#but like. i had a relatively bad cold like bad enough i had to leave work early

[logansdoll]

thank you

you never thought you'd be murdered in the middle of an alley... but you also never thought you'd be saved by a man with knives in his fists so... yeah.

CW: suggestive, profanity, the dude that attacks you is clinically insane, Logan's a little socially awkward, your power is kinda bad but kinda good, etc.

It was amazing how quick your day could go from fantastic, to an absolute, fucking shit storm.

Waking up that morning, as you went through your morning routine, something in the air just told you that everything was going to go right.

Your curls turned out perfect after your nightly twist, your makeup flawless, accentuating your natural beauty, and your breakfast sandwich tasted especially delicious.

That, along with the relatively quiet day at the hospital, left you leaving work with a certain pep in your step that made you feel like you could take on anything.

So not once did you plan to end up in the middle of a dark alleyway, and not once did you plan to stand off with a shady, seemingly dangerous, man because of it.

You were too lost in the music of your earphones to notice you had taken a wrong turn, a rookie mistake to make so late at night.

A mistake you were currently cursing yourself for.

"Look," you started, hands up and voice calm in an attempt to placate the irritated man. "I didn't mean to walk over here. I'm just trying to get home."

Slowly, he stalked closer, stance low and beady eyes staring at you in a way that made your stomach drop, and blood run cold.

'Shit.'

"Please... I don't want any trouble," you continued, taking a few steps back, "Just let me pass."

He tutted in response, wagging his finger as a sadistic grin slowly rose to his lips, "People who trespass on my territory gotta pay a toll, sweetheart," he licked his teeth, words slurring together, "and I can see you got more than enough..."

Shamelessly, his eyes dragged over your body, the surface of your skin erupting with a feel of grime and dirt.

You'd need a serious shower when you got home.

If you made it home...

As he drew closer, your hand discreetly slid into your jean jacket pocket, latching onto the cool, metal handle of your switchblade.

You were hoping to de-escalate the situation, but with the way things were looking, you knew you'd probably have to fight your way out.

"I'm only gonna ask one more time," you warned, your tone curt as your expression sharpened into a glare. "Let me go."

Without warning, he let out a manic shout, charging for you at full force.

You let out a shriek of surprise, quickly moving out the way before he could tackle you, whipping your blade out your pocket and flicking it open in one fluid motion.

Quickly, he turned around, expression furious as he ran again, hands out in an attempt to grab you.

And as you tried to dodge, he managed to latch onto the back of your scrub, roughly throwing you to the ground with a grunt.

"Fuck!" you spat, head throbbing as you attempted to sit up, your chest pounding as he grabbed your ankles and dragged you closer.

Fear struck your heart like a freight train, and in a bout of panic, you swung your knife, plunging it into the closest thing you could reach.

He let out a roar of pain, dropping your ankles as he nursed his injured foot, and the handle sticking out of it would've been funny were it not for the dire situation.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, stumbling towards your purse which laid on the ground not too far away.

But the man took notice, his foot becoming a thing of the past as he chased you again, scooping up a large shard of broken glass as he ran.

"Get away!" you cried, hugging your purse into your chest as his charge backed you into a corner, your legs giving out as you slid down the wall.

Horrible visions of your fate flashed through your mind as he approached, images of your lifeless body plastered on the nightly news, or your smiling picture on a missing persons poster.

What a fabulous time for your power to chime in...

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever was to come, when a loud shink and a pained grunt cut through the air.

Forcing your eyes back open, they landed on a figure, who stood over the dead body of your attacker.

The way the man laid, and the way he was injured, made it look as if he was mauled by some sort of animal.

'Holy shit...'

Pulling yourself back to reality, you realized the figure was now standing right in front of you.

He held his hand out for you to take, sharp, brown eyes flicking between you expectantly.

Finally having the chance to get a good look at him, you took in his appearance.

With his broad chest and strong jaw, you'd think he'd be on the cover of Sexy Bikers weekly, arms and legs thick with muscle under his leather jacket and blue jeans.

Your eyes met in an instant, an electric buzz shooting up your spine at his features.

From what you could see through the darkness, they were sharp, but strong and hard, handsome in their own rugged way.

His lips pulled taut in a line as he stared back, brows furrowing while his eyes flicked around you, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction.

Slowly, you placed your hand in his allowing him to pull you up to your feet.

"Thank you," you exhaled, shoulders dropping as relief finally sank in your shoulders. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't come when you did..."

His arms came back to his sides, tiredly, as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

As if he didn't expect you to actually talk to him...

"What're you doin' walkin' by yourself so late?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble. "You got a death wish?"

The sound ignited something in you, a sudden flood of warmth rushing to your stomach, your reply nearly dying in your throat.

"I just got off from work... I wasn't paying attention and turned the wrong corner," you explained, choppily, the embarrassment of your mistake setting in.

It was a stupid one.

Especially for someone who's mutation gave her the ability to see the future.

Or variations of it, at least.

"You got a way to get home?" he asked, resting a hand on his hips.

His arms flexed with the motion, his bicep straining against the jacket sleeve, your eyes drawn to it almost instantly.

You'd never seen a man as handsome as him before, and while you felt bad for gawking, you were more concerned by the flurry of feelings swirling in your chest.

"Cab," you blurted, snapping yourself out of it, "I can hail a cab."

He nodded, smoothly and, to your surprise, silently, stepping to the side and out of your way.

You were ready to head back toward the street, when you suddenly remembered something.

"My purse—" Jittery, the man nervously shoved it into your arms, averting his eyes from your thankful expression.

Your gorgeous, thankful expression.

God, he didn't understand what such a beautiful woman like you was doing in a place like this.

"I found it on the ground over there," he cleared his throat once again, shifting his weight on his feet, "I put your knife back in, too. You might wanna wash it—"

Without warning, you pulled him into a hug, nearly sending his heart into a frenzy.

He kept his hands up, quite confused and unsure of what to do, especially since your impossibly soft cheek was pressed against his chest.

"Thank you... really," you smiled, warmly, as you looked up at him.

God, he was handsome.

Though, you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

"It was nothin'," he assured, awkwardly, as you backed out.

"I don't suppose I could learn your name, could I?" you asked, a small smile rising to your lips at his social graces.

It was adorable.

Someone so big and strong being so nervous.

Instantly, he tensed, completely taken aback by your bold comment.

Maybe he was imagining things, but he could've sworn your tone made it sound like you were flirting with—

"Logan," he blurted, stiffly.

You grinned, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, "(y/n)."

Slowly, you started toward the mouth of the alleyway, his eyes following you intently, "Well, Logan, I hope we meet again... Then I'll pay you back."

"Not necessary," he assured, shaking his head.

You paused your walk for a moment, turning to glance at him with a devilish glint in your eye.

"We meet again... I'll have something for you," you promised, crossing your fingers.

A shiver rolled down his spine at your words, and you continued on your merry way, exiting the alley and hailing a nearby cab.

Once he was sure you were gone, he let out a loud sigh, allowing his shoulders to sink and a tired hand to run through his hair.

You were something...

One conversation and he already knew you were going to be trouble, the smell of your perfume and the warmth of your smile already plaguing his mind.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath before turning to walk out the alley.

But just as he stepped forward, he felt something under his foot, lifting it to reveal a necklace.

You must've lost it in the melee...

Carefully, he picked it up off the ground, placing it in his pocket before walking out the backstreet.

The next time he saw you... he'd have something for you, too.

[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe. 

[inbabylontheywept]

Soviet Birds.

The secret facility that I work in has holes in the ceiling. We don't know how to get them fixed.

We tried asking the government to fix it, once. We told them that the holes in the older parts of the facility had gotten large enough to fit birds through, and that birds were getting through, and that, perhaps, a Soviet Spy could fit through as well.

After all, it is well known that Soviet Spies and pigeons are approximately the same diameter.

Our hope was that that this vague and nonsensical threat would put a little fire under Uncle Sam's feet. If the fed couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the giant gaping holes in the roof of our facility, perhaps they could be persuaded to give a shit about... Soviet Spies.

This attempt at manipulation 100% blew up in our faces.

See, the government does not need to be persuaded to give a shit about Soviet Spies. It still wakes up most nights, drenched in cold sweat, terrified and confident that a Soviet Spy is hiding in their nightstand. If it sees a rock on the ground, it flips it over, pistol drawn, ready to shoot the Soviet Spy it fully expects to slither out from underneath. Which is to say: The government is crazy. So when we dropped those two words - inflitration risk - in the repair request, they came in guns-a-blazin'.

Does that mean that they fixed the roof? Of course not. Don't be stupid. No, instead of performing basic maintenance, they installed a state of the art alarm system throughout the facility - lasers, sonar, the works - and told us to always be on the guard. Because of the roof holes.

Then they left.

So now we had an extremely good alarm system... and birds. Which have combined in incredibly obvious and predictable ways to produce an unending fountain of problems.

For Example: About once a month, someone gets called in by the local airforce dispatch because AAAAAAAAAAA a Spy is in the Rad Lab! We're all gonna die! Except every time, it's a bird. And I get why we have to check, but every time, the dispatcher is panicked and the person going out has to be like listen, listen: It's a bird. It's always a bird. It's been a bird every month for the last fifteen years. It will be a bird next month. All this stress? Bad for your heart.

Second Example: Sometimes, birds get in while we're actually working. And when it's in the morning, you know, it's a nuisance, and it stops testing (we are not going to risk irradiating a bird) but it's not an all-hands-on-deck situation because it doesn't take ten hours to get a bird out. But surprisingly often, the bird gets in riiiiight at closing time, and in that situation, everyone goes feral because nobody can leave until the alarm is set, and we cannot set the alarm while the bird is there, because the bird would immediately trigger it and then we'd have to stay another 4 hours to confirm that it was not a Soviet Bird.

So in order to go home, everyone's top priority is Get That Bird. And we have a system for it.

Step 1: The test stands tend to be located in rooms with 30+ foot ceilings. We can't catch birds in places like that - so we have to lure the bird into the relatively low ceilinged (8 feet only) upper offices.

We do this by turning all the lights off in the test rooms, then putting floodlights by the exits. I don't know why this works - some kind of evolutionary brain fragment shared by both Bugs and Birds - but work it does. The birds almost always follow after the lights. From there, it’s just two guys moving the floodlight and a third guy to turn off the lights.

Step 2: Everyone else has been waiting for this step. There is this long stairway up from the basement level into the offices, and in the final stage, the floodlights are brought to the base of the stairwell to bring the bird up. At the top of the steps there will be a group of tennish people, waiting for the signal. The light guys will set up the final transfer, everyone will tense, and then, swish...a bird will flit up the stairs and into the offices.

It's like watching werewolves on a full moon. Before the bird cometh, we are engineers. Nerds. Pale and skinny things, trembling under the fluorescent lights. After the bird, we are beasts. Feral, gnawing things, glowing under the orange sunrise of the 70's halogen floodlights.

And like all beasts, we cannot help but give chase.

