#there are more. which will come. eventually.

[sourkiki]

LOVE ME A ✨️Jealous hoonie✨️

ALBUM'S CONTENT: explicit mature content, established relationship, dom! 박성훈 x fem! reader, jealous! sunghoon, sunghoon's hella mean here, fingering, begging, edging 𖤐 1108... ᧔♡᧓ catalogue.

FROM PRODUCER:hye writing someone else other than riki?? how shocking!

Sunghoon is not a jealous man. 

At least, that’s what he likes to believe. You see, he has complete faith and trust in you. He has dated you long enough to know you’re not the kind of person to fool around, flirt with someone else. According to his friends, it’s hard for you to do that, even if you wanted to because Sunghoon’s always following you around, like a dog following its owner.

Wherever you go, one will be able to find him hot on your heels. Some find it cute. Some find it suffocating. You, on the other hand, find it downright amusing. 

Sunghoon is not a jealous man. But why does he feel something ugly crawling inside him as he watches from where he stood. He crossed his arms, watching with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows at the sight of you engaged in a conversation with some…peasant. Someone who thought they had the chance to be with you. The thought itself was laughable, enough to make him roll his eyes. 

He had accompanied you to the party after you had pleaded with him for fifteen minutes straight. Sunghoon didn’t want to go in the first place, as he’d rather be at home, like the introvert he is. But he’s nothing more than just a man whose head over heels for you, which led him to his current situation. 

His jaw tightened as they had the audacity to lay their hand on your shoulder. You tried to politely tell them to remove their hand but they paid your words no mind. To add fuel to the fire, they even invaded your personal space, acting like he knows you when he doesn’t. Unable to take it anymore, Sunghoon pushes himself off the wall and approaches you, silently seething with rage as he gets closer. 

“Come on, we can get out of here. I don’t see that boyfriend of yours anywhere and he’s stupid to leave a pretty—” 

“Get your fucking hands off her.” 

You turned, shoulders sagging in relief to see your knight in shining armor coming to save you. Sunghoon was immediately by your side, one arm possessively wrapped around your waist, pulling you close until you’re pressed against his side. Shivers ran down your spine and heat pooled in the depth of your stomach at the fleeting sensation of him drawing circles on your skin, through the fabric of your skirt. 

Thankfully, the guy didn’t put up a fight and was quick to scurry away, with his invisible tail between his legs. Sunghoon rolled his eyes at the stranger’s cowardice and dragged you out of the venue, not giving you any chance to speak. 

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, and you go silent at the coldness in his voice. 

He didn’t say another word the entire ride home but you could tell he was barely holding onto himself. The silence was filled with so much tension that one could practically slice it apart with a mere butter knife. Eventually, you arrived home and the moment you stepped foot into your apartment, Sunghoon was quick to pin you against the nearest wall surface. You let out a gasp, which was cut short when he crashed his lips against yours. 

Unlike the usual ways he kissed you, which was filled with nothing but pure love and adoration, this was him taking control of you. Dominating you. You couldn’t keep up with him, your lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen but there wasn’t room for you to make your escape. You whined into his mouth when he tugged your skirt and panties down, leaving them pooling around your ankles. You cried out his name as Sunghoon pushed two fingers into your pussy without warning. 

“Fuck, you’re already dripping wet. Was it because of him?” He snarled, jealousy evident in his voice. “Was he the one who made you like this?” 

You had to break the kiss, tilting your head up, hands scrambling to find something to grip onto but the only nearest thing was a wall behind you. “N-No!” You managed to squeak out, eyes rolling up as your boyfriend easily found your sensitive spot with just his fingers alone. 

You tried to tilt your hips forward so you could feel more of his fingers but you were stopped by Sunghoon tightening his grip on your waist. It was a silent warning. A warning where you knew too well. Your boyfriend chuckled at the needy look you gave him, hoping there was some part in him where he’s still kind enough to give you what you want. Instead, he pressed his thumb down on your pussy lips, savoring the way your legs spasmed. You would’ve fallen to the ground if he didn’t catch you in the nick of time. 

“Look at you, you’re dripping all over me. Don’t even need lube with how wet you are,” he murmured, purposely saying those crude words directly into your ear, knowing the effect they have on you. 

True enough, you tightened around his fingers as you shakily exhaled, shoulders trembling. “H-Hoonie.. please…wan’ you.” 

“How do you want me, sweetheart? Use your words and tell me,” he coos, moving his fingers in a scissor like motion, opening and preparing you for what’s to come. 

You couldn’t speak, not when you were this close to cumming. In a desperate attempt, you tried to push forward. Keyword: tried. Only for Sunghoon to rip his fingers out from your pussy. It didn’t matter how hard you clenched down on him, trying to prevent him from slipping out. You let out a disappointed whine, pawing at the front of his shirt but he wasn’t fazed. He’s not falling for your pitiful act. Not this time. 

Sunghoon used his clean hand to grab your face, forcing you to look at him. A twinge of satisfaction curled around him at the sight of your current state. To him, you looked divine despite your teary, dazed eyes and swollen, bruised lips. 

“Look at you, you’re already a mess when I barely did anything,” he chuckled, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck, savoring the way you whimpered. 

You blindly reached out, hands gripping onto his shirt. “Sunghoon, p-please…touch me.” 

You heard him sharply inhaled with how delicious his name sounds from you. Just when you thought you had him, your boyfriend pulled back, ignoring your poor attempts of holding him in place. You shivered at the sight of his dark, stormy eyes. 

“This is just the beginning, princess. I hope you’re prepared and by the time we’re done, you’ll only know how to scream my name.”

tags list: @chuhees, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @doucious, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @onlyywwon, @jjung-v.

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume five — todo a su tiempo

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: all of the comments and feedback i've received so far has been absolutely amazing, it always encourages me to plow through volumes! i appreciate and love all of you <3

✦ ── word count: 4.9k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume six

art by outdmilk on twt

The following days you could only describe were bliss.

Sukuna and you had established a set—yet, unspoken—routine. You’d wake up, hop to the kitchen, and get breakfast started. 

He’d disappear into the bathroom, hacking up a storm with his toothbrush and shuffle into work clothes.

You’d learned how he’d dress his eggs, that he only drank his coffee black which you scowled at upon discovery, and which mug he liked to sip from.

You even started packing him a lunch—which he called unnecessary every single time despite never turning it down.

You got comfortable in the clothing he’d bought you, despite having no sensitivity for fashion outside of red flannels and blue jeans.

If he wasn’t going to accept payment in the form of a wire transfer, you were going to ensure that you were going to pay him back through duties despite still being incredibly indebted to him.

He was a jerk, but a jerk who saved your life.

You dusted off his entire CD collection, reorganized his dining sets after polishing them, and scrubbed his tiles until they shined.

Twice.

From what you could puzzle together, it seemed that he worked down at a sawmill and treaded down the hill to reach his pick-up before heading into work. The extra lumber he’d chop on occasion, he’d leave in a lump come winter time when it’d be too cold to stand outside for long periods of time.

You’d bothered him quite a bit the next day about putting up a clothesline out back, which he found irksome but completed nonetheless that evening, along with fixing the dryer. 

You thus called the clothesline useless if he was just going to fix the dryer and he flicked your forehead.

He’d hammer you about checking your bandages and curse you out when you’d forget, and you’d raid his book collection and sit beneath a tree to pass time.

Uraume was quite the companion—plopping on you to rub their mud-covered mane to which you’d giggle at. 

You’d both fall asleep beneath the haze of the afternoon heat that hung sweetly in the air. Days were old, nights were young. You’d tan your shoulders, haunted by the melancholy of youth. The sky felt bigger than everything.

You’d scoop yourself three helpings of ice cream that’d dribble down your hand, Uraume lapping it up when it’d muddled around your palm.

The rusted windchimes on the patio became your favorite noise.

Nothing made sense except your virtue for stillness. You knew nothing was okay, but it felt otherwise.

You occasionally found yourself lurking near the shed, toying with the lock and peering between the slivers of cracked wood, but it was completely black inside—further frustrating your curiosity.

You’d argue with Sukuna every here and then—bickering about who’d tracked dirt in, when you’d use all the hot water before he had the chance to shower, or Sukuna telling you that you’d talked too much when you’d feel restless after being cooped up all day, your only friend Uraume who wasn’t of much help since they couldn’t actually speak back to you.

Sukuna was mean but he was sufferable.

“You ever try a root beer float?”

You had your hand resting on the side of his TV, giving it a couple of smacks to get rid of the static. Thankfully he had cable but you could tell he rarely used the old box. “Who hasn’t?”

He grunted at your bluntness, pulling a beer can from the fridge along with a pint of vanilla ice cream. “How about a root beer float with beer?”

You turned to frown at him, obviously not excited at the mixture of ale and milk. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Where on Earth did you learn this?”

You shoved an orange plastic straw into your mason jar that was both foamy from the sprite and beer can you’d dumped in along with a hefty scoop of ice cream. 

You were yet to be sick of ice cream.

You swirled your straw, eyeing it suspiciously as Sukuna had already spooned half of it down.

“Lots of free time,” he smirked, a line of frothy ice cream above his upper lip.

You grimaced, tossing a napkin at him and taking a sip.

You were a little pissed off that you liked it.

“Aren’t these called dirty root beer floats?” You quirked with an emphasis, metal spoon churning the thick cream. You pulled your knee up to your chest, resting your chin against the cap.

He shrugged, adjusting in his seat and reaching a long armover to the fridge. He propped it open, grabbing himself yet another can of beer to guzzle down.

You could only watch in awe at his bottomless pit of a stomach.

Pushing away your glass, you folded your arms over your knee and leaned forward. “Are you an orphan?”

He side-eyed you mid-sip, surprised at your sudden and blunt inquiry, bringing the can down just to crush it with his hand. “What’s it to you?”

You tilted your head, before retreating. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“Stop poking your nose where it ain’t belong,” he scoffed, pushing up from his seat and tossing the mutilated can into the sink.

Your nose scrunched, knowing you’d yet again managed to cross unmarked territory. Your time here was short, and though Sukuna simply seemed to be a hostile and reticent guy, you felt like there was more to him somehow. It was naive to think he’d care to express it, though. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone more closed off than him.

There was something stewing beneath the surface of his hardened demeanor you couldn’t place.

But that was coming from a woman with forever bubbling emotions that seemed to simmer indefinitely.

You hated small talk—you’d never been able to stomach it. The feigned smiles and comments about weather or formal confabulation. You’d sworn against it after your divorce, severing most ties with a family that indulged in table talk and pleasantries.

His footfalls disappeared into his room and you huffed, peering out the window and feeling a sense of frustration, a moon-struck madness cast upon you.

Until he returned to the kitchen just moments later, a box in his hand that you’d become quite familiar with.

He got to one knee before you, resting your foot atop his muscled thigh as he undressed your ankle.

You pretended not to twitch when his calloused fingers grazed your bare skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t know an ankle could be so ticklish.

“My parents,” he started, nearly mumbling under his breath. “Killed a real long time ago.”

You quirked a brow, something you couldn’t decipher lurching in your chest as you shuffled in your seat.

“Joined the army with my brother. Half-brother. We got into some argument, way back, n’ I haven’t seen him since. Just left him on some mission and never turned back.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching Sukuna’s hands still near your ankle as those tightly etched lines on his face only dug deeper, as if the only expression he could reserve was a scowl.

You inhaled sharply, worried that you were treading on thin ice already. “What’s he like? Your brother.”

Sukuna scoffed. “My brother? Real arrogant bastard.” He placed an antiseptic wipe into his mouth just to tear it open with his canines. “Aggressive, unhinged.”

“Like you,” you quickly added with a tug of your lip.

Sukuna glanced up, a sarcastic grin coloring him before he leaned forward to flick your forehead, a gesture he’d gotten incredibly comfortable with executing.

“Ouch!” You yelped, hands flying to shield your forehead as Sukuna snickered under his breath. “The hell was that for?”

