#I was thinking of making a comic for the au though it would have nothing to do with bloodlust

[ghost-bxrd]

So I've seen you post a lot about Dick and Calvin recently, and I wanted to know how you thought Calvin would react, in this Calvin gets adopted by Bruce kind of au, to:

1). Jason's death, in the assumption Calvin can't prevent it (And subsequently what he would do to Joker for it.)

2) Damian's early childhood.

3) Tim's Tim-ness.

4) How Calvin would react to the Batman Robin situation, when he finally learns about it.

I haven't gotten the opportunity to learn much about Calvin, but you have me interested, I'm a sucker for overly traumatized characters, and I am looking for the comics with him!

We can never have enough Calvin Rose content, that boy is so underrated 🥺💚

1. Pfpfpfpf you know for ONCE I wanted to go with “Jason doesn’t die in this Au” but you asked and I shall deliver hehehe.

Look, Calvin adores children. And it’s no different with Jason, whom he basically helped Bruce raise from the moment he came to the manor. (Bruce is a good dad here but emotions are not his forte. Calvin picks up the slack.)

So we’ve got a former Talon basically raising Jason, sharing a lot of his interests, teaching him fun escape techniques and pranking the others…

Only for Jason to die in Ethiopia. Beaten within an inch of his life and then blown up.

Because his birth mother sold him to the Joker.

Look, there’s very few things that make Calvin snap. Canonically it only happens when his loved ones are in danger/threatened, or children are being hurt.

And this one ticks off both boxes.

Calvin doesn’t kill if he can help it. Hasn’t done so since that one time with the Court, and that instance still haunts him in his sleep. But this?

Yeah. He’s not losing any sleep over killing Joker. He’d hunt the clown and put him down like a rabid animal. Cold, clean, and efficient. No drawing it out.

2. As mentioned before, Calvin adores kids. I don’t think they’d meet before Damian comes to the manor though, so no early early childhood shenanigans. But when Damian arrives, all entitled and clearly having been conditioned from a very young age, he gives Bruce a very deadpan “You do know you don’t get a discount for the amount of traumatized kids you take in, right?”

Damian is a stabby little shit that tries to kill Calvin at every turn. Dick thinks it’s hilarious. Damian becomes progressively more angry because Calvin doesn’t break a sweat side stepping each and every attempt. (Talon training pays off)

Calvin just lets Damian “burn off his excess energy” (“You do know he’s a kid and not a puppy, right?”) and uses the time the boy isn’t actively trying to murder him to child proof the manor again. Just to piss Damian off.

Having the kid try to poison him at dinner that day is so worth it.

Damian reluctantly warms up to Calvin over the next few weeks when the former Talon proves annoyingly helpful at setting up his room and helping him with training. (Although Damian turns his nose up every time Calvin obviously handles him with kiddie gloves. But the man point blank refuses to do anything else.)

3. Calvin spends a week around Tim and all his alarm bells for “neglected child” are going off like autotune in his brain.

Considering it’s still very close to Jason’s death tho it would take him some time to truly warm up to Tim.

Tim wishes Calvin remained as distant as he was the first year or so (no he doesn’t) because now Calvin has strictly limited his daily caffeine intake, is forcing him to eat at least three healthy meals a day, and actually set a bed time for him.

Tim is outraged (flustered) about being treated like a kid (like the kid he is).

4. Depending on who’s Robin when he finds out the reactions would vary greatly, but he still wouldn’t be happy that Bruce is taking kids out onto the streets at night to fight criminals either way. It remind him too much of the Court for comfort, grooming children into the percent assassin.

After a while though he’d realize that Bruce would love nothing more than for his Robin(s) to hang up the mantle and just live their lives to the fullest, and that they’re simply too stubborn and determined to fight crime with Batman to stay at home. With our without permission.

It helps that Bruce is clearly distressed and close to benching Robin whenever Dick/Jason comes back from patrol with a bruise. Never mind an actual injury.

[llitchilitchi]

Ok so I was re-reading your vampire au and there's so many things I wanna know! But I'm terrible at eh wording my questions I guess ...

For starters ... how will Dream react to Sapnap after he's back from hospital? Will he be afraid or will he tried to brush it off as nothing serious (while it's clear that it did affect him)? Was that the first time something like that happen? What about George? Is he mad at Sapnap about it? Or well ... how mad he is would probably be better question.

Oh also ... I'm ashamed I haven't noticed this in your profile sooner but... hovoríš po Slovensky?

ohhh goodness that's a storyline from the vampire au that I should certainly come back to, someday

this was the first time either Sapnap of George were overcome with bloodlust.

Dream tries to pretend like nothing happened, or rather acknowledges that it happened but says that it doesn't have to mean anything, especially after George explains to him that Sapnap didn't do it consciously. he tries to go back to how things were, act like the whole experience wasn't traumatic. he's genuinely not mad, if only a little worried and disappointed that things even came to that point because if Sapnap acted like this because of some deeper instinct or a certain trigger, maybe it could've been prevented. he tries not to be jumpy but when someone comes up to him from behind or touches him, be it Sapnap or George, he tenses or flinches away. the first feeding session after the incident would definitely not end well.

George is a lot more angry about it happening. as a vampire himself, he knows that it could have been prevented, especially if it was because of hunger. he almost comes to terms with everything but then the first time Dream flinches away from his fangs he's angry all over.

I'm still trying to figure out how I could continue the series, which would also get into just How Exactly the three of them were affected by this. when George comes back from the hospital it's still a fresh kind of anger, the one that has him yelling at Sapnap before he runs out of energy and the bone-deep fear for Dream takes over. he's also known Sapnap for decades at this point, over a century, so he isn't even capable of being truly angry with him. it doesn't go away, it fluctates, sometimes small and hiding in the very back of his mind, sometimes silent and cold that has him walking past Sapnap, has their conversations be much shorter and more clipped and tense than they used to be, some times bright and burning with shouts and insults (but those happen rarely, on the bad days, and the outbursts could be counted on the fingers of one hand). he doesn't stay angry. if not for himself, then at least for Dream's sake.

they will all be forced to talk it out, once Dream is better and once they are all fully aware that they can't just ignore what happened

and last but most important: áno!! ahoj ahoj teší ma rada vidím ďalších slovensky hovoriacich ľudí vo fandome :D

[thed0ct0risc0ming]

Thinking about the hockey au...

Wally trying to get better and better, spending all his time at the downtown skating rink trying in vain to improve (he's already the best, he tells himself... Barnaby is just slightly better).

Barnaby wondering why his best friend is pulling away, no longer spending time with the team (Did Barnaby do something? He doesn't know, and the thought hurts more than he's willing to admit.. Wally is his best friend, after all).

Just... thinking about the hockey au

[palskippah]

Hi! There are role swap AUs of them already and I love them so much, so I tried making my own too! You should know that this is entirely self-indulgent like anything else I draw askdaslds

There is Mareach and Bowuigi bc yes alskdklasd and a tiny bit of one-sided Luaisy that leads to nothing because Luigi's a married man 😔

I had other drawings of them, but they're not colored yet and I wanted to share the idea already sjsjs

Here's some ideas for this AU!

-Mario's the Mushroom Kingdom Princess and his parents are the King and Queen. Luigi used to be the other princess, green princess or green princess Mario (as in, his bro Mario, not his last name Mario 😔), but he married Bowser and became the Queen of the Darklands :y Everyone in there respects and remembers his name, he's built a really good reputation for himself by simply being himself, in this house we believe in the 'Luigi is the Darklands' hero' hc too. Their aunt and uncles (and cousin) rule Sarasaland.

-(King boo's a Darklands ally but still hates Queen Luigi from that one time he wiped clean his mansion when the king kidnapped Mario. Luigi's scared of ghosts still too, but Junior always reassures him he's gonna beat them up if they try scaring his mama (I drew it actually, I'm gonna color it too!))

-When the bros were 20 Bowser at first tried kidnapping Princess Mario, and Mario was ready to beat his ass but they ended up talking about ally-making and ruling a kingdom as Bowser just got crowned king. Mario advised him to listen to his advisor and other stuff and by the time Luigi caught the koopa ship, ready to bonk Bowser in the head with his comically large hammer, the princess and king made plans of starting a treaty.

>Anyways, they met often after that when Bowser went to plan the treat with the Mario King and Queen. Luigi fell for Bowser and Bowser fell harder and Mario regretted talking to Bowser and should have instead just beat him up. He's happy for his bro though. When they married and had Junior and adopted the koopalings he decided that he was very happy that he talked to Bowser. He loves how happy Luigi is.

-Princess Mario accomplishes many things and excels at almost anything he tries, and all the toads treat him as a hero as well as a princess and all, so his dad doesn't think he's a failure, but still bothers him by urging him to get married ever since he turned thirty. He often compares him to Luigi, who got married at 23 and in the present had eight kids with his husband. Mario doesn't give a shit about marrying soon, but wished his dad would stop being annoying. His mamma is a sweetheart as always and often tells her husband to leave him alone. King Mario is stubborn as hell though (his two boys got that from him), so he doesn't.

-Peach and Daisy are cousins and they were trying to start a business together, though they weren't still sure about what (you know as Princess Peach and Daisy have many businesses together in canon aksdla), but before they could settle anything they somehow fell in the pipe and Peach landed in the Mushroom Kingdom and Daisy in the Darklands.

-Bowser still steals the Super Star, but in hopes of giving Luigi the coolest anniversary gift ever, as it's their seventh and all that. He very often gives him all sort of things, like great statues, many many dresses and all the stuff that he knows Luigi loves. Being the himbo he is, he's genuinely concerned that Luigi wouldn't like something unless it is completely new and has never been gifted to him at all. Of course, Luigi would love anything he'd give him, because Bowser's gifts are always made with love. By the end of the things, Luigi tells Bowser so and calls him an idiot affectionally, and also makes him return the Super Star. (movie-like, you know, since this is somehow a retelling alksdlasd)

-Based on what I read at discord, if you're who wrote it, pls know that i love your ideas jsjs- Bowser has set up many statues of Luigi that are of a nice stone color and has gems in its eyes to glow under the lava and the sun when it's out. Imagine that one Luigi render where he's got an arm raised and the other nicely by his side and he's smiling, that's the main statue of Queen Luigi sjjds. They contrast greatly against Bowser's, that were made to make his fierceness stand out, unlike Luigi's that highlight his kindness.

-In the piano scene, Bowser is playing and singing and Luigi's laying on his stomach over the piano's surface (no idea if that's possible but humor me alkdalsd) and listens with the most besotted expression ever, resting his face on his palms. When Kamek interrupts them Luigi's not mad or anything, but Bowser really glares at the magikoopa.

-Junior finds Daisy and brings her to the castle, in hopes that his mama and papa will help her, because they're the greatest people in the whole world and they can do anything.

-Daisy and Luigi quickly become friends, making Bowser jealous of the other human, especially because Daisy from time to time looks at Luigi as if she like-liked him. Not that he thought Luigi had eyes for anyone else beside him, but it was still annoying. And Diasy, for all she annoyed him, seemed to fully respect that Luigi was happily married.

-Daisy teases Bowser mercilessly too, at first clueless that she's supposed to be terrified and respect this guy like everyone else does (maybe Junior takes her to him first, and completely forgetting Junior's initial rambling about his family, she doesn't realize Bowser's the king, but when she meets Luigi, she sees his crown and fancy clothes and immediately knows she gotta be respectful to this guy. She doesn't know how royals are in this lava world, after all), but she keeps doing it, knowing the koopa king may look terrifying but he's mostly bark and no bite.

-DK and Mario are friends and they often meet up to beat the shit out of the other, or sparring as it's called, I think. The first time they did it, Mario got the cat power up and destroyed DK in front of the kong king and other kongs, and since then Cranky doesn't dislike Mario so much, and the others respect him greatly too.

-Mareach,,, they look at eachother and sparkles are in there too. Peach doesn't brutally throw Mario to the ground or anything, but he loses his breath anyways because of her beauty. Also, Mario's type is beautiful tall women (and tall idiot men, maybe his dad suggests DK as a husband and Mario's like ew dad, we're just friends. Or maybe... Donkareach... I like the fics that has them, but idk for this).

-Toad as a wingman, he doesn't care how obvious he is, he's gonna make Princess Mario and his new friend Peach be together, because they clearly like-like the other.

That's all I got for now askdalsd thanks if you read my ramblings, sorry if there's mistakes in writing.

I'm gonna color the stuff I got left and maybe draw more, but knowing myself I dunno if I will anytime soon 😔 Also I go back to college the next week sadly sjsjd

Got any thoughts on the AU? Tell cuz I'd love to know c:< but only if it's nice thoughts, I'm sensitive akdalsd

[osaemu]

SHARING IS (NOT) CARING: PROFESSOR!DAZAI

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: he has to teach your class for the day, but there's no way either of you will be able to focus with you sitting in the front row.

contents: fem!reader. college AU. professor x student. not proofread and written in under five minutes. i forgot how to write dazai, whoops. i'll probably write more in this AU later on bc i think it has potential. -1K words.

professor!dazai is well aware that he shouldn't be romantically involved with a student, but justifies it to himself by reasoning that you're not in his class, so it should be okay. even though your university's policy allows teacher-student relationships if they aren't in the same field, he still tries to keep it mostly a secret—after all, he wouldn't want to risk anything on your part.

but one day, your professor's absent, and luckily (or not), dazai's the only one available to step in for the day. imagine his surprise when he realizes that the class he hesitantly agreed to sub for today was your class, and as luck would have it, you sit in the front row.

"alright, class, i don't really know what you're supposed to be doing, but—"

"there should be an outline on the desk, sir," the girl next to you pipes up, smiling bashfully at dazai. he pauses and nods at her gratefully, doing his best to not make eye contact with you as he skims over the outline. you're equally as unsure as he is, because you never expected to be in this situation: with your boyfriend as your actual professor, even if it was just for a day.

"oh, great, i have to give a lecture," dazai grumbles, holding the papers in the same hand that's also holding a cup of steaming hot coffee. he sighs, eyes professionally surveying the room before finally settling on you. "would you mind giving me a quick summary of whatever you're supposed to be learning today?" he asks, hiding his little smile behind the cup of coffee he presses to his lips.

you nod, but right before you open your mouth, the girl next to you speaks up again. "i can do it, professor," she offers, beaming at dazai as if she's the personification of joy and happiness. and it's almost comical, the way dazai barely spares her a glance before returning his attention to you.

so you give him a brief summary of what your actual professor had said your class would be covering today, and dazai nods along, eyes focused intently on the outline in his hand. when you finish speaking, he stays quiet for another second before shrugging and sitting down at the teacher's desk. "i'll just find a video on it, 'cause i don't know enough to teach the subject. and honestly, i don't want to, either."

as expected.

twenty minutes go by with some youtuber's monotone voice droning on in the background, but instead of studiously taking notes (like you should be doing), you find yourself staring at dazai instead. his eyes are fixed on his phone, and it's a mystery to everyone in the room as to what he's doing. it's only when you pick up your own phone to check the time do you see a bunch of missed messages from him:

osamu: this class is so boring

osamu: how do u sit through this every. day.

osamu: i'm already falling asleep wtf

osamu: babe answer me :(

osamu: do you hate me :( if not answer me :(

you bite your lip in a futile effort to hide the smile that's threatening to grow on your lips, which would be suspicious, considering that there's practically nothing to smile about in this dull lecture hall.

you: shut up i'm trying to focus

dazai shoots you a subtle grin from his spot up front and replies quickly enough to make you wonder if all this time, he's just been staring at your name on his phone.

osamu: ik you're not paying attention

osamu: play me in 8 ball

you: no

"you in the front," dazai calls from his desk, clearly directing his voice towards you. he raises an eyebrow coyly, and continues, "shouldn't you be taking notes?"

the girl next to you snickers, not seeming to catch the look you give her. dazai clears his throat and looks at you pointedly, obviously trying not to show his amusement.