Step 3: The were-engineers begin the hunt. The goal at the start is not really to catch the bird - just exhaust it. So the pack simply does not relent. Because the stakes are going home on time, the group is basically given free reign to go anywhere in the building. If someone's door is open, and the bird goes inside, they're going to have to deal with ten sweaty panting maniacs leaping around their office. They don't get to say that they're busy, or remark on how all this movement is a terrible distraction. They are allowed to sit in silence during the chaos, and perhaps thank the war party for chasing the bird while they sat comfortably on their ass. This has been explained several times, and it will continue to be explained until cooperation is achieved.

Anyway.

The chase can go on for quite some time. Sometimes, the bird will get tired and find a crevice to hide in, where it can then be reached through standard cornered-bird catching techniques.

Other times, it will slow down enough that someone can actually yoink it out of the air. But this will go on until someone catches the bird and triggers Step 4.

Step 4: The Finale. This is the get-the-bird-out-of-the-building stage, and it requires someone to adopt a specific role: To Become the Sacrificial Vessel of Bird Removal.

This job is both coveted and feared. It's coveted, because holding a wild bird in one's hands is a precious thing. To feel how small, and fragile, and scared it is, only to free it from the building? That is what it's like to be a benevolent God. But the cost! Oh, the cost. The entire time the Vessel is in motion, the bird will be biting the hell out of their fingers. And I cannot emphasize enough just how painful bird bites are. Their entire face is a set of needle posed pliers, and they know tricks the even the cartels haven't figured out yet. So there's always a little hubbub about who shall be The Vessel while onlookers, stranded outside The Office of Bird Capture, can only look on. Quiet arguments and pleas are heard, little fragments of fear and pride and glory trickling out of room like the silver dust left behind in a bag of well shook quarters. The sound of concensus is silence, and the argument will go on until that's all that's left. And then, from the darkness of the final office, the chosen sacrifice will step forward: Hands gently cupped, tears streaming down their face, fingers trembling from the pain of the ongoing bird chomps.

And this scene is what organizes people. Not leadership, not truly. No one can think and coordinate a crowd while their fingers are being attacked with a combination nutcracker/ear piercer. But the crowd sees the suffering of their annointed, and it is driven to do everything poossible to make the process flow. People instinctively flair out, finding the fastest path outside. Doors are held open. Paths are cleared. Someone, somehow, always knows the way forward and can describe it to the sufferer. Left, left, forward. Corner closet. Yep, there's a hall in there. Forward. Two-hundred more feet man, you're doing great. Just hold it together a little longer. You're killing it.

Then the final door swings open, and the bird flees out into what remains of daylight. And yet, even here, the deed is not yet done. I cannot explain it in words, but the crowd that helped is never content until they can see and speak on the Bird Vessel's wounds. They all have to pull the fingers back and see what was given. Estimate the price: One day to get better - No, three - No, a week! Are you blind? Do you see that blood blister? -Yeah, that's not going away anytime soon - Damn, can you believe how feisty those things are? Like wolves without teeth.

(They cannot help but touch as they go. It has always been this way. Even Thomas was not content until he felt the wounds in Christ's hands.)

Only when the last of the helpers has seen, and commented, and commended, will the engineers scatter. It is their return from the underworld that announces to the sun living surface dwellers that they too can go home. (@somerunner tolja it needed to be a post.)

[actiniumwrites]

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ taking care of you when you're sick

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

warnings: none!

join my tag list here! 🪻

The moment you fall sick, DAZAI gets all the more annoying, obnoxious to the core as he whines about how unfair it is that you're sick and he's not — translating to “that you don't have to go to work and he does”. He might just use your sickness as an excuse to stay at home himself; after all, when you're in this critical of a condition, he has to be by your side at all times, right? Just in case of an emergency. Surely Kunikida and the President agree.

Taking care of others or even of himself isn't what he's particularly good at, though he will pretend to be absolutely certain about cuddling being a certain cure for any illness. If you threaten to give him the cold shoulder otherwise, he'll also go to the pharmacy and buy you medication, though he will either complain about it, or he'll play it up to be his God-given mission to save his stunning girlfriend's life.

“Hm? What do you mean, bella? Of course I've got the President's 'okay' for staying at home. Taking care of you is most important, after all, don't you agree? .. Don't be mean, I am taking care of you. I made you tea just now, didn't I?"

CHŪYA really doesn't like it whenever you're sick. While he's faced a handful of way more threatening situations before, he can't help but worry when you whine about your head hurting and your throat aching, about your stomach acting up or your vision blurring. It's not his fault that you're on his mind all day — he just wants you to be well. Is that too much to ask for?

Naturally, that translates to him being awfully good when it comes to him nursing you back to health. He wouldn't describe himself as a natural caretaker, but he is, in a way; he's protective and caring by nature, and he makes sure you're relatively well before he leaves for work every day. You don't just get the best medication on the market, but also energising meals made by him with the help of authentic recipes from elderly women he found online. To not fully lose his image, he half-heartedly complains occasionally, though his words are immediately redeemed by his beaming smile when he notices you're faring better.

“Jeez, that's one annoying cold you've got. It's been, what, like two weeks now and it's still not gone. Whatever. I've found this new soup recipe, though. It looks promising enough, doesn't it? I'll try to make it for dinner.”

RANPO admittedly is rather bad at taking care of you. To be blunt, he much prefers it when you coddle and spoil him, not the other way around, though he tries in his own ways — which mostly include sharing his snacks with you and being near you despite the risk of getting infected himself.

Unfortunately, you're not spared from his usual honesty; when you look downright awful, dark circles underneath your eyes, he will tell you just that. If you flake out on any dates the two of you had planned previously, he will whine, but at least he won't hold a grudge. While he's not particularly committed to being a caretaker, he at least stays by your side and brings you medicine and painkillers.

“You should eat more, y'know. Yes, I know you're nauseous. You've said so about twenty times already. You won't feel any better until you eat and drink enough, though. That's common sense.”

Naturally, FYODOR is more than simply good at taking care of you whenever you fall ill. With his age, it's no wonder that he has quite some experience and knows of many ways to heal you, though some of them might include disgusting homebrewed potions. You're best of just not asking what they're made of if you want to have any chance in downing them.

Unfortunately, his approach to helping you regain your health is more clinical than loving. He takes wonderful care of you, but he's not the type to cuddle with you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you're sneezing and coughing. If you ask sweetly enough, however, he might just read you a bedtime story or two.

“What is it, dear? I was just going to get you a new glass of water. .. Ah, I see. Do you really want me to stay that badly? Alright, then. Though me remaining by your side won't give you an excuse to skip taking your medication.”

It's no surprise whatsoever that NIKOLAI is not the most caring guy, simply put, and he might just tease you about being sick throughout the whole ordeal. He can't help it; you glaring at him, exhausted and sneezing, makes him giggle. Still, he's not all bad — he revels all the more in your surprised expression when he presents you with homemade soup, a family recipe, or so he tells you, and he smiles, content, when you admit that it tastes rather lovely.

With his ability, it's easy for him to get whatever you might need, whether that's food or a cup of tea or a bucket to throw up in, from the kitchen without moving from your bedside, so be prepared to spend quite a lot of time with him in the next few days — or weeks. Though, luckily, he's there to entertain you, not the other way around; when you say you want to curl up and just sleep the sickness off, he'll just keep watch next to you, silent and calm. After all, he does want you to feel better.

“Hmm, what did you say? You like my cooking? I'm honoured, doll! You're too kind! How about a quiz about what I put in there — poison, carrots, red beet, or all three? Ah, not feeling up for it, are you? What a shame. It's all three, if you're curious. I'm just kidding, of course. Don't you worry your pretty little head.”

SIGMA is the best choice for who to go to when ill. Not only is he kind and caring, he's also responsible and organised and, if you follow every step he tells you — eat his home-cooked soup, drink this medicine, sleep for as much as possible, take hot or cold compresses, inhale water with herbal essences —, you'll be at full health again in no time.

Even though he unfortunately can't stay at home all day to be by your side — duties at the casino call, even though he'd much rather not go —, he tries to spend as much time as possible with you, telling you about what has happened that day and how much he looked forward to being home with you again while your eyes flutter closed. When you've almost fallen asleep, his lips gently press against your forehead, even if that means he risks getting sick himself.

“Are you feeling better yet? No? Well, that's to be expected. It's only been a day, after all. I've brought you some more medicine, as well as some soup. Here, give it a taste, will you?”

@chxrry-doll @irethepotato @beandaifuku, @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @C4xcocoa

@black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat

@yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @senpaible @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @4nthonyyliving @brokeniced @nikolaisdove @dxwnstxr @scinclaitnoir @snips18 @flowzel @satohruu @squigglewigglewoo @rainy-dazie @itzashlyn123 @rheeeeeeeesiees @eggcoreloser @mariaace @mello0cat @warriordemigosworld @thescrunkly @ainegueneres @maroj23 @dazaiserectnips @little-miss-chaoss @saeandscaralover @munch3025 @maidenkikyo

[roxineedstosleep]

Could you do a snippet for yandere platonic Batfam where reader accidentally gets hurt and is able to hide it for a few days until someone (May be Dick?) finds it and asks / gets upset about it? Love your writing!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hi there!!!

First of all: Thank you sweetie!

It's been a while since I've written, mostly because of the university, I'm about to graduate and I'm crazy because I'm approaching my final exams (I even have to defend my research work to be able to get my bachelor's degree)!

But, I got to thinking a bit about what you have written above… and even more so because I myself am a little bit crashed after my last film shoot for my final year of my degree. And can I just say that being in a bad way and having to hide it is terrible.

So… here goes!

(I'm sorry if I sound a bit comical in this writing, but I think the best way to get over something is to laugh at yourself a bit so you don't think about the pain too much; I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't know if you've noticed, but English is not my native/mother tongue. Occasionally, when I think too much, I write them in my language and then translate it in a trusted translator. So, if there's a grammatical problem or a strange term, it's the translator's fault.

Let's face it… having a large family is terribly exhausting.

It's never quiet enough, everyone is in everyone else's business, you can't leave your favorite mermelade in the fridge for less than a day. Someone is always occupying the bathroom or using your favorite shampoo or watching something on TV at too much volume and someone is probably occupying your bed at nap time.

Did I mention about meddling too much in other people's business? Yes? Well… triple it.

Having multiple siblings was new.

Having multiple siblings, a father and a butler/grandfather isn't exactly bread and butter either.

It wouldn't be so bad to belong to a large and numerous one if it was your blood family and you had lived with them all your life. I mean, sometimes blood is too thick and you have no choice but to learn to love them or just be nice to each other.

Like I said, it wouldn't be so bad if they were really your family.

But the Waynes were not your family. Not distant relatives or anything like that.

You were just living your life, as quietly as possible… and poof!

New room, new butler/grandfather, pets beyond belief, 4 new male siblings and a father with serious emotional constipation issues. And, to add more salt to your wound…. all have serious abandonment issues and death-related trauma.

After several escape attempts, sleep strikes, hunger strikes and any other kind of protest that an anarchist could be proud of… you realized that it was simply impossible to get out of this without risking the path of death.

Which, to top it all off, was also unreliable because apparently your older brother Jason had revived as well as another of your siblings. So no, dying was also not a viable option to which one could resort in the worst case scenario.

What to do?

Well, not much. Trying not to die of suffocation of affection or finding a way to have privacy while going to the bathroom just seemed to be the best survival tools you could resort to.