“For being a lil brat,” he jeered back, finishing up the dressing.

You slowly lowered your hands, resting them on your thighs and frowning.

“Been quite a few days now,” he started, effectively changing the subject, lowering your leg and peering up at you. “I’ll walk you down the main trail first thing. Had someone pick up my shift.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat, shuffling in your seat as you averted eye contact. “Well, I’m not sure if I’m totally healed and—.”

“If you complain too much, I'll just drag you by the ankle.”

Or in normal, non-Sukuna terms, he’ll carry you on his back like he did up the hill.

“But I-I,” you began to fumble over your words, perturbation spiking. “I haven’t completed my fill yet and cleaned enough—.”

He spoke your name curtly, a volume slightly raised above your own that it had you come to a halt in your rambles, heat warming your cheeks discomfitingly. “Tomorrow morning. Won’t say it again.”

A rock of desperation sat thick in your throat, feeling yourself develop a case of cottonmouth in real time as Sukuna retreated to his room for the evening. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, biting the inside of your cheek.

To put it plainly—you didn’t want to leave.

You liked it here compared to your real life in the city. It was stupid to think that you could continue to mooch off of Sukuna by sleeping on his wearing and scruffy couch and cook him two meals and think he’d allowed you to stay.

But he’d done far more than enough. Opened his home to you and fed you and allowed you autonomy with nothing in return. 

You didn’t like being indebted, but you did like Sukuna’s shabby little nook in the forest.

Lamentably, your little vacation and respite had come to an end.

In all honesty, you probably could’ve walked down by day three. But you ignored your near-healed injury and deluded yourself into thinking this newfound peace was something you could continue to indulge in.

You plopped down on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest, eyes dialed in on his popcorn ceiling marked with water stains and dust.

It’d only been a few days, and though you hated how abrasive and standoffish Sukuna was, he was possibly the first person to really notice you.

His eyes didn’t rake over you and allow you to blend into the crowd. He treated you like a nuisance at times and your banter was practically never-ending, but you’d oddly found a sense of mutual understanding between each other.

Two people who felt abandoned by the real world.

You shut your eyes, dragging your hands over your face as you pulled the thin sheet over your head, attempting to shake off your plethora of emotions you didn’t have the energy to sort out.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Don’t even think about forgettin’ nothin’. I’m not coming all the way back up.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the rucksack on your back as you shuffled down the wooden steps. “I won’t. You got a switchblade I can borrow?”

Sukuna eyed you as you leaned over to tie your boots, your face shielded from him as your unnecessarily wide-brimmed hat flopped in the early morning haze. “Uh. No. You’re outta luck,” he murmured, shoving a hand into his jean pockets and glancing down the hill.

You looked up at him from the ground, unable to hide your blatant surprise. “You’re kidding. A lumberjack doesn’t own a blade?”

He just shrugged, averting his gaze and narrowing his eyes. “We gonna get goin’ or what?”

You scowled, hopping to your feet and dusting your knees off. “Wow. You really have mastered the art of deflection,” you taunted, walking past him just to nudge his arm.

He flinched at the contact, watching you pad down the trail with a permanent scowl, the ink on his face contorting with each antagonized expression.

“So,” you called out minutes later, only a few feet behind him as he’d overtaken your slow pace easily. You didn’t even try to keep up with his long strides, as if he couldn’t get rid of you any quicker. “What’s the plan if we’re cornered by a pack of mutts again?”

Sukuna only ignored you, but you could see his irritation light up in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Just the sound of your voice seemed to infuriate him sometimes.

You jogged up towards him, craning your head up and squinting against the harsh rays of the sun tethered high in the sky, her light filtered through flitting leaves. “No plan? Because a switch blade would be of some real relief—“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

You shrugged, undeterred. “You’ve asked me that before. You should know the answer.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Are we almost thereeeee,” you whined out, hands hanging limp at your sides as you dragged your feet.

It felt like your muscles were on fire, tensing with each movement and flaring as your exhaustion only roared on.

“Nope.” 

Sukuna was at your side now, irritated that you kept falling too far behind and resigning to your slow tempo. 

You continued to huff and puff and bitch and moan, but as much as Sukuna hated to hear your grievances, he also enjoyed seeing you suffer in the afternoon heat.

Sweat beaded across your browline and down your spine, your top clinging to the perspiration. Your eyes hung low, as if you could pass out any moment from heat stroke and your throat had gone dry after chugging all of your water.

Sukuna on the other hand? The guy was in tip-top shape. And it drove you mad. His stamina was one to rival a wolf with.

“C-can’t we take a break?” You groaned out of breath.

Sukuna let out consecutive tsks, watching as your rucksack made you hunch over like you were about to topple a stack of dominoes. “Now how could we when we’re so close.”

You shot him a glare. “You literally just said we weren’t close.”

“Heats’ got me hallucinating,” he sarcastically defended, arching a brow at you with a sharp grin.

You opened your mouth to call him a slew of curses that equated him as crass and crazy, when your foot stalled.

You gasped, effectively tripping over your own foot as you stepped on your undrawn shoe lace, arms flying forward.

Sukuna’s eyes bulged, arms instinctively reaching forward and stepping in front of you.

And as clumsy as you were, your foot caught the back of his, pushing him backwards, your hands smacking against his chest.

You both fell with a timber-like thud, crashing into a pile of brush. You could hear Sukuna wince and grunt as he broke your fall. 

His massive hands were around your waist, your face stuffed into the crook of his neck and accidentally taking in his scent—cigarettes and a woody musk so undeniably him.

The two of you were still for a moment—could’ve been mere seconds, could’ve been minutes—until you inhaled sharply and pushed off of him, falling to the side with an unceremonious thunk!

Sukuna stared at the sky, arms flopped to his sides lazily as you scrambled over words, heat rising from your nape all the way to the crown of your ears. “I- Sorry I didn’t mean to—,” you stopped yourself, eyes fixing on his palm.

He seemed to have sliced it open against brush, a bleeding wound the size of your pinky across the front of his hand.

“Oh my god, your hand,” you gasped, fingers reaching out to smooth a finger near the broken skin, but Sukuna seemed to beat you to the punch.

He sat up quickly, tugging his hand away from you like you’d burn him if you came into contact and getting to his feet. “Christ, woman. I’m fine.”

You furrowed your brows, swallowing a thick lump of contrite lodged in your throat. “Are you sure? Your hand looked—.”

“We going or what?” He interrupted, a deep contempt and frustration brewing on his face, like he’d tasted coffee somehow even more bitter than his regular order.

He scoffed at your momentary silence and picked up his pace down the path, fingers flexing at his side again.

You bit your lip, scrambling to your feet and hurrying after him.

Though, you made sure to never fall too far behind this time, just a few paces behind him.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

For the duration of what was left, you kept your gaze lowered on the floor before you, occasionally kicking a pebble and watching it scurry away.

Sukuna kept his pace manageable. But he didn’t utter a word to you.

The tension was more than palpable—like a thick, tempestuous cloud hanging over the both of you that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

Your heart never really slowed to a resting pace—whether that be from another unbridled argument with Sukuna or the exertion of the walk. You didn’t dare attempt to decipher which possibility it may be.

You picked at the skin around your nails, feeling like a little kid who’d gotten in trouble and blindly followed their parents around.

Thankfully, this was the last you’d be seeing of him. No more stifling arguments that left your skin flaring.

“My truck is just down the road.” Sukuna suddenly broke the silence, his pace coming to a stop.

“What?” You squeaked out immediately, peering up at him from the rim of your hat.

He gave you a strange look, cocking his head to the side reluctantly. “Uh, we’re here. I wouldn’t mind giving you a lift back to—.”

“No!” You interrupted, shaking your hands in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed how long the two of you had been walking, the rushing sound of cars from a nearby freeway augmenting your senses.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, gaze dancing across you. If you were any less lucid, you could’ve sworn you’d seen remorse coloring him.

“I’ve got it figured out from here. Thanks, Sukuna,” you breathed out slowly, a wide smile across your cheeks that pinched the skin uncomfortably.

He couldn’t shake off the odd feeling churning in his chest, coughing it away and averting his gaze with his hands planted on his hips. “Suit yourself.”

You glanced at the open road, just past it was a gas station where you’d be able to rest before calling for a ride.

“I’d say see you around but we both know how unlikely that is,” you admitted with a dry laugh, goosebumps littering your body in a cold sweat.

He side-eyed you, jaw clenched as he mulled over something in silence.

But you could barely take it anymore.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” you whispered, any louder and it wouldn’t be a promise.

He brought a hand over his hat, before bowing his head, real lumberjack-like.

“Bye, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You nearly passed out at the rest stop, chugging three bottles of water and splashing your face in the restroom before plopping on one of those window seats.

The cup of ramen you downed had your head lolling, belly satiated and brain fuzzy as you waited for your phone to charge up.

Halfway through day three with Sukuna, your phone had died and you didn’t care to charge it.

Not like you could anyway. You didn’t bring a charger and Sukuna had a phone at least several generations behind with a cracked screen. You wondered if he even cared to use it.

Your phone buzzed on and, lo and behold, fifteen missed calls and twenty texts ranging from your boss to your colleagues.

And one missed call from your mother.

Great.

You skimmed your fingers through your hair, ordering an uber. Truthfully, you didn’t want to deal with any of this until you slept for ten hours minimum but you didn’t have the luxury to ignore all of your issues as much as you’d like to.

So you hopped from your seat and rolled your shoulder, dragging your feet to your rideshare.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Look who decided to show up.”

You rolled your eyes at your peach-skinned boss, stepping into the shabby building with flickering neon logo lights nestled between a 24-hour convenience shop and a hole-in-the-wall bar and karaoke.

“I already texted you and called to apologize. Please don’t make my migraine worse,” you shot back, rolling your neck as exhaustion still seemed to plague you. You plopped down on the weathered couch, the familiar sinking feeling having you toss your head back and groan. “Is Shoko out on a run?”

She padded over to you, half of her face shielded from the milky braid she was so adamant on wearing all of the time. To be quite frank, you didn’t know what the other side of her face even looked like. Which was odd for the duration you’d worked under her. “She’ll be back in a few. You do understand these are grounds to fire you, yes?”

“My god, Mei Mei. We both know you’re not going to do that,” you sighed, feeling like there were bare canines skimming over your nape, any harder and they make break your irritated skin. “Take three days out of my pay. Happy?”

She bristled, turning on her heel and leaning against her desk. “She was worried sick,” she started, tone flat and monotonous. “Filed a missing persons report and everything.”

You bit your lip, eyes dialed in on the chipped rim across the room beside the grey and lifeless metal lockers. “You sure you weren’t worried sick?” You attempted to break the tension, though you knew the answer.

She scoffed incredulously. “I was. Worried that I’d somehow have to find someone as competent as you looking to be a modern day scullery maid,” she sighed out, peeling documents from her desk to skim over.

You huffed, grabbing your bag and shoving up from your seat to rake through your locker. “When’s the next service?”

“45 minutes from now. Rest up, it’ll be some back breaking work.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

She wasn’t kidding.

Your first day back on the job after your accidental get-away was to some dilapidated house on the edge of town. Some affluent couple with too much free time decided to delve into flipping-culture, enter your cleaning company to fix up the place before they got to work on the infrastructure and furnishing.

For the following five hours, you scrubbed, brushed, mopped, sponged, wiped, squeegeed, buffed, shined, and polished the place until every limb of yours nearly gave out.

Shoko didn’t mind keeping close company the entire time, scolding your ear off and pinching you.

“Do you know how awkward it was to call your mother? Do you?” She huffed between scrapes of the bathroom tub, removing the age old grime. “She said you’d probably gone on some bender after—.” She halted herself mid-conversation, worrying her lip between her teeth.

You glanced over your shoulder with knitted brows, hand stilling against the mirror. “After what?”

Shoko bit the inside of her cheek, slowly continuing her movements like she was inconspicuous, regretting ever uttering a word.

