are a breed of animal. like it has no influence on our experience. like our life is a fresh breeze, an open meadow.

more often for me, life was a drowning.

[targaryenluvs]

RAVAGE

pairing: dark!president!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

summary: he’d won the election, much to your elation. now you’d have to navigate the fame, fortune and status as the first lady of panem. but coriolanus just wanted you all to himself, and he’d do anything to scare you into his arms.

warnings: possessiveness, murder, robbery, bad smut, controlling, tears, babying, kisses, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, kinda subby corio/dom, praise, sense of entitlement? breeding kink, tummy bulge, overstimulation, little bit of aftercare

word count: 2k

a/n: i’m such a bitch for making everyone wait so long for a delicate part two 😌 and i finally have the confidence for smut so heheh - yes i’m using tvd names a lot - corio/coryo use - tried out a new layout 👀

part one of delicate

you couldn’t believe it.

coriolanus snow, president of panem.

all of his hard work has finally paid off and you couldn’t be more happy for him. you wanted to give him a gift but you still had no idea what he would want. it seemed the two of you practically had everything overnight, so a measly gift seemed to be difficult to acquire, one that he liked? even harder.

so you’d decided to go out, the idea of surprising him exciting you so much you’d forgotten to tell coriolanus where you were going to.

so imagine his surprise when his assistant told him you’d left the house, viewing you on the security cameras.

which you had no idea were there.

coriolanus saw it as an act of defiance.

he had to move about this correctly, he couldn’t have you injured, but he needed to scare you back into his arms. to remind you of the horrible place that panem was.

over twelve stores, and nothing. so you’d decided to enlist the help of one of your few friends. “not a single clue of what he’d want?” elena asked as you stabbed at your fries, “nope.” you answered as you placed a fry in your mouth.

“well if he has absolutely everything then his gorgeous wife should be a nice gift after an extremely long day no?” you looked up at her, confused, “what do you mean?” she giggled, “oh god, i forget how you don’t know that much. you, y/n.” at your adorable puppy face she leaned in, “your body.” you jumped back at her words, “i… i’ve never.”

“you’ve never?!” elena slapped her hand over her mouth at your admission, “how? i mean you’re absolutely stunning sweetheart, how hasn’t he yet?” you played with the table cloth in your hands, “i don’t know.” elena twisted her fork around her pasta, “okay has he never made a move, or, have you never noticed the signs?” you took a sip of your wine as you stared back at her, “what signs?” elena sighed, rubbing her temple, “there are signs, moments. the two of you, sitting on the couch and his hand trails higher. his breath quickens at the sight of you in a dress. the little things.”

“and what happens if you notice these signs, act on them?” and this was exactly her expertise, she wiped her face with her napkin before paying the bill. “if i’m going to explain this in detail then we need to go to my house. or a dirtier part of town. my dear girl, i’m taking you to your first ever bar.”

coriolanus has to hold on to his mask of self-restraint, you’d been spotted at a bar, with one of your friends that he despised. but at least his plan could take full effect without a hitch.

your mind had been blown, irrevocably and utterly blown. the way elena had described it all, she made it sound like heaven. but she did tell you about other men, some care for themselves more so than the girl. and you had no clue what type of man corio was in bed.

you’d been so absorbed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man following you, not until he attacked you. he’d been going after your bag of course, but it was a gift from coriolanus. the man was unrelenting as he shoved you against the cold wall, grimy hands pushing and pulling with you as you tried to regain hold of your purse. “let go!” you cried out before he slammed you into the wall again, loosing grip on the purse coriolanus had just gifted you.

what would he say? it was his gift to you!

you woke up with a throbbing headache and corios hands brushing away strands from your face. “there you are sweet thing. you feeling okay?” you peered up at him, unable to move due to the millions of blankets on you. noticing your struggle he smiled before shifting them off, “better?” you nodded before sitting up with his help.

“corio, i lost the bag you gave me. the bad guy he- i’m so so sorry. please don’t be mad with me i didn’t mean to-“ he laughed, although it didn’t reach his eyes, “you think i care about the bag y/n/n? i could buy you a million bags, better bags. i’m just glad you’re okay. those guys, they won’t bother you again.” all you could do was sob and hug him, pondering the meaning of his words.

AN HOUR AGO

“hey, what the hell man? you said to attack the girl and take the bag!” the man shouted as coriolanus undid his cuffs, adjusted his sleeve, pushing it back on both arms. “i told you to go for the bag, yes. but i specifically remember drilling it into your head not to hurt her. and now she’s lying in bed, has been for the past three hours with bruises everywhere. and for that?”

shouts and screams of pain echoed through the abandoned building as coriolanus struck the man with a hammer, over and over and over. the job had one guideline. and this idiot couldn’t get it right.

don’t hurt his delicate girl.

PRESENT

you’d been so absorbed with worrying over the purse and apologising for your tears you hadn’t noticed corios hungry eyes. “i really did like that purse.” he murmured, “oh corio, i should’ve tried harder to keep it. what can i do?” hook, line and sinker. he had you where he wanted and he’d finally get what he deserved.

“let me fuck you. please.” and who were you to say no? your naivety led to him laying you down on the bed, head between your thighs. you’d heard about it from elena, a man pleasuring a woman, but it was a million times better than you could’ve imagined. coriolanus was messy, and desperate. he’d been waiting for so long and god was it worth it.

his heart raced with both excitement and nervousness as he held your thighs in his own hands, tracing up and downwards, feeling the warmth against his own skin. coriolanus couldn't resist the opportunity to tease you. “you wanna cum?” corio mumbled as he continued sucking on your swollen clit, “mhm.” you could hear him laughing at your pathetic excuse of agreeing.

coriolanus wholeheartedly believes you belong to him. the second you were married, and even before, you were his. your submission would prove it, and he would do anything for it. you were his and he was yours. his bold blue eyes ravished you, all of you, “who’s making you feel this good?” your hips squirmed away from him but he just pulled you back, pushing two fingers into you.

corio reveled in your naivety, the way you responded to his touch, the way you whispered dirty words as if it were a sin. and right now, you still couldn’t bring yourself to name what you needed. his pace was brutal as he lapped at your cunt, a third finger curling inside of you as they went in and out. your gasps and cries were music to his ears, he’d been denied this all too long, and he wasn’t sure how he’d ever done it. “cmon, say it.” and you did, over and over again. “it’s you! you, coryo.”