What does that entail?

It implies that Tim was going to give you hours and hours of lectures on his latest discovery of a case, even if you don't understand half the things he's told you or mentioned at all.

Richard and Damian trying to teach you new tricks almost every second, taking you to the Zoo or not leaving you alone to go to the bathroom.

That Jason, oh holy cow he is the only one more relaxed, takes you with him on his motorcycle to eat ice cream and to the public library. Without being able to scape, because it seems that you have a kind of GPS inserted in the bone marrow.

(Sometimes you don't know if it's true or not, but sometimes you also felt pain between your bones, almost during the cold seasons, and you didn't want to burst your poor little head thinking of different viable possibilities knowing them. No scars, no remembering anythins about any surgery).

Have a grandfather who will not hesitate to make you cookies, your favorite foods whenever you want … without leaving you aside at any time.

Plus a terribly quiet father, who if he can will carry you for as long as you spend time together, won't let you near the secret basement and enjoys being in the same room with you.

Do you see any privacy in this?

No, because even at the bathroom door would be the pets trying to get in and see you for themselves while you want to do your business.

The worst of that? Titus always judge you when you close the curtains.

As I mentioned and it was clear: Having a large family implies little privacy… Having a large, obsessive family means NO privacy.

So, knowing that you have over 50 nanochips tracking in all your clothes, two security monitors embedded - God knows how - in your body (monitors that only tell you if you are in designated safe place), 20 high definition surveillance cameras in every room and a Great Dane chasing you like a chick …. How the heck do you fall down the stairs and hit your pelvic bone without anyone noticing?

No kidding, how?

And if you had to blame someone for your fall… you'd totally blame Damian for it.

It's not that the kid pushed you down the stairs, but over time he had tamed himself into various things and relaxed into looking his age. You know!!! He started acting like a normal teenager!

What do Damian's kids do at his age? Well, they leave things lying around and have messing around them when they can, of course they do!

You just wanted some yogurt with orange marmalade. Maybe some oatmeal cookies. Alfred had left it for you in the fridge when he noticed you'd been watching video tutorials on homemade marmalade for hours. Who were you to deny such a gesture of generosity?

I mean, Alfred was the one who allowed you to hide in the attic for hours on end so you could have some time to yourself.

And how did it end? You, slipping down the main stairs of the old Wayne mansion, down a nicely polished wooden staircase, rolling all the way down (which is no small flight of stairs, it should be noted) to the bottom of the first floor.

Now, lying on the ground is not so bad in itself. What is bad is not being able to feel your legs and still not being able to understand how you manage to tidy up your neural wiring so that your legs can still move on their own and go to the kitchen to rescue all the delicacies Alfred left you in time.

And it's a good thing you managed to do it… because within seconds Bart had rushed in to ransack the fridge and the fruit basket.

But that's not the point.

The important thing is that this time you managed, I insist a little on the feat of action, to climb up to your room and not notice how you couldn't really feel your legs.

You ate, you lay down… and to your bad or good luck, you couldn't get up …. and without anyone noticing there was an emergency and everyone went out to sort it out.

Weak limbs, limited movement and you don't want to mention the embarrassing actions you did in order to go to the toilet.

It's not like you hid it either, I mean, there was no one who could even notice because they weren't entirely available to watch you. Nor is it that you would have run away, otherwise they would have been at your side in less than a second.

The detail, as they insist, is that you had probably bruised your back badly and your body was now taxing you extra for your food craving.

I insist, you did not hide anything.

But still, when you're found completely itchy on the floor, ridiculously trying to run away in the direction of the bathroom… that's when everyone really goes crazy.

First, having to carry you and not dying of embarrassment when you notice that Bruce definitely doesn't give a damn about having to carry you to the bathroom and do almost everything for you.

Or having Dick and Jason carry you and fit you into some kind of weird medical scanner they have in the cave.

Or that Tim keeps track of your periods, types of meds you take and, for fuck's sake, knows how the fuck to inject something into your spine.

Or that Damian had the gall to look a little embarrassed when he heard that a pair of boxers lying outside the laundry basket was to blame for all this.

NO matter.

At the end of the day they heal you, pamper you, leave you alone when you need to take a nap and figure out a way to fix it without looking like complete maniacs who built some kind of internal plumbing that sucks up the dirty laundry and throws it straight into the washing machine.

Like the time they didn't look like maniacs by sanding all the edges of the tables and nightstands.

Or the time they bought a whole brand of sanitary towels when they realised that not all women use tampons.

Don't worry, they're looking out for you… even if they look like deranged Arkhan freaks in the process.

[mysicklove]

thots on kitty!bakugou getting his nipples played with for the first time? feels so good it scares him, i bet. good enough to break down his sense of pride to beg for you to get your wrap? hehe

𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄

Pairing: Sub! Bottom! Cat Hybrid! Bakugou x Dom! Top! AFAB! Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Pegging, HEAVY nipple play, anal play, mention of collar, katsuki swears in like every sentence, nickname "kitty", hints of sadistic reader, pain/pleasure play ig.

A/N: I kinda changed it up just a tad anon im sorry lol. but i loved this idea so much i had to turn it into a fic. damn another fic that is not a kinktober one, ughhh

Your kitty has a very sensitive chest. Of course, Bakugou would never tell you this. You have a problem with bullying him a little bit, poking fun at him until he hisses at you, or teasing his body until he cries from frustration. Telling you about his nipples is a one-way ticket to mewling under you. He's not taking that ride.

So he hides it. Relatively well too; he tries his best not to press his ears back and whimper when you accidentally graze one of the buds. Instead, moving your hand away from his chest either up to his collar or beneath his pants.

You never suspected a thing. Just how Katsuki like it.

"Kitty, I'm home!" You chirp, opening the front door with a small content smile on your face. Katsuki peers up at you from the couch where he was napping, a frown plastered on his face.

"Why did you take so fucking long?" He complains, automatically getting up from the couch, and making his way over to you. He leans slightly leans down, and your hand reaches up to pet him. His ears twitch and he lets a gruff sigh at the feeling of your fingers.

"Sorry, Kats. There was a car accident on the way home. Traffic was bad. But anyways, how are you?"

He pulls away from you before he starts purring, his pride getting the better of him. "Fine. Dinner is getting cold."

He walks away toward the kitchen before you can respond, fixing you a plate while you sigh and slump against the dinner table chair. He sits down next to you, and you thank him. He lets out a grunt in response. The best you'll get out of him.

Dinner goes down relatively quietly. Katsuki isn't much of a talker, and you were tired from the day. You needed a little bit of energy before holding a conversation between you too.

"Want to do it tonight," He says finally breaking the comforting silence. 

You pause, looking up with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't make eye contact with you, but his cheeks are slightly pink. He tries to act all bold, but both of you know he always is so embarrassed to suggest these things. A prime subject to tease. "Do what?"

His ears fall back and he glares at you. "You know what."

You balance your head on your hand. "Hm?"

"Want to...Fuck." He sighs, staring at his bowl with bared teeth.

"You want me to fuck you?" You say, now grinning at him.

Katsuki dramatically stands up from the table, his face now blooming red. He leaves the bowl on the table, and his tail sways behind him. 

"Never mind. I'm going to bed."

You are up in an instant, chasing after him before he gets too far. Without really thinking much of it, you reach out from behind him and grab his chest, pulling his back against your front.

Katsuki doesn't have time to hide himself. He feels your hands grip accidentally grip his nipple, and he whimpers. Loud and shakily, while his eyes furrow to process the overbearing feeling.

The two of you freeze, both with wide eyes. He doesn't dare to move, afraid of what you'll say.

You loosen your grip slightly on his chest, and he lets out a breath of relief. But you don't dare to let him go, now intrigued. Slowly, your hands begin to run over his chest, taking notice of the way his breath hitches when you hit his nipples.

Your face curls with a feral grin, happy to find something new about your pet. "Oh, Kats. You didn't tell me you were so sensitive here."

His ears are pinned to his head, and he gulps. "Fuck you. 'm not"

You gently pinch his right nipple and his eyes widen, a broken whine falling from his lips. "Hmm? You sure, love?"

"Don't do that!" He pleads as he shrinks away from your fingers and into your chest, afraid you'll pinch him again.

You press a kiss to his neck in apology. Then you grab his hand and lead him into the bedroom. "Let's go fulfill your request, yeah kitty?"

He stares at the hand and then you, nervously. He knows you are going to abuse him, and he's not sure if he can take it, but on the other hand, he really wants to be fucked.

He's willing to take the risk. "Alright."

You know too much. Another thing to hold above his head. How is he ever going to escape your cruel hands if his body is so complaint with them?

"Fuck you! S-Stop! The teeth."

Your mouth has made his way to his chest in a matter of minutes of the two of you being in the bedroom. He is laying limp against the mattress, and your finger is moving in and out of his hole, prepping him for later.

But your current fixation was seeing how far he can go with his tits solely. You are still working on the intensity, and seeming to how Katsuki is dripping tears, it's probably too much for him. Your teeth barely even grazed him. "My fault. Didn't mean to, shhh don’t cry kitty."

He clenches his teeth together and the back of his arm covers his face, embarrassed about the tears You begin kitten licking the nipple and he sniffles, being okay with this sort of pressure.

Gently, you reassure yourself and your fingers continue their prodding. He has already taken two of them, and now you are scissoring the hole. He was taking them well, moaning gently under you with no complaint.

You gently begin to to suck, and the cat let's out a shaky moan. Not a whimper or a cry, a better sign. Your other hand travels to his other side and you gently travel circles around the pink nub. His back arches slightly and his mouth opens.

“There ya go. See we did it Kats. Doesn't hurt so bad now, hmm?”

He gulps, slightly gripping onto the sheets from the prodding sensation and your antics on his chest. It's overwhelming him, and he is struggling to bite back moans. “Dumbass. Just be gentle.” His voice doesn't hold a bite, instead it's higher in pitch and shaky.

Cute. But he always was, unitentionally of course. His pride is to big to try to act cute sole for you (even if you begged him multiple times).

He keens when you press your fingers onto his prostate, clenching his teeth with his ears pressed against the top of his head. You immediately distract him from the sensation by gently sucking his nipple.

His eyes fling open in an instant, and he choking out moans. "Not at the same time!"

You ignore his pleads, and switch to the other side. He grabs the back of your head and grips onto it desperately. The feeling makes you wince, but you don't stop your movements.

Eventually when it gets too much for the cat, he forces you away from his chest. You glance at him, slightly peeved, but your eyes widen at the sight.

Tears are streaming down his face, and he's trembling. His ears are pressed flat upon his head, and drool slightly drips from the corner of his lips. He is shaking his head at you, slowly but full of emotions. "No more. No more. 's too much. Just fuck me already!"

You peer down at his chest to see both of the nubs swollen and throbbing. You have abused them for too long, and it almost made you feel bad. Your poor kitty didn't deserve this, but alas, his wet teary eyes made it worth it. You couldn’t help but bully him if he looked so cute.

But, you take pity on him, and grab the strap, lubing it up, along with his entrance. He bites back a whimper at the coolness, but you force it out when you press a kiss to his thighs.

You pull your fingers out and he lets out an obviously displeased noise, trying to follow the digits. "So needy," You coo, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes, but blushing.