“Sho. What are you talking about?”

She slowly turned to meet your gaze, a sheepish smile on her lips. “Naoya sent her an invitation, too.”

Your mouth hung open, the rag in your hand effectively falling into the sink. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” you cursed under your breath, snapping your gloves off. “Of course he fucking did.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and hurried out of the bathroom, striding into some empty bedroom littered with old couches draped in plastic, heavy drapes shielding any source of light.

The only illumination in the room was your phone, lighting up your face as you frantically searched for her extremely buried contact and hit the call button.

You folded your arms, leg bouncing as you heard the line buzz, before it clicked on.

“Mom! Hi, I just saw your message—.”

“Where on Earth have you been?”

You froze, nails digging into your biceps. “Let me explain, o-over dinner. Tonight?”

You could hear her sigh on the other side, voice nothing but crestfallen. You could imagine her lounging in the living room, legs folded while she perused whatever tabloid she could find around the house resting in her lap, phone pressed to her ear. 

All while wondering what she’d done to deserve a daughter like you.

“I have plans. I’m just trying to understand why I could not reach you.”

You swallowed thickly. “I went for a hike, mom. I got lost and—.”

“Is it because of Naoya? Did the wedding invite bother you?”

And God, did you hate how she just knew these things. How could she be so certain and understanding but lacking any sort of sympathy for you?

”No one wants to see a wedding invite from their ex-husband,” you tersely stated, knuckles whitening against the tight grip on your device. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going.”

You couldn’t mask your dejection.

“Like hell you aren’t. The Zenin’s invited us, and so God help me if we aren’t in attendance. Especially after all they’ve done for us,” she firmly spoke, skimming her fingers through her wiry hair.

Even after your divorce, the Zenins still offered to take care of your family. You’d turned down their hush money since the start, ensuring you wouldn’t spread the fine details of your muddled relationship, but your mother enjoyed her early retirement and stuffing her pockets. 

You gritted your teeth, your discomfort only manifesting into blinding anger. Your lips tightened upwards and curled inwards, wrinkles littering the crease in your forehead. You wanted to scream at your mother, incoherent and inconsolable until you couldn’t anymore.

The relationship you held with your mother was too violent for tears. A woman who’d clipped the wings of her offspring and watched her stumble clumsily, never offering a hand to ground her. Built upon your own wreckage. Swallowing the words you so wished you could utter.

She hadn’t been your mother in a long time, really. 

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe when she’d haggled you for your too-short skirt when you were thirteen and barely growing into yourself. 

Maybe it was when you’d gotten accepted into your dream college and she could barely display an ounce of pride.

Maybe it was before you’d walked down the aisle, expressing your worries of having a small wedding that she only silenced you with a tut of her tongue.

Maybe it was after your father passed. Her blinded by grief and rage brought upon you like a monsoon, shoving you and gutting you beneath the tide.

Maybe it was when you told her you couldn’t bear children, not after trying for months and your husband's tone only becoming more and more clipped with each passing moment. 

Maybe it was when you’d come to her at four in the morning, crying when you’d found evidence of his infidelity and she’d only given you that same blank stare she wore, telling you that every man slips up and to turn a blind eye.

You hadn’t understood the severity of the situation you were in until it was too late. Marrying a man who so desperately wanted to continue his lineage.

And when he couldn’t? He’d just find it elsewhere.

Who said you didn’t want that as well? A child to call your own. A pathetic part of you thought this marriage would save you—sweep you out from under your feet and carry you to a higher standing. 

You thought that after all those years of gutted self-esteem, that a lavish white wedding would slap a bandaid on it.

It was pitiful. 

But what hurt the most was that you had no one on your side. Not your mother, not your father, not even a lover. No one to stand beside you when it all felt like it was tumbling down.

You wiped the vain tears from your cheeks, clearing your throat as you chose not to resign to your emotions, a tactic you’d taught yourself. “Okay, mom.”

You hung up, ignoring her calls of protest on the other line.

There was really no arguing with her, you saw no point in it.

You still had time before the wedding, enough time to build yourself up to someone untouchable by their comments. Comments not just from the Zenin family, but from your own kin.

You shoved your phone into your pocket, sniffling and blinking back the last of your tears.

No use in crying over it now.

Padding back into the bathroom, you watched Shoko spray away the suds she’d worked up. “Hey, I was gonna ask. What was the name of the guy you stayed with?” She queried, wiping her forearm against her forehead.

You averted her gaze, focusing on the sink you needed to bleach. “Sukuna.”

She chuckled to herself, making an ‘ouhhhh’ sound that you smacked her for, drawing a cigarette from her pocket and thumbing the sparkwheel.

No matter your protests, she assumed that this mystery man was your secret lover.

You snagged the lighter from her before she could get a chance to light it.

“Hey! I was using that,” she pouted, lower lip jutting as she frowned.

“Uh huh. No smoking indoors and on the job. Do you want to lose your job?” 

She scoffed, snagging the lighter back. “Funny coming from you. Smoke detectors were turned off for cleaning and repairs.”

You huffed, snapping a new set of gloves on.

The sound of fire kindling had your stomach lurching, sent into a volley of somersaults. 

The smell was even worse.

Of course she had to be smoking Marlboro Reds.

[jacksabbotts]

⤷ . ᵒ . 🥼 .༄ good girl confessions ! ࿔* ━━ series masterlist

pairings .' dr. jack abbot x morgue tech!reader

summary .' in which you ( the reader ) are shy, soft-spoken, and far too good for the world you work in—but dr. jack abbot wants you anyway. wants you especially because of it. he’s older, bigger, rough around the edges, and completely undone by the way you squirms in his lap and stumbles over your words. you never had anyone take their time with you—never been praised, teased, or touched the way he plans to. and when he finds out just how untouched you really are? he makes it his mission to teach you everything you didn’t know you needed.

trigger warnings .' lowercase intended!!!! \ medical trauma \ mentions of death \ hospital setting ( graphic references to autopsies, corpses, injury, blood ) \ social anxiety \ self-worth issues \ body image insecurity ( specifically surrounding reader’s curvier body ) \ reader internalizes micro-aggressions and negative self-talk \ emotional repression \ low burn with eventual power imbalance ( not exploitative, but notable that jack is of higher rank but NOT reader's direct superior ) \ age gap dynamic \ jack is gruff and emotionally avoidant at first ( but in his bf!era dw )

( readers physical apperance is not described EXCPET that reader has female anatomy and is curvy )

main masterlist | more jack abbot | join the taglist | dividers by @cafekitsune

CHAPTER ONE .' cold and predictable ( wc 1564 ) ( coming soon ) CHAPTER TWO .' cold storage ( wc 1402 ) ( coming soon )

CHAPTER THREE .' a cold shoulder ( wc 2073 ) ( coming soon ) CHAPTER FOUR .' tbd ( coming soon ) CHAPTER FIVE .' tbd ( coming soon )

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[batsandbirdbrains]

Ok Dick biting Hal as a kid has got to be one of my favorite headcanons of all time. Like atp it IS canon to me. But now I’m imagining Dick biting all the members of the JL at least once because they’ve done something that’s either pissed him off, or pissed Bruce off. Hal is obviously bitten first and everyone thinks he’s exaggerating or being a big baby about how much it hurts. Then Clark gets bitten because Bruce got hurt on a JL mission where Clark was supposed to be watching his back. And to be fair, Dick growled at him before he bit, which was far more warning than Hal had received. When Dick sinks his teeth - some of which are still baby teeth - into Clark’s meaty, Kryptonian arm, it shouldn’t hurt. But somehow Clark is tearing up as he lets out a pained howl. It takes both Aquaman and the Flash to remove Dick. Clark doesn’t use that arm for two days, wincing every time he jostles it. How and why Dick bites the others is up for interpretation. Eventually, once all of them have been bitten, they call a meeting about it. Not to get him to stop or anything, just to figure out why it hurts so fucking much. They’re all throwing out various theories when someone says “No seriously, what hell does that kid put into his bites?” when Dick emerges from the shadows and says, deadpan, “Vengeance.” before cackling evilly and disappearing. They all shudder before deciding to never piss him off or talk about his biting ever again.

Also now I’m kind of imagining Dick and Slade fighting for the first time when Dick is just a little gremlin and Slade is like “pffft as if this fourth grader could beat me” only to panic when said fourth grader sinks his teeth into him so hard that he still has the scar years later.

I'm imagining Bruce seeing how Dick's go-to attack is to bite people, and he immediately makes a specialized mouth guard for him. It perfectly molds to his teeth, but it's extra sharp and leaves a different imprint than Dick's actual bite. Mostly so no one can compare dental records or anything to the scars that Dick will no doubt leave on many, many people. It has to be updated regularly when Dick is still young because of him losing his baby teeth.

The first time Dick bites Superman is because he brought Batman back to the Batcave in terrible shape. They'd been on a mission together, it was supposed to be quick, easy, no big deal. And now Dr. Leslie and Alfred are working on him in the Batcave medbay, and Dick just turns to Superman with tears and rage in his eyes. And he launches himself at him and attacks.

Clark yelps as soon as he realizes ouch, he can feel that! What the hell!

"Dick! Dick, let go!"

"You promised you'd bring him back home safe!" Dick cries, but his words are muffled, his teeth still sinking into Clark's arm. "He got hurt!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Clark says quickly. "But he's going to be fine, Dickie, it's mostly just a broken arm and a concussion!"

Dick is growling and hanging off Clark's arm, until Alfred comes out and announces that Bruce is ready to for visitors. Dick unlatches quickly, then scampers over to Alfred, still sniffling. As soon as he catches sight of Bruce, he starts whining and crying and cuddles next to him on the bed.

Clark never makes fun of Hal for the ankle guards again. Dick really does have crazy sharp teeth. Clark's arm is bruised for days around the puncture marks, and he's left with a scar on his arm in the shape of Dick's mouth.

A few months later, Dick has started hanging out with Garth a lot. They become pals. Very good friends. Best friends, almost.

And Garth hangs out with him one day and looks so glum and down in the dumps and says how Aquaman was mean to him during training, but it's okay, it was Garth's own fault. That doesn't sit well with Dick. No one makes his friends upset and gets away with it.

The next time Dick accompanies Bruce to the Watchtower, Dick locks in on Aquaman and chomps right on his arm. Like eating a fish stick. Aquaman yelps and tries to pry him off, asking him what happened and what's wrong and why the hell is Robin biting him?

"Don't be mean to my friends!" is all Dick says before he stomps off to go back to Batman's side. Before he reaches Batman fully, he turns and locks eyes with Aquaman, making that creepy I've got my eye on you gesture. It sends a shiver down Aquaman's spine.

He bites pretty much every other JL member for various reasons between the ages of 8-11. When they eventually call a meeting for it, Batman just stares at all of them with an unimpressed look.

"Perhaps you should try not upsetting him," Batman tells them, then turns on his heel and leaves. Dick, who'd been hiding under Batman's cape, grins at all of them and sends a taunting little wave before the cape covers him up again.

Dick first encounters Deathstroke at the ripe age of nine. During said encounter, Dick is terrified. Deathstroke is talking about wanting to make Dick his apprentice, how he's going to steal him from right under the Bat's nose, and Dick panics.

And he resorts to biting the exposed skin he sees when Deathstroke tries to nab him by his cape.

He damn near bites Deathstroke's hand clean off at the wrist. It startles Slade so bad that he shouts, throws Dick off to the side, and is distracted just long enough for Dick to run away and get back to the Batmobile.

Dick is panting and a little freaked out as he relays the story to Bruce from the safety of the Batmobile as Bruce drives them home. Bruce reaches over and pats Dick's head, his own heart beating so hard in his chest.

"Good job, chum," Bruce says softly. "Use every weapon you have. Always."

Dick nods his head, wrapping his cape tight around him.

