#i will type slowly to be coherent in them

[ursula-legun]

very much could be wrong about this, but IIRC much of the benefits for deer (and, I'm assuming for now, similarly positioned cervids) in this situation apply at a population level, rather than an individual level.

For areas where natural predators are present at a level that effects deer behavior - while individual deer may experience fear, death, injury, etcetera, deer in general are more mobile, less prone towards certain (extremely dense) levels of congregation, and have a smaller population per area.

This stabilizes the availability of browsable/foragable food, and diminishes the prevalence of some diseases which propagate more readily through dense populations. For example, the growing prevalence of chronic wasting disease is thought to be bolstered by a lack of anxiety in deer; that lack of anxiety is allowing deer to socialize in larger groups and for longer periods of time, as well as spend more time in one area (CWD spreads at least partially via feces and saliva.) This increases the number of transmission vectors as well as the duration of exposure for each vector; so while the emotional experience of each deer may be more dramatic, and likely much more frightening, the health of the deer overall is significantly improved by that fear.

From a philosophical perspective - or ethological, take your pick - I also don't think we should assume that the human experiences surrounding anxiety and pursuit necessarily map well onto the internal experiences of nonhuman animals. Some naturalists/ecologists I was studying with a few years specifically highlighted this very context when talking about the importance of, and difficulties pertaining to, trying to not project human decisionmaking on nonhuman life.

To paraphrase, at length, one of the lessons they taught - we can't directly see the motivations of deer, let alone the interiority of their experience. All we can see is the decisions they make, and we try our best to infer from there. We often see deer flee from mild stimuli, and we therefore assume that deer live in a state of constant terror and anxiety, the conditions that would create a similar sort of behavior in us. But we are not deer! Our bodies are not predisposed towards flight in the way deer are; deer are suited to run far faster, and more frequently, than humans, and it seems safer to assume that they flee at a different threshold of internal motivation, if not an entirely different quality of motivation altogether.

This first sort of assumption is the exact kind of thinking that is warned against when people talk about the dangers of anthropomorphization. There's also the influence of societal views on violence and predation; violence in humans is often framed as something that's a guilty pleasure, a base desire that needs to be abstained from for the good of society, except when it's "unfortunately necessary" (for whatever conditions any group considers to be necessary.) This is frequently projected wholesale onto nonhuman, and especially interspecies, depictions of violence; to give a slightly exaggerated description of this current context as an example, it is presumed that the natural inclination of deer is to be grazing restfully, and that this is both pleasurable and right. It is then presumed that the Violent Predator, due to their unconscionable desires, intrudes upon this restful state by pursuing the deer; we consider this to be offensive from the deer's perspective, and vaguely immoral - if, at best, "unfortunately necessary" - when we judge the actions of the predator.

However....there are other ways of looking at this. Deer run at the slightest provocation, often "spooking" at stimuli as minimal as e.g. a falling branch. Why do we assume that this is unpleasant to them? What if they're constantly waiting around for something to happen, so that they have a reason to get going? What if being chased actually feels good as fuck, to a deer? After all, we assume that the act of hunting - as an obligate predator - is, experientially, indulgent. Something that "shouldn't" be done, but is excused regardless. Is this not dismissive of the circumstances the predator is in, and how that might feel? Or the agency and ability that the prey can bring into play?

(An earlier version of this reply was oversimplifying stuff in this part to the point of just being wrong, and had me saying some things about deer behavior [especially herd dynamics] that I'm not actually sure of, which I've edited out.)

Undoubtedly, running for your life is terrifying, and we can be certain that prey animals in these situations are activated - stressed, displaying agitation, etc. None of the above is meant to imply that elk or deer would voluntarily choose to be pursued by wolves. Rather, I just want to highlight that the interaction between predator and prey is not necessarily as emotionally - or morally - lopsided as it is often portrayed as being. Being pursued by a wolf is terrifying, yes, but if you are a pursuit animal, and if you get away....could it not also be fun? And chasing another animal as a predator seems like a powerful, exciting position to be in, at first brush - but in the long run, the lives of the predators are also at stake in the pursuit. Genuinely, I don't want to replace one anthropomorphic projection with another, but I think we can be confident that the dynamics of predator/prey relationships are at the very least interesting to both parties - engaging, maybe even enriching.

All this is to say that the "cost" of predator reintroduction - in terms of stress on individual prey - is most likely not going to be accurately framed in terms of human emotional valence; moreover, cultural assumptions in the interpretation of pleasure, violence, and morality are a strong bias in untangling the emotional framework that is projected onto these relationships. From my perspective, it seems that most consideration given to the experiences of prey animals in these situations is based in just substituting what we, as humans, would expect to feel in that situation; which seems to be both more and less than what can actually be said.

So, yeah, I do think that people should be proud of ecological shifts that generate these large changes in behavior - human hunters have obviously done a poor job of emulating the dynamics created by these predators; and at the bare minimum, I wouldn't assume that the difference in emotional landscape is worth the ongoing ecological harm of not having these dynamics in play.

(Also worthy of consideration are things like the predator's right to exist, diversity of interior experience as a value unto itself, the fundamental right of all species to a life that has "meaning" and what that could actually entail, cross-species modeling of stress as enrichment, microecological effects of pursuit and predation, etc....but. I think I've rambled enough lol.)

Around the same time as the wolves were released, the mountain lion population, once hunted to local extinction, was becoming re-established as well – having crept back in from wilderness areas in central Idaho. Under these twin pressures, over a period of about 15 years, elk numbers halved.

Those that did survive behaved differently, too: when the wolves were on the prowl, they retreated to the dimly lit comfort of the woods, where they might wander in clandestine bands. They avoided the cougars, most active at night, by steering clear of landmarks where they might be trapped or surprised from above in the dark – ravines, outcrops, embankments. No longer did they live in an environment defined by its waterholes and pastures, or even by its ridgelines and ravines, but by areas now suffused with danger and relief. A psychological topology, this – one marked with hillocks of anxiety and peaks of alarm. Ecologists know this as “the landscape of fear”.

proudly talking about reintroducing carnivores has made the herbivores really anxious really drives home the question of whether it’s moral to torture other creatures for our convenience.

you might oppose farming, but make the farm really big and remove the visible fences have the prey harried to death instead of quickly stunned and that’s… better?

[arrimorr]

Alright,

A base lore info about my setting.

Most of it was yapped away through the asks already, but I decided that it's still worth to organise this stuff in a coherent manner. This text also doesn't really touch on the character's arcs and their relationships with each other. This is more about the wider setting.

SHORT VERSION:

Tginf is a horror roadtrip game I'm planning to make. Embark on a terribly convoluted forest car ride with different local creatures hitchhiking your car.

EXTENDED VERSION:

The main character: You (are going to) play as the Nameless, a 20+ year old without a name, a concrete gender or any understanding of who to become to avoid getting crushed by a closing in adult life.

The forest:

The forest they got unlucky to travel through is a strict eco system. Everything not useful to it gets digested by it. Literally slowly disintegrated to at least feed the soil. At least this process takes some time.

The feudals:

Luckily, the forest road is ruled by three higher beings that can save unlucky travelers by giving each of them a useful (in their opinion) role to play.

The names of the feudals are:

the Oxygen, the King of the road, the Mine.

You can easily envision their domains if you split the forest space in three layers. Everything above it, everything that is on the ground, and everything below it. Every forest entity that the Nameless encounter serves one of them.

Because their territories are literally stacked on top of each other, the three don't get along particularly well and have been in a territorial conflict for centuries. For feudals, acquiring new followers through picking up the lost and stranded is another way of getting new resources in it.

The specifics of each feudal and their individual followers:

The Oxygen:

The Oxygen is physically invincible and, because of that, she never had to rely on anyone in her existence. This had a big effect on her personality. Unlike the King of the Road and the Mine, she doesn't really NEED to pick up lost and stranded to make new followers. She can create servants out of thin air, like she did with the Dummy*. She picks up travelers for her own amusement, since entertainment plays a big factor in a lot of her actions, and because the King and the Mine are invested in collecting them.

Her followers are:

The Dummy,

the Diver,

the Time Seller.

* The Dummy was created as a jab at the King of the Road's second hand - the Knight.

* The Diver is there as a statement of ineffectiveness on the King's ruling manner. He does the same type of job his followers do, but unlike them, his mind was in no way altered or modified*

* The Time seller, despite previously being human, was made into a tiger, because the Oxygen wanted to see what would happen if she fully dehumanises somebody. She likes experimenting like that.

The King of the Road:

The King of the road is very physically fragile. He needs protection, and, despite his rather gentle demeanor, time made him paranoid and fixated on the idea of control. He collects the followers to avoid any new and unpredictable variables appearing in the forest.

Through trial and error, he came to a conclusion that love is the greatest source of loyalty and motivation, so he tampers with his followers' brains to make sure they love both him and the work he gives them.

His followers are :

the Tenant,

the Radio host,

(Sorry, don't have a proper picture of her yet, since her main way of communication is...well...radio, and because I ran into Tumblr's picture per post limit, I decided to cut what I had of her imagery away)

the Knight.

*The Forest is full of eldritch, sentient and, most importantly, hungry places, such as the House, the Radio Tower and the Grand Lake. The King aims to station his followers in them, so they also stay in his area of control. The Tenant and the Radio host view their designated places as if they are their marriage partners. They love them, they provide for them.

*The King also prefers to take his time before taking a new follower in. After all, the more he waits, the more the traveler gets digested by the forest, allowing the King to rebuild his new follower to his liking. Sadly, the opportunity to wait long enough rarely presents itself because of the Oxygen and the Mine interfering all the time, thus, the only follower he got to fully reconstruct from the state of blank meat was the Knight. This made him the most predictable and by extension the most trustworthy being in the forest to him.

The Mine:

About a year ago I watched a documentary about mine workers. A part of it was dedicated to the fact, that, in case of that particular mine, people should have been working inside of it 24/7, otherwise the tunnels were guaranteed to slowly become toxic. What caught my attention was the way they spoke about it. They said something along the lines of "otherwise she would start to suffocate". And that unexpected personification never left my mind ever since.

SO, the Mine in tginf sufferers from a constant lack of oxygen, and starts to gradually suffocate if there's is no one performing the maintenance work inside of her. The problem is - she is toxic, thus none of her followers live particularly long inside of her. Which places her in a constant struggle to get herself the new ones. She lets some of her followers out on the road only for one purpose - to promote the service to her to the new travelers. Followers like that are all called Pr agents. Out of the three feudals, the Mine is the most reliant on others to survive.

Her followers are, you won't believe it:

Pr Agent 117

Pr agent 121,

Pr agent 124/178 (the number changes depending on the story route)

*None of them lived long enough to meet the other.

I also made a voice claim post some time ago, you can check it out to feel the characters too

[dumb-ster-fire]

Inner Circle Banter x fem! reader - Part 2

Azriel x mate!reader

a/n: I saw how people loved the first one so I made another.Here is more unhinged Y/N 🫶🏻

warnings: NSFW language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Inner Circle was a mess. A hilarious, drunken mess.

Y/N lounged on the couch, her head thrown back in laughter as Cassian dramatically slurred his way through a story that had long since lost any coherent plot. Mor was draped over Amren—who, despite being the smallest among them, was somehow holding her liquor the best—while Rhys was slumped back in his chair, lazily swirling the wine in his glass as if he were still trying to uphold some dignity. Feyre was giggling into her own drink, her cheeks flushed, while Nesta sat beside her, eyes glassy but still managing to look unimpressed.

Azriel? Oh, Azriel was leaning against Y/N, his usually composed self utterly gone as he pressed his face into her shoulder, murmuring something unintelligible. His shadows were sluggish, barely responding to him, as if even they were drunk.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, voice thick with alcohol.

Y/N grinned, poking his cheek. “I know, Az. You told me five times already. And then you tried to fight Cassian because he ‘breathed too close to me.’”

Cassian, still dramatically sprawled over the arm of the couch, scoffed. “I was breathing! What was I supposed to do? Stop??”

Azriel lifted his head slightly, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, her fingers brushing through his hair as he huffed and nuzzled closer again, clearly deciding he was too drunk to keep arguing.

Rhys, ever the instigator, lazily gestured between them. “You two are disgustingly cute. It’s offensive.”

“Bold words from a man who practically worships the ground Feyre walks on,” Y/N shot back, smirking.

Feyre laughed, elbowing her mate. “She’s got you there.”

Meanwhile, Mor had somehow convinced Amren to take another shot, which resulted in Amren standing on the table, proclaiming in her small but fierce voice, “I was a GOD before any of you existed!” before promptly sitting back down like nothing happened.

Nesta, watching all of this unfold, slowly took another sip of her drink. “I hate all of you.”

Cassian slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning sloppily. “You love us.”

Y/N, still cuddling a very tipsy Azriel, raised her glass. “To being an absolute disaster!”