Then you line the toy up to his hole, and his ear twitch. He gulps and stares at the silicon, trying to contain his excitement. You begin to press it in, and he sighs, closing his eyes.

Slowly, you bottom out, and the cat lets out a breathy moan. A finger travels up to his chest again, and he jumps when you drag it over again. "Not—Not again."

You lean forward, now completely above him, waiting for him to adjust to the length. You circle the bud and kiss his cheek when he whines out. "Cant' help myself. You're so cute, Kats."

"F-Fuck you! Stop teasing me," He warbles, his eyes hazy and lips wet from his own saliva.

You begin your movements and he clings onto you. His mouth flies open, exposing his pointed canines that you are so fond of. "Such a cute kitty with such an adorable, sensitive body. I'm so spoiled."

He shakes his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. "Just shut up, and fuck me!"

You giggle into his neck, and pinch one of his nipples. His whole body jerks and whines, loud and pathetic. He trembles under you and glares at you, which doesn't look threatening at all considering they are wet from tears. "Be nice Katsuki."

He doesn't say anything, afraid you'll pinch him again. Instead, he nods his head and wraps his legs around your hips, silently signaling he wants more and quickly.

You abide his wishes and quicken your pace, and he mewls out, latching his mouth onto your shoulder. You grin at him and kiss the side of his head, mumbling words of encouragement.

His grinds himself on the strap, and his eyes roll at the feeling of his throbbing cock rubbing against your stomach. Mixed with earlier teasing, he felt like he was already close to cumming. He grips onto you and begins to beg for you to go faster.

But much to his dismay, you don't listen to him. Instead, you purr in his ear, "Katsuki~"

He clenches his teeth at the thrust, but whines at your words. Something bad was coming, he could tell. "Hmm?"

"Touch yourself."

He doesn't hesitate to reach down and begin stroking himself off, but you catch his wrist with the first stroke. He gulps and glances at you hesitantly.

You stare at him, smiling softly. Then, you lean forward and press your lips to his ears. "Your nipples, silly."

Your pace hasn't slowed and he can barely process your words, but the way you drag his fingers back to his chest lets him know exactly what you want.

He shakes his head furiously, clinging onto you. "Nooooooooo. Fuck, they hurt!"

You balance yourself on you forearm above him, and use your other to thumb over one of the buds. He moans, slightly arching his back. "They won't. See? Gotta be gentle, love."

He looks up at you with a pout and teary eyes, but nods hesitantly. His hands travel down to his chest, and he uses both hands to trace circles on them. The blonde whimpers out, shutting his eyes to try to manage the strange mix of pain and pleasure.

You finally quicken your pace, and Bakugou groans, not knowing what to with his body. He feels the sticky feeling of pre cum leaking on his abdomen, but his hands are too busy to wipe it away.

"m gonna cum."

"Are you asking for permission?"

He wasn't, and the both of you knew that. "Y-Yeah."

You smile at him, pressing a kiss to his tear stained lips. "As long as you touch your nipples through it all."

He wants to protest, already feeling overstimulated from both of the intense pleasures, but he also wants to cum. So, he nods with a sniffle. You rub you fingers over his twitching ears, and he leans into the warmth.

The pressure begins to build up, and hes now gently flicking his nipples. Hes withering from his own ministrations, and the ruthless pace of your strap isn't helping at all. Every breath is a moan, or a whine, and he shivering. "Fuck. Fuck. Im cumming. I can't!"

"Go ahead, kitty."

His whole body contracts, and his eyes screw shut. It tears viciously through him, and he's crying out. Its loud, high in pitched, but cute.

His hands clench up on his nipples, so you lean down and press your mouth to one. His shaky hands find the back of your hand and he curses, back now arching completely off the sheets.

Cum leaks onto his stomach, and some onto yours. His tail goes pin straight, and his ears are pinned to his head.

His high lasts longer than usual, about thirty seconds, and by the end of it his clinging onto you desperately while you coo at him.

When he comes down from his orgasm, he is heaving, trying to catch his breath again. You gently pull out during this time and he lets out a small gasp, but other than that doesn't complain. He falls limp against the bed, his body sweaty and flushed.

You take off the strap and begin to wipe him down with a washcloth, humming softly in your work. You are careful to leave his nipples alone, knowing hell prob freak out if you even graze them now. They are puffy and red, and most likely throbbing.

"You with me Katsuki?" You say, glancing hesitantly at him, almost feeling bad about his chest.

"Yeah, I'm here, you brat."

You laugh gently, glad your cat is back to his usual antics. "Ironic," You tease, grinning at him.

He doesn't find it funny. "Hey fuck you. I listened well today! Even after you tried torturing me." The last part comes out as a mumble, pouting into his pillow.

Your eyes whole a sadistic glaze to them, and he gulps, wondering what you are going to say next. "If you think thats torture, oh kitty, what do you think we buy you some nipple clamps?"

He throws a pillow at you and hisses before you could finish your next thought.

[castiwls]

you are in love - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'Pauses and says, you're my best friend. And you knew what it was, he is in love'

Requested; anon

Notes; kinda made this sader than i meant oops. reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Ever since he was a child Sam had been taught to fear the dark. Taught that all the worst things happened in the darkness of the night. Over time the childhood fear of creatures hiding in his closest had slowly faded away as he came to terms with the fact that those creatures did in fact not just live in the closest but also in the wider world.

He’d quickly learnt that his actual fears lay not only in the dark but also in the light. That was partly why he’d quickly learnt that his favourite time of day was dusk. The time of day when the world was almost in limbo, not yet dark enough for the monsters of the night to come out but also not too light for them to lurk on the streets.

Sleep seemed to come and go for him recently. More and more nightmares making appearances made sleep something which he’d simply rather avoid altogether, yet that had changed when you’d walked into his life.

Sleep seemed easier and safer whenever you were around, your body almost like a protection blanket in human form. The nightmares never seemed as bad.

Yet he still found himself waking in the late hours, a small jolt of fear turning his blood cold as his eyes stared up at the dark ceiling. Letting out a breath he shifted in the bed, turning to watch the rise and fall of your chest as you slept beside him.

A small smile pulled at Sam’s lips as the previous fear seemed to melt away as you subconsciously moved closer, a small huff leaving your lips. 

“Sam?” Your voice was quiet as you slowly blinked up at him. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head, his smile widening slightly as you leaned back slightly to get a better look at him. You were more than used to him being awake at almost all hours, you’d learnt very quickly that the smallest movement seemed to wake him up - much to your dismay.

“M’fine.” He brushed a hand through your hair. “Just trouble sleeping. That’s all.” He reassured.

You watched him for a moment your eyes tracing his face. He didn’t look stressed, if anything he looked relatively relaxed. You subconsciously relaxed realising that this wasn’t a nightmare situation and that he wasn’t trying to hide something.

“Okay.” You nodded a tired smile pulling at your lips as you stifled a yawn. 

You watched him for a moment longer before leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, your lips brushing over his cheek for a moment before pulling back. “Try and get some sleep okay?” 

Sam nodded whispering his agreement before brushing a hand over your cheek. His lips parted for a moment as if to say something before he stopped. His eyes moved from you for a moment, an almost hard look settling over his face.

He sucked in a breath before looking back to you, his face softening almost immediately. “Why did you do that?” You frowned.

“Do what?”

“That face, why did you pull that face?”

Sam laughed quietly. “I didn’t pull a face.”

“Yes, you did. You looked like you were in pain for a moment.” His smile dropped slightly as you sat up - him quickly following. “I know something's wrong.” 

Sam was quiet for a moment before he pulled his gaze from yours, an almost nervous look taking over his features.

“It’s nothing it’s just…I realised how much you mean to me and I guess…” He trailed off running a hand through his hair. “Everyone I’ve cared about in this way…It’s not ended well for them. I don’t want that for you.” His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he looked back up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Your heart pinched slightly at his words. You’d told him hundreds of times that nothing was going to happen to you. That he was allowed to love without feeling guilty, yet he still refused to say the words.

“You’re my best friend.” His hand tightened against yours as he felt his breath catch for a moment. You both knew you were more than friends. You had been for a while yet he wasn’t willing to risk saying those words for fear of placing a target on your back. You both knew the unsaid words which hung over you at all times. It was almost like a string waiting to snap as you both danced the line, neither willing to cross and finally admit that you were in love.

[keyotos]

can i request any hsr characters sleepover hcs w/ gn reader?

nights like this

summary ⎯ sleepover hcs w/ the hsr men! you basically stay over.

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo, & jing yuan.

tana's words ⎯ yk i was never much of a sleepover kid as a kid; i missed my mother too much. this is kinda short. maybe bad bc i had writers block during this. anyway i hope u enjoy anon!!!

dan heng

⎯ terrible sleeper. sleep schedule is messed up. sometimes he goes to sleep at 12 (early), sometimes 6 am (late).

⎯ when you're with him, he sleeps a little better (sleeping at 2 instead of 6). your rhythmic breathing always manages to set him at ease, which causes him to relax and sleep better.

⎯ you guys like to read together before bed. he reads at a faster pace than you do, but that's okay bc he's always waiting for you to finish a page before he moves on. doesn't matter how long you take; he'll wait forever as long as it's you.

⎯ before y'all became official, you'd sneak into dan heng's room just to hang out. but that always ended up in you two sleeping on his floor mattress together. was it comfortable? no. was it enjoyable? yes. bc ur with dan heng.

⎯ he sleeps with his entire body literally draped over yours. you guys take the phrase, "tangled limbs," to the max. sometimes when you wake up, it's practically like a puzzle trying to get yourself out of his grip.

⎯ dan heng is always cold at night, so naturally he pulls you closer for warmth. only, he pulls you so close that it still isn't close enough.

⎯ he's not the deepest sleeper, but he sleeps pretty well (when he's not having nightmares). you are mostly a part of the reason why he is able to sleep better.

⎯ dan heng tries to sleep in your room as much as possible; mostly because your bed is usually more comfortable and because he wants to feel you in between his arms

⎯ likes to kiss you on your eyebrow before bed

⎯ you two ARE NOT getting out of bed until like noon. you guys would wake up early but you'd both just stay in bed foreverrrrr. dan heng loves being near you in general: dan heng wants you to stay in bed with him for life sometimes. and you're not arguing.

gepard

⎯ he is the man you'd have a night routine with. i'm talking like skincare routines, brushing teeth together, facemasks, watching the news before bed. you guys are like a little old couple.

⎯ when you'd do skincare with him, gepard would let you sit in between his legs on the counter. it's just hot.

⎯ swings an arm around you as you two brush your teeth. like his arm is around your shoulders and he is unknowingly pulling you deep into his chest. and he's just leaning on you. it's bc he's comfortable with you and he is secretly really touchy.

⎯ he has a relatively good sleep schedule. he's probably not getting the right amount of sleep due to his duties, but he gets more sleep than dan heng!

⎯ cuddles you when you two go to sleep. you guys would sleep face to face and he'd rest his head on top of yours while you guys are sleeping. he pulls you so close.

⎯ on nights he can't sleep, you two just lie awake and talk. talk about each other's days, pet peeves, future dreams: gepard finds solace with you no matter what. he's the type of person to have deep conversations about the future with because he has probably planned it out.