[starkeymeow]

# DIVERGENT — dauntless!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

was probably born erudite but hated how quiet they were about cruelty, so he cut his palm deep and jumped first into dauntless without even hesitating.

is dauntless through and through now, all sharp eyes and bruised knuckles, but you can still see the strategist in the way he fights.

was top of his initiation class and got recruited early to help lead training, mostly because he was fearless and unshakable in simulations.

doesn’t talk much during instruction unless he’s calling you out or making you start over from the top, and again, and again. but he’s helpful. he gives you advice you don’t ask for, tells you which instructors to avoid, where the training flaws are, even though he pretends not to care.

calls you “transfer” more than your name, like he’s trying to keep you distant, but his eyes always find you when someone lands a punch you don’t see coming.

gets real still during fear simulations like nothing rattles him, but he always wakes up breathing too hard, like there’s more fear than he admits.

hates jj and john b in a quiet kind of way. he doesn’t say much but you know he’d let them fall off the train without blinking.

barely looks at sarah when they cross paths in the pit, like he’s trying to pretend she’s just another dauntless soldier and not someone who knows him.

doesn’t play favorites, but he’s rougher on you than anyone else, and no one can tell if it’s because he wants you to break or prove that you won’t. he’ll tells you “again” during sparring over and over, like he’s trying to exhaust you, but he’s really watching the way you refuse to stay down.

doesn’t show weakness in public, but he’s the kind of leader who’d carry an injured initiate back from a failed climb and then swear them to silence about it.

kisses you the first time like it’s a mistake, then does it again slower like he meant it the whole damn time.

keeps his fear sim results locked away, but rumor is one of his fears looks exactly like losing control of himself and hurting someone he didn’t mean to.

always finishes a fight, even when it wasn’t his to start, and even when it costs him.

eventually stops calling you “transfer” for good, and when you notice, he just shrugs and says, “didn’t fit you anymore.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts

[seleneprince]

REBORN

Gotham Cathedral, Spring.

A majestic silence reigns around her, interrupted only by the occasional sound of the giant bell ringing above her.

She would like to think is because people have finally learnt to respect her space and stopped butting their noses into her bussiness.

But no. The truth is that the church is basically empty at this hour. The only other people are old ladies and some last-minute sinner in need of confession. It's quite normal in Gotham. We all become sinners eventually, she thinks. It's unavoidable.

The first days she started to come here for her prayer hours after her accident, people whispered non-stop when she passed by and could barely conceal their stares. Shocked to see her out of all people in a cathedral. A holy place.

"I didn't know Lady Wayne was so devoted."

"I don't think she's ever been in a church before."

"How...surprising of her to step so confidently into the Lord's holy place. She certainly lacks some self-awareness."

The sheer hypocrisy delights her as much as it infuriates her.

Because first of all, who are they to question her faith? Just because she doesn't make a show out of it doesn't mean it's up to debate. She's always been taught that one's faith is meant to be private and personal. It's not a reason to boast.

Which is why she's always looked down on those people who praise the Lord's name and present themselves as "true" Christians just for appearances or to give themselves a reason for their self-righteousness.

In reality, they're the ones completely devoid of any self-awareness.

"Either that or she just doesn't care about seeming direspectful. I mean, we all know the kind of woman she is."

"I heard she's not like that anymore. Apparently, she's changed a lot since the accident. Everyone says so. It's bizarre."

"Yeah. She's behaving surprisingly well lately. There hasn't been a scandal since."

"Maybe she hit her head so badly it reprogrammed her whole personality."

Idiots. If only they knew...

Well, guess she can't really fault them for not knowing. After all, there's no way they can even imagine the truth behind her change.

"Maybe that's not really her and we're just seeing someone else with her face."

"Sure. Or maybe she actually died on the accident and her body is currently possessed by an incredibly nice spirit."

They have no idea.

She raises her eyes to the cross in front of her, its figure looming over her head as if watching, where the image of the Lord was carved in a typical representation of the moment He died for humanity's sins.

The most remembered moment of His life. This is the first thing that pops into people's minds when they think of Him. Not all the good actions, not His endless kindness, His banter with the disciplines, His sense of humour, how He dedicated his life to help the poor and stood for what was right. Not even His beautiful relationship with His family. His mother, His father Joseph, even His siblings.

No. Instead, He'll be mostly remembered like this. In His death, with iron drilled into His body and bleeding out between two criminals. Sacrificing His life for sins that weren't His.

The Bible is full of passages depicting His humanity, His miracles, yet this moment is what will be forever His symbol.

Most people claim it's meant to be a reminder of how big His heart was. Of how He became a martyr.

To her, it's always felt more like a lesson.

That no matter how good you are and how much of yourself you give for others, you'll still get screwed over by those more powerful than you if they want to. That doing the right thing won't always be rewarded.

In the end, people value life the most when it's gone.

The thing about martyrs, she thinks, is that they have to die to be worshipped.

She makes one last prayer under her breath before standing up, sealing it with a kiss to the cross that dangles from her neck, putting back under her coat. She walks around the bench quietly as to not disturb the others and makes her way to the exit in the shadows.

Her phone vibrates again in her pocket. She pulls it out to see the several missed calls, messages, e-mails and the news.

On top of all, one name persists.

A name she wishes to never think of again.

Mr Wayne🙄

Where are you?

Seriously, where are you?

Don't you dare ignore me now.

You can't be serious.

I just found it laying on my desk this morning. Is this some sick joke of yours?

It better be.

I swear to God, where the fuck are you?? You can't just leave like this!

Those gossips don't know how close their little jokes are to the truth.

Because she didn't just change. She wasn't reprogrammed.

She catches her reflection in one of the windows. Her face, her hair, her body, even the way she moves. She still looks the same as before. Healthy and confident.

Except it's not her. Not really.

This body isn't hers. Just like the clothes. Just like the man pestering her on the phone. None of this belongs to her.

It's from that woman with her same name and face that died several weeks ago.

Mr Wayne 🙄

What do you mean with "divorce"??

Gotham City High School

They're still talking.

It's been several weeks but they haven't stopped. In fact, she'll say it's gotten worse.

Before, it was just whispers behind her back and poorly concealed side-eyes. Now, they've taken to brazenly stare at her like she's some exotic animal, even approaching her at times to ask about her health, only to step back when she answers with a gentle smile, their eyes reflecting something between horror and fascination.

She found it amusing at first. Their faces looked so stupid at time she had to supress her laugh a lot.

But it's getting annoying now.

Whenever she goes, whenever she looks, they're there. Muttering, blinking at her, trying to strike clumsy converstations as if she's some long-lost friend who finally returned. All while keeping their distance and staring at her unnervingly.

Sometimes, she feels like a desecrated creature on display.

A pair of girls stand straighter when she passes by, following her with their eyes wide open. She catches the magazine one of them is holding, reading the bold letters in the cover title.

"Wayne heiress's lavish purchases turned into secret charity donations? Follow Vicky Vale's interviews to witnesses for more!"

Of course. The media doesn't help the insanity.

(Good to know Vale is a monumental pain in the ass in every life)

She sighs, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. It's flashy and clearly expensive. Something made to draw attention to the teenage girl who wears it...and subtitly brag about her money.

In another life, she wouldn't have ever come to school with this thing, not even her mum wouldn't allow it. But everything is different now, isn't it?

To be honest, she can't really hold it against these guys for acting the way they do. From their perspective, this must be some kind of fever dream.

She knows her current behaviour clashes greatly with what everyone else is used to from her.

"She's gone mad. There's no other explanation."

"I don't know. She seems to be the same, but nicer."

"Seriously? She's already made three teachers cry from arguing about the lessons with them. Poor Miss Terris was about to faint!"

Yeah, well, she's not going to stay quiet when people who are expected to educate and prepare them for the future teach their damn subjects wrong.

Plus, Miss Terris's lessons were poorly structured and boring anyway. It was for the best.

"Didn't she also disagreed with Mr Johns so badly that he took a whole day off in the middle of class?"

"Oh my god, yes. Luke told me about it. She questioned his thesis for the PhD and started scrutinizing each point like she was grading the damn thesis herself. Apparently, half the arguments didn't stand and it lacked solid references."

"I saw the poor man afterwards. He looked like he was rethinking his whole existence."

That guy should've thought better before writing his thesis on cybersecurity, the one field she’s studied, mastered, and dominated for years. Reading that thing hurt her eyes more than her correction hurt his feelings.

Next time, he won't ignore her questions and shame her in front of the whole class. A time off sounds perfect for self-reflection.

"How can someone like her know so much about cybersecurity anyway? Enough to criticise a professional about it?"

"It's weird. I mean, do you remember the last time she talked back to teachers?"

"No. She's never interrupted lessons, much less to call them out on it. And she's actually right most of the time! It makes no sense."

Because she was a spoiled little brat who lowered her head at the first sign of dissapointment from adults and ran off to her mother to fight the battles for her.

Now she's a spoiled brat with a backbone.

But she understands their confusion. They have every reason for it. Ever since her return, she's been a walking contradiction of everything they've seen and known from her. A mystery.

Really, she's only annoyed when they invade her space with their antics. If you're going to speculate and gossip, do it quietly when the person in question can't hear you. Otherwise you look stupid and attention-seeking.

Or even better: Keep your thoughts to yourselves and let people live, geez.

She wonders if this the kind of attention she would've liked, once upon a time. Maybe this is what that part of her craved so bad. Or maybe she was content either way. Bad attention is still attention and all of that.

From afar, she spots Stephanie staring at her, arms crossed and eyebrows pinched in suspicion. She's no doubt thinking the worst of her, expecting a tantrum at any moment or anything that exposes whatever "scheme" she must have in mind.

Anything to remind everyone how rotten the spoiled Wayne heiress is.

"Do you think...she lost her memories somehow and doesn't remember how to act?"

"Don't be stupid, Kevin. If she lost her memories, she wouldn't even know where she is. Nah, this girl is perfectly fine. Probably just faking for attention again."

She snorts quietly. She can't help it.

Their theories aren't so far fetched. Just lacking a little twist.

Because it's not that she lost her memories.

She actually gained more.

As they wonder about her true motives and the reasons behind her change, none of them can come close to the truth.

That the girl they know died. Literally. Several weeks ago, her heart stopped beating as she bled out in the ice.

And somehow, she came back....with her soul and conscience fused to someone else's.

Wayne Manor

She hasn't moved from the greenhouse in twenty minutes.

Or so she thinks. She hasn't checked the time once since she arrived.

Everyone else is out, doing whatever they usually do at this hour. School, work, send criminals to the ER. Only Alfred is still around the manor.

And herself.

She should be at school now too, but claimed sickness and refused to leave her room. Alfred was worried about her and tried to pry, but her mother and sister covered her. They understood.

How can they not?

It wasn't until she knew for sure it was only Alfred left that she gathered courage to step out, heading towards the one place that has always made her feel safe.

The manor's greenhouse.

A botanical dream come true that only rich people can afford, and her personal paradise. It's supposed to be one of the Wayne's prides, but no one is interested in caring for plants in this family anymore. Only she and Alfred.

Well, maybe Damian too, but he barely shows up since she frequents the place, sticking to his precious farm instead.

She prefers it this way. It allows her to have the place all for herself. It's her corner to hide in when the world becomes too much, the familiar scent of her beloved flowers soothing her like a lullaby just for her ears.

And right now, the world is a lot bigger and more devastating that it's ever been.

It's been days. Long, excruciating days of processing what happened, what it means. Assimilating how things are now. Trying to get through the new routine without crashing out, despite being all she wants to do since she woke up.

Mum jumped right into action as soon as she got a hold over their new situation, and her older sister handled it as she handles everything: Adapting and somehow finding a way to benefit from it.

She envies them for it. For being able to go on with their new lives almost normally while she's still stuck repeating the same scene in her head over and over. What she saw, what she felt.

That's why she needed to come here. Nature has never dissapointed her. She loves her plants and all the green that surrounds her in a explosion of beauty she's nurtured over the years. In times of sorrow, it's her passion what comforted her, along with her family.