"okay," you mutter, shooting dazai a vicious death glare. he winks back at you, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"what was that?" he asks in response, pretending not to have heard you. it's embarrassingly obvious that he's just messing with you, and you wonder why you ever agreed to date this man in the first place—of course he'd pull something like this the one day he gets to have authority over you.

"yes, professor," you say with a witheringly forced smile. dazai's smile turns uncertain as he dips his head in reply and instantly picks up his phone.

osamu: i'm sorry pls don't make me sleep on the couch

you: i won't :)

you: you'll be out on the porch tonight :)

osamu: wait no

osamu: i love u

osamu: pls don't do this to me ilysm

"hey," the girl next to you whispers, drawing your attention away from your phone and to her uncomfortably close voice. "isn't professor dazai hot?"

she's not a quiet whisperer, and something about dazai's forcibly calm expression makes you certain that he can hear every word. "i guess," you answer noncommittally. hopefully, your tone doesn't betray how close you are to clawing out your eyes.

"do you think he's single?"

"no. and even if he was, i doubt you'd be his type," you reply with a sickeningly sweet smile. dazai coughs into his arm, obviously trying to hide the laugh he had just choked out. the girl's eye twitches, and you hold your smile until she rolls her eyes and looks away.

osamu: ur so funny i'll kms

you: ur still sleeping on the porch.

osamu: babe :(

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia AU: Ambush Simulation

Aight, storytime:

So awhile back, I was thinking about Episodes 4 & 5 of the anime Soul Eater where the gang is tasked with capturing two villains, the zombie Sid and the guy who resurrected him, Professor Stein.  (There’s also the added stakes that if they fail in this task, they’ll be expelled from school.)  After a somewhat harrowing fight, defeating Sid and losing to Stein, the plot twist is this was never a real fight, Stein and Sid were not villains, and this whole thing was just a test that was orchestrated and sanctioned by the school and definitely skewed more toward hazing than actual education.

And I thought, what if that’s all the Vanguard Action Squad was during the Summer Camp Arc?  Just a test orchestrated by UA that skewed more toward hazing than actual education. (Note:  These are the traditional LoV members, so Muscular, Mustard, and Moonfish are not part of this line-up.) At the very least, that would probably be the meanest ruse Aizawa has pulled. And you can't tell me Principal Nezu wouldn't have been all in for this plan.

"It happened once at the USJ. Despite our precautions, it could happen again. Let's teach them how to prepare...by scaring the absolute shit out of them."

"Ambush Simulation" is playing off my earlier AU comic with Shigaraki being the adopted nephew of All Might and leading a pretty normal life.  The rest of the squad is more or less in the same boat. For context, Touya’s canon divergence is he returned home after the three-year comatose and actually stayed there, but since nothing about that household environment really changed, he’s still an unhinged mess, but that is a whole other kettle of fish best saved for another comic. (Clearly getting a kick out of the prospect of scaring a bunch of kids, including his brother, half to death, though.)  Toga’s home life is rocky at best after ‘the incident,’ but she’s no longer a runaway teen.  Everybody else just kinda fell in with each other.

Their role as a vigilante team was inspired by the series Durarara!, specifically Kadota and his crew for anyone who's familiar. I genuinely forgot the Vigilantes spinoff existed...sigh, it's been awhile and I only recently got back in this fandom. The Vanguard is pretty much living by a 'you're only in trouble if you get caught,' philosophy. (And the nepotism has probably saved all their asses a few times because it doesn't look good for the No. 2 Hero if his eldest son is busted for vigilantism.)

Anyway, there's a few other details that I can't fit in this post, so head over here if you want to read more behind the scenes of making this thing.

[fqirysim]

untitled--

genre(s): angst, some fluff at the end, exes to best friends to lovers, highschool au, lowercase intended, lots of pov changes

requested: nope !

pairing(s): yang jungwon x reader, ft. yuna (itzy), and intak (p1h)

word count: 7.2k (my longest fic yet ! ) 

warning(s): cursing, underage drinking, a tiny bit of infidelity 

synopsis: you had been in love with yang jungwon since the day you met him. 

note: lowercase is intended, lots of pov changes! (read carefully so you don’t get confused lol). this took me a year to make PLEASE don't judge too harshly i put my heart and soul into this 😭. took me a year to make but could not come up with a title for the life of me, hence why it is called untitled, silly silly me. this was really fun to make though and although it took me a while to make, i'm very proud of it. lmk if you want to be added to my taglist and i will gladly do so !! special thanks to my bestie abby and my bf dean for proofreading love you both <3333

—------

you were certain this was the end of your friendship with jungwon. again. but this time you knew it would be permanent.

he was the boy who lived next door. growing up, you had always admired him from afar. the class president who everyone, including the upperclassmen, seemed to get along with.  

you had liked him until freshman year, when you got tired of pining over someone who didn’t seem to hold any interest in you. as comical as it seems, that was around the time that he had started to take an interest in you. 

and so he courted you, bringing you your favorite drink, walking you home, even coming over for dinner and hanging out at your house. this helped blossom a friendship that no one saw coming, and it wasn’t long until people started to wonder if you two were an item. 

it took two months for jungwon to muster up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. 

you were sure you were over your crush on him, that it was just a silly childhood crush. but as you hung out with him more and more, you couldn’t help but fall for him all over again. of course you said yes, because who wouldn’t say yes to the pretty starry-eyed boy standing before you?

jungwon was a nice boyfriend; going on dates quite often, never fought, and he would buy you flowers without being asked.. maybe the latter was why the whirlwind relationship only lasted five months. 

you remember the day so vividly, sitting on the bench at your favorite park; the same park where jungwon had asked you to be his, and here he was, asking you to break up.

 it seemed poetic in a kind of way, starting as his, and leaving as no one’s.

“i’m sorry. i’ve just lost romantic feelings,” jungwon stated, staring down at the grass as a breeze of wind came, the blades of grass swaying slightly. “it’s just that we’ve both been so busy with other things, and i guess we kinda just like, drifted apart because of it.”

“yeah, i think so too,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the slight sting in your heart. 

his head snapped up, your eyes finally meeting his, “wait, actually? you’re not lying?” the sound of relief in his voice made your heart feel like it was being squeezed.

“do you want to get rid of me that bad?” you instead teased with a grin. 

“no!” he exclaimed with wide eyes. “i still wanna be friends with you. i might not like you romantically anymore, but i don’t wanna like, lose the friendship we have, you know?”

“yeah,” you replied, “we can still be friends.”

and you two meant it. there were no tears, and no broken hearts (that you would like to admit). it was just a simple case of the right person and the wrong time, and as the years continued, you tried to convince yourself that it was just nothing. that jungwon was not your “right” anything- he was just your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. 

you were almost successful. until your last year of high school approached. 

you and jungwon kept your word, you stayed friends. always being seen together; walking to class, walking home, studying in the library, eating lunch in the cafeteria. 

people still believed you were together, and you always had to correct them, because no you and jungwon were no longer together and no you were not a thing.

they never believed you, though. 

there was always a small part of you that wanted to say yes when someone would ask. that you and jungwon were a thing and that he was yours and you were his. but you never did, callingyourself crazy for even thinking of doing so. 

you found yourself doing it again as yuna had asked you earlier in the week. 

yuna was the new girl this year, having transferred from jyp high. from what you heard, she was nice, smart, and she was gorgeous. you were never one to put yourself down, but you couldn’t say that you didn’t feel insecure standing next to her. 

“no, jungwon and i are not dating,” you smiled politely. it was almost like a script at this point. “we’re just good friends.”

“that’s good to hear,” yuna smiled, her eyes sparkling. “i just wanted to ask him out, but i wasn’t going to if you had a thing!”

“oh, you’re thinking of confessing to him?” you questioned. there was that little part of you again. the part that always said no! tell them you’re a thing! tell them to not do it!

“yeah, he’s in a bunch of my classes. he’s super smart and polite and he always knows how to make me laugh. and he has such pretty eyes,” she sighed dreamily as her mouth formed into a lovesick smile. 

“well, he has that effect on people,” you grinned. 

i would know, you thought.

 “i say go for it! he’s not particularly interested in anyone, you have a good chance.”

“you really think so?” she asked, eyes wide. 

god, i hope not, you thought. as shitty as it was, you didn’t want jungwon to move on. you felt sick at the thought of him being with someone else. 

“why not?” you said instead. “he’ll be at the library after school today studying, i’m supposed to meet him, but i can just tell him something came up.” 

“oh my god, you’re the best!” she squealed, engulfing you in a hug. “thank you thank you thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her, ignoring the green monster growing within you.

—----

it had been four days since your conversation with yuna. every time you saw him, you waited for him to bring up the date with baited breath- but he hadn’t said anything. not yet at least.

or maybe yuna simply didn’t ask him on a date. that’s what you were secretly hoping, at least.

it seemed hoping wasn’t enough. on the fifth day jungwon approached you from down the hall with those twinkling eyes and a bright smile you love so much, he seemed more energetic than usual with a little hop in his step. 

“you’re not gonna believe what happened today!” he exclaimed as he reached you at your locker. 

you could believe it. you were the one who hooked yuna up after all. yet you feigned curiosity as you looked at him quizzically, “what is it?”

“yuna asked me on a date! me! of all people! she’s so cool and smart and nice and pretty,” he said with a dreamy look on his face. 

you knew that look. the far away gaze as he thought of her. it was one you would never forget. it’s how he used to look at you. that lovesick grin and those twinkling eyes.

 it had never bothered you before when jungwon had crushes on other girls, because well, that’s all they were. they never escalated into anything more. looking at his lovestruck expression, realization hit that jungwon wasn’t yours anymore. 

you shouldn’t have thought of it that way. you should be happy for him! you should’ve been celebrating with him and cheering him on!  

you couldn’t help the bittersweet smile on your face as you replied, “oh, well that’s nice.”

his smile faltered slightly at your expression, concern slowly forming on his face.  

“are you okay?” he asked. 

“i’m fine, don’t worry,” you said, regaining your composure. “i’m happy for you! and don’t worry about spending less time with me, you’re gonna be a busy guy now! with a girlfriend…”

“okay, she is not my girlfriend. and even if she was, I would never ditch you!” 

“yeah whatever you say, loverboy,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge with your shoulder. 

“no seriously, y/n,” he replied, softly. “are you okay with yuna and i being a thing? i just don’t want it to be weird because you and i used to be a thing, and i know we’re both over that but i just wanted to make sure-,”

“what, me?” you scoffed, cutting the boy off. “what you and i had wasn’t serious, it was just some dumb high school fling.”

even as you spoke those words, you knew they weren’t true. it was more than just a fling. you loved him and maybe you still did. 

silence hung between you, the hallway getting quieter as the remaining students scrambled to their classes, the late bell ringing, leaving you and jungwon in the hallway alone. 

he looked hurt at what you said. you immediately wanted to take it back, to say you didn’t mean it and that he was your first love and you didn’t want him going on that date with yuna. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that,” you muttered, not being able to meet his eyes and instead turning to close your locker. 

“no, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” he replied, as he started to back away, making his way to his class down the hall. “you’re right, it was just a fling, and honestly, it’s so weird to think of us as a couple.” 

it was like your world was falling apart around you as he spoke. did you interpret his hurt expression wrong? maybe this all was one-sided. did he not feel his heart breaking like you did? did he not wonder occasionally (or everyday) how his life would be if you were still together? did he not miss what you had?

maybe there really was nothing between you and jungwon but friendship. 

“yeah, so weird,” you awkwardly smiled, walking to catch up with him. “but you and i, we’re good, right?”

“yep, no worries,” he grinned back. 

“good,” you smiled. “so when’s your date?” 

his eyes brightened ever so slightly as you asked. he started to describe his date– how he was going to take her to the beach and have a picnic and play in the sand. 

you nodded along, your mind wandering off to when jungwon would take you on beach dates, burying him in the sand, splashing him with water and swimming away before he could splash you back. 

you looked over at the boy in question, his starry eyes wide as he talked about his date plans, his smile wide and giddy, his tone as sweet as honey as he talked about her. 

you knew you shouldn’t villainize yuna– she was a nice girl, a very nice one. it wasn’t her fault you were still in love with jungwon, and it surely wasn’t her fault that she liked him. it’s not like you could choose who you could fall in love with. 

you of all people would know. 

so you smiled and nodded along as you walked him to class, listening to him go on and on about his plans. you finally settled with the fact then and there, that jungwon would never be yours again. you had to let go. 

—--------

it has been six months since that day. the day that you had decided to give up. yuna and jungwon have been inseparable since then. 

he kept to his word though; still studying with you after school, showing up when you needed him, hanging out together. sometimes yuna would tag along, which you didn’t mind. she was fun to be around. 

you also didn’t mind being the third wheel when she was around, instead teasing the couple and even offering to take pictures for them. they were a lovely couple and they were seemingly happy– jungwon especially, and that was all that mattered. 

the school year was coming to an end, and seeing as it was your senior year, people were throwing parties almost every weekend. 

you went every once in a while, had some fun, did some underage drinking, even flirted with a couple of people. 

tonight was the party though. 

intak was throwing his first party of the year, and everyone knew his parties were legendary. 

you sat in the uber with jungwon and yuna, anticipating the night before you. you were excited, to say the least. the last time you went to a party was a  month ago, and you were ready to have fun. you even put on your best party outfit for tonight!

you arrived at intak’s house (or more like a mansion), and started to make your way inside until jungwon stopped you. 

“wait! before we go in, i think we should go over some basic safety rules!” jungwon exclaimed. 

you rolled your eyes with a small laugh as you replied, “only you would go over safety rules at a party.” 

“i’m serious, y/n, really bad things could happen,” he shot back with a pointed expression. 

“okay wonie, go ahead, we’re all ears,” yuna smiled supportively.

you ignored the slight heart ache at yuna using your old nickname for jungwon- the one you used when you were together. 

get it together, y/n you thought. letting go, remember?  

you instead smiled and nodded reassuringly at jungwon, who looked over at you to make sure you were paying attention. 

he sighed before continuing, “okay, i won’t be doing any drinking so i can babysit you guys all night. if you need to use the bathroom give your drinks to me so i can watch them. and y/n, if you leave the party at any point, for any reason, please let me know first.”

“sir, yes sir,” you muttered. 

“now let’s go have some fun!” yuna exclaimed, dragging the both of you by the wrists. 

you finally entered the house, where there seemed to be everyone from your school. even kids who graduated last year were in attendance, and as you searched the party for a familiar face that wasn’t jungwon or yuna, intak strolled over, a wide smile on his face. 

“you guys made it!” he shouted over the loud thumping of the music. he was wearing a letterman jacket with a white shirt underneath, and a pair of baggy straight legged jeans. the outfit looked so good on him that you had almost forgotten that you were talking to intak of all people. 