⎯ you two would be in bed and gepard would accidentally blurt out that he wants to marry you. and then he's a mess.

⎯ sleeps so peacefully. no nightmares no nothing. nothing disturbs his sleep (except for his alarm). he's just so peaceful and content just being in bed with you.

⎯ wants to stay in bed with you forever but he actually has to wake up super early. before he leaves, he always kisses your forehead and places a kiss to your knuckles. you're always asleep when it happens so it's just his secret routine.

⎯ he likes to admire you before he leaves. he wants to study every crevice on your face like you're a famous artwork in a museum. thinks about you for the entire day. then he gets home and all of his past problems have diminished.

blade

⎯ he's probably too busy plotting VENGEANCE to think about sleep.

⎯ im jp. he loves sleeping, especially if you're there next to him. he thinks being able to sleep with you is one of the best things that have been granted to him by the aeons.

⎯ you're just too adorable. you like to come up and wrap your arms around his torso, while he's sleeping on his back with an arm around your entire body. he wraps an arm around you to make sure you wouldn't fall off/he wants to keep you close to him. it's a reminder that you're here and you're so peaceful against him.

⎯ he sleeps so late. you would always fall asleep first. you always fall asleep on him so his arm is always numb. but blade doesn't mind, especially when it's you.

⎯ likes to be a fucking TEASE before bed. omg he's like a like roblox troll. his hands are usually cold, so he'd reach under your shirt and like put his hands around your ribcage. it surprises you and makes you jump up into him, which is why he does it.

⎯ blade does not move when he sleeps. he sleeps perfectly still. he isn't a deep sleeper, just a still sleeper. he's hypervigilant, but he manages to stay in the same spot throughout the entire night. that being said, the way his arm/shoulder/whatever body part you're sleeping on becomes numb in the morning...

⎯ blade may seem like a simple guy, but he is not. every time he pulls you closer, he intends to keep you with him for the rest of his life. he likes to bury his head in your hair to remind himself of you; he wants to remember the smell of your shampoo for ages.

⎯ when he wakes up and he sees that you've moved away from him, blade likes to pull you back in.

sampo

⎯ another horrible sleeper. it's bc of his "business hours" that he arrives home at terrible hours.

⎯ sneaks into bed with you... always wakes you up. you give him a oblictatory smack on the shoulder every time he does this, but to your (mock) dismay, he always pulls you on top of him.

⎯ sleeps and does not wake back up. you have to like violently shake him to even get him to stir out of sleep. he arrives home so late and, to make up for lost hours, he sleeps for so long.

⎯ grabs you and does not let you go. you're pressed against him and awake while bro is dead asleep. it's like a whole mission trying to get out of his grip.

⎯ he is so MOUTHY when he wakes up; somehow he regains all energy that he missed out on the previous night and wakes up all happy and clingy. tries to GO BACK TO SLEEP after he realizes the both of you are awake.

⎯ the type to be like, "five more minutes," mf you have slept for FIVE DAYS. he'll use every trick in the book too; he'll do the pout, puppy dog eyes, even going so far as to beg and plead on his knees in the bed.

⎯ and of course, you stay in for five more minutes. i lied, you guys stay in for more than five minutes. you agreed because of his incessant pestering, but also bc you love him i guess.

⎯ he gets home really late and you barely get to see him at night, so for now, you suppose you'll settle for late mornings with sampo.

jing yuan

⎯ GREAT SLEEPER. PERFECT FOR NIGHT ROUTINES. PERFECT FOR MORNING ROUTINES.

⎯ as general, he doesn't have the hectic sleep schedule like dan heng, and he also does not have to wake up as early as gepard. he gets to sleep early with you and he gets to wake up and spend the morning with you as well.

⎯ sometimes yanqing likes to spend time with you in the morning. he goes in to remind jing yuan of something but he ends up staying for one hour bc you two strike up a conversation filled with widely various topics.

⎯ on mornings yanqing doesn't come in, you two just spend the whole morning talking about your plans for the day. your schedules are around the same length as each other, so you two barely have time to spend together during the day. but at least you two have your mornings and nights.

⎯ nights are great. you two like to talk about your days while you lay side to side, head resting on jing yuan's chest. your breathing is synchronized, not uneven. you feel safe, at peace, and calm.

⎯ yk that couples that fall asleep quickly together are chemically bonded? yeah that's you and jing yuan. you two are KNOCKED OUT after like 11:30 (old folk) because you two are chemically bonded.

⎯ whenever the other is not around, you guys have trouble sleeping. you guys sleep so early together, but when you guys are apart? you will be getting no sleep.

⎯ loves sleeping early with you. loves to have you in his arms as fast as possible. loves mornings with you. loves how you look similar to being iridescent in the morning. loves everything about you tbh.

NOT one of my best hcs but thats ok

[clazaries]

Just a Neighbour Thing

(MarcSpector! x f!reader)

Summary: Your neighbour Marc Spector is a pain in your ass. Until he saves your life. w/c: 3.9k Warnings: a lil bit of violence but nothing too graphic. Fluff! a/n: I'll be posting a masterlist soon because I think I've got about three or four fics out now and a few to come!

Marc Spector is an elusive character. A man of very few words and an enigmatic personality - not that you know him well enough to judge his character - but from the rare occasions where your paths crossed in your apartment building, it can be summed up with a small smile from you and a smouldering glare from him. Often aloof, the opportunity to get to know him better as a neighbour never seems to present itself and it leaves you struggling to understand who’s to blame. It’s obvious personal defects are the cause; but his or yours? 

There’s been many occasions where you’ve had to confront his brick-wall disposition, mostly due to the fact that his ringer on the main lobby doesn’t work, so naturally people go for the next best option which is to press the ringer directly below it: yours. You deliberately leave his mail to accumulate at your door until it becomes an unavoidable mound of tax letters, local advertisements and rent notifications and only then do you brave the trip to the apartment above to deliver his post. 

It’s always the same. You knock on the door in a rhythmic pattern that’s become yours. Within seconds he answers the door with the same cold expression, wordlessly takes his mail no matter how hard you try to start up a conversation and before long, you’re staring face to face with the shabby wooden surface of his door. The only thing that changes with each encounter are the clothes that he wears. Different but fairly relative to his style. Purely functional and never dressed for any occasion.

You didn’t mind it for a while. There was some satisfaction and fulfilment to be found while doing your neighbourly duties and despite the fact that there was every possibility he wouldn’t do it for you, you weren’t someone who held a grudge or felt like they had ever been owed a favour. But the mailman had happened upon you on a very bad day and you didn’t feel like accepting his parcel. You had recently been made redundant after the company you worked for did a reshuffling of working positions and yours wasn’t to be included in the new phase they had turned over. So you wallowed at home, watched numerous brain-rotting films, ate a load of junk food and drank lots of wine. 

It was nothing personal towards the mailman when he chapped on your door and demanded a signature for Marc’s parcel, but you couldn’t pretend to be the ‘lovely-neighbour-from-downstairs’ any longer. 

“This is for 8B upstairs. Says there.”

“I know. I can read,” the mailman grumbles, “but I tried knocking on his door but there wasn’t an answer. The parcel needs to be left with someone and you’re the nominated designee.” 

“Can’t you just leave it with another neighbour?” 

“No, says it needs to be left with you.” 

You look at the large rectangular box and consider it. Aside from Marc’s address scribbled on the top, the box is littered with numerous stamps from various international postal services, few you recognize. It looks to be well travelled and handled with very little care yet there’s nothing to suggest what’s inside. With a sigh, you take it from the mailman. It could be important, especially if it’s gone through so many countries to get here and the fact that you would be to blame if it got stolen or damaged. “Fine, I’ll take it.” 

The mailman looks to his feet where a growing pile of letters addressed to Marc starts to spill over into the threshold of your apartment, judgement washing over his features. “Do you…do you normally take all of his mail as well?” 

“Do me a favour? If you ever see the guy from 8B, tell him to come collect his fucking mail.” 