“coryo, ah, your fingers feel so good,” you mewled, tilting your hips more trying to lean into his touch. coryo withdrew his fingers to play with your clit, rubbing circles around your sensitive nub that resulted in you crying out in pleasure.

“such a good girl, getting all wet for me,” you nodded along dumbly, “for you, all you.” you babbled as he kissed you deeply.

coryos hand dragged up and down your folds, “your pussy is soaked, baby. look at that,” you whined at the feeling of him not touching you, your cheeks flushed at the sight of your arousal. coryo pulled his pants down, throwing them away over his shoulder. you hid your head into the pillow as coryo tutted, “you have to look pretty girl, look at the mess you made.” coryo taunted as he rubbed your slick juices all over his dick, trying to humiliate you, get a rise out of you. coryos hand holds onto your neck, tightening as you clutched on with both hands, “please, coryo, i’ll be so good.” he rested his forehead on yours, noses touching.

“i love you, i love you, i love you.” he whispered in your ear, “my beautiful wife, you’d look so good with my baby in you.” the idea of having his baby had you pressing your lips to his as he bit down on your lower lip, making you gasp as your lips part, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring every bit of you he’d ever wished to. his hunger hadn’t fallen, only increased.

“ i need to fuck you,” he panted, you having stolen his breath. coryo teased your folds with the head of his cock, “need to fill up this pretty little pussy of yours,” he pushed into you, warm walls coating his cock as he groaned, “you feel so good.” he moaned into your neck as your hands clutched onto his broad shoulders. he wasn’t sure if he’d last long but then again he didn’t care, it’s not like you knew it was a short time.

the way you clenched down on him was more than enough proof of your virginity. your cries fueled him on as he pinned your hips down into the mattress, rutting against you wildly. “you feel that?” he was everywhere, filling you up. his dick making an appearance through the bulge in your tummy. “uh-huh. too much i can’t-” he stopped you before you could finish by pressing down on it with his palm, “yes you can baby.” you shook your head, “coryo i can’t, you feel too good.” you begin, crying from how good he was making you feel, from how dumb and desperate he was making you.

“m’ gonna fill you up, gonna give you my baby.” he was driving you crazy, his heavy panting, hands on either side of your head, his voice was deep and filled with fire. “yes, yes please inside me.” coryo’s eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed you were too much, fuelled on by the idea of a pregnant wife, pregnant you. swollen belly, heavy breasts, relying on him to help you out of bed. his hips stuttered and faltered as he came inside you with a low groan. he didn’t care about pulling out and neither did you as your release came down on you again. “feels so good coryo, thank you.”

he couldn’t help his smile as you continued to thank him for making you feel so good. his ego was sure as hell swelling as he pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed. his hand caressed your face, kissing you all over, praising you.

“you did so well f’me. proud of you baby.” you grinned up at him as you snuggled into his neck. “only for you coryo.” all for him. “i’ll clean you up okay?” you nodded along as he got out of bed.

coriolanus deemed the night a success, but for some reason he didn’t feel complete. he wanted more. but as he looked up at your sleepy eyes and tired out body he wanted to let you rest. but the idea seemed to slip out of his head once he was levelled with your core again, his release spilling out of you and the warm towel forgotten. he didn’t stop himself when he began to lick at you, his tongue working his way into your entrance as your hand shoved at his face.

“coryo, i’m sensitive. coryo please stop.” you attempted to crawl away but his hands dragged you to the edge of the bed, legs around his head. your body fell limp against the sheets as pleasure took over. your hands laced with his hair as you cried out.

it was going to be a long night.

[yandere-sins]

Do you think Grim would bite any of the yandere boys for getting too close to his henchman? Like WHAT DO YOU MEAN Rook fucking Hunt bypassed the security system AGAIN. Azul's ass WAS NOT hired as a 'safety inspector'. Yes Kalim we did get the party invite. No Ace you cannot sleep in Ramshackle because Riddle kicked you out again. Actually Idia you can stay, we're having issues with the Ethernet cable again.

Anyways it should NOT be this hard to be a lil guy who just wants to chill with the prefect. The kicker? One of the above is your legitimate love interest but Grim could care less.

Gosh, I love to imagine that! Grim is definitely working against everyone who is being troublesome around his dorm and his henchman! Everyone can stay away, and he makes it clear by snapping for their hands and biting their heels, even if they manage to bypass security initially.

The problem is just that he's actually horrible at it when it counts.

For example, Vil who, without fail, brings him a can of tuna every time he shows up at Ramshackle. He places the can pointedly and with an expression that says he wants to forget about the stench of the tuna immediately, and gets a free entry pass from Grim, who is happy to do business with him.

Grim totally lets Ortho simply come and go. He's just a nice kid, what's the harm?

Leona, who battles Grim in a silent stare-off every time he comes to visit, the two spending multiple minutes watching each other, reading the body language of their tails swishing behind them, until finally, Grim groans and tells Leona to be quick about it. Leona always wins, grinning victoriously as he makes his way to his darling.

Jade and Floyd who have, on multiple occasions, blackmailed, coerced (Jade), and simply grabbed and thrown him across the campus (Floyd) whenever Grim stood between them and their darling. As if someone so small could keep them away from what they want.

The teachers, who established that talks with the students are a private matter just between the teacher and the student. You may want to bring Grim, but they don't want him there. What they are going to talk about and do with you should not concern the little, self-centered cat.

Jamil 100% knows some bizarre methods of relaxing animals from his time working for Kalim. No one knows what it is and how he's doing it so damn fast, but once Grim is contently asleep, he has free access to you. After that, Grim won't wake up for a long time, not even hearing you scream from across the room.

Malleus just walks in. What's Grim supposed to do? Stop him?

Literally, the only people Grim stops are the obviously desperate ones since they are careless. But even Rook and Ace have bribed him before, so if you really want to be safe, maybe don't rely on Grim to always have your back :'D

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Could I get a headcanon of TWST Savanaclaw boys being completely jealous of mc's cat that they spoil, but then mc one day refers to them as "Daddy" in relation of the cat ex: "Be good for Daddy now kitty"

Parents | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Who needs a cat when you have Grim! But seriously though while he’s still your friend there's a lot about humans he still has to learn and he adores that you baby him all the time. Being like the self-proclaimed single parent to a cat-monster like Grim is no easy task. So it should be nice to pass off the responsibility every once and awhile to a partner of yours. It’s just a joke….but true comedy is there because there’s some manner of truth and that’s what they’re banking on:

Jack Howl

“Okay behave for Papa Jack! I’ll come pick you up when I’m off work!”