When you learn about mother nature, you understand everything follows a pre-established cycle that pushes it all forward, regardless of whatever obstacles there might be. It's about balance within the chaos. No one can evade it.

It's reassuring, to know that no matter what happens, you can trust nature to always find a way to fulfill its rules.

It's a shame my favourite color in the world is the same as certain asshole's eyes. Such beauty wasted on that demon, she bitterly recalls.

She inhales, taking in the scent of wet grass and some freshly bloomed flowers. It's the middle of Spring, after all. The season of life and rebirth, when all that died in winter blooms back with the same beauty as before, as if they never withered in the first place.

Just like she did.

Like the three of them did.

How deliciously ironic that it happened in Spring out of all. Maybe this is really mother nature's work, once again finding a way to restore the balance.

Or maybe it's some wicked game from the universe to make our lives even harder, her inner voice supplies.

She has no idea.

All she knows is that she should be dead. In fact, she vividly remembers dying, exhaling her last breath. Right on cue, she feels a sharp sting from her inner wrists. She rubs the pained zone over the bandage she put on herself.

It's a reminder of the incredibly dark motive behind her new life. Her second chance, as Mum said it is.

The death she remembers happened a lifetime ago....but the pain on her wrists belongs to someone's else death.

This greenhouse has been her paradise in another life, and her grave in this one.

And still..

What a beautiful place to part from, she can't help but think.

All of it, without ever noticing the shadow watching her back, still and silent in a corner of her sacred place. Waiting. Guessing. Or just looking.

a/n: Prologue for my uncoming Yandere! Batfam reincarnation au...with possible other Yandere! DC characters and my other ocs included in it because why not lmao I've been reading too many reincarnation of villainesses webtoons recently, so, here we are now

@la-patrona-magdalena (la culpable de este au, the enabler)

Taglist (for those who showed interest in this au first, thank you for the comments!): @therealme13posts, @coldilikeit, @like-thechocolate

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (31 - Paradise Calling)

Chapter Summary: After several weeks of looking for her, you do eventually find Wanda Maximoff after she leaves Westview, but not in any way you ever imagined.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: violence, mention of blood and injury

A/N: The story continues in the aftermath of Wanda’s release of Westview. I’m still debating whether to stick with the canon concept of Billy and Tommy’s souls being real but bodiless since I started this story long before Agatha All Along entered the picture. Also, there might not be an update next week as I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who still continues to follow this story :) You guys are awesome. P.S. can you guess which mutant attacked y/n? :P // More author's notes here. // gif

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Hex dissolves completely at midnight.

By then, more and more of Westview have become accessible, its walls shrinking like the last breath of a dying storm. Throughout the wait, Monica’s order remains ironclad, which is that no one who isn’t a Westview resident is to step across the boundary.

It turns out to be the right call. Letting Wanda end it on her own terms—without pressure, or interference—is the last mercy anyone can offer. So they wait at the edge of town, in the solemn dark, while those inside slowly begin to come back to themselves.

And when the last of it winds down, Monica gives the signal. The military moves in, not with weapons this time, but with medics in tow. People stumble into the streets, dazed and hollow-eyed, like toys winding themselves up after years on a shelf. Some of them rush to scoop their children into their arms, while others just stand there, holding each other, staring at their hands like they’ve only just remembered what it means to move on their own.

It’s harder than anyone on the rescue team expected. Because how do you assess damage like this? These people aren’t injured in any conventional way. Their minds weren’t broken so much as hijacked. Puppeted. Made to smile and speak and move without their consent. It’s not madness, and it’s definitely not grief that they are experiencing. 

It’s something more…alienating. Locked in the backseat of your own body, watching your hands move and your mouth speak, knowing none of it is you. It’s the kind of trauma that leaves even seasoned therapists unsure where to begin. So the medics do what they can. Blankets for the cold, water for the dry-mouthed, and a hand on the shoulder for those who can’t seem to stop shaking. 

And you—you stay rooted at the edge of the ground where Wanda’s house once stood, silently taking in the aftermath. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at the lot you bought on a whim five years ago. It feels larger than you remembered, and standing here now, it stirs more regret than pride.

“There’s no sign of her,” Clint says as he approaches. He glances between you, Monica, and Darcy. “She’s gone.”

Monica exhales sharply. “Of course she is,” she mutters.

Agent Woo’s already packed up and gone too, reassigned mid-crisis to another urgent matter. Those left behind are burdened to help pick up the pieces.

“I guess she escaped?” Darcy offers.

You wince. “Don’t say ‘escaped.’ She didn’t—” The sentence stalls, the logic collapsing halfway out of your mouth.

Monica catches it and shrugs. “Yeah, maybe ‘escaping’ wasn’t her plan.” Then, more pointedly, “But what did you think was gonna happen? That she’d stick around? Turn herself in? Like you did, Y/N?”

Right. You’re still technically a prisoner. Still walking around on borrowed time, under a conditional release that’s quickly running out, especially now that Wanda’s vanished, and no one has a clue where she went.

You’d been hoping for a moment—just one—to talk to Wanda alone. And now, you’re starting to think your presence never mattered at all. The other you, her you, was the one who got through to her, who helped her bring down the Hex.

All you’ve ever done here was make it harder for Wanda.

“And her children?” you ask quietly, turning to Clint, your voice stripped down to worry.

Clint just shakes his head. “No sign of them. Or your copy.”

Everyone’s face falls at that. They’d all felt so real, the idea that they simply blinked out of existence is hard to swallow even if the theory always seemed to suggest that direction.

Darcy breaks the spell. “Shame, really. I kinda liked that Y/N.” She shoots you an apologetic grin. “No offense to the original, it’s just... we never got our moment.”

You manage a weak smile. “None taken.”

Monica claps her hands together. “Well, I guess… that’s it.” 

You turn to her slowly, frowning. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

Monica’s hands drop to her sides. “I mean… she’s gone. The Hex is down. Everyone who was trapped is free. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Clint gives a weary shrug. “Sometimes disappearing’s the only thing a person has left.” You shoot him a glare, but he honestly seems oblivious that his words just struck you straight on.

Before you can argue further, a young S.W.O.R.D. tech jogs up, tablet in hand.

“Uh, Director?” He gestures vaguely at Monica. “We found a vehicle just outside the old perimeter. Abandoned. Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Monica glances between you and Clint. “Yours?”

You shake your head no.

“Color?” Clint asks.

“Deep maroon,” the tech says. “Old Volvo wagon. New Jersey plates.”

Clint lets out a low whistle. “That’s Wanda’s.”

You’re already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth.

“Y/N—” Monica calls after you, but you don’t look back.

Clint mutters a curse and follows. Monica and Darcy hang back, letting you go.

You’re desperate for any sign of Wanda, anything that might tell you where she went. You haven’t run this far or this fast in years, and your lungs are burning from the effort. But the thought of her out there, alone and possibly hurt, keeps your legs moving, pushing through the ache.

Soon, just past the edge of the boundary, you spot the Volvo.

You slow as you approach, heart thudding in your chest.

Clint catches up beside you. “That’s definitely hers.”

You nod, already reaching for the handle. It shouldn’t open, but it does. The door gives with a soft click, swinging open without resistance. You slide into the driver’s seat and glance around. 

“She didn’t even lock it,” you murmur.

“The keys?” Clint asks.

You check the ignition. Nothing. Then the cupholders, under the seat, the center console. Still nothing.

“Glove box,” Clint says, leaning in through the open door.

You press the latch. The compartment drops with a soft thunk, and something slides forward: a single manila folder, edges crisp, your name penned in Wanda’s looping cursive across the tab. Your breath catches. Carefully, almost like it might break in your hands, you lift it. It feels like it holds everything you’ve been chasing.

Inside, everything is heartbreakingly familiar. The property deed you mailed Clint weeks ago. Photographs you never had the courage to burn when you first became convinced that Wanda wasn’t coming back. Letters and notes you randomly wrote to Wanda throughout the years she was gone. 

And resting on top of it all, catching the faint moonlight—

Your wedding ring. The one you gave her. The match to the one you still wear around your neck.

With trembling fingers, you turn the band over between thumb and forefinger; it’s still warm, as if she’d only just set it down.

“She left this car here,” you whisper. “Because she wanted me to find this.”

Clint drifts a few steps back, giving you space but not leaving. He folds his arms and waits, giving you time to come to terms with Wanda’s clear response at having found out you lied to her. And it’s not pretty.

After a long, brittle silence, he clears his throat. “So… what are you going to do now?”

It’s the same question everyone’s thrown at you all day, and you still don’t have an answer.

Instead of answering, you whisper, “Did I make a mistake, Clint? Walking away back then, leaving her to sort through the rubble alone, was that when everything started to fall apart?”

He exhales and lowers himself onto the curb beside the car. “We all made mistakes,” he says, rubbing a thumb over a scar on his knuckles. “But no one could have known it would lead to this. We were careless, sure, maybe blind to how much she was really hurting. But this,” he says, nodding at the folder in your lap, “this was Wanda’s pain. Her choice. Not something you could have predicted.”

“I should’ve seen her slipping. I asked you to look after her and—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t there for her like you asked. I was drowning in my own mess, trying to keep my family together once we got them back… I missed the signs.”

You nod slowly and slip the ring into your pocket. Then, flat and quiet, you say, “I’ve still got about a decade of my sentence to serve.”

“I can buy you more time,” Clint offers. “Tell them Wanda escaped. Technically, this whole thing isn’t over.”

You huff a humorless breath. “It won’t matter. I don’t want to go back.”

Clint studies you for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You mean that?”

You nod again. “The second I saw her… I wanted to take it all back. The deal. The surrender. All those years I spent trying to convince myself that moving on was the right call.”

He sits with that for a while, then says, quiet and honest, “You know I can’t turn myself in either.”

You glance over at him. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ve got my family back,” he says. “I’m rebuilding. I can’t walk away from that.”

“I know,” you reply. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He gives you a sidelong look. “Then what are you thinking? You planning to go back on the run? Because you remember what it was like after the Accords, right? We didn’t end up in the Raft, but we weren’t free either. We were always looking over our shoulders.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Wanda was with me back then.”

He raises a brow, watching you carefully.

“And somehow,” you add, voice soft, almost to yourself, “that made all of it bearable.”

After a long lull, Clint asks, “What were you hoping for, Y/N? When she saw you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug. “Maybe that… that she’d recognize me, at least.”

“She probably did,” Clint says. “That might be why she destroyed the Hex herself.”

You shake your head, hard, unwilling to accept that. “I doubt it was that simple.” 

The idea feels impossible. You remember the look on Wanda’s face: hurt, disappointment, the unmistakable sting of betrayal. You have put that look there before, but this time it was different. This time, that betrayal caused her this guilt she now carries with her for something she’d done out of her mourning you—

When she never should have had to mourn at all.

—

With Clint’s quiet blessing, you slip into the night, becoming a fugitive once again, determined to reach Wanda before the authorities do. It isn’t enough that Wanda released the town willingly; the damage is already done. Westview’s residents remain traumatized and disoriented, and dissolving the Hex doesn't absolve her actions. This is exactly what Tony always fought for—the idea that even heroes, even Avengers, must answer to laws meant for everyone, not just hide behind the duty of saving the world.

You don’t blame them for hunting her. You just don’t trust them to understand her.

So you go first.

You swap your jacket for a plain coat, leave your comms behind, and start reaching out to contacts you haven’t spoken to in years. A woman like Wanda can’t move without leaving a ripple, and eventually, you learn to follow a pattern: unexplained power surges in rural areas upwards north. Clint checks in with you every now and then, but you don’t expect anything more. He’s busy these days—a civilian fully occupied with being a father. 

The first few weeks blur together. Deep down, you keep hoping Wanda will be the one to find you—not because she misses you or wants to forgive, but because she finally wants answers. Isn’t there at least one question she needs to ask? Maybe she hates you too much to bother. Maybe she hates you enough to stop caring about your reasons altogether.