The Inner Circle cheered—or, in Azriel’s case, just hummed sleepily against her shoulder—as they all drank, fully embracing the chaos of the night.

Mor, absolutely hammered, slumped against the couch with a lazy smirk as she eyed Y/N and Azriel. “So, Y/N,” she slurred, twirling the last bit of wine in her glass, “is Azriel your type?”

Y/N, equally drunk but ever the menace, grinned wickedly, barely missing a beat. “Ah, yes,” she said dramatically, lifting her hands like she was painting a masterpiece. “Gentle and loving but also will choke and spit on me… chef’s kiss.”

Silence. Then absolute chaos.

Cassian howled with laughter, nearly falling off the couch, pounding his fist against the armrest. Rhysand actually choked on his drink, eyes wide in stunned amusement. Feyre’s face turned a deep shade of red, trying so hard not to spit out her wine. Even Nesta looked momentarily stunned before she smirked behind her glass.

Mor gasped, covering her mouth before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles. “Oh my gods, I love you,” she wheezed, slapping Y/N’s thigh.

Azriel? Poor, poor Azriel.

The male had been lazily leaning against Y/N, all content and warm in his drunken haze—until that. His entire body tensed, and his head snapped toward her, his hazel eyes wide as if she had just announced their sex life to the entire continent.

“Y/N,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, his ears tinged red.

“What?” she giggled, batting her lashes at him. “It’s true.”

Cassian, still cackling, wiped a tear from his eye. “Brother, you are so screwed.”

“Literally,” Mor added between snickers.

Rhys, who had finally recovered, grinned like a cat who had just been given the juiciest piece of gossip. “So, Az, anything you’d like to confirm or deny?”

Azriel glared daggers at him, but before he could even attempt to salvage his dignity, Y/N leaned in, her drunk mischief on full display, whispering against his ear, “Don’t worry, babe, I didn’t tell them about the rope this time.”

Azriel let out a long sigh, leaning fully back against the couch, clearly accepting his fate.

Meanwhile, Mor lifted her glass. “To Azriel being the perfect balance of soft and filthy!”

The Inner Circle cheered, and Y/N—still smug and delightfully tipsy—leaned back against her mate, smirking like the absolute menace she was.

Azriel was suffering.

Not in the way he had suffered on battlefields, or through centuries of pain and shadowy burdens. No, this was an entirely new kind of torture—one that involved his mate being an absolute menace, his so-called family reveling in his humiliation, and him being too drunk to properly shut any of it down.

Y/N, meanwhile, was thriving.

She was still perched in his lap, looking far too pleased with herself, while the Inner Circle continued their drunken revelry. Cassian, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, still wasn’t over it. “Choke and spit on me,” he wheezed, practically collapsing into Nesta, who rolled her eyes but was biting back a smirk. “That was legendary.”

“I mean, it’s good to know he meets expectations,” Mor teased, swirling her drink.

Rhys, ever the opportunist, lounged back with a smirk that screamed trouble. “You know, I always suspected Az had a secret wild side. But this?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “This is delightful confirmation.”

Azriel groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch. He’d faced wars with more dignity than this.

Y/N, full of unholy glee, kissed his cheek again. “You love me,” she sing-songed, absolutely insufferable.

Azriel lifted his head, fixing her with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “…I do.”

Cassian let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh shit, he admitted it. In front of witnesses. It’s over for him.”

Feyre, shaking with silent laughter, raised a brow at Az. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this side of you.”

“I hate this side of me,” Azriel muttered, reaching for his drink as if that would somehow erase the conversation.

Y/N, with the biggest shit-eating grin, leaned in again, whispering just for him, “Liar. You love that I’m saying this in front of them.”

Azriel, deadpan, took a very long sip of his drink.

Mor smirked at Y/N. “So, when are you teaching me how to get a mate to be the perfect mix of sweet and depraved?”

Y/N, without hesitation, threw an arm around Azriel’s shoulders, smirking. “Step one: Find a stoic, broody male with a secret filthy side. Step two: Break him.”

Cassian actually howled at that, nearly falling off the couch. Rhys was howling too, wiping at his eyes. “Oh fuck, she got you so good, brother.”

Azriel just sat there, silently suffering, as Y/N nuzzled into him, smug and victorious.

And, gods help him—he did love her for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night only spiraled further into chaos.

Cassian, still wheezing from laughter, slammed a hand down on the table. “Alright, alright—we have to make this official.”

Y/N perked up in Azriel’s lap. “Make what official?”

“The breaking of Azriel,” Cassian declared grandly, gesturing wildly with his half-empty glass of whiskey. “For centuries, he was the untouchable, brooding mystery. Silent, deadly, repressed.” He pointed at Y/N with the authority of a drunk philosopher. “And then you showed up and turned him into a man who admits his feelings, growls at people who look at you too long, and—” He paused dramatically. “—is apparently a choking enthusiast.”

Azriel groaned and buried his face in Y/N’s shoulder, while Mor cackled, Nesta snorted into her wine, and Rhysand grinned like the bastard he was.

“You make it sound like I did witchcraft on him,” Y/N teased, idly playing with Azriel’s hair.

Cassian pointed again. “I knew there was something supernatural about you.” He turned to Feyre, suddenly serious. “Feyre, paint a picture of Az’s descent into sin.”

“Please don’t,” Azriel muttered into Y/N’s shoulder.

Feyre, biting back a smirk, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I could capture his internal struggle—the battle between his old, broody self and the broken man who now worships at the altar of his mate’s chaos.”

Rhys beamed. “That’s art.”

Azriel groaned louder.

Y/N, full of mischief and absolutely loving this, turned and whispered against his ear, “You do worship at my altar, don’t you?”

Azriel lifted his head just enough to give her a look—one that promised payback. But she only grinned wider, completely unrepentant.

“Alright, final proof that Az has been fully corrupted,” Mor said, raising her glass. “Y/N, what’s the filthiest thing he’s ever said to you?”

Azriel straightened immediately. “Nope.”

Y/N tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Hmm… Oh! There was that one time—”

“Y/N,” Az warned, voice low and dark.

Y/N, completely ignoring the danger, continued, “—where he told me exactly how he planned to—”

Azriel moved.

One second, Y/N was sitting in his lap, the next, he had her thrown over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She let out a surprised yelp, then laughed, pounding a playful fist against his back. “Az! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said simply, standing up. “Goodnight, everyone.”

“BOOOOOO,” Cassian and Mor jeered in unison.

“Coward!” Rhys added.

“At least let her finish the story!” Nesta called after them.

But Azriel was already carrying Y/N out of the room, ignoring every taunt, Y/N still giggling and squirming in his hold.

“Azriel, you love me!” she sing-songed again, clinging onto him as he walked.

He gave her a firm smack on the ass, making her yelp. “Oh, I know.”

And then, to the Inner Circle’s absolute delight, Y/N’s laughter echoed down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel had barely taken three steps down the hall, Y/N still slung over his shoulder, when she purred, "You know I love it when you spank me."

He froze.

The Inner Circle-who had definitely not left yet

-erupted.

Cassian nearly fell out of his chair. "OH MY GODS!"

Mor howled. "| KNEW IT!"

Rhysand, the absolute bastard, actually clapped.

"Confirmed!"

Nesta just rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. "Of course she does."

Azriel, who had thought he was saving himself from further embarrassment, had severely underestimated Y/N.

Y/N, still hanging over his shoulder, giggled and wiggled her hips just to tease him. "Mmm, and you do it so well, Shadowsinger."

Azriel gripped her thighs harder, his shadows curling around them in warning. "Y/N," he growled lowly.

But she just smirked. "Are you blushing, love?"

Cassian lost it. "OH MY GODS, HE TOTALLY IS!"

Azriel let out a slow breath, then, very calmly— very deliberately-adjusted his grip and smacked Y/N's ass again.

The sharp gasp she let out made the room go dead silent.

Then she let out a little pleased hum, wiggling again. "See? Told you I loved it."

Azriel vanished them in shadows before anyone could scream again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[twstowo]

Bro you can't just make a forehead kissing post and NOT do the rest of the characters 😭🙏 /j

No but actually can you do the first years? I like to imagine all this started with a dare from one of them coughcoughACEcough and now Yuu's just going around sniping all their friends' foreheads with their lips

♡︎ You are right anon, I will redeem myself by doing all the characters.

♡︎ Includes: First Years

[Here]☆[Second years]☆[Third Years]☆[One final forehead kiss]☆[Extras]

The quest for giving everyone a forehead kiss began when you stumbled upon Ace, deeply engrossed in his thoughts. His hair danced in the gentle breeze, adding an extra layer of charm to his profile. Unable to resist, you tried to slowly approach him without making any sound, trying your best to catch him by surprise and when you came close enough to him you interrupted his daydreaming with a tender forehead kiss.

"What was that for?" he laughed, his response oozing with self-assurance. And to be fair his smug demeanour grated on your nerves, you just gave him a forehead kiss and he reacted like that? No, way! He needed a reality check!

"If you didn't appreciate it, I'll just find Deuce and shower him with forehead kisses instead!" you told him, enjoying the surprise in Ace's widened eyes. Unwilling to back down, he rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Go ahead! Kiss the entire school's forehead! See if I care." Those words struck a chord, prompting you to turn on your heel and leave him to his own devices. You were going to make him regret saying those words.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Deuce:

As soon as you kiss his forehead, he becomes a mess. He touches the spot you just kissed, trying to form any coherent words. Just show him your forehead and tap it, as if telling him to kiss you back, he turns red but kisses you as quickly as he sees you gesture for him to kiss you, as if he always wanted to do that. His hand cups your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks without even thinking.

He daydreams about these moments for the next few weeks.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jack:

Feeling extremely embarrassed by the unexpected gesture, he avoids eye contact and looks everywhere but your face. After a while, he musters the courage to thank you, and then you both find yourselves in a silent, awkward moment. If you linger without leaving, he eventually gathers more courage and asks if you'd like a forehead kiss in return. If you agree, he gives you a quick kiss, followed by a gentle pat on the head.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Epel:

Finds himself in an internal struggle, Epel wrestles with various thoughts. Does your gesture mean you see him as cute? Is it an affront to his masculinity? Does he need to step up his game? Swiftly, he decides to take action, pulling you by the waist and delivering a surprisingly passionate kiss. Once he's done, he turns as red as you, contemplating the consequences of his impulsive move.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Ortho:

He is so happy with your forehead kiss that he starts to delve into an explanation of the significance behind various types of kisses. He proceeds to suggest the kinds of kisses you should bestow upon his brother. At this point, he's essentially delivering a lecture on the art of kissing. Idia passes behind the two of you and overhears the conversation, for the next week you can’t find him anywhere, he is way too embarrassed to show up in front of you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Sebek:

Grateful to the Seven for the unforgettable moment, Sebek cherishes your gesture, vowing to remember it for the rest of his life. Then he proceeds to tell you that your actions are obscene and that you shouldn't just kiss him like that out of nowhere. Throughout the week, he can't shake off the memory, and whenever he encounters you, he blushes, scowls, and quickly turns away, unable to contain his embarrassment.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

I got new request for you! Hopfully this one wasn't as crazy as my last one. How does the triple S hedgehog boys react to their lover sleep talks?

Can be first time and how they deal with it over time.

Triple s x reader

Sonic:

Sonic was completely off gaurd the furst time it happened. He was over at your house crashing on your couch for the night. You fell asleep first, as soon as you sat down on the couch you fell asleep, he decided to stay up for a little longer. He flipped through channels on your tv.

He hears mumbles from you and assumed you were trying to tell him something, so he leaned in, only to realize you were dead asleep.

"Wait, are you…talking in your sleep?" he whispers, more to himself, as he raised an eyebrow.

Your mumbles were completely incoherent at first. But after a but sonic slowly started to peice together strings of barely coherent sentences. He tries not to laugh too loudly when you suddenly mutter something about "being too flammable" and "the fridge being haunted." It’s too ridiculous to ignore, and Sonic, being the teasing type, pulls out his phone and records a snippet to show you later.

Your words are incoherent at first, a mix of jumbled sentences and half-formed thoughts.

As time goes on, Sonic starts noticing that your sleep-talking isn’t just random, it sometimes reflects your dreams. If you’ve had a particularly eventful day, your mutterings often reference things you both did together. He thinks it’s adorable how you unconsciously process your adventures, sometimes even calling out his name in your sleep.

One night, you mumble, "Sonic…don’t eat all the popcorn…" while snuggling closer to him. He smirks and responds,"Don’t worry, I saved you some!" even though you’re not awake to hear it.

Over time, Sonic develops a habit of engaging with your sleep talk. If you mumble questions, he answers them. "Where’s the Chaos Emerald?" you mumble once, and he dramatically responds, "Safe in my hands, as always!" He jokes that he’s the best at keeping you entertained even when you’re unconscious.