“you look nice, y/n,” he grinned.

you would’ve had a crush on him if he didn’t flirt with every girl he laid eyes on, and it seemed like his victim of the night was you. but damn did he look good right now. 

intak wasn’t a bad guy, he seemed harmless, not like the guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer. he just always flirted, with no intentions of making anything serious. most of the girls he talked to never knew the latter though. 

but you thought it couldn’t hurt, you were here to have fun, and if flirting with intak was the way to do it, then so be it. 

you saw jungwon step forward, about to tell intak to back off and go flirt with someone else, causing you to put your hand on his arm to stop him. 

you also noticed how yuna examined the scene in front of her; jungwon trying to be your knight in shining armor, and you with your hand on his arm to stop him. her eyes narrowed slightly in thought as you dropped your hand and turned to intak. 

“why don’t you get me a drink and then we can talk?” you smiled dazzlingly. you usually reserved smiles like that for when you wanted to flirt and get wasted, and just as usual, it worked like a charm.

“i’ll be right back then,” intak smiled, before making his way through the crowd of bodies in search of a drink for you. 

“really, y/n, intak out of all people?” jungwon questioned, arms crossed. 

“yeah, and what about it?” you replied, feeling slightly annoyed at his tone of voice. he had never acted this way towards you before, but you didn’t like it. it wasn’t his business who you flirted with. he talked to you like you were an idiot and you hated the thought of him looking down on you.  

yuna awkwardly stood between the two of you, not wanting to be in the middle of your fight, but not wanting to go off by herself at a party filled with people she barely knew. 

“‘what about it?’” jungwon mocked your voice in a high pitched tone. “you know how he is, don’t be dumb.”

“dumb? i’m here to have fun, jungwon, not to play third wheel again,” you snapped back. “and why does it matter, you’re not my boyfriend, and you’re not my brother, so it’s really none of your fucking business.”

yuna had been looking back and forth between you and jungwon, watching as you glared at each other, waiting for someone to say something. it was like watching a tennis match. 

at that moment, intak arrived, back with a red solo cup in hand. 

“a drink for the prettiest girl here,” he announced, handing the cup over to you. 

“why thank you love,” you replied with an innocent smile as you looked over at jungwon, still glaring at you, his arms crossed against his chest.

ignoring him, you took a sip of the drink you were given, your face scrunching up at the bitter taste. 

“hey intak, why don’t we go dance?” you asked, reaching for his hand. 

“that sounds like fun,” he replied with a smile of his own before you led him to the dance floor, leaving an enraged jungwon, and a slightly annoyed yuna behind you.

—-----

yuna had seen the way jungwon looked at you. she might have been a bit oblivious at first, but as time went on and she spent more time with the two of you, it became more and more apparent– jungwon had never gotten over you. 

at first yuna thought she could sway him, to get him to fall for her the way he fell for you. but it never worked. he looked at you like you were his own personal angel. no matter where you were, who you were with, how you looked, he was absolutely enraptured by you, and oh, how yuna wished he looked at her like that. 

it had been fifty minutes since your small tussle, and yuna and jungwon sat outside, occupying two pool chairs as he angrily took sips of his water. 

“it’s like she doesn’t even care, she just ran off with him knowing he’ll never want anything serious, knowing he’s gonna lead her on, and i swear when she comes crying to me, i’m gonna tell her ‘i told you’ right to her stupid dumb face,” he rambled, placing his bottle of water harder on the table than he intended to, spilling droplets in the process. 

“well, she’s young and single, and she just wants to have fun baby, there’s nothing wrong with that,” yuna replied. “and she has a point, you’re not her brother or anything, so why do you care so much?”

jungwon  looked up at yuna, not being able to ignore the bitter tone in her voice, “wait, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“i’m not on anyone’s side, i’m just asking as your girlfriend why you care so much. because honestly, if i didn’t know any better, i would think that you were still in love with her,” yuna sighed, exasperated. 

“i am not in love with her, i like you!” he exclaimed, way faster than he should have. 

yuna wanted to believe him. she wanted to ignore every bit of doubt in her body and believe every lie he fed to her, but she couldn’t. not when she knew you loved him too. it was heartbreaking, really. to watch the person you love pine over someone else. but it was even worse knowing the feelings were reciprocated. 

“don’t lie to me, jungwon,” she deadpanned, feeling her eyes start to water with tears of frustration. “i see the way you look at her, and i know for sure you haven’t gotten over her. you have never once looked at me the way you look at her, and if you like her, just say that. just say that and we can end things here, without having to make this any more heartbreaking than it already is.”

yuna didn’t want to cry. the last thing she wanted to do was cry, but the feelings of anger and embarrassment had overwhelmed her, causing a few traitorous tears to spill. she was angry at herself for letting it get this far, for falling in love with a boy that she knew would never love her back. 

but she was also embarrassed. embarrassed that she had even tried to make an effort, that she had thought she could win him over. 

she wiped her face with the back of her hand, only for more to spill out, a sob fighting for an escape from her quivering lips. 

jungwon raised his hand to wipe the tears away for her, to cup her face and tell her everything would be okay and that he was sorry. but what was he sorry for? sorry for trying to keep you away from intak? or sorry that maybe yuna was right and he did still love you?

just as he opened his mouth to speak, you stumbled out, words slurring and barely able to walk as you stumbled your way over to them. 

“hey guys!” you exclaimed, as a worried intak came rushing out the house behind you. 

“oh god, y/n, are you okay?” jungwon asked, immediately walking over to your side to support your stumbling figure. yuna would have felt bitter over jungwon rushing to your side faster than he had ever run to hers. yet, despite the devil on her shoulder that told her to be petty, she instead felt worried for you. you could barely even stand up straight.

“what the fuck did you do to her?” jungwon asked, throwing an accusatory look at intak.

“nothing dude, i promise! she was the one who wanted to drink, she had like 5 drinks within the span of like, 10 minutes,” intak replied, panicked. “is she going to be okay? does she have a way to get home safely?”

jungwon looked from yuna to you, who was falling asleep just standing there.

“just take her home,” yuna sighed. “i’m not gonna make you choose because we all know who you’d choose every single time.”

“yuna it’s not like that,” jungwon groaned. “listen, i’ll bring her home, and then i’ll come over tomorrow and we can talk this out, okay? i promise.”

“okay, just get her home safe first,” yuna replied. 

you might have been the biggest obstacle in her relationship, but you were still a nice girl, and you had technically done nothing wrong, so yuna had no reason to want to keep you and jungwon apart. you were also wasted as fuck and there was no way you would be able to get home by yourself without something horrible potentially happen to you. 

jungwon grabbed his almost full water bottle from the table he was sitting at, muttering that he would “need it to sober you up”.

he gave yuna one last reassuring smile before he walked away, you on his back as he tried his best to carry you home. 

yuna sighed as she watched you go. she felt like something bad would happen today, something worse than her argument with jungwon, and she wanted nothing else but to go home and cry. 

all she could do was trust jungwon, even if she knew she already lost him, even if she knew she was never a contestant in the first place.

—------

jungwon almost did it. 

he almost carried you all the way home, but his legs felt like they were gonna give out once he reached the park near your house, and he decided then and there that he needed a break. 

he sat you on the playground set, sitting beside you with a huff. 

you were awake by this point, taking long sips of the water bottle jungwon had given you. you wanted to sober up by the time you got home, but it wasn’t really working, with your words still slurring slightly and your mind all dizzy.

the two of you sat in silence as you gazed at the stars and jungwon thought of his argument with yuna. 

maybe she was right. 

even now, as he glanced over at you, studying the stars, his heart skipped a beat and he felt his face warm up. 

“do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend in this park?” you chuckled. “we were so young then, it feels like forever ago.”

jungwon was thrown off by the sudden conversation starter, but still smiled, “yeah, i remember it very well. i felt like i was gonna throw up because i was so nervous.”

you turned your head to look at him and giggled as his smile grew wider. 

“what, what are you laughing at?” 

“nothing, i was just so in love with you then. i used to think that we would be together forever and ride off into the sunset in a carriage.” 

jungwon inspected you as you talked, trying to decipher if there was any meaning behind your words or if it was just the liquor talking. 

“i just thought we were some high school fling?” he half-joked as he nudged you with his shoulder. he didn’t want it to seem like he was serious if you were sobering up. 

he felt his heart start to race as he stared at your slightly flushed face from the drinks you had, your hair fluttering as a soft breeze blew by. you were everything that jungwon had ever wanted, and here you were, telling him how much you used to love him. 

wait, no, what the hell am i doing? jungwon thought to himself. it wasn’t fair to yuna. it was already unfair to her that he only started to date her to get over you. he thought that if he dated her long enough, he would stop loving you and love her instead. 

and he genuinely thought it worked. fuck, he thought. i’m such a shitty person. 

until he saw you with intak, flirting, dancing with him, laughing at his jokes, he had never felt so jealous in his life, and yuna had noticed. and she was upset, which was fair. what wasn’t fair was jungwon using her to get over you. 

use. he hated the icky feeling that word gave him. 

“i lied,” you muttered, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“what did you say?” jungwon asked, making sure that he had heard you right. 

“i lied,” you repeated, eyes on everything but him. “i loved you, and i think i still do.” 

your eyes finally met his as you continued, “you are everything to me, jungwon. i’ve been in love with you since forever, and i only agreed to break up because you said you wanted to.”

jungwon could feel his heart starting to beat faster as he searched your eyes for any hesitation, any sign that this was a lie, or some sort of joke. his heart beat so fast he felt like he was gonna explode as he looked into your eyes, so earnest and so genuine and so filled with love that he knew you had sobered up. 

you reached for his hands in his lap, interlacing your fingers with his. 

“i can’t keep this from you,” you breathed. “i love you, yang jungwon, and i know you’re dating yuna, but i just have to tell you that i love you, that i always have and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. i don’t expect you to leave her for me or anything, but i can’t help it anymore. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

silence hung over the two of you as he tried to form a coherent sentence after your confession. it felt like suddenly his brain didn’t know how to make him talk, to make him say i love you too, or to make him do anything, really. 

a minute passed, and then two as jungwon searched your eyes with the same desperation yours had– desperate to love and to be loved by the person sitting in front of you. 

jungwon didn’t know who leaned closer first. he thought it was you but maybe it was him. he didn’t even feel like he was in control of his body as he leaned closer and closer, his hand moving to hold your face, searching your face for any hesitation, for any kind of doubt.

 you were so close that he could smell the perfume you sprayed before you left your house and the drinks that you had earlier that night. 

impatient, jungwon finally closed the gap between the two of you, your soft lips colliding with his. he could have kissed you forever, wanting to stay forever in time there. until realization hit him.

yuna.

he pulled away abruptly, your eyes still closed as you chased his lips with yours. he would have found it cute if he weren’t trying his best not to panic right now. he just kissed you. while he was still dating yuna. 

he thought of the look on yuna’s face if she found out– the angry, hurt expression that she had at the party, and even worse, the tears. he would break the poor girl’s heart. 

“i should go,” jungwon breathed, quickly standing up from his seat beside you. “it’s almost past my curfew.”

“wait, jungwon,” you said, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt before he could walk away. “i think we should talk about this before you go.”

“yeah, we can talk later,” he replied dismissively. “i just need some time to think.”

you opened your mouth to say something else– anything else to make him stay, but closed it as you saw he was already speed-walking in the direction of his house. 

you thought that you would lose him forever after your breakup.  you had almost lost jungwon once, and you were nearly positive that you won’t be so lucky to keep him this time. 

you felt sick to your stomach, and you didn’t know if it was from the drinks or from the events that had just occurred, but nonetheless you felt nauseous. 

you hunched over as you started to gag, your vomit flowing out of your mouth, tears streaming down your face. 

you wiped your mouth with your sleeve, rinsing your mouth out with water as you started to tear up. 

before you knew it, you felt sobs rising, your nose stuffed from crying,  your throat getting dry from the sobbing. the embarrassment and sorrow was finally catching up to you– all of the years of repressed love you felt for jungwon, all of the embarrassment from him leaving after you confessed, embarrassment from being a homewrecker– it all came crashing down on you. 

you couldn’t go home like this. you were sober enough to know that, with your tear streaked face, ruined makeup, and vomit smelling breath your parents would put two and two together. 

your hands shakily reached for your phone in your back pocket, dialing your brother’s number and waiting for him to pick up with baited breath. your brother was your only hope. 

“hello?” 

“chan?” you breathed into the phone. “i need to sleepover at your place.”

—----

yuna hated this. 

the waiting, the feeling of dread as she sat on her bed, awaiting jungwon’s arrival. 

the fight that had ensued was horrible, but she believed she made a valid point. if he likes y/n so much he should just go be with her, she thought bitterly. 

jungwon had texted her last night at around 1 in the morning, just to make sure she got home safe. yuna didn’t respond. she instead left him on read, still pissed off from the fight.

she used to get butterflies when he would send her texts to make sure she got home safe. but now she didn’t know if he did it because he liked her or if it was just out of common courtesy. 

yuna was about to just walk to his house herself before she heard a knock on her door. 

“hey it’s uh, me,” she heard jungwon’s muffled voice through the door. “is it okay if i come in?” 

“yeah, let’s get this over with.”

she couldn’t meet his eyes as he walked in, striding over to the corner of her bed. yuna hated waiting, but she now felt dread as the pair sat in silence for a bit, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. she had sat nowhere near him.

 usually she’d be cuddled into his side, but she instead opted to sit at the head of her bed, seemingly as far away from him as possible. she was worried that if she was too close to him, she’d crack; she’d look at his doe eyes and forgive him and that would ruin the entire point of her argument. 

“so,” she cleared her throat, interrupting the silence. “did y/n get home safe?” 

“yeah, she’s at her brother’s apartment. he texted me when she got there.”

 “‘when she got there?’ did you not walk her there?” 

“no, he picked her up from the park near our houses. but anyways, i have something important to tell you.” 

yuna felt even more dread seeping into her as he finished his sentence. she should’ve seen this coming from the start. here it comes: the breakup. 

“i kissed y/n last night.” 

yuna’s eyes widened in surprise. she had expected the breakup, yes. she knew jungwon was emotionally cheating, but now he was physically cheating? 

“wait, are you being serious right now?” she laughed in astonishment. she couldn’t believe the audacity of the man sitting in front of her. 

“i know it’s bad. i feel horrible, because an amazing woman like you should never be treated as horrible as i’ve treated you, and i am so so sorry,” jungwon started, tearing up from how bad he felt. “all of the apologies in the world could never make up for how i’ve treated you. i’ve made you feel terrible and i’m just making it worse by breaking up with you to be with her.” 

“i love y/n, yuna. and i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, or that you had to find out for yourself before i even knew. you are so so perfect yuna-,”

“but i’m just not perfect for you?” she replied, tears starting to form as she breathed those words. 

the silence that followed was more than enough to answer her question. 

she hated this. she hated this so so much. but she didn’t hate you, or jungwon. she just hated how love worked, how she had to fall in love with the one boy who couldn’t love her back. she hated that she gave her heart away to a boy that was never going to belong to her– not fully. 

she wanted to scream, to throw something, hell, maybe even hit him. she instead took a deep breath, composing herself before she said, “okay. go be with her then.” 

jungwon looked over at her, wanting nothing but to comfort yuna. he may not be in love with her, but he did love her, and he still cared for her. 