That thought hurts more than you’d like to admit. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve put her through. You don’t know how you’ll face her when the time comes. All you know is that she’s hurting—and a hurting Wanda Maximoff isn’t just a danger to the world. She’s a danger to herself.

Late one evening, while tracking rumors of strange sightings in the forested mountains of Vermont, you feel unease settle in your gut. The trees grow denser, their branches knitting overhead, and the pale yellow moon offers little light. Shadows slither and shift across the narrow trail. You stop, breath misting in the cold air, certain now that you’re not alone.

You hold still and listen. Over the thud of your own unsteady pulse comes a faint rustle in the undergrowth. It’s too careful, too deliberate to be wind or wildlife.

“Who’s there?” Your voice is brittle, an uncertain challenge.

In the dark forest, you know you shouldn’t make a sound. But if it’s Wanda—

A low growl answers, so deep and guttural it sends a chill racing down your spine. You spin, eyes straining through the gloom, just as a shadow barrels toward you. The movement is fast, smooth, and completely inhuman.

It slams into you with brutal force, all muscle and claws—definitely not Wanda—knocking you hard to the ground.

You scramble to your feet, breath ragged, eyes sweeping the darkness in search of your attacker. The figure rises slowly, towering and hunched, its skin a sick, mottled gray. Its limbs are grotesquely stretched, ending in claws slick with fresh blood (yours).

Its face—

No. That can’t be right. Tony’s snap wiped out all of Thanos’ army. This thing shouldn’t exist. So how is it standing here? How did it survive?

“What the—” you gasp, stumbling back.

It lunges again, jaws gaping open with teeth glinting sharp and savage. You swing your arm wildly, and your fist connects with its jaw. The impact jars painfully up your arm, but the creature barely reacts, snarling viciously as it swings one massive clawed hand toward your face. You dodge by inches, claws slicing the air with a sharp hiss.

You stagger back again, trying to regain your footing. Your breath comes out in uneven bursts of fogged air. The creature circles slowly, blocking any clear route of escape. You study it, desperately searching for a weakness, but its movements remain erratic, unpredictable. 

Your combat skills are still there, but you’ve aged some, and it’s not as easy to fall back into your old rhythm and speed, especially when facing such an aggressive foe.

“Stay back,” you warn weakly, your voice trembling despite your attempt at bravado.

It snarls louder, head twitching, neck muscles spasming unnaturally as it stalks closer. You backpedal and your foot slips on wet leaves, throwing you off-balance. You hit the ground hard, skull cracking sharply against something hidden beneath the foliage. Stars burst in your vision.

As you struggle to sit upright, the beast approaches slowly, enjoying this, you realize sickeningly. It flexes its claws, taking its time.

“Wait,” you choke out, tasting copper as blood fills your mouth.

It stalks towards you leisurely as if hearing nothing. It snarls again, lips peeling back to reveal teeth sharp as blades. It raises a hand for the final blow, claws poised high—

And all you can think is how ironic it is. That this is what you craved, once.

Back when you were Ronin.

When death felt like the only honest language left, and violence was the only thing that could answer it.

You spent five years chasing this moment. And now? Now, with Wanda back in the universe. Now, when for the first time in years, you actually want to live.

Now is when death decides to show up?

Of course it is.

You laugh, or try to, but it comes out as a choked breath through blood. The creature roars, the sound tearing through the trees. And as the snow drifts down and your vision begins to fade, you manage one last word, soft as a prayer.

“…Wanda.”

—

You wake slowly to warmth, a fire crackling nearby. Every part of you feels bruised, sliced open, and carefully stitched back together. Bandages wind tight around your ribs, your shoulders, your arms. Your throat burns dry, but you're breathing. Miraculously. 

You push yourself upright, careful and slow. The world sways around you as the blanket slips from your shoulders.

Blinking up at the slanted ceiling overhead—wooden, rough-hewn, beams exposed, nothing familiar about it—you realize you’re still in the forest. The earthy, damp scent of pine needles teases your nose. There’s no electricity, just lanterns, candles, heat from flame and old wood. The furniture is simple, hand-built, and worn from use.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet sinking into a rug so soft it draws a quiet sigh from your lips. You have no idea how long you’ve been unconscious—hours, maybe even days.

Unsteady, you find the hallway, one hand trailing the wall for balance. You pass a small kitchen, simple but well-stocked. A kettle rests near the fire, still warm, like it was used not long ago.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the front door slightly ajar, a narrow strip of gray light slicing into the room, dust suspended in its path.

You drift closer.

Outside, there’s Wanda.

She sits on the porch steps, wrapped in a thick sweater, her back to you. Her hair falls in loose, tangled waves, longer than you remember. Despite the biting cold, she’s barefoot, her arms draped over her knees as she stares into the woods.

You stop at the doorway, saying nothing at first. 

She looks so… peaceful. 

“Wanda,” you say at last, barely above a breath.

She doesn’t move.

You try again. “Wanda.”

Still nothing. You can’t tell if she’s ignoring you, or if your voice is simply too weak for her to hear.

Of course it was her who found you. Of course it doesn’t mean anything’s been forgiven. You take a step back, and the door eases shut behind you with a quiet creak.

You head deeper into the cabin. It’s not large, but in your condition, it feels like a maze.

At the end of a narrow hallway, you find a door left slightly open.

Something pulses beyond it—low and red and constant. Your fingers graze the frame as you nudge it open. 

The hair on your arms rises.

Wanda’s there, too.

She’s floating a few inches off the ground, legs crossed. Her eyes don’t blink. They don’t move. Just glowing red, unwavering and endless.

She’s reading. The book in her hands is anything but ordinary. Its pages shift and shimmer, symbols rearranging themselves the moment you try to make sense of them.

You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come. You’re frozen.

Slowly, like she already knew you were standing there, she lifts her head.

Her gaze locks onto yours.

The book snaps shut.

[munsonify]

shy girl

pairing. steve harrington x fem!reader

summary. steve harrington finds himself entranced with achingly shy, quiet costumer at family video

content warnings. fluff, steve being a flirt, softie!steve, shy&quiet!reader, no use of y/n, pining, unestablished relationship, cutie patootie steve, r finding her confidence

word count. 2970

a/n. we all know ariel is a yapper when she has her voice so i’m writing this where r starts yapping when she isn’t so nervous and shy cause i can

disney princess collection

steve saw a lot of people come and go from family video. he didn’t have a knack for remembering who he’s seen come in, faces eventually blurring together the longer he worked there, the more hours he was given. there were regulars that came in, some of which he remembered vaguely. it’s hard to forget when someone comes in and rents out the same movie for the third time in a row, or picks up a particularly odd movie to watch. him and robin tended to gossip when that happened, so maybe that’s why folks like that were more likely to be committed to his memory.

there were exceptions to that, and you were absolutely apart of it.

from the moment you stepped foot into the store, head hung a little low, beelining your way towards the romcom section, steve was paying full attention to you. normally he wouldn’t pay any mind to customers when they came in, only assisting them in finding a movie if they asked, ringing them up while barely looking them in the face. you caught his eye.

you’re quick footsteps were what drew him in at first, though your looks were what kept him engaged. he only caught a glimpse of you at first as you hustled towards the back of the store, desperate to find the movie you were searching for. it was enough to have him double taking, eyes tracking your movements. steve, as nonchalantly as possible, went back to sliding more returned movies onto the shelves, now a little unfocused. it was only him in the store, so he knew he’d get the chance of a better look at you, to speak to you. a part of him wished robin was with him to see him in action, to prove to her that he wasn’t always striking out.

out of the corner of his eye, steve saw you shuffle your way up to the counter, two tapes in hand. with a deep breath, he turned on his feet, walking behind the counter to ring you up.

“hey beautiful,” he greeted not as smoothly as he planned. steve was fumbling with the scanner when he spoke, tripping over his feet slightly. he straightened up his back on instinct, offering a toothy smile to you. warmth spread across your face at his words, quickly handing him the movies to rent. he noticed the way you became flustered, mentally applauding himself as he gently took the tapes from your hand. “find what you were looking for okay?”

“hi, yeah,” you whispered out, a little unsure what to do with yourself, or how to accept the compliment he’d given you. you wondered if he said that to a lot of the girls that came in, and he was only being nice. when you didn’t say anything else to him, steve’s eyebrows quirked up in confusion. for someone who seemed interested and flustered at his compliment at first, you sure had a weird way of showing it.

after scanning the three tapes you’d brought up, steve gently slid them across the counter, offering up a charming smile. he watched as your eyelashes fluttered at the sight of it, your throat bobbing slightly as you swallow. now, he was even more confused than before. he watched as you handed him over a ten after he told you the total, his hands fumbling with your change as he thought through his next course of action.

“have a good rest of your day, beautiful, enjoy the movies,” steve settled on, the same charming smile as before. you gave him a small smile as you take the change from his hand, skin grazing against his, making you a little weak in the knees. you forced a small smile to him, one you wanted to be natural - a smile you knew you meant -, before grabbing the tapes and turning on your heels to leave.

steve watched as you leaved perplexed. he was glad robin wasn’t here to see that, maybe he was always striking out.

———

three days had passed since you’d come into family video, and you were still on steve’s mind. as pretty as you are, you had confused him a little. he’d gone straight to robin that night, rambling on about the conversation over the phone to her while she was working on her homework. all robin did was brush it off as if it was nothing, despite it plaguing his mind.

“maybe she just wasn’t into you, dingus. not everyone has to enjoy your flirting.”

obviously steve knew that. he’s been turned down dozens of times, and while it bruised his ego a little, he respected that. he let it go, because at the end of the day, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. with you it was a different. he truly thought you were into his compliment, taken aback by his flirting in a good way. he’s usually good at taking a hint. this just didn’t seem like that to him.

the moment steve saw you walk back into the store, his eyes lit up. this was his chance to try and get another read on you, to see if he was completely off base. you were quick to find your way to the front counter, your head on a swivel as you look around for someone to assist you.

you’d worked yourself up all morning to walking back in the store to return the movies you rented. you wanted to have something of use to say, to have any sort of reaction that wasn’t simply standing there awkwardly. all you thought of for the last couple days was the way steve smiled at you, the way he complimented you with such confidence, the way he seemed so casual with his flirting.

your eyes went wide when you watched him approach the counter, slipping back behind it to assist you again. you were hopeful he was working, to catch him at the right time. you were grateful you did. he looked just as handsome as you remembered. steve gave you the same charming smile he gave you earlier in the week, confident to redeem himself from something he didn’t need to.

“hey, i remember you,” steve said, looking you dead in the eyes, soft and inviting. “sixteen candles, right?”

you nodded quickly at his words, surprised he’d remembered you, let alone one of the movies you’d rented. you gave him a small smile as you gently handed him the tapes. you tried your best to make small talk, even if you were a little awkward with it. “yeah, it was good.”

you watched as steve marked the movies as returned in the computer system, before setting them aside in a bin for him to rewind later. unsure what to say, you gave steve a small smile, pointing your thumb towards the door as you start walking away. still without much of an answer, he let you walk out, waving a goodbye to you, before calling out to you.

“can’t wait to see you back in again, beautiful.”

whether he was being polite or he genuinely meant what he said, those words made your heart begin beating out of your chest. you turn your head to look back at him with a small smile, nearly running into the door as you push your way out. the sight of it made steve chuckle, shaking his head as he watched you stumble out of the store. while he may not have much a read on you still, he was convinced you at least liked his compliments a little.