At some point, he even gets used to your nighttime chatter, finding it comforting in a strange way. It keeps him grounded.

Shadow:

Shadow doesn’t notice the first time it happens. He’s too used to quiet solitude and doesn’t expect you to disrupt the silence of his home while you sleep. The first instance occurs during a rare moment when you’re resting beside him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, polishing a gun, when he hears a faint, barely audible murmur.

"Shadow…"

His ears perk up, and he freezes mid-polish. He turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you saying?" he mutters under his breath.

You respond with something nonsensical about "flying cats" and “Chaos Controling to the grocery store.” Shadow stares at you in utter disbelief. He’s not sure if he should be amused, annoyed, or concerned. "What on earth goes on in that head of yours?" he mutters, shaking his head.

As time passes, Shadow becomes more observant. He starts piecing together patterns in your sleep talk, often correlating them with your moods or daily activities. On nights when you’re stressed, your mutterings turn into fragmented worries about mundane things. On happier days, your sleep talk is lighthearted, sometimes even funny.

He won’t admit it, but he finds it endearing. Hearing you speak his name in your sleep makes him feel... important to you. He’s always struggled with feeling connected to others, but knowing that you’re dreaming about him, even subconsciously, touches him.

However, Shadow is the practical type. If your sleep talk disrupts his rest, he’ll wake you up without hesitation. "You were muttering again," he says bluntly when you groggily open your eyes. Over time, he does grow more patient.

When you have nightmares, though, Shadow is swift to act. The moment he senses distress in your voice, he shakes your shoulder. "Wake up," he says firmly. "You were having a bad dream." He doesn’t say it, but he’ll stay up with you as long as it takes to calm you down.

Eventually, he adjusts to your sleep talking, seeing it as just another "quirk". He tunes it out mostly, but its a reminder your still there with him.

Silver:

Silver discovers your sleep-talking habit on accident. The two of you are camping under the stars, resting after a long day of exploring. You’ve drifted off before him, and he’s lying awake, staring up at the constellations when he hears it, a soft, barely-there mumble.

Curious, Silver sits up and leans closer to you. "What did you say?" he whispers, thinking you might be awake. But your breathing is slow and steady, and your eyes remain closed.

"...Time travel is weird," you murmur, followed by something about pancakes.

Silver quickly covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. He’s always known you were a bit weird at times, but hearing your ramdom mutters and thoughts while you’re asleep is a whole new level of hilarious to him. He spends the rest of the night listening to your random murmers and mutters.

Over time, Silver starts looking forward to your sleep-talking episodes. He’s endlessly curious and often wonders what your dreams are like. Sometimes, your mutterings are so bizarre that he can’t help but write them down, thinking they’d make great conversation starters later.

"You said something about ��psychic pancakes’ last night," he tells you one morning, grinning. "Do you even remember dreaming about that?"

Silver never grows tired of your sleep talk. To him, it’s just another way you let him into your world, even unconsciously. He treasures every word, no matter how silly or nonsensical.

[madame-fear]

Brain rot of Jace practicing high valyrian on ur clit🫶🫶🫶🫶that’s it ily!!!!

꒰ 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 | 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄. ꒱

˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : request above. ♡ (I hope you enjoy this, nonnie, ilyt!!) ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 469.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : smut, drabble. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x (fem!)Reader

WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; slight profanity, slight praising, cunnilingus/oral sex (f receiving).

→ click here if you want to request a drabble for my followers milestone celebration! drabbles open from February 14th, to March 1st.

“Ao sylutegon sīr sȳz,” (you taste so sweet.)

A reddish hue began forming on your thighs, along the marks of Jace’s fingers gripping them firmly, spreading your legs wide as his face was buried betweem your legs - his mouth overabusing your sensitive clit, as his fingers teasingly moved in and out of your entrance.

It had been a good idea, to tell Jace just how much you adored hearing him talk in High Valyrian. Perhaps he wasn’t yet properly good at it, but you were still delighted in having him practice with you. And what better idea he had, than to practice High Valyrian and eat you out all at once? Not only it was something that pleasured him, but overall it was a different type of experience that he knew you’d enjoy; and the eldest Velaryon was right.

“Fuck,” with soft pleas that escaped continously from your partly open lips, your hand found it’s way to his brunette hair, interwining your fingers on several strands and unconsciously burying his head deeper into your moist, stimulated pussy; moving your hips forwards to give him better access. “Iksā iā olvie sȳz riña, issi ao daor?” (you are such a good girl, aren’t you?) a proud grin grew at the corner of his plump lips, feeling his panting breath hit against your nub, increasing the speed of his fingers fucking you.

Wetness oozed from your cunt, coating his fingers, as his mouth occasionally drank from your own cum. “Kesan qogralbar ao tolvie tubis hae bisa, issa jorrāelagon.” (I will fuck you everyday just like this, my love). Your fingers gripped desperately from his hair, as his tongue flicked ravenously on your slick-coated folds, until his mouth found his way to nibble on your clit once again. A loud groan escaped deep from your throat, throwing your head back as a knot formed on your stomach, anticipating your release.

Briefly, his coffee eyes moved to stare at your expressions, taking pride in himself for how ruined he managed to get you - having you panting and begging for more. “Keep... Keep going,” you weakly encouraged, barely being able to form a coherent sentence, at the feeling of him stopping for a few seconds. He scoffed, widely grinning, as he lowered his face one again, placing gentle pecks all over your folds and slowly moving his fingers inside of you. “Ao hae ziry skori gaoman ziry hae bisa, gaomagon ao daor?” (you like it when I do it like this, don’t you?) he muttered, using his tongue to lap at your own fluids, that violently flowed out of you.

“Kostan hae sȳrī gaomagon bisa tolī jēdi lēda ao,” (I might as well do this more often with you), the eldest Velaryon whispered against your edging cunt, “Eminna jeme bantis mirre syt nyke, issa dōna.”

♡ taglist : ♡

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

[thinemoonshine]

⋆𐙚₊ 𝓹𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 (𝓻𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜)˚⊹♡

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when platonic becomes romantic

bestfriend!enhypen hyung line x fem reader content(s): fluff, enhypen being down bad, hints of yearning, reader's oblivious, jay malfunctions, bit suggestive in jake's, sunghoon's already thinking wedding vows type: imagine

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆

it’s weird. they’ve always been touchy with one another. sure, it may not be to the point of clingy but touchy enough that hand-holding and cuddling are normal in their friendship.

so why is it that heeseung feels so shy and flustered with (y/n)’s simple affection now?

her fingers pinch his chin softly as she gently tends his small cut with a cotton swab. their faces close but far enough so heeseung can comfortably admire her features while she stands between his spread knees.

“it’s not deep enough so it shouldn’t leave too much of a scar,” she says calmly—too casually for heeseung who’s literally having trouble making a single coherent thought without thinking about their proximity.

he swallows and it only makes his throat feel drier. “you sure?”

(y/n) lifts her gaze to see his round, bambi eyes searching hers for reassurance and she chuckles. “don’t worry, hee. you’ll still be handsome.”

still? he echoes internally. she thinks i’m handsome.

the thought itself is dumb considering how she’s never held back her admiration for his looks but for some reason, it was clearer to him this time, significant.

her hand shifts to cup his cheek and he fights himself from practically melting into her touch with his fists clenching by his side.

but his will is weaker than he thought.

(y/n)’s brows raise when he leans into her palm with eyes shutting while his own arms wrap around her waist to pull her in. “hee?”

the way that everyday nickname fell from her lips has his heart lurching and ears ringing, desperate for her to say it again.

“i like it when you say my name,” he murmurs into her shoulder and she’s silenced, flustered and confused, even more so when she can literally feel him jolting ever so slightly from his rapid, passionate heartbeat.

(y/n) slowly reciprocates the touch—her arms moving to encircle his slim waist and he sighs at the warmth that envelopes.

“is there something going on?” she asks, unsure of what transpired for her bestfriend to act so intimate all of a sudden but all heeseung does is shake his head—sneakily burying his nose into the crook of it and breathing her in.

“i just want you here,” he confesses, warm breath heating her skin as he subtly stamps little pecks before having to bite his own tongue to hold back from pressing a long, lasting kiss.

oh, if only he could.

heeseung smiles as he lifts a hand to cradle the back of her head, combing through her hair as his lips pull to a grin.

well, no one said he couldn’t.

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆

it should be casual. a norm. a routine, even, to have (y/n) clinging onto his back as he cooks. it’s what she always does whenever he makes their meals—her ‘contribution’ she says, since jay won’t let her do anything.

and he doesn’t mind. he welcomes it, in fact. but something about today, makes it a lot harder for him to focus on his cooking with her wrapped around him.

“i thought you wanted them diced,” (y/n) reminds when jay was about to shove in the messily sliced carrots into a pot of hazardously seasoned soup(he’s pretty sure he poured in sugar instead of salt).

jay blinks rapidly, frantic, as he laid down the cutting board again and starts dicing… if cutting them in criss-crossed shapes into atoms is another method of it. “y-yeah. i did.”

but it doesn’t stop there.

“jay, that’s not salt.”

“black pepper, not white.”

“that fire’s too high!”

jay’s a second away from giving himself a concussion with the frying pan and even then, he grabbed the ladle instead.

"is something wrong?" his bestfriend asks when she turns him around and the way her fingers ghost over his waist makes him shudder.

he shakes his head with his signature smirk-ish smile before clearing his throat. “nothing. just thinking about some stuff.”

his hand lands on her crown and rests there for a moment before he pats gently. then he turns back around to cook, scoffing in amusement at the skeptical hum from the girl clinging onto his back.

“i’ll make you talk one way or another,” she threatens and jay’s about to toss a witty remark but he’s cut by a gasp when her palms drag up to his chest—heart going overdrive and nearly bursting through until her grip curls around his neck. “tell me!”

he’s shaken back and forth by the throat and it works in distracting him from blasting off through the roof like a rocket. exaggerated laughter escapes him as he tries to pretend everything’s fine before he gently holds her wrists and pulls them away—spinning to face her with a bright grin on his ruddy face.

“if you keep this up, i might not be able to get this done,” he chides but with a playful undertone as he clicks his tongue with a sharp inhale. his eyes sharpen to squint ‘menacingly’ and the girl mirrors.

“fine. i’ll relent,” she shrugs and pulls her arms back but just when jay thinks she’ll leave, she reaches to gently stroke his throat and that has his eyes widening and breaths hitching. “sorry, was i too rough?”

his gears are frozen and ears muffled from the pounding, passionate beats of his heart. “i—uh, no! not at all.”

and when her eyes lift to meet his, he nearly buckles at the knees—having to reach behind and grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white to keep himself up.

there’s a pregnant pause between them and with every second, jay’s mind is unraveling little by little.

“i knew it,” she scoffs and for a moment, he thinks it’s over for him. (y/n)’s gonna see through him and she’s gonna leave him and—

“i’ll use a rope next time. thanks for the advice!” she chirps and spins before skipping out the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless.

the moment she’s out, he crashes against the counter behind him—skin flushed to his ears and neck and eyes wide as saucers as his hand cups the lower half of his face in disbelief.

oh, he’s done for.

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆

jake thinks there’s no such thing as a friendship touchier, sweeter and cheesier than his with (y/n). it’s their love language: physical touch. even if it’s as small as poking or as big as a whole cuddle session, they’re all a portrayal of their perfectly platonic affections.

they’ve even kissed each other’s cheeks for goodbyes and caused confusion all around whether they were dating or not. of course, they’d always deny it—saying that that’s one of the perks from being friends for so long. nothing affects them anymore since they’ve seen nearly everything of each other.

but now, from the way jake’s breaking a sweat and losing his breaths as he cuddles with (y/n) for another one of their movie marathon nights, he’s not sure he can live up to that belief.

he’s trying his hardest to calm his nerves, scared that she’s going to be able to feel his racing heart or notice his shaky breaths.

it’s like he’s suddenly conscious of everything.

the way her hands feel against him, the softness of her figure compared to his solid body, her sweet warmth that seeps into his pores as he holds her close and the way she whines and grunts unconsciously whenever he shifts like she hates to be apart.

everything, every single thing about her is driving him crazy and the fact that she’s literally using him as a human mattress and plushie isn’t helping.

of all days, did (y/n) have to fall asleep on him today—when he can’t make sense of his feelings??

he gulps thickly as his pretty, slender fingers hover her back before ultimately combing through her locks as she slumbers.

slowly, cautiously, undoing the knots and tidying stray strands as he does breathing exercises to calm himself down. but when she groans a complaint of him “being too loud,” he realizes maybe he’s been hyperventilating instead.

he clears his throat as he slowly tries to sit up. it’s a custom between them. when one of them falls asleep mid movie marathon, they’d take care of one another—(y/n) would put a blanket over him and fix his pillow while jake usually tucks her to bed.

but with how much he’s trembling, he might not be able to today.