“i’m sorry, yuna,” jungwon said instead. “you’re an amazing girl, but you should never be anyone’s second choice, and i’m sorry for making you feel like mine.” 

yuna couldn’t even look at him, fidgeting with the strings of the hoodie she wore. 

“just leave, please,” she muttered. 

she didn’t want him to see her cry, he had already broken her once, she didn’t want him to see her fall apart again. 

with a guilty expression, jungwon hurried away, also not wanting to see her cry again. he felt gross. he felt disgusted with himself for treating her that way. he didn’t like the person he was with yuna, and he felt sick thinking about how heartbroken she was; how she was so hurt that she couldn’t even look at him. 

—------

it has been two weeks since your kiss with jungwon, and you hadn’t heard a word from him since. not a single call or text, hell, he didn’t even acknowledge your existence when you walked by him in the halls. 

you had seen yuna around, but seeing as jungwon wasn’t joined at her hip like he used to be, you assumed that things didn’t end quite so well between the two. knowing that you were the cause made you want to never show your face ever again, especially because of the dirty looks yuna’s friends have been giving you. 

you were relieved it was the last day of the school year; you’d never have to see yuna again and feel the guilt at seeing the sadness in her eyes. 

you walked into the bathroom, wanting to wash your hands after eating your lunch, when you saw yuna, touching up on her makeup in the mirror. she looked at you through the mirror above the sink, before going back to her makeup. 

the tension was so thick you didn’t know if you should just leave or hide in a bathroom stall until she left. 

“i’m not gonna bite, you know,” yuna chuckled. 

you smiled back nervously as you started to make your way to the sink. 

“yuna i’m really sorry,” you sighed, mustering whatever courage and dignity you had left. 

“it’s okay,” yuna replied, finally meeting your gaze. “although it was wrong for you guys to have kissed, i saw the breakup coming from miles away. he was never mine to begin with.” 

you were taken aback just by how calm she was, with the way she spoke those words with such elegance and grace. she had every right to be angry with you, to yell at you and call you a homewrecker. 

“even if you did think you were going to break up, that still doesn’t excuse what i did, and i really am sorry,” you said, trying to project every feeling of sympathy and sincerity you could in that one sentence. “i’m not asking you to forgive me, or jungwon, but i just wanted to tell you that you really are a cool person, and you’ve always been so kind to me, even now. all of this for a boy, and he hasn’t even talked to me in the past two weeks.”

“wait, he hasn’t reached out to you at all?” yuna asked, confused. “i thought he would say something to you at least.” 

“did he say he would?” you replied, confusion reaching you as well. 

“no,” yuna replied, fixing her hair in the mirror. “i just assumed so because he’s in love with you.”

once again, you were stunned by her nonchalance. “he’s not in love with me.” 

“don’t be silly,” yuna smiled softly. “i can’t tell if dating jungwon was the best or worst six months of my life, to be honest.” 

“don’t get me wrong, he was a good boyfriend,” yuna backtracked quickly after seeing the guilt on your face. “he did the usual boyfriend stuff, and he really did try, but i could just always tell that his heart was always yours.” 

you couldn’t meet yuna’s gaze as she said this, your face hot with shame. you felt so bad for her, and you didn’t quite know what to say in response. 

“i’m sorry that things ended this way,” you finally said. 

“it’s okay, it was gonna happen sooner or later,” yuna replied. “but if i’m right, then you should probably go talk to him, he’s probably going insane with guilt right now over me, and over you. bro’s got a lot on his plate.” 

you gave a small chuckle at the last sentence, making yuna smile a bit. 

“well thank you for the talk yuna, but i’ve gotta go. i think i need to go find jungwon.” 

yuna felt her heart break a bit at the words, but she smiled anyways and said bye as she watched you leave the bathroom. yuna didn’t know if she was supposed to cry or feel happy for you and jungwon, but she did know that she was right. again. she knew his heart had always belonged to you. anyone could see that. 

—--------

trying to find jungwon was easier than you expected. he was sitting on a swing, at the park that you became his, then wasn’t his anymore, and then confessed your love to him. there was so much that had happened at this park that it made your head hurt a bit just thinking about it. 

“is it okay if i sit here?” you asked, motioning to the swing beside him. 

“of course you can,” jungwon replied. 

the two of you sat in silence.

“i don’t think we should be friends anymore,” you finally spoke up. 

he jerked his head to look at you, shock coursing through him. “wait, why not?”

you took a deep breath before saying, “i can’t be friends with you anymore because i’m in love with you. there hasn’t been a moment since i’ve met you that i haven’t been.” 

his heart skipped a beat at your words. 

this was it, this is what you’d been waiting for since the day you laid eyes on jungwon. but you didn’t think it would go quite like this. you sat there for a moment as jungwon studied you, and you wished he would say something, anything. 

“but did you ever consider how i felt?” he finally asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “have you ever considered that maybe i’ve felt the same way?” 

you felt your breath catch in your throat as he continued, “i’ve seen you everyday since we were five when your family moved in next door. but i didn’t really see you until freshman year, sitting in class by the window, your hair flowing from the breeze that came through, doodling in your notebook instead of paying attention to the lesson. and when you caught me staring, you smiled and waved, and i swear i fell in love with you that day. that day, i knew my heart would always be yours.” 

“so please,” jungwon pleaded. “please, do whatever you want with it. you could break it a million times over and it would still be yours.”

now this, this was exactly you had always dreamed of. 

you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him, trying to convey all the repressed love you’ve had for him for years through the kiss. you loved him. you loved every single part of jungwon, every flaw, every imperfection, everything that made him him. 

“so does this mean we’re official?” jungwon grinned as he pulled away, a playful look in his eyes. you smiled back, feeling the heart eyes in your gaze and the way your heart melted just by looking at him. 

“took you long enough.” 

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

[headkiss]

single thread

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve has a big secret and convinces himself he needs to stay away from you to keep you safe. that’s tough to do when you’re his neighbour.

word count: 8.2k

warnings: spider-man!steve au, some violence (r is attacked and a pocket knife is mentioned but nothing major happens), blood/injuries, strangers/sort of friends to lovers (ish?)

a/n: i really liked writing this one and i hope u guys like it too!!! spidey!steve is something i’ve wanted to try for a while and here it is!!!! he’s my baby <3

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

When Steve moved to Indianapolis, not once did he think he’d get bit by some radioactive spider and gain super powers. Yet, here he is, swinging through the city like something out of some comic book. Sometimes he doesn’t even believe it’s real, and it’s his life.

On his way home, he spots his building easily, the route embedded in his head. The corners to turn, the spots to shoot his webs.

Stuck to the wall beside his window, he tries to open it and realizes he left it locked. “Idiot,” he grumbles to himself.

With a groan he jumps down, landing in the alley. He throws his clothes over his suit and makes sure nobody’s around before slipping the mask off and into his bag. For once, he uses the actual door to enter the building.

He opts for the stairs and when he makes it to his floor he sees you in the hallway. He resists the urge to go back down and wait a couple of minutes.

His door is across from yours, and when he walks over, you’re quick to send him a smile and a ‘hello.’ He nods at you and faces his door, unlocking it quickly and going inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that he doesn’t want to involve people in his life when it’s gotten so complicated. He has Robin in the city and that’s about it. And he already worries enough about her. If he’d met you pre-bite, things would be much different.

He’d return your kind smiles and greetings, he’d tell you when he likes your outfit or thinks your hair looks really nice (which is pretty much every time he sees you, even when you think it’s awful).

He’d rather not put you in any danger, though, so he doesn’t. He just thinks you’re pretty and keeps it to himself.

You don’t know any of that, however, so you’re convinced that Steve doesn’t like you and you have no idea why. Every time his only response is a nod or a limp wave, you wait until he’s out of sight to frown, to scrunch your eyebrows.

You try to think about what you might’ve done.

You first met Steve when you moved into the building, your hair held away from your face with a clip, baby hairs sticking to your damp forehead, and your sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder. Not your best look.

He must’ve heard the thump of boxes hitting the ground, the mumbled curses you kept uttering. Knuckling at his tired eyes, he opened his door and peeked his head into the hallway.

“What the-”

He shut right up when you turned around, smiling (almost wincing) at him.

“Hi,” you introduced yourself, and he repeated your name so quietly you didn’t even hear it. “Sorry about the noise. I have a lot of stuff.”

He nodded, looking at the few boxes in the hall, “you’re moving in?”

“Yeah.”

“You need some help?”

“Seriously?” He half nodded, half shrugged. “That would be great. Thank you so much.”

“Sure. ‘M Steve, by the way.”

Steve. He’s pretty, you thought. Brown, fluffy hair and soft eyes, a mouth you think must look even better when he smiles.

He carried the heavier boxes without complaint or breaking a sweat. His arms flexed with the actions, but his face was completely unaffected. You were amazed. And probably stared at him too much.

When every box was inside your apartment, you’d thanked him, and he’d brushed it off saying it was no problem and went back inside his own place.

No problem, like he didn’t carry box after box for you because you couldn’t afford movers.

Now, with your back against the inside of your door after seeing him in the hallway, you replay that meeting once again. You can’t figure out what you did. Worse, you think, maybe you didn’t do anything at all and you’re just someone who’s easy to dislike.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if he wasn’t so good looking. If he didn’t make you nervous whenever his eyes glanced over you, if you had actual friends to occupy your time, if you didn’t want him to like you so bad.

If, if, if.

You try to stop thinking about it and pick up the book you’d left on your coffee table. You have to reread passages, distracted and unfocused.

-

The bookstore’s been slow today.

You’ve been keeping yourself as busy as possible, even with an empty store. Dusting shelves, re-organizing sections that looked fine before, switching displays around. Eventually you gave in and sat behind the counter with a book, watching people pass by the front windows.

The sun set at some point, sinking behind buildings and leaving the city lit by streetlights and warm glows seeping through windows.

As boring as it can be, you wouldn’t be doing much different if you were at home. Finding things to do to pass time, sitting around aimlessly. At least here, you get paid for doing it.

When it’s time to close up you’re not sure if your sigh is from relief or disappointment. You’re lonely often, but it’s harder to ignore it when you’re all alone at home, no people around at all, even if they’re mostly just passing by on the sidewalk.

You go through the list, sweeping, setting the alarm, shutting off the lights, and locking the door.

The night air is cool, light wind blowing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair. The usual sounds surround you. Honking horns and tires rolling against pavement, indistinguishable voices and the click of the bookstore door locking.

You keep your keys in your hand while you walk home, one of them sticking up between your knuckles. Just in case.

One foot in front of the other, again and again, you walk along the sidewalk. Your footsteps a steady rhythm, hands tucked in your pockets to keep them warm, head bent to avoid making eye contact with any other pedestrians.

Only a couple of minutes from your place, you can hear someone walking along behind you. You shake your head, telling yourself they’re probably just headed in the same direction.

That reassurance disappears when the stranger whistles at you.

You don’t look up, you don’t turn around, you just keep your head down and walk faster, your heartbeat speeding in your chest. You’ve seen stories of what can happen to someone walking home alone. You never thought you’d have one of your own.

“Hey, cupcake! Where you going?” His voice is scratchy and scary. You pick up your pace even more.

At your ignorance, the man speaks again, “I’m talking to you.” His hand grabs your sleeve when he says it.

More afraid than you’ve ever been, you jerk your arm from his grasp and stupidly turn down an alleyway as a shortcut. It’s a horrible decision, but when you’re scared like that, it’s really hard to think straight.

You feel bad for being annoyed with people in horror movies. You get it now.

You’re almost jogging now, but it doesn’t deter the man. No, he catches up and grabs your wrist, twisting you around and pushing your back roughly into the brick wall of the building behind you.

Your wrist is slammed against it where he grabbed you, no doubt scratching your skin and making you flinch, your keys falling from your grasp.

This is it, you think. I’m gonna die here. Alone.

Your eyes water, a tear drips down your cheek and the man laughs in your face. You try to break away from his hold but he doesn’t let up. The only thing you manage is to knee him in the thigh, but it doesn’t do much.

“Nice try, cupcake. I’ve got you now.” he says. That’s when you notice the glint of a pocket knife in his hand.

“Please. Don’t,” is all you can say, trying and trying to get your arms out of the man’s tight hold. Tight enough to bruise.

Steve’s hair stands at the back of his neck, on his arms. Until now, his patrolling had been quiet. Easy fixes like an elderly woman not crossing the street quick enough or a man who’d locked his keys in his car.

Now, his instincts tell him this thing isn’t so small.

Without a second thought, he jumps from where he’d been perched at the ledge of a building and swings in the direction his senses take him. In your direction.

One second, you’re squeezing your eyes shut, thinking it’s the end, and the next, there’s the sound of someone landing in the alley and the thwip of a web.

The man is pulled off of you so fast you can barely keep up. There’s a flash of blue and red, hints of webbing being shot, and just like that, your attacker is knocked out and stuck to the opposite wall.

Your chest heaves and your back slides down the wall, landing on your bum on the pavement.

Steve turns around now that the man’s been dealt with and he thinks his heart stops for a second. He hadn’t realized it’d been you. You and your sweet smile, now turned to tears streaking your cheeks.

He thought, without him, you’d be better off. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should’ve been keeping an eye on you. For now, he’s sort of glad he hasn’t spoken to you much, only because there’s a better chance you won’t recognize his voice.

Steve moves to crouch in front of you, “are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His hands hover by the sides of your face, like he’s holding himself back from touching you. Restraining himself.

Spider-man is in front of you. Spider-man with his suit and white-eyed mask who just saved your life is right there in front of you. So much for a slow day.

You shake your head and wipe your cheeks with your palms, “no. No, just- um, just my wrist, I think.”

“Can I look?”

You hold out your arm for him to see, and he moves his hands down, one tugging back your sleeve and the other holding your wrist gently. The fabric of his gloves brushes against your skin lightly, careful not to touch you where you’re hurt.

“Doesn’t look sprained. Just scraped,” he says. He looks up from your arm to your face, the eyes on his mask narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else?”

He sounds genuinely worried. Like, you can hear it in his voice. It makes you want to cry all over again. You’d always thought that when Spider-man dealt with the bad guys, he’d just move on. Now, you can see that he cares a lot more than that.

You shake your head, “I’m fine.”

As fine as you can be after what just happened.

He nods and stands, offering you his hands to help you up. You pick up your keys and accept, slipping your hands into his. He pulls you up and squeezes your fingers before letting go.

“Will you let me take you home?” He asks.

You’re sort of in shock, and you’d rather not walk anymore. So, you agree.

He opens his arms for you, picking you up easily with a single arm wrapped around your waist. Your own arms go around his neck, legs tentatively wrapping around his waist.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you almost whisper.

He hears you loud and clear, your mouth close to his ear, his senses seemingly even more heightened than usual with you around.

“Hold on,” he says.

Then, you hear the whip of his webs and you’re in the air. Your limbs tighten around him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The wind rushes all around you. In your ears, your hair, your jacket. The city does, too, lights flickering by and buildings growing distant over his shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You okay?” He asks over the wind.

“Maybe!”

You can feel his chest rumble with a chuckle. You wish you could’ve heard it, too.

He swings you towards your building when he remembers he’s not supposed to know where you live, “where to?”

You tell him, yelling over the noise not realizing he can hear you just fine normally. You don’t know about those superpowers, focused on the ones that have him transporting you home.