“Nya! He’s not my papa!”

“Yeah yeah. Jack just a reminder that can of tuna is only for after he eats his veggies.”

“No! It’s poison! Poison I tell you! Don’t listen to them.”

“N-no problem (Y/n). I’ll care for him with the best of my abilities.”

“Thanks again Jack!”

He really can’t believe what that does for him

The image of your nuclear family with him 

Married with a mischievous little son

It gives him a future to fight for

A life worthy of chasing off his enemies in your attention+

But in his mind it’s already happening 

You’d trust your mate with your child, naturally 

As your mate its only right he do his best to co-parent

“Come Grim, let’s not disappoint (Y/n).”

Leona Kingscholar

“Grim! Just sleep with your Daddy Leona and I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Nooo! I want to go with you!”

“But I can’t bring you Grimy. Besides I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun with every one else in Savannaclaw.”

“Nyahhh!”

“Oi brat don’t bother them anymore, their going to be late.”

“Noooo!”

“Tch, I’m sure Ruggie wouldn’t mind that tuna for himself.”

“Noooo!”

“Then behave brat. Say goodbye then we’re training.”

He doesn’t like kids

But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like making your kids

Especially if it’s what has you running to him like the protector he is

Just keep calling out for him 

Granted he’s not doing it for free

You’ve got to cuddle up to him more than ever

Sleep with him so much you or Grim won’t go anywhere without it being clear he owns you both

He’s not a fan of kids

But kids with you don’t sound horrible

Ruggie Bucchi

“Hishishishi Grim and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Nyah! Don’t leave me with him (Y/n) why can’t I go with you?!”

“It’s okay, Grimmy! Didn’t you hear you and Daddy Ruggie are going to have a good time. I’ll call a little bit later okay. Thanks again Ruggie, I owe ya!”

“Y-y-yeah!”

The thought of you having making kids with him drives him insane

Logistically it’s a terrible idea

He’s got his family back home, he shouldn’t need to add on to it

But the idea is still so enticing

And the bond that comes from this alone surely makes him number #1 in your heart

It also means his sabotage against his competitors is working

Then he’s practically got the ring on your finger now

[thetrasha]

Hi! I'm the one who asked for the Straw Hats' ideal types. I'm here to ask the same for other characters: Law, Ace, Sabo, Shanks, and anyone else you want; honestly, I'd read about anyone. Thanks for feeding me <3

Hello anon, thank you so much for your continous interest (●ˇ∀ˇ●) 💕 Glad you like my writing so much and shower me with compliments LOL And I'm so sorry for not replying sooner. I've been sick since Monday morning 🤡I'm still kind of feverish, but I'm recovering

Anyway, this was a lot of fun!!

Ideal Types

feat. LAW, ACE, SABO, SHANKS, BUGGY

Straw Hat crew's version here

LAW

Law needs someone who…

is honest, intelligent and kind

puts more weight behind their actions rather than their words

has a nerdy or geeky quirk

is willing to let him have his space and demands some independence of their own

Law can help you cope with these character flaws:

self-doubt

feelings of inadequacy

seeming cold-hearted (to others)

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

clinginess and being too emotional

Law sees you and knows, because you resemble him so much, that you’re misunderstood. You aren’t cold or arrogant, you’re just a little too… reserved. You naturally distrust people who haven’t proven themselves and he finds comfort in that, eager to do just that. And just like that, the image you’ve wrongfully earned yourself just melts away. Like him, you’re a deep thinker, introspective and self-critical without even trying but nonetheless very much skilled and a valuable addition to any crew. Law feels lucky to have you because it’s validating to have someone around who gets him, who understands every precarious situation and who’s able to see the bigger picture. You trust in his ability to make the right call, assisting him in every step of the way. You watch over him without expecting anything in return, you’re just loyal to a fault and want to show your gratitude. Your actions make him do a double take and he starts talking to you more often. And once your walls crumble, he realises that you’re actually… incredibly cute and kind of… what he’s been waiting for.

ACE

Ace needs someone who…

values family a lot; they need to love the Whitebeard Pirates and Luffy (and Sabo) unconditionally

lives in the moment, but regularly thinks about the past and the “what ifs” of life

wants to prove themselves or others wrong/ wants to achieve great things

is self-aware, caring and compassionate

Ace can help you cope with these character flaws:

self-loathing

impulsivity

people pleasing

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

arrogance and dismissiveness

Ace sees you and, at first, views you as a threat. Deep down, he still cannot come to terms with who he is, and thus believes that you’re the upgrade. You don’t carry the same baggage he does, which means being around you is actually pretty great – and Whitebeard thinks so, too, that’s why you’re on the Moby Dick and not just some random member aboard the grand fleet. Yet… once Ace digs deep and tries getting to know you, he feels terrible for treating you so horribly; you’re unlike anything he’s ever seen. Your hardships are a part of you, but you don’t let the past define who you are, you use it as a tool to improve the present. On top of everything, you don’t push him away after he’s opened up. If anything, you pull him even closer. He’s so, so grateful to have found you. Maybe – just maybe – he’ll learn to like himself… after all, if someone like you can love him so dearly, he cannot be so bad, right?

SABO

Sabo needs someone who…

lives freely without constraints, doesn’t care what other people think about them

pursues a deeply humanitarian dream

is just, hard-working and unique

thinks rather than feels

Sabo can help you cope with these character flaws:

being too idealistic

sorrow

perfectionist tendencies

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

different political ideology and laziness

Sabo sees you and knows you have what it takes. You’re unafraid of tension and you’re quite abrasive when it comes to the intolerable… and your track record is just as impressive. You’re a rare gem who doesn’t sell their principles to get ahead in life – you chose this path out of conviction, not due to a lack of options. Maybe that’s why he recommends you for a position much higher up the ladder where your potential would be seen, where your voice would be heard and matter… Eventually, Sabo would notice a dangerous flutter in his chest every time you worked together. He would linger around you longer than necessary and try to get you to talk about your personal life just to get closer to you. Your story is fascinating, he cannot help but be angry at the world for throwing you away. Well, kind of – you’ve landed right in his arms, so it’s not that bad now, is it?