“(y/n),” he starts softly, just wanting to stir her enough so she’d at least free his legs from being all tangled up with hers but she only nuzzles further—face now buried in the crook of his neck with her lips brushing his skin.

BOOM!

he thinks his heart just exploded.

jake’s overheating, red all over with fingers twitching as he bites the back of his hand to quieten the soft sounds threatening to escape. it’s all too much yet too little, so near yet so far. she’s fogging up all his senses and he can barely even think.

his hand patting her back is near robotic now as he stares at the ceiling blankly, like every single thought he conjures fizzles up and leaves his brain completely empty as he battles with himself from scooping her up and kissing her right then and there.

wait, what?

he chokes on a breath and coughs violently—forcing (y/n) awake and he panics. with eyes wide, he quickly wraps his arms around her, hushing and lulling her back to sleep, guilty for even waking her up while at the same time hiding his face into her hair.

“sorry! sorry, i woke you just—just go back to sleep,” he coos as he cradles her form in his lap and stands to lift her up to bed—only to be stopped when she rubs her face against his chest with a small protest.

“stay…” she slurs sleepily and it’s like a love arrow struck him in the heart as he drops back onto the couch, breathless and awestruck. he looks down at her who’s back to snoring and sleeping, oblivious to the frazzled, flustered state of jake sim who presses a long, lasting kiss onto her forehead in place of her lips.

would it be too weird to buy a diamond ring as a friendship item?

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆

sunghoon isn’t as nonchalant as he aims to be. but people think he is. with his gentle yet distant disposition and random silly little antics, he’s a living contradiction. a man of mystery. and it’s difficult to understand him at times, hard to reach.

especially when he doesn’t bother to since he has someone he sticks to every breathing moment of his day: (y/n). even now, on a sweet, sunny saturday, sunghoon’s sitting on the sofa of her living room as she meticulously puts pretty clips on his fluffy, raven hair.

they just came back from a shopping spree and she bought some cute butterfly clips that apparently flap their wings when the wearer moves or wind blows. it’s up to (y/n) to test that hypothesis herself.

“last one,” she says without even looking at her bestfriend who’s been admiring her nonstop with heart-shaped eyes. “done!”

sunghoon’s jolted back to reality and he smiles softly. “can i see?”

“yeah,” the girl casually replies as she tidies up the torn packages from unboxing her new clips. hoon stands and goes to her standing mirror only for his lips to part in surprise? maybe dismay?? he expected to look cool, or cute, at least, but now he looks like an experiment gone wrong with how his hair’s clipped standing like uneven cut grass frazzled in all directions.

and it’s even slightly disturbing to see the fake butterflies bobbing side to side while being clumped together like an infestation.

he spins, brows knit and takes a deep breath to complai—

“see! cute, right?” (y/n) chirps, the biggest toothy grin on her face as cheeks bunch up and eyes twinkle with pure expectation. suddenly, sunghoon’s words crumble and furrow softens.

“yeah,” he agrees before he can even deny and it leaves himself confused. not for long though, because his bestfriend’s quick to squeal and take a picture with their cheeks pressed together and the proximity has him reeling.

it doesn’t matter that he looks goofy and it would ruin his entire nonchalant image, it doesn’t matter that she practically yanked him down and almost sent him falling face first, it doesn’t matter that his scalp is practically ripping off from the tension of the clips.

because she’s happy—because of him.

and honestly, he’d put his life at stake just to be able to give that to her every single day. to be with her at every single point of her life and make her smile without fail.

in sickness and in health—

wedding vows already??

he mentally slaps himself.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog— they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[solxamber]

Hii!! I hope you have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening/night (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/ take your time in making this request lolll (this is romantic btw)

Pomefiore with a reader who's shut in/wallflower painter, like yeah— they can talk to people but they're too shy to actually approach someone (no one probably remembers their existence /j).. so they resort to this:

If they like someone, they'd paint them as a form of expression! If they paint someone endlessly, then that probably means they really like that specific person. And then suddenly, out of the blue— they just randomly have a big fat crush on this one person, like they were so blown away by how handsome he was, so they just started to paint them.. and then they got caught! (They're probably quaking because their crush might think it's weird for some random stranger to paint you!)

Hope you can understand my vision ☹️☹️

Pomefiore x Artist!Admirer!Reader

i see your vision and it's beautiful 🫡 i hope you like this <3

Vil Schoenheit:

You’ve always admired Vil from a distance, both intimidated and captivated by his beauty. Approaching him? Absolutely out of the question. You weren’t the type to strike up a conversation with someone so effortlessly elegant, so you resorted to your old fallback: painting.

You were finishing the delicate details of Vil’s eyes—those eyes, the ones that seemed to look straight through you even from the canvas—when you heard a voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You flatter me.”

Your brush froze mid-stroke. That voice was unmistakable, but there was no way… You slowly turned your head and nearly fell off your stool.

There, standing in your studio with an amused smile on his perfect face, was Vil himself.

“I… I…” Words failed you, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. You could feel your face heating up as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the multiple portraits of him. His lips curved into a smirk.

“I didn’t realize I had such a devoted admirer,” he remarked, his tone teasing but with a hint of something more—something warmer.

You scrambled to explain, feeling as though you’d been caught doing something terribly wrong. “It’s not—I wasn’t—” You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I just… I really admire you, and painting is how I express that. I didn’t mean for it to be weird.”

Vil chuckled softly, stepping closer to inspect one of your paintings. “It’s not weird,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a gentler tone than you had expected. His eyes flicked over the details of the painting, and he smiled softly. “It’s quite beautiful, actually. You’ve captured me well.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Vil Schoenheit complimenting your work? You suddenly felt breathless, overwhelmed by the proximity of him and the unexpected praise.

“You think so?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Vil’s eyes met yours, and he nodded. “Yes. But,” he added with a knowing smile, “beauty isn’t just about perfection. Don’t be afraid to explore the imperfections. They make things more… real.”

You blinked, completely mesmerized by the intensity in his gaze. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only people in the world. Vil reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, and your breath hitched.

“Keep painting,” he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging. “You have a gift.”

You nodded, unable to form any coherent response. As Vil turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he saw more in you than you had ever realized. And that thought left you feeling both terrified and exhilarated.

Rook Hunt:

You had always thought Rook was like a walking masterpiece. Everything about him—the way he carried himself, the way he smiled, the way he moved—was simply captivating. Naturally, he became your muse.

You never thought you’d be caught, though. You had carefully set up your little studio in a secluded corner where no one usually ventured. But somehow, Rook had found you.

You were in the middle of adding the finishing touches to yet another portrait of him when you felt a presence behind you. Before you could react, you heard a soft laugh.

“Ah, mon cher, what a delightful surprise.”

You jumped, your brush clattering to the floor as you whipped around to see Rook standing there, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Your heart sank. How long had he been standing there? Had he seen all the paintings?

Your face flushed as you tried to find an excuse. “I-It’s not what it looks like!” you blurted out, but even you didn’t believe that.

Rook smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he approached one of your canvases. “Oh, but it is,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “And I must say, I’m quite flattered.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood in front of one of your larger portraits of him, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the frame. He turned to look at you, his expression softening. “You see me,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent.

You blinked, unsure how to respond. “I… I mean, I paint what I see,” you stammered, feeling utterly exposed.

Rook chuckled softly and took another step closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin so that you were forced to meet his gaze. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that made your heart race.

“And what you see,” he whispered, “is beautiful.”

Your breath hitched. He was close now—so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The only thing that mattered was the connection between you and Rook, as if he had stepped out of the canvas and into your heart.

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. What could you even say? That you had been painting him because you were hopelessly enamored with him? That every brushstroke was an attempt to understand the feelings you didn’t quite know how to express?

Rook smiled softly, his hand still resting under your chin. “You need not say anything,” he murmured. “I already understand.”

Before you could react, Rook pressed a light kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your skin. Your heart practically exploded in your chest, and when he pulled back, you were left staring at him in a daze.

“I look forward to seeing what else you create,” Rook said with a wink, before turning on his heel and exiting your studio, leaving you standing there, utterly flustered and hopelessly in love.

Epel Felmier:

You didn’t mean to develop feelings for Epel. Honestly, it just… happened. One minute, you were admiring how strong and determined he was, and the next, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. So naturally, you started painting him.

You had thought you were safe, tucked away in your quiet little studio, but apparently, Epel had other plans.

You were lost in your work, painting Epel in one of his rare moments of quiet—capturing the way his lilac eyes softened when he wasn’t putting on his usual tough act—when you heard his voice.

“Hey, is that me?”

Your heart nearly stopped. You spun around so fast you almost knocked over your easel. Epel was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed at the canvas.

“W-what are you doing here?!” you stammered, trying to shield the painting from his view, but it was far too late.

Epel frowned, stepping closer to get a better look at your work. “Huh. You’ve been paintin’ me?”

You were utterly mortified. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I just…” You trailed off, completely at a loss for words.

To your surprise, Epel didn’t look angry. Instead, his frown softened into something more thoughtful. “You really think I’m worth paintin’?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You blinked at him. “Of course I do,” you said softly. “You’re… you’re really handsome, Epel. And I wanted to capture that.”

Epel’s face turned pink, and he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I ain’t never had anyone say that to me before,” he mumbled. “I guess I’m flattered.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, and you smiled shyly. “I’m glad.”

There was a moment of silence as Epel glanced at the painting again. “Y’know,” he said, his voice a little gruffer now, “you really did a good job. I actually look strong in this one.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “That’s because you are strong, Epel.”

Epel’s blush deepened, and he muttered something under his breath. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he looked up at you and smiled—a small, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Maybe you could show me how to paint sometime.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’d like that.”

Masterlist

[robinvomit]

†  the gentle art of cat-like courtship : tim.

♦ request: not really, just fighting burnout ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: this whole set is taken from an oc background - if y'all want that background, i can post it as a like.. adoptible oc type deal, so it's easier to imagine as reader. tiny bit of info under the cut, just for context.

+ reader is from a different earth and was brought back to life via lazarus pit after some nefarious bs. she has no memories at all but still has trained instinct. jason finds her and takes her in, attempting to help and all that. anyway- moving on. ( the oc is a she/her - i did do my best to make it gn otl if there are spots fucked up --- welp. )

------

jason had grown used to your presence in his life. months had passed since he first found you; months filled with quiet companionship, late-night sparring sessions, and countless hours of sitting in comfortable silence, watching as you thumbed thoughtfully through the books he'd bring home. neither of you had anticipated it but you'd somehow slipped effortlessly into his routine, as if you'd always belonged there. even without memories, even without a past to anchor you, you'd carved a comfortable place in jason's life.

but tonight, something felt different. off, somehow.

he stood quietly at the kitchen counter, arms folded loosely over his chest, watching you carefully as you sat curled up at the far end of the couch. your legs were pulled beneath you, your eyes unfocused and fixed vaguely on the page in front of you. you'd been like this for days - distant, distracted, withdrawn - and jason had been patient, waiting for you to talk to him first. but clearly, that wasn't going to happen tonight.

finally breaking the silence, jason set his coffee mug down gently and fixed you with a pointed stare. "alright," he said slowly, his voice cautious but firm, "what's up?"

your gaze snapped up to meet his, startled as if he'd jolted you from deep thought. "what?"

"you heard me," jason said, folding his arms as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "you've been acting weird all day. hell, you've been off all week. you're either mad about something or you're thinking way too hard. either way, i need to know if i should be worried."

you hesitated, fingers tightening instinctively around the edges of your book. silence fell again, thick and heavy between you, and jason felt the subtle shift in the air; the quiet tension he'd learned to recognize in you whenever something serious was on your mind.

"come on," he prompted gently, voice losing its playful edge. "talk to me."

at last, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled softly and closed the book. your fingers traced nervously over the cover as you set it aside, your eyes drifting downward. it was clear you were trying to find the words, and jason gave you the space, patient even though he was dying of curiosity.

"i think…" you began slowly, your voice so quiet jason nearly had to lean forward to catch it. "i think i might like one of them."

jason blinked slowly, trying to parse what you'd just said. "wait, like - what?"

you drew a shaky breath, clearly uncomfortable with this admission. "i think i might have a crush," you clarified quietly.

jason stared at you, completely frozen. of all the things he'd imagined you saying, this had honestly never even crossed his mind. he'd prepared himself for just about anything - flashbacks, doubts about your past, questions about your place here - but never this. not you, of all people, quietly admitting to developing feelings for one of his idiot brothers.

his mouth opened and closed once, twice, before he managed a coherent response. "i…wait, what?"

you looked down quickly, embarrassment flooding your expression. "it's not that big of a deal."

jason's brain, however, was vehemently disagreeing. "not a big deal?" he repeated incredulously, running a hand through his hair and pacing a few steps across the room. "are you kidding me? you.. you barely even talk to people! you still avoid using their names half the time. forgive me if this is a bit of a shock."

your brows knitted together defensively, your posture tensing. "i'm working on it," you muttered, clearly displeased with his reaction.

he stopped pacing and turned back toward you with an exaggerated sigh, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "okay, fine. fine. you're right, you're working on it. whatever. but seriously, who is it?"

again you hesitated, clearly conflicted. the anxiety radiating from you was almost palpable, and jason felt the beginnings of dread clawing at his chest. he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, bracing himself for the worst.