He gets you there quickly, landing just outside the front entrance. You stay wrapped around him for a second before you realize you’ve stopped moving. You remove yourself from him so quickly he has to steady you with hands on your upper arms so you don’t fall.

“You okay from here?” He checks, his head lowering to catch your gaze.

“Yeah. Thank you for…” Saving my life, making sure I’m okay, taking me home. Everything since you landed in the alley.

“Just doing my job.”

“Right. Thanks again,” you turn to head inside.

“Goodnight. And take care of your wrist!”

“Goodnight, Spider-man.”

-

Steve sees you more often after that night. He thinks the universe might be punishing him. Making him see you more, making him work harder to keep his distance.

He tossed and turned the entire night after bringing you home. He wondered if you were actually okay, trying to listen in case you were crying or having a nightmare. He worried so much more than he would have if it had been any other person and he hated it.

He saw you the next morning. You were checking your mail at the same time as him. Your sleeve had ridden up, exposing the scratches on your wrist from the brick wall, the faint bruises of fingerprints, your eyes tired.

“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help but ask, gesturing limply at your hand. Maybe if you give him a convincing yes, he can finally stop thinking about you so much.

You look down at your arm when he asks, quickly tugging your sleeve back down to cover it up. “Oh. It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing. He knows it isn’t because he was there and he saw at least a part of what happened to you. He can’t let you know that, so he just nods and turns to his mailbox, listening to your footsteps as you walk out of the mailroom and back up to your apartment. His fingers twitch by his side.

Steve’s used to feeling protective over people, that’s not new, but to feel so protective over someone he barely knows hasn’t happened before. That night haunts him. Your tear-streaked face, the blooming bruises on your arm. He never wants to see you hurting again.

Maybe that’s why he starts returning your greetings in the halls, actually pausing to ask how you are, to smile back at you (they’re tight-lipped smiles, but it’s something).

He’s trying to be kind without getting any closer. No matter how much he wants to know you.

One day, as Steve’s heading out for the late shift, you’re just getting home from your own job, it seems. The clip in your hair has loosened since you put it in, strands falling freely around your face. For a second, Steve has the urge to tuck them behind your ears.

He pushes that down.

“Hi,” he says, his door shut behind him.

“Hi, Steve.”

“How are you?”

“Okay, thanks. Tired,” you fiddle with the frayed hem of your knitted sweater. “Had the opening shift today.”

“Ah. Any plans?”

“Probably just gonna take a nap.”

He nods. For a second you think he might’ve asked because he wanted to do something with you. It’s a stupid thought and you push it away.

“Have a good nap, then,” he gives you the close-mouthed smile that’s become more common between you, and heads towards the stairs.

The shift in his behavior towards you hasn’t been huge, but it’s been enough for you to notice it. He talks to you sometimes—always briefly, but still—he doesn’t turn away from you as soon as he gets the chance like he used to.

It’s confusing, but you’re happy about it anyway. Maybe he just needed some time to warm up to you a bit. Maybe he doesn’t hate you after all.

Inside your apartment, you change into sweats and practically collapse onto your couch, playing something mindless on the TV and pulling a blanket over yourself.

You really are tired, but it’s not only from working early. Lately, your dreams have been haunted by rough hands, dark alleys, and flashes of blue and red. You constantly feel like there are eyes on you, and when you walk home from closing shifts, you always search for a certain superhero at the tops of buildings.

You fall asleep at some point, and by the time you wake up, it’s dark outside.

-

Days seem to blur together. Repetitive and tiring all the same. The only thing you have to look forward to lately is your short conversations with Steve in the halls.

You’re not sure how many days later it is when you fall asleep on your couch again. This time, you’re woken up by noises coming from the hallway, right by your door. You get up slowly, feet hitting the cool floors as you walk over to your door.

You don’t know what time it is, but from the darkness of your apartment and the random game show that plays on your TV, you know it’s late.

Peeking through your peephole, you see Steve, fumbling with his keys and almost limping. You open the door.

“Steve?”

He shuts his eyes when he hears your voice, all sleepy and worried.

Like an idiot, he’d left his window locked again and had to use the door after a night of patrolling. A worse night than usual.

You gasp when he spins to face you, one of his eyes swollen shut, a cut on his eyebrow, his nose bleeding, and another cut on his lip.

“Oh my god,” you step forward a little, leaving your door open. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.”

“You’re bleeding,” you say. “Come on. Let me help you.”

You grasp his arm lightly in both of your hands, and when he doesn’t protest, lead him into your apartment.

Steve’s suit feels tighter now, scratching his skin where it sits because he worries you’ll see it despite his layers on top of it. Still, he could use some help. And he can’t bring himself to be upset that you’re the one helping him.

“You don’t have to,” his voice is scratchy.

“I want to help you, okay?”

You bring him into your bathroom, making him sit on the toilet lid. You leave him there for a bit, coming back with some ice in a dish cloth.

“Here, for your eye.” He takes it from you and sucks in a breath when he presses it against his swollen skin.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“‘Course.”

You pull out your first-aid kit from under your sink, setting it on the counter and taking out what you need. You grab another cloth, wetting it in the sink.

“Here,” you stand between his legs, using a bent finger to tilt his chin up towards you. You wipe the dried blood from his skin in silence, Steve’s eyes shut, yours running all over his face.

You’re surprised he trusts you enough to let you do this. You wonder if this is why he’s so closed-off. If maybe he’s involved in something that gets him hurt. Often.

An underground boxing ring, debt with bad people, so many possibilities cross your mind, not a single one being the truth.

Once his face is as clean as it can be, you move on to disinfecting the cuts by his eyebrow and lip. “This might sting a little.”

“S’okay.”

His face pinches a little bit when you dab away at his cuts, but he doesn’t make any noise. All you can hear is his deep breaths and the small sound of his leg bouncing.

His nose hasn’t bled anymore since you cleaned it, and he keeps the ice over his eye the entire time. The cut by his lip looks much smaller when there’s no blood surrounding it.

Only his eyebrow needs a small bandage, which you grab and unwrap. “Last step.”

He feels you press the bandage on, your fingers lightly pushing the sides onto his skin to make sure it’s stuck. The process, he finds, hurts much less when you do it.

He misses your warmth when you step away from him. “Thank you.”

“Are you in trouble, or something? What happened to you?”

“It’s not a big deal. I swear.”

He hates lying to you, but he convinces himself it’s better this way. For your own good.

You don’t look convinced but you drop it. “Okay.”

“I should go,” he stands from where he’d been sitting and waivers a little, leaning on the counter.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine, just got dizzy.”

“You can take the couch, if you want. It’s not a problem, really.”

“I live across the hall, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He steps towards the doorway and has to pause again. “Or maybe I’ll stay. If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t.”

You walk him to the couch, letting him lean on you whenever he needs to along the way. He sits down, and you go to get him a pillow and blankets.

This is the longest amount of time you’ve ever spent with Steve, and it pinches at your heart that he’s hurt during it. That he only needed help, not company. Even so, you fight a smile when you come back to the living room and find him laying down, already half asleep.

You spread the blankets over him. You take the pillow you’d brought him and guide him to lift his head. You’re convinced he’s asleep, so you let yourself push the hair off his forehead just once.

When you turn to go to your room, he catches your hand in his.

“Thank you, honey.”

Honey. That’s new.

-

Steve was already gone when you got up the next day. The only evidence of his visit the blankets he’d left folded up on your couch and the washcloth stained with his blood you used to clean him up.

Every time you pass his door you think about knocking and checking on him. About making sure he’s okay.

You’ve been worrying a lot more ever since the night you were attacked and saved by Spider-man, and that goes for more than just yourself. You worry about every person you see walking alone, about Steve being hurt again, about noises you might be imagining at night.

You probably look over your shoulder fifty times on your way home from the grocery store, your hands too full with your bags to be able to defend yourself if anything happens.

You breathe out when you make it in front of your door. You’re safe, you’re fine, you have to tell yourself.

In your rush to get your keys from your pocket, you drop two of your bags. “Shit.” Boxes and cans thump against the floor.

Steve hears everything, all of the time. He hears you curse and the sound of your stuff hitting the ground. He blames the fact that he heads to the door on boredom and nothing more.

“Need some help?” His voice startles you.

“Oh! Hey, Steve. It’s fine, just dropped some stuff.”

You set the rest of your bags down, kneeling to pick up things that fell out of the ones you dropped. Embarrassed, you keep your head ducked.

Steve can sense it, the way your pulse jumps a little around him. He doesn’t know whether to be glad or worried that he makes you nervous. Either way, he bends down beside you, helping you pick things up.

A bag of apples, a can of soup.

You both reach for the bags at the same time, fingers brushing before pulling away. Like there was a shock, a little spark where your skin met for the briefest second.

Before you can, Steve picks up the bags. “I got ‘em. You get the door.”

“I- Okay.”

You turn around and fumble with the lock, opening your door and walking inside. Steve follows you and puts your bags on your kitchen counter.

“Good?” He checks.

“Yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem, honey. Think of it as payback for you patching me up.”

Honey. Last time he said it, you chalked it up to his tired state. That excuse can’t be used this time, and the term warms you.

“Right,” you look him over. His injuries are almost gone and it’s only been a couple of days. At least, you think it has. “You’re feeling better?”

“You did a good job,” he says.

“I’m glad.”

He nods, rocks back onto his heels once, “so, um, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

He nods again and heads out, shutting your door behind him. With every conversation you have, Steve seems to warm up around you just a bit more. You don’t want to hope too much, so you push your hair from your face and turn to put your groceries away.

That evening, when you’re getting ready to cook dinner—a simple spaghetti and meatballs—you realize you’ve never seen Steve bring groceries into his apartment. Not once.

He must eat, you know that, but you wonder if he eats well, or enough. You cook for two without realizing until it’s finished. There’s extra of everything.

It’s probably stupid, maybe weird, but you make a bowl and head out into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door, three little taps of your knuckles against the wood.

He hears the knocks right away, listens closer to hear your voice mumbling to yourself. He knows your voice well. Sometimes, he can hear you humming to yourself in your apartment. He doesn’t try to listen in on you, but it’s like his ears subconsciously seek you out.

Steve opens the door and sees you in the same clothes as earlier, a shy smile on your face, and a bowl of spaghetti in your hands.

“Hey. What are you…?”

“I accidentally made too much food, and I thought maybe you’d want some?”

Actually, you made too much food for him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh,” his heart does a stupid jump in his chest. You’re so kind and you don’t even seem to be trying. If anything, you seem to be embarrassed about it, like it’s a fault. “That’s really nice.”

“It’s just pasta. You want it?”

“Sure,” he takes the bowl from you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I promise it’s not, like, poisoned or anything.” You wince at yourself, “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s not poisoned.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Okay. Um, enjoy.”

He stands in his doorway while you go back inside, his smile spreading as soon as your back is turned to him. He heads inside after you do, kicking his door shut.

He’s never smiled at a fucking bowl of pasta the way he does. It’s getting harder and harder to make himself avoid you, avoid that light in his chest that seems to brighten when he sees you.

He’s in trouble.

-

You bring him dinner often. At least twice a week, on days you don’t work or when you’re pretty sure he’s home.

He thanks you every time with a close-mouthed smile and brings back your dishes the next day, perfectly clean.

It feels like, over time, with every dish you bring him, a chip falls away from the walls he’s built up around himself. You can tell there’s a lot of them, and that they’re tall, but you don’t mind waiting for them to lower piece by piece. He’s worth that wait, you think.

You’re happy to cook for him—you’re cooking for yourself already anyway—and you’ve grown closer because of it. Something like friends, almost. The conversations seem to grow longer each time you see him.

Sometimes, on good days, he even invites you inside to eat with him.

You aren’t very close, but right now, he’s the only friend you have (besides your coworkers, who really only hang out with you because they have to). You’d think the way you get excited to see him would be sad if it weren’t for how nice he is, for how he makes you feel.

He listens to you when you speak, his eyes don’t stray, either. He always tells you he likes your cooking when you know it isn’t all that great. He even hugged you before you left his place once, his arms around your waist, hands running over your skin delicately before he pulled away.

“Thank you for dinner,” he’d said. “Again.”

“I like making it for you. Makes me feel useful.”

“Still. Thank you, honey,” he’d surprised you with it, moving close before you could really process it.

“Oh,” you’d stupidly let your arms hang limp for a second before wrapping them shyly around his neck. “I don’t think my cooking is this good.”

“It’s not just your cooking,” he’d told you.

He pulled away after that, leaving your body warm and your smile difficult to suppress.

You’re well aware you have a crush on him, but you don’t want to let it ruin the beginnings of the friendship you’ve built.

Steve’s not sure what the pull he feels towards you is, like one of his webs is tethered to you even though he can’t see it. It’s something his senses can’t tell him, no matter how much he focuses on them.

He thinks you’re the sweetest person and you don’t even try, all shy smiles and soft gestures. He likes how when you talk, he can really hear how you feel about something in your voice. He trusts you, despite not knowing you too well.

He also thinks you’re really pretty, but that’s not important.

Steve had another rough night patrolling. Some guy decided to play Wolverine—he’d made gloves with blades and everything—and scratched Steve pretty good on his upper arm. It hurts like a bitch, even though it’ll heal quickly. And he’ll have to sew up his suit.

He got the guy, which is something, at least.

Luckily, he actually remembered to unlock the window this time, so he’s able to sneak into his place with ease. He stripped out of his suit and took a shower before anything. Maybe not the smartest decision while actively bleeding, but he felt gross.

Afterwards, clad in plaid pajama pants and a plain cotton t-shirt, he searches his bathroom for his first-aid kit while keeping a towel pressed to his arm. A dark stain blooms on the fabric the longer he keeps it against his wound.

“Yes,” he cheers to himself when he finds the small white box.

He sits on the tile floors, back against his sink cabinets, and the kit in his lap. He opens it with one hand, the other too busy trying to slow the bleeding. When he gets it open, he’s disappointed with what he finds.

“Fuck,” he says. There’s barely anything left. A roll of gauze, a box of bandaids, and one tiny alcohol wipe. That’s it. He really needs to remember to refill this stuff.

He pushes himself to stand, winces when he has to use his injured arm.

There’s only one person close by that he knows for sure has a first-aid kit that has what he needs, because he’s seen it pretty recently. That person is you.

He hates that he’s dragging you into this again, that he’s gonna ask a favor of you that he really shouldn’t. One he doesn’t even think he deserves. He needs the help, though, so he walks to his door, into the hallway, and a few steps to your place across from his.

He knocks, his towel more red than its original color by now.

The sound doesn’t exactly wake you up. It’s late, and you’d been in bed, but you’d been having a hard time falling asleep. You were tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling.

You sit up, push your hair out of your face, and head to the door. You should, but you don’t even look to see who it is before opening it, keeping your body behind the door and peeking your head around. You certainly weren’t expecting this.

Steve stands in front of you, his hair damp and a mess, falling over his forehead. His face is pale and, when your eyes flicker down, you find that his arm is bleeding. A lot.

“Holy shit. What happened to you?”

He ignores your question. “Can you help me?”

You move away from the door. The cold air from the hallway combined with the way Steve’s eyes look down before quickly looking back at your face remind you of your attire. A sleep shirt and underwear.

“Fuck! Sorry,” you go to shut the door but remember that he’s literally bleeding. “Come in, you know where the bathroom is. I’ll just- um. Let me put some pants on.”