There’s a part of you that feels slightly bad for the mailman when you slammed the door in his face, but then you remember that if Marc stopped being so fucking immature about answering his own door to receive his mail, then you wouldn’t need to feel bad about anything. You leave the parcel sitting on your hallway table, waiting for the day Marc grows some responsibility and asks you for it. 

~~~~

When you placed the parcel on the hallway table, you didn’t expect that it would be sitting there for over a week collecting dust, nor did you expect the curiosity of what’s inside to completely consume you. You walked past it every time you left or entered your apartment. It was in the corner of your eye every time you sat in the living room. It practically radiated temptation every time you took notice of it, screamed at you like it was begging to be opened and you had to force your grubby hands to keep still and not reach for it. But you so desperately wanted to know what was inside. Why was it so conspicuous? Why has it suddenly become the most interesting thing in your apartment?

Perhaps Marc was testing you, sending you a little something of no importance to experiment with your curiosity and test whether or not he could trust to leave you with his personal belongings like he does with his letters. That’s certainly what it felt like by the turn of day eight of the parcel being there and you simply refused to be a rat in his experiment. 

That determination lasted for two whole days before it started to truly pester you. It was starting to get in the way and it felt as though it was getting impossibly bigger and bigger. On day nine you were ready to break it, smash it against every wall, rip every piece of cardboard that keeps it together and deliver it in that state to Marc yourself. From your sofa you stood, eyeing the parcel as if it was taunting you and with adrenaline thrumming through your veins, you stomped towards it. Hands outstretched, you were ready to throw it in any direction but something stopped you at the very last second. Something peculiar and completely out of the ordinary. You halted just centimetres out of reach from the parcel, centimetres out of reach from your door where you could hear the whispers of two or three men right outside. You could see the moulds of their bodies through the peephole. 

“Look, I’m telling you he lives here-”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. All his mail is sitting here. It’s definitely the right apartment. The parcel is in there.” 

The parcel. They’re here for the parcel. 

“C’mon let’s get this over with. He’ll be back soon. Where’s the crowbar?” 

In the very few heart-stopping, crucial seconds you have before anything happens, you quickly banish all hysteria and muster all rationality and flip over the keyless lock and quietly shuffle away from the door with the parcel in hand. You estimate you have about 15 seconds before they make any headway of getting into your apartment, not enough time for you to hide, but enough time to hide Marc’s parcel. After all, that’s what they are here for. With your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes scan over every nook and cranny of your apartment, quickly assessing each spot based on how likely the intruders are to find it and with the seconds dwindling into single digits, you make a snappy, slightly reckless decision. There’s a ledge just outside your kitchen window where you occasionally leave out some seeds for the birds and you think it’s just low enough that the parcel won’t be seen from the window. It’s risky but you’re running out of time, you have to move. 

Scrambling over counter tops and at the sacrifice of knocking over a few utensils, you manage to wrestle the window open and precariously place the box on the window ledge. It’s risky. The ledge isn’t wide and it’s windy, but whatever is in the parcel is just heavy enough that it stays rooted to the spot. 

Pulling back, your hand grazes the handle of a kitchen knife which, now that the intruders have made their way into your apartment, seems like a good idea to have. 

They round the corner into your living room and immediately start looking for the parcel, noticing you only a few seconds into their search. You point the knife in their direction standing courageously but your wavering breath tells a different story.

The three of them turn towards you from where they stand, and given their expressions, they are just as shocked to see you here than you are to see them. You weren’t supposed to be a variable in their plan. They were supposed to be burglarizing Marc’s empty apartment. Not yours. 

The two taller brown-haired men have similar features and builds, almost identical and you begin to wonder if they are twins. Brothers at the very least. But it’s the ageing stout man standing where the living room and kitchen divide who stares you down. He’s dressed smartly in a tweed suit with a golden pocket watch hanging from his waist coat, the type of man who doesn't like to get his hands dirty, because of course, that job belongs to the bulky twins behind him. This is a man who loves to watch it as it happens. He’s more business than manual labour. 

His facial features morph from shock to something sinister, his lips twisting into a smile that’s as greasy as the hair on his head as if the cruellest of ideas just crossed his mind. 

“I didn’t know Marc had a girlfriend,” he sneers. 

“He doesn’t,” you snarl, aiming the knife directly at him with two hands. “He doesn’t even live here either.”

“Oh, so his mail just gets delivered here on a daily basis?” The man hovers over to your coffee table and picks up multiple letters addressed to Marc, the ones that were delivered last week and remained there because of your stubborn nature. 

Okay, not off to a great start. “He doesn’t live here.”

He grins but it falls flat a split second later. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now where is he?”

“I don’t know because he doesn’t live here.”

“Bullshit. Where. Is. He?”  

“Not here. I’m not afraid to use this knife.”

“Oh, not from there you won’t. Let me help you with that.” The man crosses the space between you in three long strides until you’re pressed flat against the counter and the point of the knife grazes the tip of his waist coat. The audacity of this man is staggering. “Save yourself the hassle and tell me where Marc is.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where he is! Now get the fuck out of my apartment. Whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here.”

“And have you call the cops on us? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out to grab you, and he almost does, but with your quick reflex swinging the knife around, you knick the palm of his hand. The man stumbles backwards with a pained yelp, watching the blood seep from his hand and drip onto your kitchen tiles, enraged that you would even do such a thing. Despite your heart racing and the slightly dizzy feeling of adrenaline raging through your veins, you stand strong, holding the knife even higher in warning. 

“You bitch. Boys!” He shouts and the two brothers come running to his side, sizing you up. “Tie her up. We’re not leaving without that package and I’m certain she knows where it is.” 

It was easy enough to defend yourself against this puny man with a knife, but against two brutes who manhandle you as if you are lamb for slaughter, you don’t stand a chance. Relentless, you squirm and wriggle and fight to get out of their grasp, and while you had accepted that you were fighting a losing battle, there’s still some pride to be had about how hard you made it for them. Rather than tying you up unscathed, Thing 1 ties your hands with a bloody, swollen nose and Thing 2 ties your ankle with a forming black eye and a bruise developing on his ribs. 

With you strapped to the chair, they stuff a gag in your mouth to dim your screams while they scramble to ransack your apartment, turning it upside down to find the fucking parcel Marc left you with. After 15 minutes passes by, your home is a riot; furniture broken, plates, mugs and bowls smashed, everything you own on the floor. 

“Boss, it ain’t here. We’re searched everywhere.”

“It has to be!” The stout man shouts, eyes glaring at you enraged. He crouches down, fiery ageing eyes level with yours. He rips the gag out of your mouth and presents a new threat. A razor sharp knife, gleaning in the light as he holds it directly in front of your face. “For the last time. Where is the parcel?!” 

“I am telling you. I don’t know,” you spit, trying with all your might to sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t know what parcel you’re talking about. I don’t know where Marc is--I don’t even know the guy! And he sure as shit doesn’t live here. And if any of you had half a brain to actually read the letters will realise that his address is the floor above me. He never answers his fucking door and that’s why I have all his mess at my door.” 

The guy jabs the point of his knife underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. A nauseous feeling stirs in your stomach, raising your body temperature and conjuring a little bead of sweat to drip from your hairline. Your teeth clamp down onto the inner lining of your cheek, hoping, praying, pleading for someone to burst through your door and save you.

You can’t see anything change within the man in front of you, not taking your word for gospel and the more frustrated he becomes, the more danger faces you. Temperament rising, the man grunts and knicks the skin of your chin, splicing the skin open. “Argh, fuck!” 

“Marc might not live here, but we know the parcel was delivered! And if you do end up with all his mail then it should be here. Now stop lying to me, you little bitch, and tell me where the fucking parcel is or you are going end up with a lot worse than a cut to your chin.” 

You watch in horror as he presses the edge of the knife over your wrist tied to the armrest of the chair and no amount of squirming can break the ties. Fuck, please tell me that I’m not going to lose a limb over a fucking parcel…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes, your brave facade failing. You’re absolutely terrified

“I’ll give you some context then. That parcel contains something I want, an ancient Egyptian artefact that contains unimaginable power and would bring me a lot of wealth, and Marc Spector has no business taking it from me--” So that’s Marc’s surname. “And unless you want to keep your thieving hands, you’ll tell me where it is.” 

As he begins to press the knife’s sharp edge down onto your skin, you start to consider the depravity of the situation, the truth finding its way to your lips. There’s nothing more you want than for this to all be over, to be wrapped up warm and safe in your bed but you can’t shake the arrogance of this guy and his stooges, busting in here like he is entitled to, making a mess of your home, harming you, all to take something that was clearly meant for Marc, all because he thought it would be better with him than with Marc. 

No. Fuck that.

“I. Don’t. Know.” A glob of saliva gathers on your tongue and you spit it into the face of your capture, because if your words can’t send the message, hopefully that will. 

“You should believe her, by the way.” A voice emerges from behind you and simultaneously, all three men turn towards your front door in stupor. You try to twist your head over your shoulder as far as you can to catch a glance but he’s just out of your sight, however you don’t need to wait long before you get confirmation of who is standing at your door. 

“Marc Spector,” your captur states. “Finally.”

“Mind telling me what you’re doing in my neighbour’s apartment?”

“For the very same reason why you’re here, Marc. The parcel. Our parcel. The one you stole.” 

Marc snickers. Having gone so long without seeing what a smile looks like on his face, you’re itching to turn around and see him, but you only get as far as Thing 2 who stands with your back to you, blocking your view. “Torturing women for information? Tsk, tsk, that’s a little beneath your remit Donald, is it not? You’re wasting your time. I have the parcel locked up in storage.” An obvious lie, but not obvious enough to them. “She’s got nothing to do with it. In fact, I don’t even know her.” 

“I don’t care who I have to go through to get what is mine, whether it’s her or you, I will have it by the time the day is up. Boys!”

“Your mistake.”

In the space of a second, the three men in front of you disappear and you’re left to stare at the vast emptiness of your white walls as chaos erupts behind you. Grunts and groans of pain are spliced in between the sounds of punches and kicks being thrown, furniture breaking, bones crunching and bodies thumping to the ground, all of which you try to drown out by hunching your shoulders over your ears and closing your eyes. 

After suspenseful minutes of fighting, it’s clear one man stands victorious. Who? You don’t know. Aside from worrying about what kind of state of your apartment would be left in, you have no idea who you’ve been left in the apartment with and the likelihood of Marc succeeding against three men is slim and the anticipation is killing you.

At last, when a fully mummified figure with white glowing eyes kneels in front of you, you’re taken aback. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” His hand comes to tilt your head gently, inspecting the small cut to your chin with a small tut.

“...Marc?”

The mask that covers his face dissipates to reveal the Marc you recognise, looking more worried than you had ever thought he was capable of. He begins to make quick work of your bounds, easily ripping through them with a single fingertip where all the strength in your arms couldn’t. 

“What the…”

“It’s a lot to explain. I promise, I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? Are you alright? They didn’t do anything terrible to you, did they? Fuck. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry-”

“Marc, hey, I’m okay. Just a little shaken up I think.” Now free, you come to stand in front of Marc who, weirdly enough, seems to don this mummified Egyptian regalia as a suit of armour. You remember this ‘Donald’ guy mentioning something about an ancient Egyptian artefact and you assume it has to be related to whatever Marc is wearing. You even try to mention it, but you can’t seem to get a word in with Marc fussing over your safety and blaming himself for any harm that Donald and his men have caused you as he gently dabs the blood away from your chin. After futile attempts, you decide to leave it be, marvelling over the new Marc as he carefully handles you with care despite having treated you with such indifference up until a few minutes ago. 

Donald and his two bodyguards lie unconscious (...or dead?) on your apartment floor and you look over them with satisfaction, Marc’s unparalleled strength no match for them. Marc quietly lingers behind you, observing them over your shoulder with a similar resolve until he notices the complete disarray surrounding them. 

“Sorry about the mess.” 

You chuckle lightheartedly. “I’m just glad you came when you did. They got what they deserved.”