SHANKS

Shanks needs someone who…

wants to go about life at their own pace

is outgoing, emotionally intelligent and warm

has the street-smarts and strength to defend themselves if it came down to it

hopes for peace and believes in equality

Shanks can help you cope with these character flaws:

procrastination

bottling up negative feelings

stubbornness

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

being too fragile and selfishness

Shanks sees you and doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so eager to be taken care of – you just sniff him out like a hound dog and nag at him about his terrible habits constantly. He thinks it’s sweet that there’s someone amongst his loyal crew members who still believes he would change his ways. They all let go of it at some point.

…Until you don’t let go of it at all. You shadow him and relentlessly pursue his heath and happiness. At first, Shanks wrongfully assumes that you’re trying to be the captain’s favourite, but he could only watch in astonishment as you pull the same stunt on all the others. “Benn, you smoke too much. Roux, why in the world are you lifting that crate by yourself, let me help. Yasopp, you will cook these beans before eating them or so God help us all.” – he hears your voice in his head echoing his own sentiments towards his friends. It suddenly feels too real. You’re just… like this. It’s in your nature to be warm. And you offer the same warmth to… Shanks. Larger-than-life, mythical, legendary Shanks. He’s just another man in your eyes… It makes him nervous.

BUGGY

Buggy needs someone who…

feels rather than thinks

engages in creative activities and has something that fulfils them

is loving, direct/ straightforward and clingy

reassures him and would be his anchor in life, an unshakeable constant

Buggycan help you cope with these character flaws:

deep insecurity/ self-pity

abandonment issues

competitiveness

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

being distant and indifference

Buggy sees you and knows that you’re different from the rest. Not unlike him, to be honest, but that might be wishful thinking. He just feels inexplicably drawn to you; he revels in your proud smile whenever he praises you for a job well done. Sometimes he thinks that you crave his approval just as much as he craves yours… once you tore down his walls, you’re all up in Buggy’s business. Worst thing is that he doesn’t mind at all. He likes having you around, you’re not half as much of an idiot as all the other troglodytes he keeps around. The thing that he doesn’t get is, though… you actually don’t think quite as highly of yourself. It’s not humility, you’re plenty humble, but it reeks of insecurity… and believe him when he says that he knows that stench all too well. Well, you might just need a proper hype man to tell you that you’re the most amazing person to ever walk this wretched Earth, darling! One day you’ll wear that title with pride.

[shouts-into-the-void]

Montresor caring about Will didn't come out of nowhere, Lenore was just mad: a biased completely unbiased post

The thing we need to remember as a rule is that Montresor's default personality is rude and antagonistic even when he's not actively trying to be an aggressor, which means you have to look at what he means rather than necessarily the things he says. He's a clear victim of abuse, who reacts to feelings trapped, cornered, threatened, panicked, or humiliated by lashing out. From what I have gathered, it seems like his mother may have been the type of person who was nice one minute, then became abusive at the drop of a hat, and/or acted loving while claiming she "had to do this for his own good", and he was clearly raised in a very strict religious environment where he didnt have a lot of control/was punished for things he couldnt help. As a reaction, Montresor tries to force an aggressive response out of anyone he feels threatened by, because at least then it's predictable and he feels in control. Okay, great, Montresor analysis out of the way, moving on.

Our first real look at Will and Montresor as a unit is when the clusterfucks (side note: I've seen a lot of people calling them the acoleets now? Far less funny, absolutely not) are discussing their spectres. During this conversation, Montresor is actually hyping Will up, and even when he agrees with Ada that is sounds useless, he makes sure to assure him that it "looks really cool though."

We only really see Montresor become outright violent and dangerous once it's revealed that only one person can win a new life. We see him actively panic about it, and while we don't really get a lot more context for him yelling at Will in the moment, I think its relevant that this is the moment when he starts treating Will less nicely, because now it's a competition and everyone else is potentially out to get him. Hell, he even immediately begins joking around with Will after telling him to shut up, so it's clear that he's acting out of stress and fear immediately after the revelation.

The interaction that immediately follows this is the incident with Morella and Ada, and I find it notable that Montresor goes out of his way to include Will. (when he makes sure to let you get your turn humiliating a woman to prove her loyalty to the group #romantic 🤡)

Later, during the Spectre vs. Students lesson, when Berenice bites Will and he asks for help, Montresor immediately tells her to leave him alone. While he seems mildly annoyed with Will the whole time (kind of understandably, because Will keeps screwing up the plan) he only says anything particularly horrible after Berenice slashes him across the face with her knife, which clearly pisses him off in general. We see him letting Will nap on his shoulder afterwards, which isn't super important I just think it's cute.

Montresor clearly sees them as a unit, as he still involved Will with the plan despite Will messing up the previous night with Duke and stops Will from helping Annabel with Ada despite not having a real reason to do so by saying "We'll sit this one out." Like it should have gone without saying that if he's not doing it, Will isn't either. Then the next day, the fact that Montresor comes to get Will specifically so they can walk to breakfast together? Knows what his toothbrush looks like and goes out of his way to give it back? The little flick on the forehead when he calls him a churchmouse? That he picks up on Will's distress and immediately goes to collect Ada to save him? I see you, fake-ass idgafer.

Which brings me to my next point, which is that it is Lenore on her enraged, vengeful tirade who claims that Montresor hates Will. She claims it's due to his behavior towards Will when he came to get him, but I think its pretty clear she only says it to upset Will. And Will can't think of anything nice Montresor's ever done for him because he's stressed, thinks he's about to get shot, and his self-confidence is super low. He even addresses the fact later that Montresor goes out of his way to save him all the time.