———

four more days passed by between visits, though steve’s mind still stayed hooked on you. something about you drew him in. normally, he wasn’t one to gravitate towards quiet girls. he liked being around someone who could hold a conversation, who could laugh loud without a care in the world, who didn’t shy away from things. but you? you were intriguing, pretty, captivating. he kinda liked how quiet you were, it was different from what he’s used to. he was dying to know more about you.

you’d felt the same way about steve. you liked how outgoing he was, how confident he could be. it wasn’t often, if ever, that you were flirted with. especially not this boldly, not out in public without a care in the world. you yearned for the day you got to see him again.

a horror movie was calling your name as you found your way towards the video store again, a hint of hopefulness in your body as you step out of your car, shuffling your way towards the entrance. a large smile plastered on your face the moment your eyes found steve through the large window. you contained it the best you could as you opened the door, the bell jingling above you to notify him that someone had entered.

he was behind the counter today as you entered, fumbling around with a tape he was rewinding. steve’s head lifted up at the sound of the door opening, back straightening up from its hunched form at the sight of you. he watched you smile small and wave, fingers wiggling slightly as you walk towards the counter. he smiled along with you, eyes curiously dancing across your face, watching you stop in front of the counter.

“hey,” steve greeted, sitting the tape down. he stared down at you, noticing the way your fingers fumbled with each other.

“hey,” you responded, staring up into his eyes, still a little shy. normally, you’d go searching for the movie on your own, seeing what catches your eye. you liked browsing in peace. but now that you’d met steve? you wanted nothing more than an excuse to talk to him. “do you have any good horror movies in?”

steve was quick to move from the counter, rounding around it, eager to help you find a movie. he ushered you towards the horror section, making sure you were following him over before he started to ramble on. you stood just a few inches away from him as he began pointing through movies, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him, his expensive cologne wafting into your senses. it had your mind racing.

“we’ve got a lot right now,” he started. “if you’re looking for slashers we have sleepaway camp in, friday the thirteenth, prom night. i’d usually reccomend a nightmare on elm street, but i just rented it out this morning.”

you shook your head slightly, nose scrunching up his words. while you usually didn’t mind slashers, enjoyable at times, you were looking for something different. and hey, maybe you just wanted to hear steve keep talking, but that wasn’t the point. he gave you a small smile, walking over just a few inches to read off more movies.

“no slashers today, got it. we’ve got poltergeist, the shining, hellraiser,” he rambled off, pointing at each of them as he spoke. steve watched as you carefully reach for poltergeist, sliding it off the shelf and into your grip. you show it to him with a small smile.

“good choice,” he affirms, nodding his head towards the counter again, walking first as you follow. you hand him the tape once he finds his way back behind the counter, putting it under your name, before he scans it into the system. steve, as smoothly as possible, indirectly asks you a question that’s been weighing on his mind. “i’m sure you and your boyfriend are gonna love it.”

“boyfriend?” you squeak out quickly, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. the last thing you wanted was for steve to think you had a boyfriend. you were single, very single. you barely noticed the small, smug smirk that graced his lips, head turning to look at you slightly.

“no boyfriend, got it,” he noted in a whisper, though loud enough for you to hear. he handed the tape back to you, skin making contact just like the first time you’d interacted with him. you started to fist out some cash from your purse, only for steve to interrupt you in a smooth, quiet voice. “don’t worry about it, beautiful. it’s on me today.”

you look up at him in surprise, lips parting slightly as your mind starts to turn, looking for something to say. the smug smile that seemed to have a permanent place on his face was still there, his brown eyes soft and charming. he seemed insistent on it.

“you’re sure?” you asked quietly, a small from on your face. as sweet as it was, you didn’t want him to feel obligated to. not that you’d given him a reason to feel that way.

“absolutely,” steve told you, sincerity dripping from every inch of him.

“thank you,” you told him, voice still small, an appreciative smile replacing your frown. you fumbled with your purse while you began your journey out of the store. you gave him a wave goodbye before you exit, the bell leaving him in silence.

you realized quickly on your ride home that you should’ve invited him over to watch it with you. while he might not have been implying it, it just seemed like the right thing to do. steve was sweet, charming, and seemed as into you as you were into him. it would’ve been nice to watch the movie with the man. if only you weren’t so nervous around him. you could barely get a word out, let alone enough to ask him on a date.

———

it seemed your luck has run out on your fourth trip to family video. despite being excited to come back, only a day between trips, you must’ve came in on steve’s day off. up front today was robin, who was rewinding videos just like he was just the other day. you frowned as you not-so-casually looked around the store, slowly walking towards the front counter. the girl offered you a tight lipped smile as you approached her, setting the tapes down, noticing your eyes searching the store.

“looking for something?” robin asked, watching as you give her the same small smile. you shook your head, handing her the tape you’d been so kindly given by steve.

“no, just came to return this,” you told her, hands moving to meet each other in front of you, thumbs twiddling together. there was a disappointed look on your face she noticed quickly. robin was able to pinpoint exactly why the moment she’d taken a glance down at the name of the film. her lips quirked up in a smile, immediately going to search for your name in the computer system.

“it’s his day off,” she informed you without saying his name. you were quick to understand who she was talking about, of course you were. you hummed out quietly at her words, from deepening slightly. you were excited to see him, disappointed that you didn’t get to. so much so that you didn’t realize she knew you were looking for him. not until she continued to talk. “i was starting to believe you weren’t real, ya know. thought he was making you up for fun.”

heat rose up your neck and to your face robins words, one of your hands moving to the back of your neck to scratch awkwardly. you looked over at her expectantly, your heart beating fast. “he’s been talking about me?”

“god yeah,” robin told you, huffing out a breath of air. “he won’t shut up about you.”

you found yourself quoting him as you backed away from the counter, seeing yourself out as you spoke under your breath, words robin just barely caught. “good to know.”

———

the next time you were in family video, you didn’t have a single intention of getting a movie. the only thing you went in for was steve, to see his face, to hear his voice. you practically skipped through the front door when you noticed he was working today, an excited smile on your face as you found your way towards him. he had his back towards you putting away some movies, so he hadn’t noticed it was you who entered the store. not until you spoke to him.

“steve?” you called out in a soft voice, hands behind your back politely as you wait for him to answer. he was quick to spin around on his feet, an immediate smile on his face when he’d heard it was you. your voice was recognizable, especially because of how scarcely you used it. “hey.”

“hey, you,” steve responded, a cheesy look on his face as he sets everything down from his hands, arms crossing as his focus shifts to you.

“you weren’t here when i returned poltergeist, i didn’t get to tell you how i liked it,” you told him, an even cheesier look on your face. you watched as steve glanced between the watch on his wrist and robin, who was manning down the counter. it was a busy saturday, one of the only times there were two people on shift together.

he held up a finger for you to wait, a large smile on his face as he shuffles quickly over to the counter. he rested his forearms against the surface, leaning over to robin to speak in a low whisper. you watched curiously as they spoke together, seeing the girl shake her head in disbelief, a loud, exasperated sigh leaving her lips. steve seemed pleased with himself when he finally found his way back to you.

“convinced her to let me take my 30 minutes early. you can tell me all about the movie over lunch. deal?” he asked full of hope. his round, hazel eyes looked at you expectantly, soft and welcoming and intoxicating to look at.

“deal.”

[yuh13lo]

Couldn’t sleep | chris sturniolo

It was nearly 2AM when she gave up on pretending sleep might come. Chris had left the house hours ago with Nick and Matt for some spontaneous late-night filming idea, and though she knew he’d be back soon, her body wouldn’t settle. She tossed once more under the weight of his comforter before sighing, stretching her limbs, and standing with purpose.

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge down the hall. The air still smelled like his cologne—warm, woodsy, familiar—and his hoodie hung over the desk chair like an invitation. She tugged it on, sleeves slipping over her hands, and glanced around the room.

It wasn’t messy, exactly. Just… Chris-style cluttered. Clothes he “was definitely going to wear again,” a pile of empty Gatorade bottles on his nightstand, and his sneakers lined up just a little too chaotically under his dresser. Her fingers twitched.

“If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something,” she mumbled, brushing hair behind her ear.

She started with the desk—stacking notebooks, rearranging the pile of polaroids he kept of her and his brothers, wiping down the surface with a tissue and a splash of water. Then she moved to the dresser, folding a hoodie, fixing the way his hat hung off the side, finally tackling the nightstand, which was an ode to midnight snacks and half-finished waters.

By the time she tucked the last sock into his drawer, she was smiling to herself. Something about the routine of tidying his space felt grounding. Like leaving little “I love you” notes he might not notice at first, but would feel anyway.

The door creaked behind her and she turned around, caught red-handed mid-reach toward a hoodie on the back of the door.

“Hey,” Chris’s voice was scratchy from laughing too much. His curls were wild from the wind, cheeks flushed, and he blinked in surprise when he saw her. “What are you—”

But before she could even explain, he crossed the room in three long strides and tackled her gently onto the bed, making her shriek-laugh as they landed in a tangle of limbs and flannel.

“Christopher!” she giggled, squirming under his weight as he buried his face in her neck.

“I knew you couldn’t sleep without me,” he muttered, voice muffled and tired. “But cleaning my room? You really are in love with me.”

She laughed again, breathless this time, arms wrapping around his shoulders instinctively as he melted into her.

“You left it a disaster zone,” she teased, fingers carding through his hair.

“It was organized chaos.”

“It was a war zone.”

Chris grinned against her collarbone. “And now it’s a war zone that smells like lavender and looks suspiciously folded. I love it.”

They laid like that for a while, his weight pressed comfortably over her, her fingers tracing the curve of his shoulder through his hoodie. The room was dark again, quiet but peaceful this time.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to look at her, eyes soft and sleepy.

“You really couldn’t sleep without me?”

“Nope,” she whispered, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. “But I feel better now.”

Chris nuzzled back into her chest with a content sigh.

“Me too.”

And in his freshly cleaned room, wrapped in his arms, she finally fell asleep.

Taglist @xsturnkay @sturnsobsessed21 @bugs-tags @edu4rd0ss @ellsxxoxo @nessaisabelartemas333 @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer

[infiiniite]

ragatha expressing herself freely, being angry, upset, jealous, all made me come to like her character a whole lot more. i wasn't really that much of a fan of her before episode five, although i knew there would be more to her eventually, her insistence on being pomni's friend and her put on kindness really put me off, which was the intention, i guess- but after episode she has definitely shot up in likability for me, I'm so excited to see where her character goes.

“We need more complex female characters”

YALL COULDNT HANDLE HER

It’s crazy that her character flaw is thinking that if she ever expresses a negative emotion everyone will dislike her and yall immediately proved her right. Goddamn.

[sophrosyncc]

— what's up bro ?

you call the chrysos heirs bro. how do they react to it?

warnings/tags : slight story spoilers (you'll only notice them if you squint your eyes), gender-neutral reader, crack, slight ooc behavior (for the comedic effect) author's note : apologies for suddenly disappearing out of nowhere. I have severely underestimated how busy I'd be 🥀🥀 a bit of silly stuff before the dreaded 3.4 arrives. might edit this later characters : aglaea, anaxa, castorice, phainon.

aglaea

in her many years of leading the flame-chase journey, the last thing she expected was to be called bro.

no. you aren't the first one to call her that. both children and teenagers in the recent age of amphoreus have approached her with that nickname. cipher and phainon are definitely at the scene of the crime as well.

if she dislikes you, she'll ignore you or politely tell you off. unless you're elder caenis which is an entirely different situation on it's own.

compared to the next person on this list, she doesn't mind it if you call her that around others. it'll be a bit awkward at first but she gets used to it. there are far worse names or titles that others have given her, and she's glad that yours comes from a place of no ill intent.

if you are associated with phainon and cipher to a good extent, expect her to ask you if you were dared to do that.

maybe she'll give you an amused smile or laugh a bit after you call her bro. aglaea enjoys the unpredictability you bring in her life filled with daily routines and responsibilities. it's a nice break from what she's usually used to.

the only time you shouldn't is if she's doing something important.

on the other hand, if you're her lover, she'll be a be more playful with you. she may or may not call you bro when you least expect it. what's even worse is that no one will ever believe you if you tell them. the demigod of romance calling you bro out of nowhere sounds more impossible than completing the flame-chase journey.

can you really blame her? it's funny to see you surprised. aglaea can and will be a tease.

if you try to catch her off guard, it won't work.

call her garmentmakers bro as well and she'll enjoy it.