"oh god," he muttered, watching you carefully. "i'm going to hate this, aren't i?"

you sighed deeply, resigned. "probably."

jason let out a dramatic groan and slumped onto the couch beside you, tilting his head back against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling. "please," he pleaded softly, "please tell me it's not damian. i swear to god, if it's damian-"

you snorted despite yourself, breaking the tension just a little. "no, it's definitely not damian."

jason visibly relaxed, his entire body slumping back into the cushions with relief. "oh, thank god," he breathed, pressing a hand dramatically over his heart. "kid's already territorial enough. i don't need him acting like a jealous guard dog."

but your silence lingered, heavy and telling, and jason tensed again, realization dawning across his face. his gaze turned sharp and searching, his tone cautious but resigned. "it's one of them, though, isn't it? it's definitely one of my dumbass brothers."

you didn't respond, your face heating rapidly as you avoided his eyes. jason groaned loudly, dramatically flopping backward onto the couch and covering his face with both hands.

"this is actually the worst thing that could have happened to me," he lamented, voice muffled through his fingers. "i finally got used to you being this mysterious, cryptic little stray, and now i have to come to terms with the fact that you've gone and developed a crush on one of them."

"you're being dramatic," you muttered, trying not to smile.

jason removed his hands just long enough to shoot you a wounded look. "yes. yes, i am being dramatic. because i just got comfortable with you existing quietly and broodingly in my space and now i have to deal with feelings? and crushes? it's too much."

"you act like i planned this," you replied defensively.

jason groaned again, finally sitting up and shaking his head. he gave you a sidelong glance, resigned but determined. "okay, fine. let's just rip the band-aid off. which one is it?"

you looked at him cautiously, biting the inside of your cheek. his expression shifted slowly from confusion to realization, and then finally, to absolute horror.

"oh my god," he whispered, voice filled with disbelief. "it's tim, isn't it?"

your cheeks flared hot, and you immediately looked away. jason burst out laughing again, though this time it was equal parts disbelief and astonishment. "tim? seriously? of all my brothers - wait, of all the people in gotham - you chose tim?"

"shut up!" you groaned, half-heartedly pushing at his shoulder. jason dodged easily, still wheezing with laughter.

"i just don't understand how this happened!" he gasped out between fits of laughter. "what was it? did he ramble about some obscure computer software or historical trivia? did you imprint on him like some kind of baby duck?"

you buried your face back into your hands, regretting every life choice you'd ever made. "i hate you," you muttered miserably.

oh, it wasn't even close to over.

jason was still laughing, though - so hard, in fact, that his sides had begun to ache, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. he'd never expected this day to come, not in a million years, and certainly not under these circumstances. of all the revelations, of all the possibilities, this was the very last thing he'd imagined happening. he had been ready for anything else: resurfaced trauma, existential crises, maybe even your sudden decision to abandon the vigilante life. but this? this took the cake.

"you-" he paused, wheezing as he struggled to catch his breath, "oh, god, please tell me you're messing with me, because i cannot wait to see his face when he finds out."

he expected some sort of sarcastic retort - at worst, perhaps, you'd throw a cushion at his head, or at best, you'd roll your eyes and threaten his life. that was your way, after all; stoic, quiet, but certainly never passive when provoked. instead, the silence stretched on for longer than felt comfortable, and when jason finally regained his composure enough to glance your way, he froze.

you weren't laughing. you weren't even glaring at him with mild annoyance or irritation. your face was hidden behind your palms, shoulders drawn tight, the entire curve of your spine rigid with tension. the atmosphere shifted instantly from playful teasing to something deeper, something more serious. he could practically feel the anxiety radiating off you in waves and suddenly, all amusement drained away, replaced swiftly by concern.

"hey, wait," he said softly, lowering his voice into something careful and gentle as he shifted closer. he tried to get a better look at your face, tried to read you as carefully as he had learned to over these past few months, but you refused to lift your head. "hey. come on, look at me. what's wrong?"

you swallowed hard, your throat tightening painfully as you shook your head. "i'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible, barely there, as though speaking louder might make it all somehow worse. "i shouldn't have said anything."

jason blinked in confusion, caught off guard by your sudden and unexpected remorse. this wasn't at all what he'd intended. "wait, wait - sorry?" he asked incredulously. "for what? what do you have to be sorry about?"

your fingers curled tightly into fists, knuckles turning white as they twisted into the fabric of your sweater. the silence stretched painfully between you again, heavy and suffocating, until finally you spoke, your voice trembling and uncertain. "i just.. i don't know. is it bad? did i.. did i mess things up?"

jason's chest tightened painfully at the vulnerability in your tone. it was suddenly clear to him just how deeply this was affecting you. to him, it had seemed hilarious, harmless - just a silly crush, something to tease you mercilessly about, something to hold over your head for years to come. but to you, it was serious. it was real. it was terrifying.

"you really think liking tim is something to apologize for?" jason asked gently, shifting closer until he could rest his arm lightly against yours. his voice had completely lost its earlier teasing lilt, replaced entirely by genuine concern and compassion. "look, i was just messing around. i was laughing because, well - because that's what brothers do. i never meant to make you feel like you'd done something wrong."

when you finally lifted your gaze, your eyes were wide and filled with a raw uncertainty that made jason's heart twist sharply. you drew a shaky breath, visibly struggling to keep your voice steady. "it just feels…weird," you admitted, your eyes flickering away quickly, as if afraid you'd see judgment reflected back at you. "he's a sarcastic asshole, and sometimes he's frustrating. but he's kind of sweet. and he remembers my favorite snacks.. he remembers my coffee order, even though i never told him. he just knew, somehow, and that means something. it means something to me."

jason sat quietly beside you, absorbing your words as he felt the weight of their meaning settle over him. he'd been so busy teasing you, so absorbed in the shock and humor of the situation, that he hadn't stopped to consider how deeply you must feel. you'd spent months without memories, months without an identity of your own, desperately searching for anything real and tangible to hold onto and now here it was, your first genuine connection, your first real feeling. of course it terrified you.

he let out a long, slow breath, reaching over carefully to nudge your knee with his own until you finally looked back at him again. "listen," he began softly, "is it weird? yeah, okay, sure.. it's definitely a little weird. i mean, it's tim. but liking someone - especially someone who treats you well and makes you happy? there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. you deserve to have something good, especially after everything you've been through."

your shoulders visibly relaxed at his words, tension slowly melting from your frame as though you'd finally been granted permission to breathe. jason saw the subtle shift, the relief washing through you as you absorbed the sincerity in his reassurance, and he felt the heaviness in his own chest ease slightly.

"besides," jason continued after a moment, his tone carefully shifting back toward the lighter side to ease the last lingering discomfort, "if he ever screws up or hurts you, even a little, you know i'll kick his ass, right? no hesitation. brotherly duties and all."

the tension shattered abruptly as a small, genuine laugh escaped you, soft but unmistakably real. your hand came up quickly, brushing away the lingering moisture at the corners of your eyes as you shook your head in mild amusement. "i still hate you, jason," you muttered, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the lie.

he grinned widely, looping an affectionate arm around your shoulders and squeezing gently. "nah," he retorted easily, leaning back comfortably against the couch, "you love me."

you didn't bother to argue this time, just smiled faintly and shook your head, exasperation warring with reluctant affection in your gaze. jason chuckled quietly, satisfied. he knew, deep down, he'd never tire of this—never tire of being the annoying, protective big brother you'd never known you needed.

and judging by the tiny, barely-there smile that lingered at the corners of your lips, you felt exactly the same way.

tim drake was genuinely confused.

you had been acting strange lately, though admittedly, "strange" was a relative term. it wasn't as if you were usually predictable - far from it - but lately your behavior had taken an unexpected turn, one he couldn't quite figure out how to interpret.

you weren't doing anything wrong or unpleasant; just something…out of character.

first, there was the hovering. tim noticed it subtly at first, because you'd never exactly been the type to actively seek out company. normally, you preferred your solitude, keeping to yourself and rarely initiating interactions. but lately, he'd find you sitting nearby whenever he worked at the batcomputer. you'd position yourself at an adjacent console, your presence quiet yet undeniably there, a silent comfort that he'd grown accustomed to without even realizing it. even getting coffee had changed. now he'd glance up from the counter to find you standing there quietly, as if you'd materialized from nowhere, comfortably existing in his orbit.

then there were the touches. small gestures, innocent enough to overlook at first: a gentle bump of your shoulder against his as you passed him in the hallways, the soft brush of your knee against his when you sat beside him. each time was brief, subtle, almost accidental - except tim was too observant not to notice the frequency and consistency of these small acts. they happened far too often now to simply dismiss as chance.

but it was the snack that truly threw him off.

it wasn't even the snack itself, really. people brought each other food all the time. it was the way you had dropped it so abruptly in front of him, eyes downcast, before promptly retreating without a single word. the entire exchange had felt oddly meaningful, as if you were trying to communicate something tim was too oblivious to catch. he'd stared at the snack - a bag of his favorite chips, no less - and felt utterly lost.

finally admitting that he was completely out of his depth, tim had sought out the one person who might offer clarity: dick grayson. dick always seemed to understand these sorts of things instinctively. relationships, social cues, the complexities of people; dick was good at it all. if anyone could translate your behavior into something tim could grasp, it would be him.

he'd found dick lounging on the couch at the manor, scrolling lazily through his phone. when tim had awkwardly described your recent behavior, carefully trying not to sound too confused or desperate for answers, dick had initially just stared at him blankly. then, as realization slowly crept across dick's face, he'd broken into an enormous grin.

"oh my god," dick muttered, eyes sparkling with sudden amusement. "y/n's a cat."

tim blinked, utterly bewildered. "…what?"

dick burst into laughter, loud enough to echo through the room. "no, seriously," he said between chuckles, clearly delighted by this revelation. "they're literally acting like a cat!"

tim frowned, trying to puzzle out what exactly dick meant by that. "wait - hold on. what does that even mean?"

dick's grin widened impossibly further, and he threw an affectionate arm around tim's shoulders, squeezing tightly. "buddy," he said warmly, voice thick with amusement, "they like you."

tim froze completely, eyes widening, his thoughts spinning rapidly in circles as he tried to process what dick had just casually tossed out into the air. "they.. wait, what?"

dick laughed again, giving tim's shoulder an affectionate shake. "come on, tim, think about it! they're hovering around you, nudging you for attention, bringing you gifts," he said, ticking off each point dramatically on his fingers, clearly enjoying tim's growing embarrassment and dawning realization. "they're basically courting you like a stray cat!"

tim stared straight ahead, suddenly remembering every small moment; the soft brushes of your shoulder, the silent comfort of your presence, and the snack left pointedly before him like an offering. slowly, the pieces clicked into place, each subtle action suddenly infused with clear meaning.

oh.

oh.

he'd never even realized you were capable of expressing yourself in such quietly affectionate ways. and now that he understood, now that the implications were becoming painfully clear, he felt his cheeks warming dramatically, his pulse quickening as his heart raced.

dick must have caught the look on his face, because he erupted into fresh peals of laughter, patting tim's shoulder sympathetically. "oh man, you're completely gone for them, aren't you?"

tim opened his mouth to protest, but the words died instantly on his tongue. instead, he simply stood there in stunned silence, the truth hitting him like a ton of bricks. he swallowed, trying - and failing - to calm the rapid fluttering in his chest.

because dick, annoyingly, was absolutely right.

the next day was nothing short of torture for tim drake. you, of course, were acting completely normal - normal by your standards, at least. that meant quiet, thoughtful, and unmistakably cat-like. you moved through the batcave with your usual quiet confidence, seemingly oblivious to the internal meltdown you'd inadvertently caused.

but tim? tim was absolutely losing his mind.

now that dick had so kindly pointed out your subtle affections - your feline gestures, your quiet offerings, and your gentle nudges - tim couldn't help but notice every tiny movement you made. every action felt meaningful, every brush of contact deliberate. his senses were dialed up to eleven, hyper-aware of you in a way he had never been before, and he felt entirely unprepared to deal with it.

when you walked into the briefing room that morning and lightly brushed your shoulder against his as you passed, tim nearly short-circuited on the spot. he'd been staring blankly at the computer monitor, completely focused on a set of data points, and suddenly your quiet, casual touch was enough to send sparks dancing beneath his skin, jolting him from his thoughts and leaving him utterly speechless.

and it only got worse from there.

later, when you approached him holding two cups of coffee—one for yourself and one precisely matching tim's usual order—he froze entirely, eyes wide as he stared down at the offered cup in shock. he blinked slowly, utterly stunned by the realization that dick had been completely right: you'd memorized something as simple and seemingly meaningless as how he took his coffee. something warm and sweet bloomed deep in his chest, and he barely managed a quiet, stunned "thanks," before retreating to the safety of his work once again.

but the final blow came when you stretched lazily near the batcomputer, your arms rising slowly above your head as you arched your back slightly; just like a cat waking from a long nap. tim, completely unprepared for the sight, felt heat rush to his face so rapidly he was sure he'd spontaneously combust if he didn't remove himself immediately. he quickly turned on his heel and walked away, practically fleeing the room before he embarrassed himself further.

jason, of course, noticed instantly.