He’d laugh at the way you pretty much sprint into your room if he wasn’t so focused on the pain of his arm. He’d also be thinking a lot about the way your legs looked just then.

You meet him in the bathroom, legs now covered in a baggy pair of sweatpants. Steve’s sitting on the shut toilet just like he did the first time you helped him. You haven’t touched your first-aid kit since then, finding it exactly where you left it then.

“Sorry about that,” you tuck your hair behind your ears quickly before opening up the box, turning to him afterward. “Can I see?”

“Yeah.”

You take the towel from Steve’s hand, slowly moving it away from his wound to see how bad it is. Steve’s hands twitch where they sit atop his thighs. He’s holding himself back from touching you.

Three gashes break his skin. The outside of his arm, just below his shoulder.

“Do these need stitches?” You ask, the concern is clear in your voice, in how it shakes a bit. “Maybe you should go to the hospital-”

“No. Please. No hospital.”

“I don’t know how to do stitches, Steve. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need stitches, I swear,” the look on your face makes him feel awful. The sadness in your eyes, the small frown you try to hide. “I ran out of bandages. That’s all I need.”

“Are you sure?”

He can’t tell you that his skin will mend on its own, that he’ll be fine in just a couple of days. “Positive.”

You nod and grab a different towel than the one he’d been using, pressing it against his arm to make sure the bleeding stops. He groans quietly when you do. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m alright.”

When you’re almost 100% sure that the bleeding is done, you pull the towel away. You hold it under the sink, wetting a part of it that didn’t soak up his blood. You use it to clean away the dried blood on his arm, apologizing every time he sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing at the pull on his cuts.

One of your hands holds his arm up, the other occupied with the towel. You’re bent close, stood between his legs, your loose hair tickling his skin.

“Steve?” You whisper, still focused on his gashed arm.

“Mm?” He hums, watching you help him with the most careful touch he’s ever felt.

“Who’s hurting you?”

“It’s nothing.” He says it in a way that tells you it really isn’t nothing. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Maybe you don’t need to worry about him, but you do. You worry constantly. Anytime there’s a bandaid or scrape on his skin you wonder if it’s the same people that gave him that black eye and split lip weeks ago.

You worry because he’s so good. He’s a soft person under the invisible armor he protects himself with and he doesn’t deserve to be hurt. His skin is too delicate for it, his face too pretty.

You pull away and grab the roll of bandages you have in your kit. When you look at him again, his eyes are set on you, scanning your face.

“Please don’t worry about me,” his voice is quiet, and you hate the way it breaks on the first word.

He hates it, too.

“I’ll try my best,” you force a small smile at him, trying to lighten things as much as you can given the situation. You look back at his arm, wrapping it slowly. “Is that good?”

He looks at his arm, his wounds now covered with white wrappings. He looks back at you, “thank you, honey.”

“It’s not too tight?”

He shakes his head, standing when you step back to give him the space. You stand toe-to-toe, his head bent down to look at you, yours titled up.

“It’s perfect.”

Your breaths mingle in the air between you, growing thicker. Before you let yourself hope for something you shouldn’t, you move to the counter and grab the rest of the bandages you have.

“Here,” you hold them out to him, “for when you need to switch it.”

“You won’t need it?” He asks instead of telling you that by the time it needs switching, it won't be an open wound anymore.

“The most I use from that kit is the regular bandaids. I’ll survive without it.”

He takes the bandages from you, his hand brushing yours.

“I’m sorry for showing up the way I did.”

“I’d rather that than have you bleeding out in your apartment,” your eyes flick over to the bloody towels on your floor, your heart pinching in your chest. “If you need to talk to someone, or anything, I’m here.”

He leans closer, pushes a gentle peck into your cheek, and speaks with his lips still brushing your skin. “I don’t deserve your sweetness.”

He drops his head into your shoulder, just for a second, before moving away from you.

“Wha-”

“Bye, honey. Thank you,” he says, walking out of your bathroom.

You stand there, a hand lifting to press against your cheek in the spot his lips did. You pull it away and look at your fingertips, like you’d been expecting to see a physical residue of the kiss. Flecks of glitter, or the soft pink of the sky at sunrise.

You just see your skin, painfully normal.

-

After thinking and thinking and thinking, you determine that maybe Steve likes you more than you thought he did.

The way he calls you ‘honey’ in that voice of his, the softness of his eyes that he can’t hide no matter how cold he tries to keep his exterior, the way he kissed your cheek and let his lips linger when he spoke.

All of those things make you hope that maybe he likes you at least a little bit in the way that you like him, but if not, at the very least, he likes you more than you thought.

You think he tries to hold himself back from getting close to you at all, and you really don’t know why. All you know is that his shoulders were slightly slumped when he forced himself to leave after you'd bandaged his arm, after he told you he doesn’t deserve you.

There’s something in his life that makes him think that way and as much as you wanna know what it is, you hope that the best you can do is prove him wrong.

That’s one of the reasons you’re cooking dinner for two once again tonight. You also feel like, since this is sort of what brought you closer, the dinners are a tradition for you and Steve. Something completely yours.

It’s nice to have something like that with another person. You knew you were lonely, but you never noticed how much until you started talking to him more. With each meeting, the string between you both shortens.

You’ve never cooked this meal before. You’re extra attentive with it, tasting it to make sure it’s right, keeping your eyes on things closely to avoid burning it at all.

When everything’s done, Steve’s meal packed up nicely and your ponytail now a loose mess, you head to the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. The most you do is fix your hair before feeling silly for caring so much about your appearance.

He’s seen you tired-eyed and pantless. This is better than that, at least.

You haven’t brought Steve a meal since you patched him up and he thanked you with a kiss on the cheek and possibly, maybe, loaded words. You’ve seen him, yes, but this is different than a two minute conversation in a hallway or the mailroom.

It’s your way of checking on him.

Your door shuts with a click behind you, his meal in your hand as you step into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door in quick, small taps. You’re not sure why you’re nervous to be doing it this time.

The doorknob twists and you’re met with Steve’s smiling face. Like actually, fully smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that from him before. Not like this. It’s like a beaming ray of sunshine, warm and beautiful.

You’d like to be the one to make him smile like that.

“Hi, honey,” he says. It’s then you notice his cheeks are slightly flushed, little pink blooms on his skin.

“Hey. I made you dinner again,” you hold the container up awkwardly to show him.

“You don’t have to keep making me dinner.”

“I like doing it.”

He nods. Steve knows that you do it as an excuse to see him, and if he were braver, or less concerned about involving you in his impossible life, he’d tell you that you don’t need to have food to knock on his door.

He’d tell you that you could knock whenever you wanted, that he’d happily open the door for you.

“Steve!” A voice—a female voice—calls from inside the apartment. “Who’s at the door?”

Fuck. Okay, he has a girlfriend. You probably interrupted something, you think, looking at his flushed cheeks, thinking about the smile he wore that most definitely was not for you.

You’re embarrassed for even thinking that he could like you, embarrassed for having read everything wrong, for hoping too much.

“Oh. You have company. I’ll just-” you pivot on your heel to leave and realize you’re still holding his dinner. You turn back around and hand it to him, awkwardly turning towards your door again and heading inside.

Steve stares at your door for a couple of seconds before going back inside. He sets his food on the counter and sits back on the couch.

“So, who was that?” Robin asks.

Robin, his best friend and the only person in the world who knows pretty much everything about him. Spider-man and all.

“My neighbor. She was bringing me dinner.”

“It was her? And you didn’t let me say hi!”

Yeah, Robin knows all about you. She knows that you make Steve dinner, that you’ve taken care of him without digging too deep for answers, that Steve thinks you’re the ‘prettiest girl ever.’ His words.

“She left pretty fast after you yelled.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“Nooo. I scared her off!” Steve is clearly very confused, so Robin huffs and continues, “she heard a girl’s voice in your apartment.”

“And?”

“God, you’re such a boy sometimes, it’s insane. She thought I was your girlfriend!”

“Why would that scare her off?”

“I know you don’t get out much, dingus, but seriously?” She literally facepalms. “She likes you! Why else would she be making you dinner and shit? She likes you and thinks you’re dating someone.”

“Oh. Oh. No, she doesn’t like me. Not like that.”

“You’re an actual dingus.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about that possibility because it’ll make it much, much harder to keep you at arms length. Though, even now, that arm is mostly bent, losing resistance.

“So what if she does like me? I can’t do anything with her.”

“Why not.”

“Because I’m Spider-”

“Spider-man, yes, I know. Who cares? You can't live your whole life ignoring every single romantic feeling you have because of that.”

“I don’t wanna drag her into this.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she would want to be dragged into this?”

“I guess not.”

He goes quiet after that, and Robin, knowing him so well, drops the subject.

-

Steve thinks about what Robin said even after she leaves.

It’s hard for him to believe that you’d like him enough to worry that Robin was his girlfriend. You, a dream girl, liking him, with his unexplained injuries and past grumpiness towards you. There was no way.

But, on the slightest chance that it did matter to you, Steve decided he wanted to explain.

His crush on you isn’t something he should explore, isn’t something he wants to let grow because, despite what Robin says, his life is dangerous and you already worry about him enough without knowing that.

Still, the thought of you being upset because you think he isn’t single is enough to make him head across the hall.

While Steve wondered what he’d say, you stewed in your embarrassment. You’d sat on your couch in your sweats and tried to forget the girl's voice or the smile on Steve’s face. You were unsuccessful.

The knocks on your door have become a familiar sound—there’s only one person who actually comes to your apartment.

You walk over and muster up a smile that you hope looks genuine, “Steve, hey.”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you, “can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You move aside as he walks in, shutting the door behind him. The apartment feels smaller with him in it, you think. His presence takes up space for you, it draws your focus.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he says.

“You’re welcome-”

“That wasn’t my girlfriend, by the way. The voice you heard,” he cuts you off because he worries that if he doesn’t say it now, he never will. “I mean, she’s my friend, and a girl, but we’re not dating. Her name’s Robin, she’s my best friend, that’s it. Promise.”

You’re not sure whether to be even more embarrassed at how obvious you were with your concern, or to be relieved that he’s not taken like you thought. You settle for a bit of both.

“You don’t have to- I know I was weird earlier but you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you tell him, tugging at the ends of your sleeves with your fingers.

“I wanted to make sure you knew.”

There could be a lot of weight in that sentence, if you let yourself look hard enough.

Rather than reply you confess, “you know, I used to think you hated me. Or, didn’t like me. Before we talked and stuff.”

Steve’s standing really close to you. Has he always been this close? You can smell his soap and feel the light puffs of air leaving his lips. It’s almost dizzying—like, if someone poked your shoulder, you might fall over.

You notice a lot about him from this close, especially when there’s no blood on his face. He has the lightest dusting of freckles over his nose, his eyelashes are dark, framing his brown eyes.

Steve reaches out with a hand to link his fingers with yours, loosely and slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. They fit together easily. His other hand brushes his knuckles against your cheek before cupping it gently in his palm.

His touch is so gentle, so much less guarded than his usual actions. You blink up at him and without even thinking, you push yourself into his touch, just a little.

“I never hated you,” he says. A murmur between your mouths.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

Steve’s strong, inhumanely so, but he isn’t strong enough to stop himself from kissing you.

The first brush of his lips on yours is so light that you think you might be dreaming. When you don’t pull away, he kisses you more firmly, his lips a little bit chapped but still soft as they land on yours.

You haven’t kissed a lot of people but you’ve never felt one like this. One that you’ve been dancing around for longer than you ever realized.

Steve’s hand squeezes yours, his thumb running back and forth against your cheek, his mouth moving with yours like a dance. He probably shouldn’t have let himself kiss you, because there’s no way he can fight whatever this is after feeling your lips on his.

He pecks you once, and twice, before pulling away. If he kept kissing you, the single thread left holding him back from you would’ve snapped. A clean break.

He leans his forehead against yours, and whispers so quietly you would’ve missed it had he not been so close to you. You could almost feel the words being spoken, lips still a breath apart.

“Never hated you.”

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

if you enjoyed, please reblog and/or let me know what you thought!!! it would mean a whole bunch <3

[darqx]

Some BP/HH/General asks

That mood when you want to share all the things but also want to keep it under wraps for the actual thing haha! Thanks very much anon!

As for your questions, I can't actually be specific cos there's no definitive number I have in mind for either. Basically there are a number of sectors (you can consider them their equivalent of countries - they have less than what we do though), and a number of species of demon of which I've designed about seven of. The ones I've shown before are these guys (and do you think I could find this pic again? No, I had to recreate it cos for the life of me I couldn't remember what ask I'd previously stuck it in lol):

One day when i have enough species and stuff out there I want to make a proper field guide \o/

Thank you very much for the interest! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ I would actually love to for BP, but before I jump the gun there I have to get the comic out first lol. That being said I have made mini-games before featuring the HH versions and some other characs alas they are all lost at the moment to the sands of Flash becoming obsolete 😩

Me and Gato do still collab sometimes (and send each other Xmas presents)! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

I have been working on one off and on for a while actually! Hopefully I'll have some pages to post next year or so*, I've been doing a bit of thumbnailing recently :D

*that is the plan but i also don't know where people find the time to do anything with a full time job lol.

Hullo! Glad you are enjoying the snippets of BP I've got here and there :D Here is an older ref on Izm back when i first got the idea (at that time i didn't really plan to do anything with it, it was just an AU. Now it's my main project haha. Anyway the ref is a little bit out of date in that regard.)

I used to have a "field guide" which was also made quite a while ago, unfortunately the death of Flash kinda killed it. Here's a screenshot of some relevant info from it though.

That's an interesting one as it's questionable how sentient souls are after removal 🤔 In my mind its only form is the smoke light, it can "see" to some degree and MIGHT be able to talk (but in a very no one can hear them sort of way, a la i have no mouth and i must scream. So i guess it can think "aloud"). The more time passes the less sentience it has.

It could try, though it wouldn't really get anywhere if it's in Rire's collection. He might just eat it lol.

.D: Good with kids, will be fine in all aspects.

Izm: The fun dad however needs a partner that knows what they're doing to ensure the child safety during shenanigans.

Marcus and Zeke: Also would be good parents though might be more helicopter out of protectiveness/worry when first starting out.

Ren: Geek parent very good for homework help. Some Asian parent tendencies eg "ah see, i told you not to do that right? Now you see what happened."

They are similar to our known society for this! So basically, there are some good families out there (eg Zeke - who is a demon - is from a pretty average loving family), and there are some bad families out there who only care about power or having an heir or whatever.

HH Rire is a human. I differentiate between him and Demon Rire because they are two different characters...even though they are also technically the same character lol. You can consider them as alternate universe iterations of a base "Rire" concept.

I actually half jested this in an old comic lol

I am sorry to inform you that a HH webcomic doesn't actually exist 😅 I did a lot of art, animations and one shots (such as the HHJ comics) with them, but nothing actually planned or serialised or anything. Whatever's currently on my DA or here is basically what exists.

Bringing this image back cos it's relevant lol.

You spelled it correct there though! XD

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Fanfic

| Here's the old fic I promised <3 I don't like the way I wrote it so it won't be posted on ao3, but I figured it'd be a fun supplementary reading for the comic! |

CW: Almost death/dying, uh some crying.

Leo couldn't hear or see Krang Prime anymore. A fact that was both comforting and terrifying. 