“Look,” he pulls you away from them to lock eyes, sincerity twinkling in his irises, “I really am sorry. I thought I was careful enough to not get anyone involved in my mess, but I guess I was wrong.” 

You crunch your eyebrows together, recollecting every instance of Marc giving you the cold shoulder. You always thought he was just an unfriendly neighbour, someone who had no interest in anyone but himself, who viewed everyone as an inconvenience. But it was his safeguard, his way of not letting anyone he knew or cared about come into harm. “So you being an asshole was on purpose?” 

“Completely. It was nothing personal.”

“I see,” you sigh, but with a gentle bump of shoulders, you add “I could’ve helped you, you know. You just needed to ask.” 

He shakes his head dejectedly. “It would’ve been too much of a risk.” 

“More of a risk than not asking me? I still got caught up in the crossfire anyway, if I had known why, or at least expected it, I could’ve been better prepared. I don’t need to know what trouble you got yourself into or what shady business you run, but I’m not just your neighbour, I could’ve been a friend if you had allowed me.” 

“It had never worked out for me in the past. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” 

“Okay, I get it. You’re forgiven. But Marc? A word of advice for the future? Just answer your fucking mail then maybe, just maybe, I won’t need to be dragged into all of this again, yeah? They thought you lived here.” You pick up a handful of unopened letters addressed to him and bluntly shove them against his chest with an appointed look and smirk. 

He reciprocates the smile with less enthusiasm and turns his attention to your door. “Speaking of, I’ve got a very important parcel I need to track down. I actually have no idea where it is. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

“About that.” You don’t say another word as you lead him to your kitchen window, awkwardly mounting your counter to reach for the parcel lying just outside your window. As soon as you bring it into view, Marc’s face lights up like you’ve never seen before. 

“You had it?! This whole time?! I heard you tell them you didn’t have it!” 

“I’ve had it for weeks, actually. Those clowns didn’t exactly take the quiet approach when breaking into my flat so I knew what they were here for. I just had enough time to hide it before they came in. And I can be quite the convincing liar when I need to be.” 

Marc quickly discards the parcel, throwing it onto the kitchen counter before throwing his arms around you, knocking the air out of you and squeezing tightly like his life depended on it. “You…are an angel. I can’t thank you enough.”

The two of you embrace for longer than what’s normal between two neighbours, partly in Marc’s resounding appreciation and partly because it feels nice. 

“In all honesty, I was two seconds from opening the parcel myself. The curiosity was killing me.” Marc’s laughter shakes his body, his warmth slowly leaving you as he draws back. 

“I can show you if you want. I figure you’ll be needing a place to stay while we get your apartment cleaned up. It’s the least I can offer for all the trouble I’ve put you through.” 

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

[novalpha]

𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝐹𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑠

♡ Fluff || ୨୧ Angst || ★ Smut || ꗃ SMAU || ⌗ Series || ✿ Drabble || ♤ Mature (No smut) || ✹ Humor

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Buy A Boyfriend ♡★⌗ -> @sluttywoozi Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ By hook or by cross ♡୨୧★ -> @kabira

summary — so you punched a guy, and now he wants you to teach him how to fight, because clearly, you know how to do it better. well, fine, you say. as long as he keeps his distance. (spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ divorce child ♡★ -> @lovelyhan

summary: you like to think that your most recent breakup with vernon ended on relatively good terms. there’s only one issue left to sort out: who’s getting custody of the cat you got together?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Cold hands, Warm hearts ♡ -> @duhnova

synopsis: this holiday season, your daughter decided the best present she could give to you was a new boyfriend, which is why she and her best friend yujin have taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. their candidate? yujin’s father.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Operation : Hot girl summer ♡✹★ -> @shuaflix

SUMMARY ▸ the summer you started putting more effort into your appearance also happens to be the summer where vernon chwe's piercing gaze leaves you feeling like you're floating high up in the clouds.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Not a virgin ♡✹★ -> @ncteez

Vernon, a friend of your friend spills his spicy sex life and accidentally reveals to an entire group of near-strangers (including you) that he’s had sex one and a half times and that it was sick.

or the one where despite vernon not being a virgin, he is somehow more of a virgin than an actual virgin. 

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ High and fucked ★ -> @rubyreduji

summary: hansol is nothing to you but your ex-boyfriend's roommate, but you still find yourself alone with him while you get high together

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Risk it all ★ -> @sluttywoozi

Summary: Vernon's got a crush on his tutor, and everything gets harder when you start wearing thigh high socks. Everything.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The soulmate service ♡✹୨୧ -> @dkfile

the soulmate service has one purpose: to help those who drew the short end of the stick and ended up without a person to live their forever with. after the heart wrenching realization that the boy you’ve loved since you were thirteen isn’t the one meant for you, you put your love life in the hands of vernon chwe — which, now that you think about it, is probably a very bad idea.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Work husband ♡✹ -> @wondernus

synopsis: falling for the young and flirty high school history teacher is inevitable especially when he pays for your groceries and calls himself your work husband

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Trillium ♡★ -> @beahae

Summary: Vernon is flying in to see his girlfriend. Oh shit, that’s… you. Being away from him for the past few months ago makes it hard for it to feel real, especially after two years of what you both convinced yourselves was a purely platonic friendship. Now that he’s here in the flesh, you are determined to make it feel real. And very non-platonic.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Say you love me (i love you) ♡✹ -> @viastro

synopsis: three heavy words. you’re so used to saying this to the one person that’s always been by your side, because you know that he’s your other half; platonically. these words have always held some sort of meaning whenever you say it to vernon, in hopes that maybe one day he’ll say it back to you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Distraction ♡✹★ -> @minghaoyoudoin

summary: typically, when a person’s house smells like fire, you call the fire department. when your house smells like fire, you know it’s because Vernon is cooking.

[ More Vernon fic recs will be updated ]

Want more Seventeen fic recs? -> Click here

[justwannabecat]

It was quiet. That suited Danny just fine. After all, he had endured enough to realize that noise often meant something was about to happen. Nowadays the only times he heard something that wasn’t caused by himself was if Cujo came to visit. The first time it happened, Danny was afraid he would have to fight again, but all they did was play for a while. The second time he welcomed it, same with every time thereafter.

He had plenty of time to stargaze. Nobody really visited the Antarctic, so it was perfect for him. Cold, quiet, and with no light pollution, so he could see every single star in the night sky. He could see the Southern Lights as they dance through the air, he could trace the paths of the planets as Earth rotates.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to explore. He wanted to see all there was to see, get lost in the endless cosmos, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know if his human half would survive that long without food. He didn’t want to find out.

Besides, Jazz was here. She was still on Earth, and as much as Danny wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Not while she was still here. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to visit her, to see the disappointment that would no doubt be clear in her eyes, he couldn’t completely abandon her.

As with every time he thought about Jazz, he briefly considered visiting her, but decided against it. If she really wanted to find him she could use the Boo-merang. The fact that it hadn’t happened yet was enough proof that his presence was unneeded.

Besides, why would he leave? He has a sick tower made out of unmeltable ice! It’s been furnished with things that, admittedly, he may have stolen, but only things that would have been destroyed soon anyways! He doesn’t cause any of the disasters that endanger so many pieces of furniture, but he’ll take advantage of it! You can only sleep on hard ice so many times before you realize how nice beds really are.

The point is, he doesn’t leave unless he has to. And since he’s furnished the place, he hasn’t had to leave once. It’s been like a slice of heaven- No ghosts to fight, no hunters to hide from, no insane billionaires who can’t decide whether to kill him or adopt him…

Danny looked up at the night sky again. He could see Acrux twinkling brightly overhead.

It was quiet.

———————————————

“I’ve got bad news and worse news.” Constantine announced at the next League meeting. “Bad news, beings from the Infinite Realms are, from this point forward, unable to be summoned. Wouldn’t be too bad if we weren’t trying to make peace negotiations with them, but we are, so it’s not great.”

Batman remained visibly impassive, though anyone who knew him could tell just how unsettled that made him. “And the worse news?”

Constantine sighed. “So… Before they blocked themselves off, I spoke to one of them. The Guardian of Time. He told me that, due to his perception of all time, he knew we would lose. Luckily he doesn’t want humanity to die, but he told me that Phantom ghost has a medallion in his chest that makes him immune to his abilities. As such, our one hope of survival could be anywhere by now. The only things he could tell us were that he’s probably not far from Earth, because he still has living relatives.”

Superman straightened up. “That doesn’t sound like it’s worse news. We know Phantom is near Earth and that he’s got relatives here. Surely he would go back to them, right?”

“Well. I didn’t really get to that part yet.” Constantine shifted uncomfortably. “You have to swear to not tell anyone who doesn’t already know. This is like people learning your civilian identities. If you ever try to use it against them, hell, even insinuate that you’re gonna use it, then they will kill you, and they won’t face punishment from their court because it’s technically self defense. Understand?”

Everyone readily agreed. After a second, Constantine continued.

“Phantom is Danny Fenton. He’s what the Guardian of Time called a Halfa, half ghost and half human. His parents are the ghost hunters who started this whole thing.”

Tag list: @random-dude12 @overtherose @osnii @profounddestinyrebel @currentlyalivebutmentlyd3ad @thatonegirl10 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @epilepticnerd @alcorbearson @hoarder-of-gender @sirtin @oddessy @naluforever3 @litlecameron @skulld3mort-1fan @nogenderonlyfrogie @screamingtofillthevoid @the-church-grimm @malice-of-the-sunrise @jaytriesstuff @legowerewolf @akikkobara @apointlessbox @midigeria @kumoko-yokai @antmeisteronion @lizz-blizt @anonymousf28 @keegan-parker @sailor-goddess @rowanaway-fromthisbs @yjfk @screechingnoises @myfloweryrose @derpxp @adeniumdream @56thingsinaname @demiourgias @alice-hazelwood @mur-ururu @blue-avis @rosecinnamonbun @babbling-babull @yumeyoruppr @haron-ghost-10 @icedbluesoul @busterkeel @cat-in-a-fedora @sadpersonmadeoffruitpunch

[ssspideysense]

₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

[jaembun]

this moment with you.

unstoppable force (opening shift) vs immovable object (sleepy boyfriend mark) ！⠀⸻⠀mark lee x gnr ⠀ fluff est. rs ⠀ wc 1.4k ⠀ now playing . . ☆

생각⠀blonde mark gmfu he’s literally the love of my life

the sound of your phone’s alarm had never been a particularly welcome thing, but that morning the harsh vibrations coming from where it lay face-down against the wood of the bedside table seemed to irritate you more than usual.

a flailing hand of yours reached clumsily up to grab the device, hoping you wouldn’t drop it and risk waking up the boy still currently sleeping behind you, with his arms wrapped snugly around your stomach and a leg lazily tossed over your hip. once it had been successfully stopped you flopped onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating whether you really wanted to get to your opening shift on time or if you could get away with staying in bed just a little while longer.

the sudden thought of your manager’s condescending questions about where you’d been when you finally turned up, however, was enough to put a sour look on your face and act as the incentive to make you peel back the duvet and gently extract yourself from mark’s arms.

which, as it turned out, was a decision that almost immediately was met with objections from your boyfriend. while you were busying yourself with finding clothes to wear for the day he had seemed to sense the distinct absence of you in his arms (despite the pillow you’d hastily replaced yourself with) and made a whiny noise of displeasure, catching your attention. you couldn’t help but crack a smile at how unaware he still looked of everything, hardly opening his eyes but pouting all the same, face red from the warmth you’d shared, and a mark on his cheek that looked suspiciously like the pattern on the collar of the sweater you’d worn to bed to sleep in (nights were cold in december, after all, and the heating in mark’s apartment could use some work to say the least).

“hey, sleepyhead.” you hummed, taking a few quick moments to debate with yourself over which shirt to wear. “i’m opening, so i gotta run. you’ve got your day off today, though, so why don’t you go back to sleep?”

he only groaned again in answer, and you snickered as you left him to complain into the sheets while you ducked into the en suite bathroom to wash up. when you returned you found that mark had not in fact gone back to sleep, and was instead trying to blink himself awake—the opposite of what you wanted.

“don’t want you t’go.” were his first words of the morning, voice still a touch gravelly from sleep. you tried to hold back your laughter when he only became more indignant as he continued. “i hate your job. for real.”

that made you laugh as you struggled mildly with the fiddly buttons of your shirt, seeing as your job in question was a relatively harmless convenience store gig. “coming from kpop idol mark lee himself? i don’t think i’m as bad as this whenever you’re on tour.”