"you're acting weird," jason said smugly, leaning against a nearby table, clearly amused by tim's discomfort.

tim shot him a fierce glare, though it lacked real heat. "no, i'm not."

jason chuckled, folding his arms across his chest with a knowing look. "oh, you absolutely are. you're practically twitching."

tim scowled and pointedly turned his attention back to the stack of files in front of him, determined not to engage further. jason laughed softly to himself, entirely too pleased with the unfolding drama. but jason's amusement was the least of tim's worries. he had a far bigger problem on his hands:

you liked him.

and the truth was, tim liked you too.

but acknowledging that openly - expressing it directly - felt overwhelming and complicated. he knew you weren't the type of person to declare your feelings outright. in combat, you were direct and efficient, but emotionally? emotionally, you spoke through subtle actions, gestures, quiet touches and thoughtful gifts. that meant if tim wanted you to understand how he felt, if he wanted you to really know… he'd have to learn to speak your language.

tim swallowed nervously, glancing back toward you across the room, still casually leaning against the batcomputer, reading through mission notes. his heart sped up, nerves tangling uncomfortably in his chest as he made a quiet decision.

he was going to have to be a cat too.

tim had never been the physically affectionate type. he liked his personal space, often keeping a careful distance from others unless closeness was absolutely necessary. it wasn't personal; it was just who he was. but with you, he found himself willing - no, needing - to make an exception.

he waited until later that evening, when the cave had grown quiet and calm, the soft glow of monitors illuminating the space in shades of blue. you were seated on one of the chairs, legs curled comfortably beneath you as you silently scanned through documents on a tablet. summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, tim quietly settled into the seat beside yours, his pulse loud in his ears as he deliberately brushed his knee against yours, just gently enough to seem accidental, but intentional enough to be noticed.

you paused, your eyes briefly flickering away from the screen, landing curiously on his face as you assessed the situation. tim kept his expression neutral, forcing himself not to react outwardly even as his heart raced wildly in his chest. for one nerve-wracking moment, you said nothing, clearly processing what he'd done.

he nudged you again, a little more confidently this time, meeting your gaze with a calmness he absolutely did not feel inside. your head tilted slightly to one side, eyes softening with cautious curiosity, your attention fully shifting from the tablet to him. tim continued to casually sip his coffee, feigning complete nonchalance even as he waited anxiously for your reaction, afraid he might have misread everything and humiliated himself.

then, slowly, deliberately, your lips twitched upward into the barest hint of a smile, and without breaking eye contact, you gently nudged him back.

tim's heart nearly stopped entirely, relief and joy flooding him so strongly he was sure you could sense it. he had done it. he'd taken the risk, spoken your language, and finally bridged the gap between you.

and now?

well, now there was no going back and honestly, tim didn't mind at all.

it began quietly. so quietly, in fact, that at first neither of you even realized it was happening. the subtle gestures between you and tim unfolded slowly and gradually, small moments building layer by gentle layer into something unmistakably meaningful. you weren't one for grand declarations, and neither was tim; instead, your affection took the shape of quiet touches and thoughtful gestures, a shared language only the two of you understood.

tim discovered quickly that the simplest things could hold deep meaning. he'd be hunched over the computer late at night, shoulders tight with exhaustion, eyes gritty from too many hours staring at screens, when you'd appear silently at his side, setting down a steaming mug of coffee exactly how he liked it. no words spoken - just quiet acknowledgment. and tim, feeling warmth spread steadily through his chest, would respond by sliding one of your favorite protein bars wordlessly across the table toward you, watching from the corner of his eye as you accepted it with an almost shy tilt of your head, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

this was flirting now, apparently. this careful exchange of snacks and drinks had become your language, your gentle way of acknowledging something neither of you was quite ready to speak aloud. it became a comforting routine, these small gestures exchanged daily, the quiet affection underlying every small offering becoming a foundation upon which your relationship slowly, naturally grew.

but it didn't stop there.

tim quickly learned to anticipate the small brushes of your shoulder against his, those casual little bumps you'd give him whenever you passed by in the batcave, training room, or even just in the hallways. after a few times, he decided to test his confidence, bumping you back gently but firmly - just enough to draw your attention, enough to coax that amused smirk onto your face, the one he quickly discovered he liked far more than he should.

the physical interactions grew bolder, though never losing their subtlety. after particularly grueling training sessions, you'd collapse onto the couch in the lounge area, your limbs tired and your eyes half-closed, and tim found himself staying put instead of politely moving to give you space. at first, you'd both remain motionless, carefully gauging each other's reactions out of the corner of your eyes. but gradually, you'd allow yourselves to relax into that shared space, the distance between you growing smaller with every passing evening.

and then came the night you fully tested the waters.

it was quiet in the manor, the air peaceful, almost serene. tim was curled on the couch, engrossed in case files, hair tousled from hours of concentration, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. you appeared suddenly, silent as always, but instead of simply settling near him, you boldly dropped onto the cushion directly next to him. he glanced up, startled but pleased by your sudden proximity, and his heart immediately started racing when, without hesitation, you shifted closer and carefully leaned your weight into his side.

tim froze. every muscle in his body stiffened, his pulse roaring loudly in his ears. he felt certain you must be able to hear his heartbeat thudding against his ribs, betraying his attempt at calm. for one fleeting moment, tim was convinced he might genuinely die from sheer nerves.

but he stayed still - utterly still. he'd learned enough from you by now to understand the significance of moments like these. you'd taken the step closer, testing, waiting to see how he'd react. tim forced himself to take slow, steady breaths, gently allowing himself to relax into the warmth of your touch, quietly savoring the soft press of your shoulder against his own.

seconds passed by painfully slowly, and when he finally felt you relax fully against him, he allowed himself a small, relieved exhale, warmth flooding his chest as he realized he'd done the right thing. he had passed your quiet test. the intimacy of the moment was delicate, precious, and fragile and yet it felt perfectly natural. right.

no words needed to be exchanged. instead, he adjusted his position subtly, just enough to give you more room, inviting you silently to settle deeper against him if you wished. and when you did exactly that—breathing out a contented sigh, your head gently tilting until it rested comfortably against his shoulder; tim felt the tension drain fully from his body, replaced instead by a quiet, powerful sense of joy.

this was their language now, your mutual understanding crafted through quiet gestures and gentle touches. this was the way you communicated, careful and intentional. neither of you rushed, neither of you pushed. you simply waited, patient and observant, watching and responding to each other's small signals, your affection growing naturally through a quiet, mutual understanding.

and as tim sat there with you leaning softly against him, warmth blooming steadily in his chest, he realized that he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

the batcave was strangely peaceful tonight, bathed in the familiar glow of the massive computer monitors, the hum of their cooling fans the only ambient sound. it was the kind of quiet that rarely existed in gotham; a calm without tension, a silence that invited peace rather than caution. jason was out with dick on patrol, damian was off handling a lead of his own, and even bruce was absent, leaving the cavernous space solely to tim.. and to you.

tim had been working steadily at the computer for hours, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard as he typed his reports, but his mind refused to fully focus. his thoughts continually wandered, drawn inexorably toward the warmth beside him, the gentle presence of you quietly seated just inches away. every now and then your arm brushed against his, causing a warmth to settle comfortably beneath his skin, making his heart quicken in ways he wasn't quite ready to admit.

neither of you spoke, but that was hardly unusual. silence had become your shared language, comfortable and familiar. tim didn't need words to know you were watching him, just as he was acutely aware of your breathing, steady and calming beside him. tonight, though, your closeness felt more deliberate, the small touches more intentional, as though you were both inching toward something inevitable.

tim forced himself to focus on the files in front of him, desperately trying to keep his thoughts in line, but it quickly proved impossible. he paused mid-keystroke, feeling your presence more keenly than ever, and finally gave up the pretense of work. slowly, he turned his chair toward you, meeting your quiet, watchful gaze head-on.

your eyes met his immediately, steady and calm, betraying no hint of uncertainty. it sent a jolt through his chest, because you'd never looked at him quite like this before - openly, gently, yet deeply serious. for a moment, neither of you moved. neither dared break the silence, afraid it might fracture this delicate, perfect moment.

your head tilted slightly, curiosity and something deeper sparkling in your eyes. tim felt his pulse speed up, the gentle tension between you stretching almost unbearably thin, until finally it snapped not with a sudden break, but with a slow, gentle surrender.

without thinking, tim leaned forward ever so slightly, and you mirrored the movement with quiet confidence, meeting him halfway. your noses bumped softly, foreheads brushing gently together in a gesture you'd both grown quietly accustomed to. it was your gesture now; an intimate, cat-like acknowledgment you'd both come to treasure. it spoke of trust, understanding and everything that had brought you together. this silent gesture had become your personal confession, your quiet way of admitting all the things neither of you could say aloud.

you paused there for a heartbeat, your breath warm as it ghosted softly against his lips, eyes half-closed and uncertain. your fingers twitched at your side, as if unsure whether or not it was safe to reach out to him fully. tim didn't rush you, didn't move to push or pressure. he waited, offering you the patience and gentle acceptance he knew you needed.

finally, you seemed to make your decision. your nose nudged softly against his once more; delicate, playful, sweetly affectionate. and tim, heart racing, tilted his face just enough that his lips brushed softly against yours, a whisper-light kiss filled with the quiet certainty he'd longed to communicate. it lasted only a second, yet it carried the weight of everything you'd both felt for so long, everything you'd tried to say without words.

when you slowly drew back, your eyes fluttered open, your expression vulnerable but unmistakably happy. a soft smile played at the corners of your lips, teasing yet warm, filled with gentle triumph. "well," you murmured quietly, voice barely above a whisper, though still rich with soft amusement, "i think that counts."

tim let out a breathless, slightly dazed laugh, the sound barely audible in the quiet of the batcave. he couldn't quite tear his gaze from yours, feeling strangely weightless, his usual composure completely gone. "yeah," he finally managed softly, "i think it definitely does."

a faint smile tugged at your lips again, softer and warmer this time, as you nudged your nose lightly against his one more time before pulling back. neither of you retreated far, just enough to comfortably settle into a new reality. your knee bumped gently against his, casual but deliberate, affectionate and unmistakably yours.

"obviously," you teased gently, a smile tugging openly at your lips now, warmth radiating from you.

tim felt something shift deep in his chest - peaceful, sure, and powerful. without hesitation, he nudged you back, the gentle push slightly firmer, enough to earn another soft, genuine laugh from you. your quiet acceptance, your simple confidence in this unspoken language of yours, filled tim with a quiet sense of wonder and happiness he'd rarely experienced in his life.

and just like that, with silent gestures and soft glances, you'd solidified everything you'd quietly built. with one gentle kiss, one careful touch, you'd transformed everything you shared from something quietly unspoken into something real, tangible, and beautifully undeniable.

neither of you needed to say another word, because from that moment onward, there was no question:

this was your language. this was your love.

this was simply you.

[universefcb]

Can you do a story where Cubarsi has a crush on one of his classmates and gets so nervous around her so his teammates tease him until he gains the guts to go confess to her?

↬❥ Classmate

Pau Cubarsí x Reader!fem

Synopsis: He is your classmate who likes you.

a/n: Cubarsí is so cute, I would love to have him as a classmate.

REQUESTED

warnings: no.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

It was hard to say exactly when Pau Cubarsí realized he was completely enchanted by her. Maybe it was in third semester, when she walked into history class wearing a Beatles T-shirt and made a brilliant comment about cultural revolutions. Or maybe it was when she showed up to group work with a bowl of homemade brownies and a smile that would make anyone giddy.

Pau, one of Barça's most promising defenders, could stop attacks with the coolness of a veteran... but he lost all composure when she was around.

She was his classmate. Smart, kind, opinionated, and with a laugh he could identify in any hallway at the university. The only problem? Pau couldn't form a coherent sentence around her.