I also think now is a good time to point out that Montresor only seems to physically hurt Will in any significant way when he's been having a flashback. His expression when he comes out of his death flashback to find himself attacking Will is shocked, and while he doesn't apologize, his response does come across as apologetic. He has a similar expression when he wakes up from Ada's vision choking Will, only he looks incredibly panicked that time because he'd done actual damage. The expression on his face when Lenore points out what he's done is pained. I think this runs back to Montresor telling Will not to touch him, I'm pretty sure part of his trauma revolves around physical touch and when he's having an episode of PTSD/not fully aware of his surroundings he lashes out instinctively at the person touching him, which unfortunately means Will, who is a very physically affectionate person (man has 13 siblings and it shows.) Which is unfortunate, because I think Montresor also seems to be a very tactile person, and he actually goes out of his way to be touching Will a lot.

Another interesting thing? Montresor only ever addresses Will by name, which is very significant with context. The nicknames Montresor gives people are meant to mock them, so by only using Will's name it subtlely signals that he holds him in higher respect (or at least in more genuine regard) than the others. In Will's flashback, Sally–someone who went to school with him and was in all the same classes–doesn't remember his name, only that he's one of many Wilson siblings. So for Montresor, who can't even remember his "ace in the hole" and current fling's name, to be constantly making it a point to say he knows who Will is, is a great indicator of his actual feelings. By contrast, Will calls Montresor "Monty" exclusively, the only nickname he receives that is genuinely affectionate and something he never attempts to make him stop calling him.

Which pretty much brings us back to the events of the current episodes, which I've already talked about the significance of in another post. I know this is probably insanely biased for multiple reasons and im sure theres a bunch of little tidbits I've forgotten , but do with it what you will.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ RAINY CONFESSIONS, DEAN WINCHESTER

summary. being in love with Dean Winchester is basically like being tortured.

word count. 1,7k

supernatural masterlist

my full masterlist/support my work!

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Dean’s words echo in your mind. They feel so far away, yet he’s right in front of you.

Hypothetically, you should tell him, right? It’s Dean. He’ll probably laugh a little bit, maybe humiliate you without knowing he is, and realize what you’re saying is not a joke.

You replayed the moment in your mind, over and over again, for months, really. Probably even since the very first moment your eyes met.

He was mean, he was cold, you thought he was an asshole and he hated you at first, but you couldn’t help being drawn to that, because it’s Dean Winchester, you’d be a fool not to.

Dean’s presence always made you feel at peace. You’re not exactly sure why- the man doesn’t scream ‘I’m safe and I’m nice’.

But perhaps, that’s why you feel the way you do. You do- feel safe with him around. You know whatever happens to you, it’ll be fine because he’ll be there to protect you, and god forbids someone crosses you or hurts you.

He gets soft with you. Sam’s never seen him act like that- not even he is allowed to put you in your place from time to time, tell you when you’re wrong- or when he doesn’t agree with something you did or say. Dean will always be there to tell him to shut the hell up.

It made you laugh at first, then Sam dared to say something about how weird it was. About how Dean had never cared about someone that much, he’d never been this protective.

It made you think. And you quickly realized that maybe, the thought of him treating you this way, making you feel all sorts of emotions, perhaps meant that you had feelings for the man.

You didn’t like it one bit- at the beginning. It felt foreign, it felt embarrassing, and humiliating, knowing that a man like Dean wouldn’t go for someone like you. He wouldn’t for anyone really- at all. Except maybe one night stands.

Dean didn’t do relationships. He didn’t do attachement, and you certainly didn’t think he did loving.

He was coming from a broken home, a messed up family, everyone around him had pretty much died once or twice, maybe more. He didn’t know how to give his heart to someone, because he was scared of it being broken time and time again.

You knew that. It was obvious. He was just like you. Except you did the loving- the attachement. And if it came to Dean, you would definitely do the relationship.

Dean was confused. He stood in front of you, asking a bunch of questions on a case, and you just- looked like a ghost. You were here but you weren’t.

It felt like ages before you actually looked up, and realized he was addressing you.

‘Wow, you okay there?’ Dean’s stance was the same as always. His hands sat perfectly on his hips.

‘I’m here. Sorry, just thinking.’

‘Yeah? Wanna share with the class?’ He smirked.

You let out a laugh, although Dean could tell it was a fake one. You weren’t laughing because it was funny, but because you were uncomfortable, it was ridiculous.

‘Not really, no.’

Dean took a chair from around the table and sat in front of you.

‘C’mon. You look miserable, you haven’t said a word in like an hour, what the hell’s going on?’

That was his way of being protective over you. He wouldn’t say it, but this bothered him.

You sighed, your hands in your lap, sitting on the bed and Dean still staring at you. His eyes burned holes on you. He examined you closely, and you felt your entire body grow hot.

‘I’m fine,seriously. Just tired, I guess.’

‘You’re a horrible liar. If you were really fine, you’d look up when talking to me.’

And yet you still didn’t dare to look up. He was pushing you, and you feared you were about to break.

Dean, seeing you not answering, pushed his chair closer, if he had to stay here and stare at you until you broke and told him what’s wrong, he would.

‘Okay, enough with the self loathing. Why are you acting like this?’ It was his turn to sigh.

‘Because! My god Dean, how oblivious are you? Seriously! It’s getting on my nerves. You stand there, and it’s like you see me but you don’t! Sure you laugh at my jokes, you look at me, but you don’t- you don’t see me!’

Not sure where that came from, and now on your feet, you made your way to the motel door.

Dean, still confused, jumped on his feet too.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ He yelled after you, still trying to understand what was happening.

‘Going on a walk!’ You yelled back, threw the door open and slammed it.

The irony of it all though, it was raining. Pouring, really. Like in those cheesy romcoms Dean pretends to hate but secretly has a fun time watching with you.

The rain wasn’t a problem, the problem was you realizing that the door had opened again, and Dean was going after you.

‘Will you stop?’ His voice almost sounded like a whisper in the rain.

‘Go away!’ You weren’t even sure he’d heard that, because the next thing you knew, his hand was grabbing you by the elbow.

Soaked by the rain, you finally looked up.

‘Did you mean that? Do you really think I don’t see you?’

‘Do you? Do you even know how long I’ve spent building up the courage to tell you how I felt? And every time I got even the tiniest bit close to it, I felt like a joke. You- made me feel like a joke. And it’s stupid because I can’t even be mad at you for it!’

Dean went to interrupt, but you didn’t let him.