His body ached, the lack of a distraction making his wounds throb in time with his heartbeat. He tried to mentally note his injuries, to think of how he would have treated them if he ever got home. 

Something in him told him he wouldn't be going home, though. 

And as much as he had been prepared for that….it still made his chest ache.  

He squeezed the picture of his family a little tighter, letting his tears dissolve into space. 

The thought almost made him want to laugh. He hadn't cried like this in so long, who knew all it took was having the shit beat out of him and being left alone in another dimension? That wasn't a good joke. He was pretty sure it wasn't a joke at all, actually. 

That made the internal laughter die off pretty quick. 

It was so..cold. Not cold, but…there was an absence of warmth. If anything, it felt like…nothing. Like he was floating through nothing. 

The silence pierced his ears, the impenetrable ringing making him shake his head - an attempt to make some sort of sound that wasn't swallowed up by the black hole around him. He did it again and again, unable to get rid of the all-consuming silence around him. His ears rang with it - the effect a lot like being trapped in a soundproof room. 

Hell, he preferred the krang shouting at him and beating him into the ground over the silence. At least he didn't feel like he was losing his mind. If he concentrated just so, he could hear his heartbeat. He shivered involuntarily, shaking his head again to try and focus on something - anything, else. 

The silence droned on for several minutes, Leo trying to distract himself from it by reminding himself what it was all for. Who it was all for. He stole a glance at the picture through bleary eyes. It was a good picture. They all looked so happy. 

Leo stifled the remainder of his tears and let out a long sigh. 

He could handle the choking, stifling quiet.  

He could take a little silence before Kraang Prime inevitably wiped him off the face of the Earth. Or -since they weren't exactly on Earth - blipped him out of existence. 

The thought made him feel nauseous, though that could be from the sensation of weightlessness. Like he was falling through the air in slow motion - never to hit the ground again. 

More tears fell. 

Who was he kidding - he wasn't meant to be alone like this. He'd never been alone before. He'd always..he'd always had someone. 

Leo's sniffles were the only thing that broke the silence, and even that didn't last long. 

Years of silently crying in his room were not being his friend right now. He wished he'd been a screamer. He wished he'd thrown tantrums and screamed along with his music and wailed at the top of his lungs. 

At least then it wouldn't be so painfully quiet. 

The ringing continued, Leo finally managing to zone out a little when a sort of 'fizzle-pop' sound started up somewhere behind him. 

Warmth spread on his shell, a faint glow peeking out from behind him. A crackling sound filled the air, Leo rolling over in the big open space to see what it was. His heart raced at the thought that it was the kraang again, just waiting for him to turn around before striking him to the ground again. 

A bright orange light flooded his vision. Was this what everyone talked about? The light? He'd never really believed in that stuff, but he imagined this is what it might be like. Good to know everyone else was right - he couldn't help but feel a little bitter about being so wrong. 

The light grew, Leo squinting against it. It was warm, taking up his entire vision. It almost looked as if the very sky had broken open. But it was so warm, it must have been that light. The one that you weren't supposed to go into. and yet he wanted so badly to go into it. 

Leo reached for it, wanting nothing more than to be cradled in that light, for the crackling sound to invade his senses and get rid of that horrible ringing. Even if it was the end, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the silence. 

He squinted, eyes adjusting to the light as it grew larger and larger. As it did, he recognized it for what it was. 

A portal. 

His brothers took shape beyond the light, grinning at him with shining eyes. Like they were waiting for him, just behind that opening. He thought it might be a hallucination at first, but that didn't stop him from dropping a solid one-liner. 

He winced at the effort, but grinned nonetheless, " took you guys long enough". 

Nice One, Leo.

Even if this was some hallucination right before he died, he could still get a joke or two in. 

To his surprise, Raph activated his ninpo and reached out with one of his large, red hands, grasping Leo's in it. 

It was warm. It shouldn't have been warm, but it was to him. Leo could sob from the feeling. More tears bubbled up from his chest and he grinned up at his brothers, hurrying to blink them away before they saw. He couldn't be caught crying now, after all that had happened. 

 Raph tugged hard, pulling him closer and closer to the portal. 

If he had the energy, he'd make a joke about how this was way better than floating in a wasteland. Leo wanted nothing more than to hear them laugh, even if it was fake. Even if he made the world's worst pun. 

The feeling vanished almost immediately when the rush of air and the screech of the kraang came from just under him. He chanced a glance back, the giant red eye staring back at him. Even if it was just armor, it felt like it stared right through him. 

Metal claws surrounded him, and Leo almost pulled his arm back - out of Raph's grasp. He wouldn't let the krang win - he couldn't let them win. 

He glanced back again, his chest seizing a little at how close he was already. But then Donnie shouted from the portal and Leo turned his attention back on his brothers. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be that red eye. 

If he made it out of this alive, he'd have to tell Donnie how badass he looked just then. The thought passed so quickly it almost made him laugh - even if he was so sure the kraang was gonna grab him. 

The drill went flying past Leo and into the kraang's face, Raph dragging him to the portal with all the force he could. Leo went flying, the breeze as the smells and the sounds of New York hitting him all at once. He landed hard on Raph's plastron, groaning when he was deposited on the ground instead. 

Now that he had gravity back, everything hurt even worse. 

 "gu-guys!?"

Leo winced, but sat up a bit and looked at his younger brother. 

Mikey was trembling all over, a faint orange glow still emitting from his shaking limbs. He held his hands out in front of him, staring down as they crackled, pieces flecking off and floating away in the breeze. He dropped to his knees, Raph and Donnie rushing to his side. The portal had zipped out of existence, but Mikey was still crumbling. 

Leo rolled onto his knees, his wounds screaming for him to stop. 

No, no, he wouldn't lose Mikey like this. He wouldn't let his little brother die. Not like this, not for him. 

Leo crawled over on shaky limbs, holding back groans of pain. He had to do something. There had to be something he could do. His ribs ached with each breath, but Leo grabbed for his brother, already pulling him close - as if he had any clue what to do for him. 

" Le-leo!" Mikey was staring at him, his arms starting to fleck away from the fingertips down. Leo could only stare for a moment, eyes already burning with tears again. 

To his credit, Mikey gave him a tearful grin. Like he was glad to have done it. 

But Leo would never forgive himself. 

" No, no, c'Mon Mikey-" Leo winced, squeezing Mikey a little in his arms. He didn't know what to do. His thoughts were zipping by, all the medical knowledge in the world doing him no good. He didn't know anything about this. 

Donnie put a hand on his shoulder, Raph taking up the other side. They each squeezed, hands trembling where they touched him. There had to be something…anything they could do.  

Leo couldn't help it. He let out a sob. He did seem to be crying a lot lately, huh? 

Mikey was still shaking, his eyes squeezed shut. Leo hated it - he could feel how scared Mikey was. How terrified he was to be dying. 

There had to be something- anything!

Leo squeezed him tighter, trying to hold his brother together like glue - keep him here just a little longer while he thought of a plan. 

Think, Leo! Think! You're supposed to be the leader- 

Leo begged for something - for any kind of plan. He thought back to everything they knew about their ninpo- maybe his powers? 

Something. Anything. 

" I WO-WON'T LET YOU GO, MIKEY!" he sobbed, curling into his brother and just hoping for something to happen. Raph choked back a sob next to him, gripping his shoulder a little too hard. 

Something in him broke free with that, his powers crackling at his fingertips. He felt lighter suddenly, as blue lightning crackled down his arms and into his younger brother's form. 

Leo shut his eyes, feeling nauseous, but he couldn't stop! Mikey needed him- 

He could feel it, he could feel the power flowing through him and into Mikey - like a current of a river rushing and rushing and rushing towards his brother. 

And it was working. 

Leo chanced a glance at Mikey - his eyes had shut, but he was reforming. Blue light filled in the cracks, Mikey's arms slowly taking shape once again. 

Leo grinned, tears slipping down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and squeezed tighter, sobbing into the embrace. He felt like something was being ripped from his very being, but it'd be worth it. It'd be worth it to keep Mikey safe. 

The current continued. He willed it to continue until Mikey was fixed, until he was better and every piece of him was back in place. The ground swayed beneath him with each pulse of energy that left his body, but he had to keep going. He had to fix his brother. 

Something was changing for him, too, but he couldn't place it. 

It didn't matter. 

He couldn't stop until Mikey was back together again. 

He rode out the feeling of nausea. He could do this. 

He could do it. 

" I got you, little brother, " He murmured, letting the feeling take over. The blue light consumed him - he felt himself slipping away and checked once more to be sure it had worked before letting himself succumb to the blue light of his own powers. Everything was hazy and blue and he felt lighter than air. His heart was racing, his breath coming out in ragged pants. 

He felt himself fall into Raph's side, someone saying something. He couldn't hear them. 

Mikey was safe. Mikey was safe and he had done all he could. 

As long as Mikey was safe, he could rest. 

He could finally rest. 

Donnie was not a fan of all this mystic stuff. Even if he had somewhat mastered his own powers, his brothers' powers still eluded him. Especially now that Mikey had mystic hands or whatever. Raph's clone thing was somewhat more tangible ( literally ), but Leo and Mikey's abilities still felt too unreal to explain. He'd tried once to take a scientific approach with Leo's portals and met a wall. 

He couldn't even begin to explain what seemed to be a literal demon living in Mikey's weapon - not to mention the whole chain and fire business - it was all too much for him to comprehend. He was somewhat relieved when he'd gotten his nunchucks back - at least there wasn't some sort of creature living in them. He hoped. 

But this took it to a new level. 

It was one thing for Mikey to open an interdimensional portal, it was another to watch Leo use his powers to fix Mikey's dissolving form. 

And then to watch him shrink into blue light and become a small child. He felt the same as when Mikey had opened the portal, Leo's powers seeping into his arm and pulling something from him - pulling his energy from him. His skin had crackled and lit up just like Mikey's, but with a brilliant blue light shining through it. And he didn't dissolve into nothingness like Mikey had been doing. 

His first thought was time travel, but his second thought was what if this Leo had sustained the same injuries? 

He could worry about the why's and how's later, for now they all needed immediate medical attention. He couldn't see anything outwardly, but it was hard to tell when Leo was entangled within his wraps and sash, the pieces of fabric too large for him now. 

" Raph, call April, Papa and Casey Jr. And tell them to meet us at the lair, " He informed, taking a deep breath so he could keep it together. He'd had a lot of ups and downs for the past few minutes, but he could keep it together to play family doctor for a bit. 

Mikey was awake, at least, and was no longer dissolving into thin air. He sat up, staring in surprise at the literal child that had replaced Leo. Or, was Leo. Was Leo - but was also a child. Ugh, it was too much to think about right now. He'd have to file the time travel nonsense away for now. 

" did…did everyone else see that?" Mikey stammered out, his eyes moving from his arms to Leo, " I'm - he healed me!" 

" yes, and probably not without major consequences - oh would you look at that, major consequences, " he motioned to Leo. Or tot Leo. Little Leo. He wasn't sure What to call him. Hopefully it wouldn't be a problem for too long. 

Raph had broken from his own shocked stare to do as Donnie had asked, currently on the phone with April - if Donnie had to guess from the over exaggerated shouting on the other end. He wondered if she and their father were okay. If Casey was okay. If anyone had been majorly injured. 

Donnie caught himself beginning to zone out and shook himself out of it. Right. Act now, shutdown later. 

He pulled Leo into his arms, the kid squirming a little at the touch. 

" Stop- stop moving, " He hissed, keeping Leo close to his chest. The slider didn't seem to acknowledge him. He seemed to be just as out of it as Donnie felt. 

Donnie's mind supplied a concerning amount of reasons why, and he found himself hurrying to stand and start for the lair. They had to get home and check him for injuries fast. He mentally checked off what he remembered about concussions - pizza supreme, what if Leo had accidentally fried his brain? Was that even possible? Could mystic powers do that? 

" Donnie?" Mikey was following him. Good, they needed to get a move on. 

" We've got to hurry- if 'child Leo' has sustained the same injuries, we're working on borrowed time. We'll have to deduce why this happened later, " He rambled out, letting his feet carry him in the direction of what he hoped was the right way home. He glanced at his wrist-tech, the crack in the screen making it difficult to read. " I assume its something to do with his powers, but I don't have- I can't make a clear enough hypothesis just yet" 

He knew he was being snippy, even for him, but talking hurt. 

Opening his mouth and forming words felt like the worst thing in the world, but he willed himself to hold it together.

 Hold it together for Leo.

Kid Leo Masterpost

[paranormalactivity5]

✮If you film me while I suck it you can be a superstar!✮

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Famous!Fem!reader

*This takes place in 1990 simply because cameras were smaller*

A/N: ok second ficc!!! I kinda don't like this tho but it got me out of writers' block soooooo. Also, love the writers' block after one fic. I welcome feedback and constructive criticism!

WARNINGS: P in V, oral sex (f receiving), one thigh slap, chocking, lmk if anything else but I don't think so

word count: 1.2k

You were sitting there staring at yourself in the mirror occasionally taking a nervous peek at the not yet recording camera set on the table next to you, waiting for Eddie to get home. It was Valentine's Day and you finally had the day off but just your luck, Eddie had press all day for Corroded Coffins' new album, you really couldn't be more proud of your boy but…really? Today? You had loved Valentine's Day even before getting into a relationship, just seeing people be happy and in love was nice, and now you were one of them but of course, Eddie's manager Brenda had to take that away, however, you still had some tricks up your sleeve.

Eddie had bought up the idea of possibly recording yourselves having sex, which you were apprehensive about considering your status but you were very intrigued by the idea…..you didn't tell him that though. You wanted to wait for the right moment to bring it back up and this was it. You were dressed up in a light tan sheer little two piece that was littered with little red hearts, it fit you fucking perfectly. He was going to lose his mind.

The second you heard his car pull up in the driveway you threw on your regular fluffy black robe with little comic skulls on it and put the chicken pot pie you had prepared earlier in the oven, you only put it in now because you knew you would be occupied for awhile. You greeted him at the door saying your hellos, and a quick peck on the lips “mmmhp is that chicken pot pie?” he asked smiling “yup, just put it in the oven”. He tells you about his day and all the interviews he did but all you can think about is how hot he looks in those black jeans, that black tee shirt, and leather jacket. He turns around to hang his jacket up and you quickly drop your robe, exposing yourself. He turns back to face you and you swear you can see his Brian short circuit, he does that every time he sees you like this but just as he also does every time he rapidly gatherers himself and a smirk appears on his face. “Well damn baby…” he always speaks so smoothly “I mean I knew you would probably do something but shit, I wasn't expecting this” You can already see him beginning to harden in his jeans which in turn makes heat pool in your stomach.

He walks over and pulls you into him, kissing passionately, only ever pulling apart for air. “Jump” the command from him is so simple but it makes you oh so excited. You do as he says wrapping your legs around his waist and his hands grip your ass, he always holds you so effortlessly, he really is one of those guys that is so much stronger than they look. He begins to walk into your bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Once he gently sets you down on the bed he pulls up to remove his shirt he leans down again but you put your hand on his chest to stop him. He looks confused when you walk over to the dresser, until you hand him the camera.