a blatant lie, but you hoped it would sneak past him in his half-asleep state. you were just as bad whenever he had to leave early (or late—it seemed the idol life didn’t have much consideration for whatever their stars may be doing in the times they called on them) for schedules, and probably worse whenever he was away in different countries performing to millions.

thankfully mark didn’t notice the untruth, only huffing in annoyance before making a motion alike to grabby hands in your direction, beckoning you back over to the bed. “c’mere. please?”

“so clingy,” you teased, running a hand through his blonde hair as you complied to his wishes and sat down to tug some socks on. “what would your work husbands say about this?”

“screw my work husbands.” he mumbled, bleary eyes finally opening fully (albeit slowly) as he took the opportunity to ditch the pillow he’d been reluctantly hugging in place of you and snake his arms around your waist again. his tone melted into the whine it’d been when you’d first left the bed, fingertips curling into the fabric of your shirt and syllables dragging on when he spoke. “why d’you have to go? it’s cold without you, and my bed’s too big for just me.”

“woe is you,” you deadpanned, reaching down to gently pry his palms off of you. but before you let him go completely you pressed a quick kiss against the cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers that he’d forgotten to take off the night prior. a giddy-sounding noise bubbled out of mark at the sensation, and you bit your lip to stop a smile spreading across your face, one that would make you look so obviously in love it be would be embarrassing.

the bed creaked as you stood, and you found your eyes drifting from cabinet to cabinet, the open wardrobe to the (near overflowing) box you crammed all your jewelry into. if there was just one more thing you could add to your look, one more ring to slide onto your fingers or a last minute change change of your shirt, then maybe you could linger a little longer. 

stay with mark a little longer. 

you didn’t know who you were fooling with your nonchalant act, because it certainly wasn’t yourself. you wanted to crawl back into bed with him just as much as he did, wrap your arms around his waist and drink in the warm feeling of his skin and faint smell of his cologne. 

a second glance at your phone told you that wouldn’t be allowed, though, so you turned to say goodbye to the boy currently led right where you’d rather be. it took less than a second to meet his gaze, finding his large brown eyes already staring up at you, cheek squished and held up by one of his palms. 

it tugged at your resolve, a sudden feeling clutching at your heart so fiercely it was all you could do not to melt through the floor. what you did instead was let yourself indulge, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips instead. the curve of his grin pressed against your skin and the warmth of his hands skirting up to hold your arm as you cupped his face was a comfort, the tingling feeling it still gave you even after all the months you’d been together refusing to fade even after you pulled yourself away; far too aware of what you knew would happen if you let yourself get too caught up. 

mark was still looking at you when you straightened up again, like you held the whole world in your eyes, and you poked his cheek in a weak attempt to get him to stop. your heart was going to beat itself out of its chest if he didn’t. when that didn’t work you turned to a verbal reprimanding, although your tone was anything but scolding—instead unbearably fond, mirth dripping through your every word.

“stop looking at me all gooey. i might start to think you like me, or something.”

his lips curved into a pout, the hand supporting his cheek falling back onto the mattress and words coming out muffled as he spoke half-buried in the soft pillow underneath his head.

“i do like you. i love you, actually. and you’re leaving me cold in bed.”

you rolled your eyes at his continued dramatics despite the smile on your face and your own obvious want to stay, avoiding looking back at him in place of shoving things you thought you’d need for the day in your bag because you knew one more pleading look from mark would make you give in. “and you know i love you too. i’ll be back later, baby. then we can laze around all you want, promise.”

“m’holding you to that.”

his words were interrupted by a yawn, and when you’d finally gotten all your things together and stole one last glance at your boyfriend you found him with eyes that were now struggling to stay open again, blinking slowly and remaining closed for longer each time. you huffed a laugh and opened the door with as little noise as possible so not to disturb him from slipping back into slumber, stopping before you stepped through to pull a stupid sappy smile at the sight of the thin streams of sunlight pouring in to paint mark’s sleeping body gold as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“see you later, yeah?” were your last whispered words before you gently closed the door behind you and left your lover in peace.

you hoped he’d still be right there lazing around in the warmth of the duvet when you came back home, ready for you to collapse onto and fall right back asleep with. the only good thing about leaving at all was knowing you could come back to mark at the end of it.

[natriae]

cw// r@pe is insinuate but nothing actual happens , AFAB reader (gets called miss), let me know if i missed anything

[not proof read lol]

The part that stinks about dating a Colonel from a private task force is not knowing how long his deployments are. Sometimes He's only gone for a few weeks, but sometimes, like now, he's been gone for over a year.

No matter how much you hope and pray it get easier it doesn't. You spend every night hoping your loneliness will end, and your large teddy bear will be back, but no. They have him killing people right now. Why does he have to have to be so sweet? Spending all his time killing horrible people.

But what has made this time really bad...

A few months ago a new neighbor moved in across the hall. For about a month the two of you never crossed paths until he caught you in the grocery store.

"Miss, might I just say you look beautiful," a masculine voice states behind you. The sound shocks you out of your stupor of trying to decide which soup can is the best. Turning around there's a relatively tall man standing there with a case of beer by his side. His accent isn't common in wales so it was quite a surpise to hear it.

"thank you sir," you politely say before turning around back to the soups.

However, the man doesn't let up. "I don't mean to bother you, but I would love to take you on a date," he asks politely, but something about him sends the wrong feeling through your body. König always tells you to trust your gut, so you politely decline, but the man just doesn't let up.

"Sir, I have a boyfriend," You respond. Finally, this does the trick. He wishes you a good day and leave you to have your peace and quiet will the wall of soups.

Yet, things don't end there. Just your luck the man, who you learned is from London, is the new neighborhood who moved in across the hall. For the last five months you've dealt with this man sending you flowers, knocking on your door, and worst of all he somehow got your number. You quickly blocked him, but it nothing changed as he quickly noticed and found a new way to contact you.

Which brings us to today. The seasons have changed and the cold air of wales was enough to keep you inside, yet the man's knocking persists.

Opening the door you find a dark scowl on his face. One of his arms rests on the door frame while he leans the rest of his body on it. It's not hard to tell this man has something to say. His head cocks to the side and his eyebrows raise as if to say 'finally'.

"You know if you didn't want to go on a date with me you could have just said that," He starts.

"I did you jus-"

"No, I don't want to hear your excuses," He cuts you off. His whole body moves with exaggeration as if to tell you just how much this has been weighing on him. An attempt to make you feel bad. "I can't believe I thought you actually had a boyfriend," he scoffs, "but nope you're in here all alone...always. You know it would be so easy to just break in here and force myself-"

What the two of you don't notice is the large man quietly stalking his way down the hall. Your harasser is quickly stopped in his tracks when he feels a presence behind him. One that leaves hairs sticking up on his back. The man freezes. His demeanor quickly changing from cockiness to fear. Your heart warms at how your lovely guard dog leaves people's joints tensing just at the sight of him.

His rough austian accent growls out, "eine...zwei..", but the man knows better and quickly leaves. Running to his apartment and clicking his door locked. Leaving you to finally squish your gentle giant.

[weclassybouquetfun]

We bid a very fond adieu to INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE and the coven Théâtre des Vampires.

Take a bow, luvvies!

Especially Esme Appleton and Suzanne Andrade (who play Estelle and Celeste, respectively) the duo who are co-artistic directors of theatre 1927 which was responsible for the expressionism style of the plays and its projections.

Fans can at least rest easy knowing that there will be a third series.

Until then they and swoon over, swear over, sneer at or salute series two's finale.

SPOILER FILLED THOUGHTS

THE GOOD

-Pretty much everything: Louis avenging Claudia (and Madeleine though IIRC her name wasn't even uttered this episode).

The bad thing about a fantastic villain is losing them and Santiago you had to die.

You did what with Claudia's ashes???

But Ben Daniels, how do I love thee.

-Armand and how he fumbled a bad b*tch part 2. My maître made mistakes, yes. But I'm going to pull a page out of Claudia's playbook of how she asked the coven if she could cry and say she's sorry too. Can't Armand cry like Lestat and be forgiven? What do you mean what he did was unforgiveable?

It's terrible that Claudia was used as a pawn in Louis, Lestat and Armand's relationships. Louis needed her for salvation, Lestat had to turn her for the man she loved then resented her for the space she took in their relationship and then Armand, whether he was adhering to the Great Laws or not, went along with her murder IMO because he was fed up with Louis performing an affectation of love while Armand's neck was on the line.

Louis knew how to use Armand's vulnerabilities to keep him compliant and would turn cold when Armand wouldn't do what was being asked of him. Whether Santiago and the coven were gunning for Armand or not because of him letting the de Pointe du Lac de Lioncourts slide, Armand was ready to kill them because he hated that he was used and willingly let himself be used out of a need for love.

He was so angry that he workshopped his hurt with the coven. I absolutely loved that he gave Sam a note about how the script didn't go deep enough into Louis' hoarding. Armand sat there listening to Louis talk about his Grey Gardens years like,

Armand was fine with killing them in this protracted show trial, but had Louis burned, it would be a relatively quick death. I think when Armand heard Louis' screaming and knew he was approaching death, he had a change of heart and freed him.

And LOUIS STILL WOULDN'T LEAVE TOWN WHEN ASKED!

These three led their relationships as poorly as their joint hand hearts.

-That leads to the reveal that Lestat made the choice to save Louis over Claudia and Madeleine. Which I don't think was even much of a choice to him. Yes, he would rather not Claudia die, but he figured it was fait accompli because he knew these vampires (as he warned Claudia in S1) and knew their ruthlessness. But there was no way he was going to let Louis die.

He brags about having Akasha blood in him, but he's still bleeding from the ear when using that mind control power. You still need to level up after Akasha?? A booster from a more powerful vamp?

Claudia's death hurt him much more than he thought it would. He probably figured there would be feelings - she is his fledgling - but the horror and the finality of it devastated him. His daughter (and how great was it that Louis kept pushing that fact. She was their daughter.)

Which leads hovel Lestat.

Candlelit, ramshackled dwelling, with a wooden "piano", but practising with an iPad?

Lestat, if you don't get on Amazon and order one of these!

Lestat, know who you should bring on your tour? The grandson of Tom Anderson, Sidney.

The Louis and Lestat reunion was beautiful and perfect in every way. But then again, I love when characters have a powerful moment while chaos is around them.

And Louis chose himself! He didn't need to get back with Lestat, they both just really needed closure and forgiveness. The rest can come later.

And even though we will likely never know what Louis says to Lestat, I think he says "I love you" at the end because that would be the last bit of healing Louis needs because kept himself from saying those words to Lestat their entire relationship.

THE BAD

FIle Not Found

THE REST

-Sam isn't author Samuel Beckett, but Sam the Talamasca informant and helmet wearing DJ, possibly Deadmau5?

-At first I wondered why Louis' -whose family had a legacy in New Orleans- name would be lost to history, yet Lestat's alias is known. That Tom's and the Alderman's rep was still known, Louis' would as well and not just call him a Creole businessman. Then I wondered if it was because Grace "buried" Louis but her getting that crypt was symbolic. Even if their deed and other paperwork was under Lestat's aliases, the town knew who they were by name and I would think their names would be bandied about as much as Tom's as Louis and his "child bride" and Lestat went missing the same night as Tom, et al. But then I told myself I'm not Neil DeGrasse Tyson so I'm going to just enjoy and not logic police.

-In post-episode featurette Rollin says Daniel's vampire reveal happens when Daniel take off his sunglasses, meanwhile he's flashing almond shape nails throughout his interview. We know this man has been turned immediately.

-The limo driver talking about his wife wanting to see New Edition at Essence Fest - N.E actually did play Essence Fest in 2022 so hat tip to the writers for putting that in.

-Louis returning home albeit briefly. I love that this episode addresses his family. This is completion. He has put down everything he was carrying and is ready to move into his new life. This was what he wanted to do when he and Claudia first left, but he couldn't move on because of "killing" Lestat. He's exorcised his ghosts.

-A Reddit user pointed out that the name above the crypt Louis uses to store his fresh kills is "Mapothier" and posits if it is a nod to Tom Cruise as his real surname is "Mapother".

-Louis is still an AmEx holder, but now a black card haver.

-Louis was the knight and now he owns it.

Talk your sh*t, LDPDL!

-Not from the episode, but I love how Jacob does the excited smack and it doesn't jar Sam at all.