‘No, let me finish, please. I wanted to run and hide, so many times, but I didn’t because a life without you- even the thought of it makes my heart stop. It’s like I can’t breath whenever we go on a hunt together, I’m always so scared something will happen to you. Dean, you’re just- you’re you! And I can’t possibly understand how you could even think that way about me, but if you do, I need to know. I need to know if I’m embarrassing myself, or if all those sleepless nights were worth it. Dean, please I just.. I have to know.’

Dean was speechless. He had so much to say yet nothing would come out.

You felt like an idiot. His mouth was opened as if he was about to talk, but he threw his arms in the air, as to say he didn’t know what to respond.

‘Right. Good to know.’ You laughed without meaning, your hand wiping the water on your forehead.

You turned your back to him and walked away without really knowing where to go.

‘I don’t know how to do this!’

His voice echoed, this time stronger than yours.

You turned around, wanting to hear him out, desperately waiting for an answer. Your arms crossed over your chest.

‘I don’t- I’m not good at this, okay? It’s not something I do. I know, alright? Sam brings it up all the time. How you and I are great together, how much you care about me and me about you. But c’mon, seriously? Why on earth would you go for me? You know I don’t do this. You know i’m not good for any of this. Believe me, you’d have more chance with anyone else.’ You’d gotten close to him in the short time he spoke.

‘You actually think that way of yourself? Dating is not like breathing Dean, it’s not something you know how to do. It’s something you learn, overtime. Do you think i’m good at this? I mean I spent months stressing over every little interaction because I was scared to blur it out. I’m in love with you dean, and i’m tired of apologizing and hiding from it. You don’t have to answer now, you don’t even have to do this with me. But God please stop thinking you’re screwed up in every single department, because you’re not.’

After rambling for what felt like hours, Dean held a small smile on his face. It wasn’t a smirk like he did so well- it was an actual smile.

‘Can you repeat that?’

‘Repeat what? That was a long speech Dean i’m not doing that again.’ You shook your head.

‘Not the whole thing, that crazy thing you said.’ He walked even closer to you, making your heart quicken.

‘The I love you part? Yeah I love you! And i’m not sorry! You’ll have to get used to it, because if I have to tell you that again and again I will-‘

Dean’s lips interrupted you. They were hot on yours, fiery and passionate, and full of love that was yet unspoken on his part. They fit like perfect pieces of a puzzle assembling together. It felt like months of tension, and anger built up being broken apart, like shards of glass.

‘Does that answer your really really long speech?’ His forehead was on yours, lips still hot from the lingering kiss.

‘Hmm. I can live with that for now, if there’s more where that came from.’ You smiled, your hands on each side of his face.

‘Plenty. There’s plenty of it.’ He kissed you again, this time slower, less needy, as to tell you it’ll all be okay.

You could live like that until he’s eventually ready to say the three little words. You knew he felt the same, but you didn’t have to hear it yet, as long as he was by your side, kissed you some more, and took his time to be really sure that’s what he wanted, you’d be okay with it, because it’s Dean Winchester, and not only would you do anything for him, but you’d wait for an eternity to hear him say it back.

[agirlwithglam]

Prioritising: how to prioritise + use it effectively to take control of your life.

Hi girlies🐩💗 So yesterday i was incredibly lazy and unproductive and pathetic. I didn’t do any work and i was mostly on the screens. The worst part about it is that it was unintentional. Meaning that if it was planned as a “off day” bc i did a bunch of work that week, it would be fine. But it wasn’t planned. And it felt utterly horrible.

So i decided to take control of my life because i have no one to blame but MYSELF. I am in complete control of myself so now i am going to use that to my best advantage. It’s time to…

✨prioritise what matters✨

This is a step-by-step guide to how to prioritise what actually matters to you and then acting on it. So without further ado, lettuce(random pun sorry) begin :)

Step 1: figure out whats important to you/ your goals.

What’s important to you in life? Is it being online and scrolling on your phone all day? Or is it getting good grades, staying healthy and happy? What is it? Identify this first.

For me, its:

Time with loved ones

Enough sleep

Good grades + being smart & educated

Looking and feeling good + taking care of myself

Having hobbies & skills

God

This is the first step to learning how to prioritising things. It’s not about doing a bunch of hard work for something that you dont even care about, it’s so that you can do a bunch of hard work for something you do care about, so you’re working towards a goal.

Step 2: make an action plan to achieve/ accomplish these.

So now that you know whats really important and what matters to you (aka your goals), create some bullet points/ things you can do to achieve those goals.

For example;

Goal: spending more time with loved ones

Spend time with my sibling

Talk more to my parents

Call grandma / friends

Goal: getting high grades + being smart & educated

Study study study. Study for tests at least a week in advance

Read a lot. Not just what you normally read, read outside your comfort zone! (So for me this would be history, classics, arts & fashion, etc.)

Listen to podcasts about different things

Goal: feeling & looking good + taking care of myself

Wash hair 2x a week

Skincare

Pamper yourself + self care days

Exercise

Going outside/ walking

Posture!! (Calling YOU out)

Final: execution

Once you know these mini goals/ habits/ steps you need to take, then its time for the most important part:

Execution.

Doing all this, is completely USELESS if you don’t apply it to your life. So now it’s time to actually do it.

“B-b-but i dont have time!”

Um okay.. but you have time for scrolling? Use this thing i once heard called “time stealing”.

Whenever you catch yourself scrolling or doing something unintentionally unproductive, then stop yourself and use that time instead on doing something that moves you towards your goal.

Having the steps you can take to reach those goals written down somewhere means that whenever you feel bored or need something productive to do, you have those things to go to!

Xoxo, Vanilla.

[ochacoca]

SICK DAYS

now playing ♫ 24/7/365 by surfaces

IN WHICH your boyfriend ditches school to take care of you.

word count: 777 words + text messages

suna rintarō x gn! reader

When you get sick, do you ever just sit and reminisce about the times you weren't? That's how you felt right now and you feel horrible for taking your healthy days for granted. The second you woke up that morning and had that little feeling in your throat that wouldn't go away when you swallowed, you knew it was over.

You were currently wrapped up in what felt like hundreds of blankets, suffering with a fever you couldn't sweat out (wink wink). There were blown out tissues scattered across your bed and your night table and a warmed up water bottle in the pocket of your hoodie. Your eyelids began to droop and your ears were ringing.

God, you miss the times you were ill-free. Even though it was only yesterday, you mourned it like it'd been a decade.