He looks like he could blow his load right then and there. “...Are you sure?” he asks “Yes.” you say breathless and quickly reattach your mouth to his. He lays you down and turns the camera on but confuses you when he hands you the camera. He lowers himself and starts laying kisses down your stomach and on your hip bones, your breath starts to quicken and you can feel your clit throbbing with need. He continues down, now sucking hickeys into your inner thighs. After what feels like forever he ghosts’ his lips over right where you need him, you can feel his long hair tickling your thighs. He looks au at you with nothing but want in his eyes “Record this baby. Record me making you cum on my tongue”.

He peels your sheer panties off you, the string of your wetness to your underwear could be considered pornographic. The feeling of the cold room was quickly replaced by his warm mouth. You let out a loud moan. the second his mouth is on you he goes to work. Licking around and sucking your on your clit. You use your hand to rub your tit through your bra but he quickly stops his 

actions and slaps you on your thigh causing you to let out a whine. “Keep the camera on me. Or I stop.” he says sternly but you know its killing him not to have his mouth on you right now. You place the camera back on him and he dives back in. You can feel the tension building in your abdomen. For the first time, you look down and you can see him grinding himself into the edge of the bed, and feel him groaning into you; the vibrations are what send you over the edge.

He continued his work on your pussy letting you ride out your orgasm. As soon as you come down from your high his mouth is on yours and he tugs his pants off and puts the camera on the side table where it can get the perfect view. He looks at you for permission, you breathlessly reply “Yes” looking up at him with so much want you can barely see straight. He lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in you both let out moans of relief. He quickly begins to build up his pace, You're both moaning so loud  “fuck. Fuck yes. Take it” he groans. he’s pounding into you so good it’s mind numbing.

He pulls the cups of your bra down “Lemme see those perfect tits babe” and begins palming your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Oh my god Eddie” you moan out shakeily. He slides his hand up your body and around your throat just barely putting enough pressure on your pulse point to make your head spin. For the second time tonight, you feel the pressure build and you can tell he’s feeling the same from the way his thrusts are becoming more sloppy and his glorious abdominal muscles are tightening.

“Cum in me, please, Eddie cum in me” you beg him. He leans down to kiss you and his pelvis rubs against you triggering your orgasm, the feeling of you clenching around him triggers his own. You both ride out your highs moaning into each other's mouths. You now lay next to each other with him still inside you feeling the after shocks of your orgasms. “Oh my god….when was the last time I told you how much I love you?” he asks while chuckling sarcastically and you lightly slap him on the chest. Just in time for a nice dinner, after which you will probably show him some gratitude on your knees. 

[blorb-el]

actually though. various (sfw) kryptonian biology headcanons that skirt right up to human-passing

- higher base body temperature

- pupils that aren’t black but instead shaded slightly in the color of the iris. all kryptonians have unnaturally vivid eyes but it’s hard to tell exactly why unless you’re literally gazing into them

- tapetum lucidum (reflective eyes like animals) a bit harder to get away with, but are extremely funny because clark often does the maneuver where he’ll stand in front of a car to stop it, and this would make seeing him like seeing a deer but 10000000% worse

- they are actually bioluminescent it’s just that under normal circumstances it’s in the ultraviolet and we can’t see it. clark goes off to a blue sun mission and comes back looking halfway to electric blue superman. glowing stripes and freckles

- non-newtonian dynamic to their skin/flesh where it gets harder with more force applied; nothing unusual to the feeling of a normal handshake, but a punch thrown with force will break bone

- retractable fangs au because bonus teef are fun

- i swear some comic somewhere said something about nose gills

- solar lymphatic system primarily distributed along the spine. the entire spine lighting up with heat vision...

- they can collapse/skrunkle their spine a few inches; helpful with secret identity, but it restricts range of motion so it has the side benefit of making them a little clumsier

- blood tinged gold with stored solar energy

- just enough extra twist in their neck to enter uncanny valley territory - not quite looking straight behind but enough to be creepy as hell. kara would do this all the time

- golden age face squooshing. i do not think this should come back but it was actual canon for a while that they could just contort their faces. again creepy as fuck

[eightstarr]

i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

—

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

—

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

—

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

[maislovebot]

GOOD MORNINGGGG

how do you think the rest of the DOA members would be like vampies? :3

- 🌀

GOOD MORNING!! Sorry that this is so late, my professor assigned some super hard assignments smh🙏 I honestly find it very interesting to think about the bsd characters in some vampire au so ty for this ask:3

I don’t normally write for Fukuchi but because this is just a small blurb I figured why not! Bram is also different from the others, as his doesn’t take place in an au and instead takes place in canon. Everyone else’s takes place in an au where their vampirism has a completely different set of rules from Bram’s!! You won’t become mindless if they bite you ty

I feel like Fukuchi has the most control out of any of them? He doesn’t really bite you often because he feels like it’s immoral. He’s already committing enough immoral crimes that completely go against everything him and his image stand for. He’s a war hero after all, why would he want to hurt more people than he already has to, especially when hurting you isn’t even going to save anyone. The only real exception would be if he was quite literally starving, and if you’re in poor health? Forget it. He’s never biting you. He would never bite you recreationally, it would only be if he was hiding from another organization and hadn’t eaten in multiple days.

If he were to bite you though, it wouldn’t be very different. He is a man with a lot of willpower and control. He’s able to control himself better than anyone else on this list, in all honesty. He’ll drink the amount he needs to be sustained, then he’s finished. No more no less.

He would enjoy eating nice meals, like perfectly cooked steak, or other things similar. He wouldn’t be very fond of roadkill, because he has the funds to eat at 5 star restaurants pretty much every day. Why eat things he sees on the side of the road?

Bram is similar in the sense that he has self control. He’s aware of the fact that if he were to bite you, you’d be subjected to becoming nothing more than a mindless, blood sucking creature. That isn’t what he wants from you. He wants to be with you for the rest of his days, even if he knows it isn’t realistic because you’re merely human. He’ll try to simply come to terms with the fact he won’t have you for very long, but it’ll only take him maybe 4 months after he’s gotten his body back for him to go on the hunt for something that can make him human, or safely turn you into a vampire. He’s aware of the page because of Fukuchi, and it’s his number one goal to get a hold of it now. He’d prefer to get it by teaming up with whoever is in possession of it, but if that doesn’t work out, he isn’t afraid to take a more villainous approach. Anything to keep you.

In terms of biting you, he never has because he knows what will happen. But oh god has he fantasized about it. It’s all he thinks about. You’d look so pretty with his fangs in your neck.

He didn’t really eat much before he got his body, only being fed whenever Fukuchi had someone he wanted turned, but that didn’t happen much until the vampirism outbreak. Now that he’s gotten his body back, he doesn’t bite people as one, he would feel unfaithful to you, even if nothing became of it and it was purely for feeding. He also wants to make a conscious effort to be good for Aya’s sake. He eats food you make for him. He doesn’t really like going out in public often, so he allows you to cook for him. You’ve made plenty of meals with blood in them, like animals, but you’ve also introduced him to other types of food, and even if they serve him no nutritional value, he finds them delicious.

Fyodor would love to bite you. If you’re just another pawn on his comically large chess board, then he’ll drink your blood with no real intent of giving you anything in return. Sure, he’ll toss you a rag, but you have to clean yourself off! He’s so horrible. If he cares about you, however, he is strangely tender. He has a sense of self control, but sometimes he gets so desperate for your blood he can’t help himself! He’ll hold you down and nibble into your shoulder. He likes biting your shoulder a strange amount. He can’t explain it, it’s just a nice, convenient spot to bite. This is why he loves it when you wear tops with thin or no straps. Makes for east access! Also let’s not forget that this man is anemic. He’d like to bite you to help get his iron levels up, so at least him constantly asking for you to let him bite you has some practical use? If you say no to him biting you, he’ll respect it. He cares about you, he wouldn’t do anything against your will. You’re the light of his life, after all. You’re perfection, therefore, what you say goes.

Whenever Fyodor does bite you, he’s quite literally on top of you, straddling you. He likes the power it gives him, even if in your opinion, he looks rather pathetic biting you while literally straddling you and trembling from how good you taste. He also likes to bite you from the back sometimes. He’ll walk up behind you, hugging you and swaying from side to side before grazing his fangs over your shoulder, awaiting your permission. He is capable of pacing himself, but if he begins ti notice you're getting dizzy more frequently, or you're getting woozy while he's biting you, he'll stop and clean up your bite, wordlessly cleaning you up and cuddling you.

He also likes to eat fine dining. Nothing can quite compare to the taste of your blood, but there are some fair substitutes. He will drink your blood whenever the opportunity presents itself, but he'll also take the two of you out to a nice restaurant and let you order whatevee you please, while he'll order something simple and bloody.

Nikolai is certainly the most strange when it comes to his behaviors. When he bites you he’ll take the blood left over and wipe it on your cheek or something weird like that😭 he also likes biting you in weird places because he finds it funny?? Like he’ll nibble on your fingertips and shit just for funzies?? Similarly to Fyodor, he would bite you whenever given permission. He doesn’t try to limit himself, if you give him permission, why stop? He’d treat you like fine dining. You’re sweet and yummy and Nikolai can’t get enough of it! If you were to tell him no, say that you don’t want him to bite you, he’d roll his eyes playfully but agree. He obviously wouldn’t want you to leave him because he bit you without asking! Then he wouldn’t be able to drink your yummy blood anymore. He also does care about what you have to say, even if he doesn’t admit it because he feels like it makes him seem less free.

As I said earlier, he likes biting weird obscure places, like your fingertips. He’ll lean down like a gentleman and kiss the top of your hand, slowly trailing down and kissing your knuckles, then your fingertips, before finally nibbling your finger tips. As he kisses you he places him hands on your stomach to press you down onto the nearest couch or bed, so you’ll be sitting up comfortably while he leans ahead of you. He also likes biting places like your collarbones, arms, etc. as much as he likes biting in weird obscure places, the neck is nice too. It’s simple, but affective.

He pretty much only drinks your blood..he’ll go a few days without eating (luckily vampires can last sufficiently longer without food that normal humans can), so once you’ve rebuilt your energy he can drink your blood again. Rinse and repeat that process over and over again, and you’ve got Nikolai’s eating habits. He’s also a messy eater..there will be blood pretty much dripping from wherever he bit you when he’s done so he can wipe it on your face or body.

We’ve already talked about Sigma a fair amount, but I’m down to cover the basics. He loves to bite you, in fact nothing can quite compare. He’ll bite you and once he’s done he has this appreciative look on his face. He loves that you’re willing to let him bite you, but he also feels bad. He tends to space out when he bites you, and he prefers biting you in places that have more fat so it hurts less. He’s already a thigh guy but he especially loves biting you there.. your neck is also a good spot to bite though. It’s a little more painful for you, though, so he tends to not bite you there often.

When he’s finished biting you he’ll just lick up the blood, and get a towel. If you’re too tired he’ll just set you down and take a bath with you, bandaging up wherever he bit you. If you’re not, he’ll treat you real good to make up for it. He may love biting you, but somehow, seeing how you’re attached to him at the hip, clinging onto him for the rest of the day is even more satisfying. He finds it cute.

He loves eating stuff you make for him and stuff from nice restaurants, and despite the fact nothing can quite compare to you, he knows he can’t realistically drink your blood every day. You’d get sick, and not to mention it would cause a lot of swelling and bruising. He’d rather space it out.

I was tempted to make this sufficiently more nsfw, but I decided to refrain from anything sexual outside of biting as I didn’t wanna deviate from the original prompt too much..

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Husk rescuing Angel from Valentino or pretty much any danger in general is still my favorite —incredibly common but still favorite— huskerdust trope. Especially, him (whether in comics or in fanfics) carrying Angel in his arms and flying to safety —Aaaah! 🥺 That’s a whole fluffy dessert for me!

I try to find and read every fanfic and comic I see (AU or canon-divergent), especially the ones where Husk wins Angel’s contract from Valentino.

I know Angel Dust shouldn’t be subjected to being a damsel in distress, because there is more to his character. But, like… come on. While the sweet thing doesn’t really need protection, he needs to feel and know somebody will do it anyway.

Ofc, this is just my craving in fanworks.

As for canon and what I actually want to see happen in the show, to get Angel free from his contract:

1.) Angel shoots/stabs/etc. Val from the fucking front (with some slight hesitance because he technically ruined his clean-streak for doing it).

Oooor, what I like better, bc it involves Huskerdust:

2.) Husk invites both Angel and Valentino somewhere private, to make a bet through poker.

Husk: “One round of poker. You lose, Angel’s soul no longer belongs to you. You win, you get to keep his contract.”

Angel panics and tries to knock some sense into Husk, even though Valentino is disinterested in the whole thing and was going to say no anyway, but plot twist ——>

Angel: “Do I have to slap the fucking White Knight Syndrome outta ya!? I told ya, ya crazy motherfucker! I can handle myself!”

Husk: *smiles* “I know.” *hands Angel his the deck of cards* “Which is why I’m letting you, handle this. Go win your soul back, Legs.”

Angel: *shocked* “B-But that’s even worse! I only beat you, like… once in this game!”

Husk: “And you only need to beat Valentino once too. I know you can do it. But, if you think you can’t, well….” *smirks* “That’s why I’m here.”

Angel: “What do you mean…?”

Husk: “Since you suck at valuing yourself so much, I thought of giving you a better motivation to work with.”

Angel: “Better motivation…?”

Husk: *turns to Valentino* “There’s more; if you win, you not only get to keep Angel, but you get to have my soul too.”

Angel: “HUSK!”

Valentino: “HA! And why would I want the soul of a old rundown alley cat?”

Husk: “My soul is owned by Alastor. Imagine what Vox would think, about the idea of Alastor losing one of his souls to you.”

Angel: “Does Smiles know about this deal yer makin’ right now!?”

Husk: “Yes, he does. And he agreed to it.”

Valentino: *still disinterested* “Not convinced, gatito. You’re still not rubbing me the right way~”

Husk: “I’m not done. I’m not like any other soul, he owns.”

Valentino: “Mmhmm…”

Husk: “I have some information on why he disappeared for seven years. Not the complete context, but it’s still a big secret he definitely wouldn’t want any other overlords to find out about.”

Valentino: “Oh? Well, now that’s interesting. Voxxy would be pleased to hear anything about the radio demon.”

Angel: “Okay, does Smiles know about THAT!?”

Husk: “Hm? Nope. I’m completely fucked if he finds out I told the Vees what I know. He’ll definitely tear my soul apart and broadcast my screams longer than anyone else’s….”

Valentino: “I take it you want protection?”

Husk: “No. Not necessary. If my soul gets handed off to you, and I give you the needed information, you’re not obliged to protect me.”

Valentino: “Now you’re talking my language, gatito~ Game on. Come Angel! Prepare to lose your little boyfriend over here.”

Angel: *ignores Val and grabs Husk by the shoulders* “Husk! We’re leaving now! I don’t want anything horrible to happen to you!”

Husk: “And nothing will happen to me. I know you can do this. Or…. Am I being too full of myself to think you’d give your all for me?”

Angel: “Wh-What…?”

Husk: “I get it. We may be getting used to each other, but I’m not all that important enough to you!”

Angel: “Bullshit!” *grabs him by the suspenders* “You go through so much for my sake! What makes you think I won’t do the same!? I’d go through this hell twice, just to repay all the times you had to deal with me!”

Husk: *smiles softly and places a hand on his cheek* “Then go win this game, Legs.”

(Basically, instead of rescuing Angel himself, Husk tricks Angel into finally getting out of his contract, by putting his own life on the line).