"hm? I don't remember calling you by that nickname. perhaps you have mistaken the voice from one of my garmentmakers for me — some of them can be playful."

anaxa

first of all, why would you call him bro?

are you asking for a death sentence? an early entrance to the nether realm?

or to catch his attention?

we're talking about the man who doesn't want to be called anything but anaxagoras. the same one who corrects everyone to the point he's made it a personal rule — he has a voiceline ranting about his own name.

if the two of you are strangers, he won't hesitate to tell you off. if he dislikes you, he'll give you a glare too or straight up ignore you. he isn't going to waste his time on you when he has better things to attend to.

however, if you're friends or lovers with him, anaxa will stare at you for a few good seconds. the scholar's silently judging you. he doesn't know whether being called bro is better than being called anaxa. to put it simply, it's awkward. he still corrects you in the end.

continue calling him bro after the first time and he'll eventually get used to it.

no. he's not calling you bro. it'll only happen in your dreams.

the era nova will happen before anaxa calls you bro.

call him bro in the classroom or anywhere near his students and he'll give you the nastiest side eye you've ever received. anaxa does not need the troublemakers getting ideas from you. that includes the other chrysos heirs as well.

a huge emphasis on the other chrysos heirs. entertaining the thought of phainon, cipher or aglaea hearing about that gives him dread. give this man some peace please.

"first of all, that's anaxagoras to you and remember that well. secondly, i'm not your bro. refrain from referring to me with such nicknames next time."

castorice

she... doesn't know how to react.

speechless. quiet.

a bit flabbergasted, even.

no worries, you didn't offend her at all. castorice simply doesn't know how to reply.

you are most likely the first one who's ever called her that. congratulations!

not a lot of people approach the hand of death and call them bro casually. people have called her by many names or titles as well, similar to aglaea, and the last thing that comes to mind is a casual nickname. castorice is also aware that she isn't the liveliest person around.

whether you're a stranger or someone she dislikes, she'll give you an awkward nod or ignore you. if there's others around her when you call her bro, she'll think you're talking about someone else. anyone but her.

however, if you're a friend: despite the silly nickname, she likes it.

being called bro isn't something she's definitely used to, but it's a nice and pleasant surprise. it gives her a sense of normalcy and comfort. it'll take more time for her to get used to it compared to the others. call her that with other people in the area and she'll be a bit confused if you're talking about her or someone else.

castorice won't call you bro often, but sometimes she will.

not a lot will change if you're her lover. she'll still react the same for the most part, but I can imagine her surprising you with another silly nickname of her own. it has to be mutual.

please just don't call her that in front of aglaea or tribbie.

she will be a bit embarrassed.

"it's... alright. there's no need to apologize. I enjoy the nickname quite a bit actually. please— don't be scared to call me that again, or other similar words."

phainon

phainon takes it extremely well. too well.

in fact, he'll even reciprocate it.

no one is surprised at all.

it isn't the first time he's heard others call him like that or the first time he's called others bro. call him bro and he's calling you bro as well. equivalent exchange.

he has also called some of the other chrysos heirs bro as well. both of you are guilty of that.

the only time he won't do it is if he dislikes you a lot. if you've played the 3.3 story quest. depending on the situation and how much he dislikes you, he'll either firmly tell you to not do that next time, pretend you didn't call him that, or glare at you.

worry not, it takes a lot to have the deliverer hate you.

if you tell him to stop calling you bro, phainon will respect that. however, he'll find other silly nicknames to call you, ones that you don't mind.

if you're his friend or his lover... good luck. one way or another he'll turn it into a competition on accident or purposefully, and it'll only get more heated if you're just as competitive as he is. get ready to have bets over who can come up with the most absurd nicknames in one minute or something else.

just be careful to not drag anyone into it, lest the two of you want to replicate chaos that could rival penacony's disaster.

"bro? haha! I didn't expect that but I'm not against it either. I guess that means you're my bro now as well. what? don't look at me like that."

masterlist

[akisteahouse]

Thinking about Love at first sight with Riddle Rosehearts!

Who only wanted to return your wallet, which you had dropped on the floor, before being face-to-face with quite simply, the most breathtaking person he’d ever seen. Face blushing crimson, eyes darting anywhere but your curious gaze, eventually landing on the floor.

This was improper.

There had to be some kind of rule against this kind of encounter, right?

Heart hammering in his chest, so loud he wondered if you could hear his heartbeat, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. He hoped not.

“Ahem,” clearing his throat from nonexistent phlegm, eyes darting away from yours. Was his tie askew? His hair messy? Sevens, maybe it was - Floyd had been causing more trouble than he usually did earlier, even messing up his hair… face flushing impossibly more in embarrassment, hoping, praying to the Seven that you wouldn’t notice, that this wouldn’t ruin your first impression of him.(because you were really much too beautiful for your own good, and you somehow made him aware of every insecurity and flaw he had, no matter how minor.)

“You dropped this.” He mumbled, before clearing his throat. “You ought to be more careful with your belongings.” He hoped he wasn’t coming off too blunt, too rude. Every comment, every little word about his behaviour hadn’t really bothered him much, not until now. Hands abnormally fidgeting with his gloves, his Mother’s words ringing in his head - something about lacking composure, but his head was far too busy trying to permanently ingrain your face into his skull than to actually use it properly :((((

“I haven’t introduced myself yet - I’m Riddle Rosehearts, the Housewarden of Heartslabyul. And you are?” Because he’d definitely have remembered a face like yours, carve an entire space in his head just for you, actually.

Poor Riddle Rosehearts, who couldn't help but find himself slipping after your encounter - wistfully gazing out class windows, dreaming of your face, perking up ever so slightly when he heard footsteps, only to deflate when it wasn’t you... oh, won't you come back, to heal his lovesick heart? ;)

[batsandbirdbrains]

ok but give me bruce holding all of the kids to dick’s standard but not as robin, just as a normal kid. like bruce has always been a weird guy even as a kid and while he has a public persona he’s incredibly awkward underneath and does not interact with many people. alfred ‘let me help train my little orphan friend in martial arts and let him loose’ pennyworth is not much better. then they get dick who, by most means, did not have a normal childhood either. his new caretakers do not have any idea what normal children are like. so when dick gets excited and does 10 back flips in a row, they think “ahhh children must do that to show their happiness”. when dick is angry and throws massive hysterical fits where he bites people, destroys shit, and climbs onto chandeliers to sulk, not once do they consider that his reaction may be a bit disproportionate. when dick has depressive episodes where he can’t get out of bed, they think that this must be what other people mean when they talk about teenage hormones. when dick makes friends with almost everyone in the entire universe and then some, they think “well who doesn’t like children?”

but then comes along jason, and jason also did not have the most normal childhood, but it was closer to normal than what dick and bruce had. bruce starts worry that he’s completely fucking up while trying to parent jason, because jason isn’t reacting like dick does. to bruce, jason hardly ever emotes around him. bruce buys him ice cream and the kid doesn’t do a single flip. bruce upsets jason and doesn’t even know it until jason starts ranting about how he’s tired of giving bruce the silent treatment. bruce starts to worry because jason doesn’t have many friends but jason yells at him that he doesn’t need to socialize all the time (bruce considers looking into therapy - surely such little socialization isn’t healthy?) at least jason does flips sometimes as robin, which must mean that it makes him happy, right?

then jason dies and bruce is alone for a long time. tim comes along and bruce is still so stuck in his grief that he’s not really paying attention to tim’s behavior. when he finally manages to get better he realizes that tim doesn’t do ‘normal’ kid things either, but bruce just settles on tim having a weird childhood and being a weirdo in the same way bruce is.

over time his family grows more and more, and yet none of them act like normal kids. bruce starts to get a little concerned - the only besides dick that emoted was damian, when he was angry, and even that went away over time. he tries to nudge them in the right direction time and time again with little anecdotes about dick but it doesn’t seem to work. he’s met with eye rolls and scowls when he talks about how dick used to do flips all the time, when he talks about dick swinging from the chandeliers, when talks about all of dick’s friends, when talks about dick diving off a roof to knee a goon in the face. bruce is just trying to give his children suggestions on how to be normal, dammit!

eventually he brings up his concerns to clark, who makes a considering noise and says “i had that same issue at first. i was waiting for jon to do flips when he got older but he never did. then i realized nobody taught him. now he does them all the time.” because while clark did have a normal childhood, he’s also an alien and did not spend much time with children as an adult (beyond saving them) until dick came along as robin. lois sighs exasperatedly from the background. bruce is incredibly horrified and sad at the thought that he had been waiting forever for children to flip for him and they didn’t know how (mind you, they all definitely know how to flip, he’s seen them all do it at least once). bruce wonders how he can broach the topic without messing up the conversation and decides to enlist the other JL founders for help. diana wants her nephews to be happy, clark was always on board, barry remembers all the weird shit wally did as a kid and doesn’t question it, oliver doesn’t really care, and hal is too scared of everyone’s wrath to tell them all that dick is just a weirdo.

Dude the last line fucking killed me “and Hal is too scared of everyone’s wrath to tell them that Dick is just a weirdo” beautiful, wonderful, excellent. Hal always thought Robin/Dick was a fucking weirdo little kid/teenager/adult but could never say it bc somehow everyone loves the kid.

And all the other Batkids feeling like Dick is just an impossible standard to live up to is so accurate. But would Dick even know about it? I feel like they wouldn’t blame Dick necessarily, but he absolutely grates on their nerves after a long lecture from Bruce about how they need to be more like Dick and now Dick is at the manor hanging out acting like nothing is out of the ordinary

[sparethedreamer]

CW: medical neglect, death mention, medical trauma, infection, healthcare, pain, please be aware that the sources linked cover cases that may be especially upsetting or triggering to read about)

When I got my poor infected tonsils removed, I was on about day 7 or 8 and in a butt-load of pain. It was to the point where I wasn't able to drink enough liquids and was getting dehydrated and really starting to go downhill pretty quickly. I knew, based on past experiences that have given me a good understanding of my capabilities, that if I could just get rehydrated I'd be able to make it through the rest of the recovery. So I had my sweet mom (who works hard as my caregiver and keeps me alive) call in to the ER to see if they'd be able (read: willing) to give me an IV.

Of course the ER is well equipped to administer IVs, but are they gonna give me one without a fight? As if! I have a chronic illness which is automatically translated by healthcare workers to 'drug seeking malingerer'. The healthcare system isn't set up to support, accommodate, validate, or respect the chronically ill and it would have been really detrimental to my deteriorating health to have spent the little energy I had to show up just to be sent home. Hence the phonecall.

My mom spent probably about 15 minutes on the phone fighting to convince whatever mighty and merciless medical deity working that day and tasked with passing judgement on the wicked and preserving the resources for the worthy that all I needed was an IV. No, I wasn't coming in for any drugs or pain meds (despite having high enough pain that I couldn't swallow water and was Not Doing Well At All). Of course I'll fulfill my allotted time of painful suffering that all those punished with tonsil removal surgery must endure without any extra pain-relieving blessings from the Great Healing Ones. I know I'm unworthy. All I ask is a drop of lifesaving saline. Please.

Eventually they believed us. So I went in, got my saline IV with no special anything in it, felt soooo much better, and went home. After a few more days of now-manageable suffering, I recovered. Huzzah.

It's wild to know that if I needed pain meds (which would have been amazing, given my level of pain at the time despite my high pain tolerance due to being in pain literally all the time), I wouldn't have been given any. If I had even suggested that I wanted any, I most likely wouldn't have been able to get my IV and who knows what would have happened. I know that with my chronic illnesses, I can decline really quickly. Other people with my condition (myalgic encephalomyelitis) have died or nearly died because of healthcare professionals' reluctance to provide timely and adequate basic care (source and source), not to mention trying to get pain management for the chronic pain that is a part of these chronic illnesses and their comorbidies.

It's so messed up.

"drug-seeking behavior" woah the patient wants u to treat their ailments with medicine ...... thats crazy