“Did you choke on your own water again?” Balde, teammate and master tease, asked when he saw Pau coughing like a cat choking on fur after she walked past them in the diner.

“I just… swallowed wrong,” Pau grumbled, red to the ears.

Fermín, who was eating a sandwich nearby, laughed. “Man, you block attackers like it’s easy, but you stutter with a girl. Are you serious?”

“She doesn’t even know I exist properly,” Pau replied, still trying to regain his dignity.

“Of course you do. You’re a regular for Barça and you’ve probably been on her feed ten times today,” Lamine said, throwing a grape in his direction.

From then on, training sessions included less football and more jokes.

“Hey, Pau, did you practice your statement today?”

“You should use the counterattack tactic: no more surprises!”

“Take a ball and write 'do you want to go out with me?'”

Pau just rolled his eyes, but deep down… the idea of declaring himself wouldn't leave his head.

It was on a quiet afternoon, after a seminar on social revolutions, that the chance came. She was on the bench in the courtyard, typing something on her laptop, when the seat next to her became vacant.

Pau hesitated. He took a deep breath. He remembered all the advice, the jokes, and the promise he made to himself that he wouldn't let this chance pass him by.

“Can I sit here?”

She looked and smiled. “Of course, Cubarsí.”

She knows my name. Point for me.

“So… I wanted to tell you something. I’ve actually wanted to for a while. Like, a long time. Maybe too long. And it’s not a big deal, I guess. It’s just, like, important. To me. Because you… you’re amazing. And I kind of have a crush on you. Actually, it’s not just a crush. It’s a crush.”

She blinked in surprise. Then she laughed—that laugh that made his heart feel like a crazy drum.

“Did you rehearse this?”

“No! I mean… maybe a little.”

She closed the laptop slowly, still smiling. “You know what’s funny? I was wondering when you were finally going to talk to me beyond ‘hi’ and ‘did you get the handout from last class?’”

Pau’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. And I have a little more than a crush on you, too.”

He was silent for a second, just taking it in. Then he laughed, relieved. “The guys are never going to believe this.”

“I’ll confirm it if they doubt it,” she said, giving him a gentle shove on the shoulder. “And if you want, we can go out sometime. As long as you don’t choke again.”

“I promise to try.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @ p4uul0vr @nngkay @meganesanchez @bymerinott @htpssgavi @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa

[gojoshooter]

hewoo! sorry for bothering u, but I'm just really into sukuita and humm... maybe u could write something about how sukuna loves to have his little brat yuuji sitting on his lap? just if u want of course! god I love those two so much😭💕

Suku-nii's Best Boy

an. with my returning sukuita fever i present you this lil hybrid fic ;) hope you like it @wukxon

Tiger!Cub Yuji in his big brother Tiger!Hybrid Suku-nii ’s lap, all sobby and snotty as he complains of his ongoing teething process.

-

The little Tiger!Cub Yuji had been found by his aniki on the kitchen floor, whines spilling out his tiny babbling mouth out of discomfort when Sukuna comes to check up on him.

Big brother Sukuna wasn't the type to hoist a little cub up on his hip and coo to lul him quite, instead just propping him up on his feet by his underarms so his little yuji stands in front of him instead. The action reduces the cub's sobbing into sniffling, as he peeps up at Suku-nii with big watery golden-brown eyes.

Sukuna bends his knees to come closer to his tiny brother's height, inspecting while pulling his cheek “Huh, what is it little snot?”

“...hurts” Yuji pouts, water brimming the brink of his doey eyes again when he projects baby arms towards his big brother, making grabby hands. “Chuku-nii... uwp” his pout too big for a more coherent sound.

Now—Tiger!Hybrid Sukuna knows he's a tough man, but he would rather die than not scoop his little brother Yuji who pleads his comfort so purely, which he does a moment and a sigh later. Sukuna saunters to the couch, bothered Yuji clutched to his side.

“Where does it hurt,” the little cub now seated in his lap, Sukuna wipes the tear streams off his little brother's fluffy-soft fat cheeks “tell me brat?” his tone softer than his words.

“Aa!!” Yuji opens his tiny mouth, an acusatory finger pointed towards his small buccal cavity. The bigger feline hums, taking the smaller one's face in his palms—thumbs pushing on the cheeks to pry open his mouth wider. Little pointy canines could be seen halfway out into joining the cub's set of teeth.

Sukuna frowns, gently pressing on one of the cub's canines causing Yuji to flinch away with an angry whine. The elder hums again in confirmation, cupping Yuji's sulky face and dragging it closer. He's teething—Sukuna concludes. The elder bounces his seated tiny body on his knees for distraction.

He brings a finger near the younger's mouth, pushing it slowly on the cub's lips for him to take. “We will get some toys for your sore jaw, 'dori.” he grins watching his troubled little Yuji who depends on him so much.

Tiger!Cub Yuji nibbles on his Aniki's finger, leaving small tents of his canines and droll on the skin. His tiny palm forgetting to loosen the grip to his Suku-nii's shirt.

Sukuna might have a hunch or so for why his little brother has gotten more attached to him rather than their any other relative or friend—who comprehensibly wanted Yuji's attention more than him,, but he never really understood.

Whatever the case... he has already grown affectionate to the stinkingly adorable and clingy brat in his lap for life is what he knows.

masterlist! sukuita hcs!

an. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AAAAA😭 hope y'all like it, thank you for reading, likes & rbs are appreciated <333

tags. @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts @dianagracesworld @pupkashi

[ecstarry]

"The one with only one bed" for you baby @malchai, for always inspiring me

“James, this is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to live in a book,” Regulus quipped as he stared at the only bed in the middle of their hotel room. 

“I swear this was an honest mistake,” James said, though his words were far from convincing as laughter filled the room.

“I’m not sleeping with my brother’s best friend,” Regulus said firmly, except his mind couldn't help but entertain the scenario of a night sharing a bed with James.

“You should never say never, Reg,” James replied with an exaggerated wink. “It’s just one night. Get over yourself. Besides, you’re not my type.”

“Fuck off, Potter. I’m everyone’s type,” Regulus said, a cocky grin spread across his face. 

“Not mine, though.” James was clearly trying to start a game with Regulus. He knew it, but Regulus Black was prideful, he was always hungry for a victory. 

“Really?” Regulus dropped his bag to the floor, and slowly walked towards James. He could tell that even closing the distance was enough to make the mighty James Potter blush. 

“Yeah,” James said with a sudden shy voice. 

“So you don’t mind if I take my shirt off, right? The weather is kinda shit here.” Regulus stepped closer, their proximity was a territory they had only ventured into while drunk, never sober and never alone.

“Yeah.”

“Since when are you a man of few words, Jamie?” Regulus grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, ruining his perfectly arranged curls, almost as if someone had run their fingers through them.

“Are you getting hot too? You look flustered,” Regulus said as his eyes traveled to James’ crotch, he was wearing a pair of sweats that did very little to conceal the bulge forming underneath. 

James took a deep breath and looked back at Regulus with a challenge, or a proposal even. Regulus couldn’t tell yet, but he was curious enough to see where this went. 

“Actually, I am hot. I think I also need fewer layers.” James was wearing a linen white shirt and, instead of giving Regulus the satisfaction of a quick reveal, he slowly started unbuttoning it, allowing Regulus’ gaze to savor every detail of his body.

The sight of that god-like body was enough to make Regulus forget what the game even was. Any coherent thought left his mind as the last button of James’ shirt was undone, revealing the most delicious man he had ever seen standing shirtless in front of him.

“Eyes up here, love,” James teased with a low voice. 

Before Regulus could even process James’ comment he heard a knock on the door, he quickly avoided meeting James’ eyes and walked over to open the door. 

“We are truly sorry for the misunderstanding, we have a room that matches the description you asked for, if you would-”

“This one is fine, thank you,” Regulus replied and closed the door. 

He turned around and saw James waiting eagerly for any sign that confirm exactly what Regulus’ last words meant. Regulus returned to his previous spot, close to James and reached for his own pants and started unbuttoning them, an action mimicked by a very excited James. 

“Rethinking the ‘not sleeping with your brother’s best friend’ thing aren’t you?” James teased. 

“Rethinking the ‘you’re not my type’ thing aren’t you?” Regulus quickly snapped back as James pulled him closer and held Regulus’ face between his hands. 

“Just let me fucking kiss you, Reg.” 

I win, Regulus thought. 

[calicoheartz]

“Baby I” - Paige Bueckers♡

summary : jealous Paige Bueckers x reader !

wc ; 897

synopsis : inspired by the song “baby i” by Ariana Grande :) Paige’s jealousy often gets in the way of your relationship, so what happens when you interact with a particularly attractive stranger?

warning : angst , suggestive content , jealousy / possessiveness

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : look at me having a posting streak !! decided to try something new today, so I hope yall enjoy ◡̈

You and Paige had been dating for not too long, but your relationship had certainly developed into one where strong feelings and emotions played a huge factor in your everyday lives.

It was no secret to you that Paige was jealous, envious even; it caused you a fair share of problems throughout your relationship. Whether it was through jealous ridden comments, or snarky remarks, it was slowly starting to take a toll on you.

You and Paige were invited to go bar hopping with the team, as a celebration of the victorious win for Uconn. The free spirited and ambient environment encouraged you to let loose, encouraging you to not only grab a drink from the bar, but to strike up a couple of conversations with individuals around you.

It’s not that Paige didn’t want you to talk to other people, it’s just that when it comes to you; she’s very, how do I word this.. Overbearing? Whether it was constantly having her hands glued to your waist, peppering your face with kisses, or shooting bitter looks and whoever even dares to be just a little too friendly.

On this particular night, a very attractive character to say the least, approached you; beginning to start a simple conversation. Asking things like your name, complimenting your outfit, and overall trying to learn more about you

From across the room, you can see the blonde staring intensely at you, giving you a disapproving look; signaling you to end the conversation. You furrowed your brows and gave her a confused look back, not understanding how the conversation was moving south in any way.

You quickly turned back around, further continuing your conversation with the stranger, when all of a sudden you feel a harsh tug on your wrist. “It was nice meeting you, but we have to go.” And just like that, there you were, being dragged out of the bar by your girlfriend. Who seemed incredibly pissed.

The drive back home was unbearable, no words were exchanged between you two. The blonde never acknowledging you on your journey back home, knuckles white due to her intense grip on the steering wheel. You couldn’t tell if she was upset, disappointed, horny, or a mix of all 3.

As soon as you reached your apartment, your nerves were eating you alive. You had no idea what was waiting for you once you reached your apartment door.

You quickly hurried inside, and situated yourself on your shared couch. Waiting for her to say something. You felt your heart pounding, unable to even form coherent words. When you realized the endless silence, you simply muttered out a “I’m..sorry?.” Paige rolled her eyes at you, scoffing in the process. “YOU’RE sorry? They were practically throwing themselves at you and all you did was stand there and let them.” You were shocked, you knew Paige could take things the wrong way, but you never imagined her of all people would think you would be the type to do that.

“Paige…” you started. “You know I love you more than anything, but you know words can’t even touch what’s in my heart,” you continued. Your eyes now spilling out tears you tried your hardest to keep in.

“Then why don’t you ever tell me?”... “I feel like I’m constantly competing with others for your attention” This statement startled you, as you knew Paige was well aware of your difficulty to express yourself, let alone reassure others. Fuck. Oh how badly you wished the floor underneath you would simply collapse, giving you any sort of escape from the high tensioned conversation.

You felt as if you were to speak, your throat would simply close up. You managed to croak out.. “It’s just when I try to explain it, I be sounding insane. Sometimes it feels like the words don’t ever come out right.” She looks at you, her gaze softening a bit; as a reaction to your sudden vulnerability.

“It’s just I don’t know…the words just never come out right when it comes to you. You make me get all tongue tied and twisted, and I literally cannot explain what I’m feeling.” “Baby-” “No.” - you cut her off. Quickly feeling a rush of adrenaline run through you. “Yes, I should’ve been more clear and work on my communication, but you need to realize that not everyone is trying to sabotage our relationship. It’s exhausting. I can’t keep isolating myself due to your jealous fits of rage.”

Paige looks at you, tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill out if she even mumbles out a word. She muttered a quiet “im sorry…”, her voice cracking at the last word, her eyes glued to the floor as she anticipated your response.