You didn't even notice the silhouette standing at the frame of your door until it spoke. ‘It’ being your boyfriend.

“Hey, what's up?” Rintarō greeted casually as he laid a plastic bag at the end of your bed. You peeked over the mountain of blankets that were stacked ontop of you to see the bag filled with different medicines and gatorade. He wiped the night table of your tissues with a feign look of disgust before placing the contents of the bag on it and crawling into bed next to you. “Wow,” He said with a dry tone. “You look so pretty with boogers all over your face.”

You glared at him as your cheeks flush, then subconsciously wiped at your face.

“You actually came?” You asked him, voice thick with congestion. Usually, you'd be a bit self-concious with him seeing you like look such a mess, but now all you could focus on was how miserable you felt.

Rintarō grabbed your TV remote to put on a random show for background noise before wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close into his chest. “Well I couldn't let you suffer alone, could I? Plus, English was so boring without you.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, facing him with a knowing look in your eyes. “You mean so hard without someone giving you answers?”

“You think so lowly of me.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, but even that action took a toll on you as you groaned in pain and rolled over to your side. Rin frowned as he softly played with your hair, resting his chin ontop of your head. “You okay?” He asked lowly.

“I feel like I got hit by a semi-truck.” You muttered. “Then the truck turned around and hit me again.”

“Well that's not good.”

He sat up, reaching over to grab the medicine and the gatorade from the table and poured the liquid into the small measured cup.

He brought the small cup near your lips but you shut them tightly before he could press it against them.

“Nuh-uh.” You mumbled as you sank further into the blankets, eyeing the medicine like it was poison.

“Y/n,” He said in his infuriating, parental tone. “You have to drink it. Do you want to feel like you're dying?”

“Yes, yes I do. I'd do anything than have to take that disgusting thing. I refuse.”

He sighed but still kept his patient. He prepared himself for this battle as he walked to your house. “Baby, come on.”

As you stared him down, he stared right back, clearly not backing down anytime soon. He sighed once again, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ before shoving the syrupy poison down your throat. You groaned dramatically as you swallowed it. It was cherry-flavored but it had a hint of chemicals and betrayal.

You slumped back onto his chest and began watching the show he put on before. The two of you laid together in comfortable silence. His arms were wrapped around your shoulders as yours were wrapped around his torso.

“You know you're gonna get sick too, right?” You broke the silence, slightly lifting your head to look up at him.

Rintarō shrugged. “I don't really care.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his reponse. “Why not? Getting sick sucks.”

“Cause you're my partner and it's my job to take of you when you feel like shit.” He told you. Even though his choice of words were.. questioning, to say the least, it made you feel warmer in your chest than you felt all day.

“Plus, better for me, an actual excuse to skip school.”

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

--

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

--

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

[pedriache]

The Wall 𖦹 Jack Hughes !

summary. though you and jack had been together for a little over a year now, you still had your perfectly constructed walls up. your last relationship had been horrible and caused a rift within your self confidence. but jack, jack had been the light in the dark. even when you had your walls up, his presence had light seeping through the tiniest of cracks.

wc. 525+

disclaimers. light angst, mostly fluff, jack being a good listener!!

notes. i’ve never actually written for hockey players b4 since, well, i built this platform on football & f1 mostly but.. hey.. lmk if you’d like more and feel free to req for anyone !!!!!

The sound of water and the faint clicking of dishes filled the kitchen as you stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, and hands busy. Jack sat on a stool on the other side of the island, chin resting on the butt oh his palms, watching you with the kid of attentiveness that should’ve made you self conscious. But, thankfully, you were too busy to notice.

You were in the midst of talking about a new interest of yours, The Library of Alexandria.

“And then I found this video that went into the details, like every little thing I didn’t even think to realize mattered! And, well, it just completely changed my perspective. I mean who knew that—“ You pause mid-sentence, the realization hitting you like a splash of cold water.

You were rambling, again.

Your ex would’ve rolled his eyes by now. Probably muttering a sarcastic, “are you done yet?” just to make you feel small.

A familiar sense of shame and self-doubt crept in, brushing against the walls you’d been so careful to construct over the past three years. Your hands stilled as you fumbled to regain your grip on the yellow sponge, heat rushing to your face.

Your gaze darted up to your boyfriend cautiously, expecting even the smallest hint of annoyance. All you were met with was a confused Jack. His eyes—the blue so beautiful sometimes you couldn’t stop looking at them—narrowed and face scrunched slightly like he couldn’t understand why you’d suddenly stopped. Then, before you could utter an apology, he slipped off the stool without uttering a word, moving around the island with quiet purpose.

You felt his warmth before you saw him. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. The kiss he placed on your shoulder was soft but deliberate, the kind of gesture that made any worry you felt dissipate instantly.

And cause a slight fluttering of your heart.

Jack’s chin rested lightly on your shoulder his hair brushing your cheek faintly. “You stopped,” he said simply, voice low and warm on your skin.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Jack reached past you, grabbing his water bottle on the counter and popping the lid open. “You were getting to the best part,” he adds, with a small, reassuring smile as he took a sip. “Keep going.”

Mouth still parted, you watch as Jack just moved to lean against the counter like it was the most normal thing in the world. His blue eyes were still on you, silently encouraging you to continue.

It was so different—he was so different. Where you’d been expecting frustration, Jack offered patience. A whole year of you trying to keep your walls so neatly placed, and he’d been so easy going about the whole thing.

He understood even without in depth details. The cracks in your walls spread a little further, a little deeper—just enough for his light to seep through.

With a small, grateful smile, you picked up where you left off. And Jack’s head tipped to the side, listening to you like your voice was his favorite sound in the world.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any jack or hockey related posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @joaoflms @be11ingham @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

[gatorbites-imagines]

Thank you so much for writing for Invincible!!!!!! There's hardly anything especially with a male reader

So like yandere Mark, am i right? If he were to be yandere i could totally imagine him using his powers to intimidate his lover and get rid of anyone who he doesn't like and he would act like it's your fault if you're sad when he kills someone, he got it from his dad

Mark Grayson Yandere Alphabet

I found this yandere alphabet, so I decided to fill it out for Mark :3c This is post season 2 mark, or something around that, which is why Mark is different to what Nolan would be like. Let me know if you guys wanna see more alphabets like this.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

I think after everything that’s happened, Mark would be a very clingy guy. He would hug, hold, and kiss his darling any chance he gets. It can get pretty intense, like, mark holding you so hard bones would break if you try to wiggle free or if he’s feeling extra emotional, be it positive of negative. In the beginning hed be too shy to kiss you, but when he crosses that bridge, he never stops.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

After everything with his dad and with Angstrom, it would be much easier for Mark to get violent and bloody, especially if he thinks someone is trying to harm you, in his opinion. And to him, anybody trying to rescue you from him is a threat.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I don’t see Mark as someone who would mock his darling. Instead, he would try to pamper you and make you love him back, to make you accept that this is your new life now and its for the best. He would be overly affectionate, to the point where its extremely overbearing. His horrible self-worth also makes you seek a lot of validation. So, all in all, he’s very draining to be around.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Mark would hug you, cuddle you and kiss you against your will. Hed go as far as to force you to take care of yourself if you don’t, either by him doing it for you, or watching you like a hawk as you do it. hed never force himself on his darling though, since he still sees himself as a hero.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He would expose his heart to you from the very beginning, since he feels so guilty about kidnapping you. Mark would just word-vomit everything he feels and how this is what he needs to do, because he loves you so much and can’t lose you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Mark would be so sad, but he understands why his darling fights back in the beginning, at least some part of him does. But he would grow frustrated if they kept fighting back for a longer period of time, since he thinks hes doing the right thing. Why cant his darling just SEE that?

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Its in no way a game for Mark, this is almost life and death for him. He hates seeing you trying to escape too, since he knows its just proof that you don’t love him back or understand his version of the truth.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably the fact that there is a high possibility that Mark has killed his darling’s family and loved ones, since if he killed them, there’s no reason for you to leave right? You have no one else, just him, and that’s all you need. Hes also broken many bones, sometimes without meaning too, and sometimes on purpose.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He fantasizes about an almost movie like future, with a happy spouse who loves him back just as much as he loves them, where you’ll greet him at the door and embrace him so happy he’s home. It wouldn’t be too out of this world for Mark to imagine his darling as still living in solitude in what he deemed the safest place.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Mark gets so jealous, since his mental state is already very broken. The very thought of his darling loving someone else or wanting to leave him for someone else? Its almost enough to get him spiraling, and it either leads to him having a horrible breakdown, or growing extra violent when he fights crime.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Disgustingly doting and clingy. Hes always right behind you or touching you in some way. He absolutely craves your attention and validation, and will have a panic attack if you ignore him. But he also uses a lot of guilt tripping when he isn’t getting his way, or his darling it acting out.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

I imagine your relationship was actually pretty normal in the beginning, with you replacing Amber. As normal as a relationship dating a superhero is at least. So mark was kind of clumsy but so sweet and genuine. But then everything with angstrom happened, and he just kinda breaks.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes. Mark acts cooler and a lot more down to earth around people, suppressing the worse parts of himself. He wants to come across as a hero that everyone can look up too, which also means very few people know of your existence after you disappear.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Mark doesn’t like to hurt his darling physically, but he isn’t above breaking bones. He will sob the entire time though, crying and yelling at you that this is your fault and hes only doing it because you gave him no other choice. But he prefers emotional punishment instead, like isolating you for long periods of time.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He would try to keep as many rights for his darling as possible, not wanting to damage their way of life too much. But you would have no connection to the outside world, and you defiantly wouldn’t be able to leave wherever he keeps you. If you act up too much though, then he would have to start taking privileges away, and chaining you to the bed can also be one of those privileges.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He tries to be patient. Mark knows it’s a big change for you, so of course you’re gonna act out and you’re gonna scream at him and try to fight back. But it also wears on him, making his frayed edges get worse, until he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down, which only adds onto all the guilt he’s been piling on you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No way. If his darling dies, then Mark would spiral completely out of control. He would either isolate himself completely, or snap to the point where nolans acts look like a field trip. This depends on if his darling’s death was caused by someone else though. If you leave or escape, you bet your ass Mark is coming for you again. And the GDA would most likely help him, since they know the easiest way to control Mark is to let him keep you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Mark would feel incredibly guilty and selfish for kidnapping you, but since he thinks it’s the right thing to do, then he would learn to cope with it. There is a chance you can get him to leave you go though, if you catch him at the right time when he’s most vulnerable, and if he thinks you truly love him in return. But this would be rare, and him coming back for you would be very likely.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

All the loss and chaos he’s experienced since gaining his powers. The stuff Mark has experienced is enough to break the strongest of men, and with his mental state already being so fractured, the thought of losing you would be the last push he needed.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Mark would feel so horrible about seeing his darling cry or scream, since he already feels guilty about kidnapping you. This is also why it would take him months or even longer to tell you he killed your entire family and all your loved ones, since he doesn’t want to see you cry more.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Theres so many flavours of yandere, that Marks acts would fit some type of yandere, so probably not. Maybe the fact that there is a small chance he would willingly let his darling go? Or the fact that he resorts to using his own guilt and tears to manipulate you.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Honestly just play along with his delusions, that yes Mark, this was the right idea and the world id dangerous. You love him too, and of course you’ll hold him and tell him he’s doing the right thing and being such a good hero. It wouldn’t be too hard to twist him around your finger, since he’s so starved for you and your attention. Escape would be pretty fucking hard though, since even the GDA wouldn’t help you.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Most of Mark hurting you would be accidental, if hes under a lot of stress or very wound up. But it isn’t above him to hurt you on purpose if he thinks there’s no other choice, like you trying to escape too much, or trying to attack him.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Mark would worship the very ground you walked on and would see you as the center of his universe. This is also why the GDA wouldn’t do anything, since Mark sees you as his everything, and you are human and live on earth, then he wouldn’t turn against humanity. Mark would also bend over backwards to gain his darlings affection, whatever it takes, as long as it isn’t letting you free or anything like that.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If you replaced Amber, then you two would have been dating for a while before he snaps, so he would have pined for around that time.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

I don’t think he would do it on purpose, but it would come as a byproduct of his darling being isolated for so long that they just kinda break on their own. Or might be more his darling being slowly shaped into the same kind of stuff that Mark is made out of than outright breaking, since Mark still loves you for who you are. This is where he’s different from his dad.