As if she were a magnet, you run towards her and wrap your arms around her tall frame, gently rubbing circles into your back as sobs slowly escape her lips. This entire thing had been a complete misunderstanding, and her jealousy blinded her judgment. Through her weeps you were able to make out “i love you. All i was trying to say is that youre my everything and-”

She wasnt even able to finish her sentence as she felt your warm lips on hers, entangling her in a deep and loving kiss. “If that doesnt show you that i love you, i dont know what will”

not sure how to feel about this tbh, originally i was gonna give this a sad ending but since the song is a love song, it didn’t feel fitting. Lmk ur thoughts !! Thanks for reading ◡̈

[revelboo]

DUDE I LOVE YOUR WRITING EEEK! ^v^ if you’re not too busy and want to, may I request a second part to the Jazz story you just wrote where he accidentally broke the readers leg :)

Over it Now pt 2

Jazz x Reader

• “No, no, come on. Stop,” he growls under his breath, curling his servos around your middle as you try to wriggle free while still screaming. For such a little thing, you have some impressive lungs. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” Again. Grimacing at the cast on your leg, he holds up his free hand. “Scout’s honor.”

• You stop screaming. Mostly to suck in a deep breath to start screaming again, when the big, monster robot, carefully sets you down and holds up both hands, palm out. “We’re cool,” it says, voice low and soothing. “Don’t freak out. Everything’s cool.”

• It feels like your heart is going to pound its way right out of your chest as you shift yourself to stretch out your aching leg. Those big hands are still up in surrender and it’s easier to breathe without it touching you. Because it was real. Really real. And it’s staring at you. “What are you?” Not exactly what you mean to say, but it’s what your panicked brain blurts out.

• “Cybertronian.” So far so good. He lowers his hands since you don’t appear to be gearing up for another screaming session just yet. “Name’s Jazz.”

• “Is that- are you-what? An alien. Robot. Car?” Maybe you’re really still in the hospital bed. Drooling on the pillow from whatever painkillers they gave you. Having a good old time. You certainly don’t feel coherent.

• “Yeah, but I’m more the come in peace kind than the bursting out of your chest type,” it says, shoulders and those weird door wings lifting as it gives an uncannily human shrug. A surprised snort escapes you, because this thing knows pop culture references? Now that you’re calming down enough to actually look at the thing, the car it changed from is pretty obvious. There’s the tires. The hood. “Sorry about the leg,” it adds, distracting you from your absent minded inventory of parts.

• Right. Giant robot had dropped a tree almost on top of you. Accidentally? Hopefully accidentally. “It’s fine.” It’s really not fine, but you don’t have the guts to tell this thing off. Mostly because you don’t want to be smushed like an ant if you make it angry.

• “What were you doing out there in the dark?” Jazz asks, the human’s face reddening slightly at the question, their eyes drifting toward the tree line. As they try to shift themselves, face twisting in discomfort, he reaches for them. Freezing when their eyes widen. “I’m not going to hurt you, doll.” Moving slowly to not spook them, he curls his servos around them to help them sit up. It’s almost unsettling how soft and warm they are, the way he can feel their little heart racing against his servos.

• “I heard the crash and thought someone might be hurt.” It’s shockingly gentle for being so big. Those hands can seriously hurt you if it wanted to. If Jazz wanted to. That wry expression on its almost too human face speaks of guilt. Maybe it feels bad for hurting you. Previous Next

[formiito]

moon, 12:04 am

synopsis: sometimes, picking up the pieces isn't enough.

author's note: i blacked out and a spirit possessed my body to type this. totally didn't crash out today and put all that frustration into this fic. 

read on ao3

dazai x gn! reader. wc: 1.3k

The sound of restless pacing is all that sounds in the hallway at night.

Forwards, stopping, backwards, stopping, turn. The movement is soothing to a restless mind. Despite a slowly fraying thought process, the mind attempts to keep itself rational despite heading into a slow descent. A pounding headache, tired eyes, the feeling of warmth in the waterline. The tears waits to fall, and it isn't wiped. It feels like something, and it feels real. It encourages the spiral further, and you do. A rare moment of feeling something more, even if it may be loathing. Despising the weightlessness of a cloud, of the seemingly carefree nature of your existence, because it didn't feel enough. Moving through life in a trance like state, moments of fugue that settle in the skull like cotton candy and mist. Drawing out the agony feels better, that loneliness that claws it's way from the inside and holds the injury apart with it's jagged nails. It feels like something, and despite the tension of the moment and the stress, it feels good somehow. You attempt to squeeze out a tear from your lashline. It doesn't work, all that is left is a pathetic smudge of something wet underneath your eyes. All the harsh words and a bitter knife like tongue, the little gust of wind that spins into an emotional tornado; this was all it could elicit.

Release. It would feel so much better if you had access to such a thing. If the sound of footsteps did not immediately alert you to wipe your eyes despite the moisture being far too little, to attempt to compose your thoughts for a coherent response. You wished you were left alone for just a little longer, to perhaps stew in the all too rare outburst of emotion. But weren't you being unreasonable? You understand the weight of the words you said, none of which you meant. You'll apologize this time. It wasn't intentional, not very much, simply the culmination of the meaningless day in and day out of the past few months. Nothing bothered you much. Everything was alright. You knew that. You wondered if this argument was just a desperate attempt to feel something, even if it were only anger.

Anger and sadness are best friends. Anger and guilt are lovers. Preparing yourself for a bandaged hand on your shoulder and an apology that'll come far too easily to your lips because you knew your faults better than anyone; it feels odd to have nothing. Only a pause that stretches out far too long. The thought is slightly relieving. Could you get away with feigning resentment for a few more minutes just to have something to cling on? Can this wound not close too early?

Your throat betrays you before your mind does and the coughing fit that follows leaves a sharp pain in the back of your throat and the centre of your chest. It's strangely difficult to say anything without the tingling in your throat rising up again and so you say nothing. Instead, you choose to focus on the weight of the stare into your back. Mentally, you try guessing what you will see. Empty eyes like twin abysses that look through you as though you were a ghost? A charming smile that asks if something is wrong while playing the night's events off like an ill timed joke? Disappointment in not understanding him? Indifference to the matter?

Every option brought its own new fear, yet you felt strangely relieved. All of them would mean moving beyond this, the precarious line that separates those that care and those that don't. Maybe this would have Dazai pulling away from that delicate line. You couldn't be sure; he had a way of laughing expectation in the face. You couldn't tell what he was thinking. A fact that sometimes causes you grief. No, you do not understand. As his hand reaches out with a nearly imperceptible tremble to his fingers—when you silently ask yourself if it took far too long for you to notice?—holding your hand where it is always free to be held, you don't understand how to ease his sorrow. A brilliant mind is somewhat of a prison to be in. But you don't have the key. Dazai often watches you attempt to make him see your perspective with some sort of sarcastic amusement. As if he knows that neither of you truly know what you're doing. Dancing all the right steps, despite themselves, but never in sync. The moment of vulnerability for you only comes when his ends, and his begins where yours finish. Too bad you can't understand. Too bad you can't see where his sadness begins. If he's sick, what ails him? If he isn't, how do you make yourself the same way?

You don't know what the shape is of the creeping shadows of his past when they stick their fingers into the back of his mind. You never needed a reason to be alive, or to question your humanity. What are you to tell him? That you did not care? That everything had long since blurred into one singular misty thought; how do I help you?

In truth, you don't know why Dazai clings on. Why you do either. Why it's so easy to apologize and why he accepts it as though it's the punchline to this joke of a relationship. Maybe he welcomes you back because it doesn't quite matter anymore, does it? Not when the both of you are too embroiled in this personal irony to clearly see what's in front of you both.

What's in front of you now is a resigned smile, a mouth that forms uncanny words and asks you playfully if there's a reason you're having trouble sleeping. You don't look at him with pity in your eyes. Something worse. Shame. As if you truly believed your worthlessness to be the same as his. To him it's a cruel joke.

Times like these, you somewhat begin to understand why he craves death so much, only for different reasons than his. In truth, you had many reasons not to die, but most of those reasons you have traced back to one thing — cowardice.

The fabric of a familiar coloured beige coat soaks up tears that aren't quite there yet. He observes your tired eyes and looks at you like he understands. You can't do the same for him. It kills. But do you know how to be a warm body, so you hold onto the back of the coat and the shell within tight. Dazai lets you, knowing that it's the only thing at the moment that you trust yourself to do right; the other hand reaching up to entangle in your hair. The moonlight out the window reflects in his eyes, and there's a small glimmer of something in his eyes when he feels the shaking of shoulders and the trembling of a broken ego. This feels real. Like this, you feel real.

It's somewhat soothing, feeling your silence turn into real sobs. That the emotion is given a noise, even if it's incoherent and you can't say what you really want to because you don't trust yourself right now. Everyone must entangle the strings of their own mind by themselves or live with a knot where their head should be, this you know. For a moment you wonder how fickle your beliefs are if you can toss them away so easily for being held like this. Dazai wonders how long you will try before you grow tired of your work. Will you end up seeing yourself to the same degradation as him? Everything he cares about has been growing cold in his fingers, since that day the bandages covering him fell loose. His fingers trace where the wound of your loneliness should be. Your blood is warm, tears warmer, and he wonders if there's a way to somehow kill a person while they're still alive.

[spnjediavenger]

Not That Strange (Matt Murdock x reader)

Title: Not That Strange

Type: one-shot; matt murdock x reader

Warnings: none?

Spoilers: none?

Notes: got this idea from a post @harleycao made. Thank you for letting me turn it into a fic!

As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Disclaimers: i do not own daredevil, its characters, or plot

Word count: 828

It had been a long night; and Matt got more beat up than he’d like to admit. He prevailed in the end but wondered if he’d have to take a night or two off after this to rest and meditate.

With the wounds and bruises around his body and exhaustion seeping into his bones, Matt hadn’t been paying attention to the inside of his apartment, hence not hearing the heartbeat occupying the space that he didn’t expect. He climbed through the window of his bedroom, feet thudding loudly on the floor with apathy. He could practically hear his bed calling his name.

“...Matt?”

The vigilante knew he was weary from tiredness but he was with it enough to know that was most definitely not his bed…

Matt froze as he stood just inside his room, heart skipping a beat too.

On the other side of the room, his girlfriend, Y/n, stood. Her jaw was dropped ever so slightly as she stared at Daredevil standing in her boyfriend’s room. And Matt didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t insult Y/n’s intelligence by trying to lie at this point. But he also couldn’t get himself to just come out and say it, worried she would reject him now. So he elected to remain silent and not move when she slowly walked towards him. She stopped just inches away from him, reaching her hands up to grab the helmet on his head. Matt’s hands flinched at the urge to grab her hands from pulling it off but he stopped them. She slid it off and watched as Matt turned his blind gaze to the floor. He found it almost funny how after all these years, the reaction to avert one’s eyes in an uneasy circumstance still lived in his brain.

Y/n studied his face for a few moments in the silence. She knew it was him. She knew what her boyfriend looked like. But it still took her brain time to come to terms with it. When she got a somewhat coherent thought, she spoke. “Are…Are you…”

Matt stopped himself from huffing at the inevitable question he knew she was going to ask. After his identity having been revealed a few times now he just accepted the response. “Yes, I really am blind.”

Y/n pursed her lips and tilted her head in confusion. “What?”

Matt paused a moment and turned his face to be level with hers. “You were going to ask if I was even blind, right? Or if I’ve been lying about it?”

Y/n’s head twitched back in shock. “No,” she almost laughed. “I was going to ask if you were a super soldier or something. Why would I question if you’re actually blind?”

Matt furrowed his brow. “Most people usually do…The things daredevil does would be pretty difficult for a blind person,” he said, as if it was rehearsed.

Now Y/n chuckled a bit dryly. “I think you should know by now that I am not most people, Matt Murdock,” she smiled, surprising him with a peck on the lips. Upon seeing his still confused expression, she continued. “Matt, literal g-ds have come here from other planets; earth is home to two, if not more, supersoldiers that can do things that defy normal human standards; there are people who have actual superpowers that they got from some crazy celestial stones. And others think that you being able to fight and do backflips blind doesn’t make sense? It’s not that strange.”

Matt burst out laughing at her saying this in a completely serious tone. He knew she was serious - but it did sound absurd when she said it out loud. When he calmed down, he gave her a quick kiss back, his residual laughter bleeding into it a bit. “It does seem silly when you put it that way,” he said, smiling.

Y/n smiled back and threw his helmet on his bed so she could weave both hands through his hair.

A moment passed and Matt thought of something. “Wait, so you- you’re ok with this?”

“I mean…it’s a lot to take in but it also explains a lot,” Y/n said plainly. “Not having a lot of stayovers, the random wounds that everyone knows aren’t because you’re blind and run into things (Matt definitely didn’t blush, feeling called out on that), how inhumanly tired you are some mornings. It’s a little scary but I know you know how to handle and protect yourself; especially knowing everything you’ve done for this city. It just makes me more proud to be your girlfriend,” she ended in a whisper, pulling Matt in for a proper kiss that he happily returned.

“You have to be the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Matt said, resting his forehead on hers, his voice filled with love. 

Y/n smiled and closed her eyes. “I love you, Daredevil.”

Matt chuckled and cupped her cheek. “I love you too.”