#it was really hard figuring out how to make his weapons

[rooksamoris]

A KNIGHT IN VIOLET UNIFORM !!

💞 — in which rook hunt rescues you from bullies during beanfest. 💞 — gender neutral reader. warnings: reader gets their ass kicked </3, bullying, cursing/vulgar language and violence. 1.8k words!! one request down, three more to go. hope you enjoy.

There was a burning in your chest, the faint taste of iron in the back of your mouth as your legs forced themselves across the grass despite the ache that was building in your calves. The crunch beneath your feet was anything but comforting when you could still hear the voices of your attackers following you. Sevens, you need to stop coming up with excuses to escape the gym with Coach Vargas.

Malicious forces were following the scent of fresh blood, and all you could do was run, inevitably to be caught. Monsters versus farmers, it felt like some elaborate scheme that the heavens orchestrated to laugh at your failure.

The skin of your face was set ablaze, hot and sweaty, with hair strands sticking to your forehead.

You had ended up separated from Grim and Cater a while ago, and now you were stuck alone, magic-less, and running. When you had heard about the concept of Beanfest from Professor Crewel, you figured it would not be so bad. It did not matter to you whether you won or lost, you just wanted to get out of this with as little workout time as possible and minimal bruises, but it seemed other plans were in store for you. 

You had been leaning against a tree to catch your breath when you caught the sight of a few students who really did not think very kindly of you. Somehow during your brief time in this world, you managed to gain plenty of enemies, and you knew exactly why. You just could not mind your own business, could you? The moment there was an injustice committed before you, something would possess you to swoop into danger as if you were some hero. 

All you were, truly, was a magic-less alien stuck in a world that did not accept you. You shut your eyes to push the thoughts away. Distractions would not do well at a time like this.

Your eyelids flew open when you felt your pants catch onto a branch, sending you falling forward. Your ankle twisted funny and you felt a pop, followed by a harsh shot of pain, “Ah, shit!” you cried out in pain. Your eyes welled up with tears as your brows knitted. There was no time to look at your foot or cry some more, so you shakily pushed yourself up, hissing in pain when you stepped on your injured limb.

And you continued on, limping your way in search of a hiding spot.

Slowed down, thanks to your injury, you were quickly found by the assailants. Before you knew it, you were surrounded by them. There were three students, all of whom you recognized. They were a group you first met when they had been poking fun at Grim. Prodding at his fur and making jokes about his size and his intelligence. Despite all the stress and heartache the beast caused you, he was your friend. Your first companion in this forsaken world of villainy and magic, so you came to his defense. 

You humiliated them, insulting them before a crowd of students who had gathered. Claiming things about how their attitudes must have been compensation for other things and calling them pathetic. Before they could enact retribution then, Professor Trein intervened.  

Since then, they started throwing things at you, sending cruel comments your way, and trying to get you alone. It was hard for them to get away with much since you tended to hang out with people most of the day. There was only so much they could do with Ace and Deuce around, and very little was possible under the protective eyes of Professor Trein and Crewel.

Unwelcome hands shoved you back down onto the ground, causing the back of your head to hit a tree stump, which pulled a yelp out of your throat. Still, you glared at them, face hot, eyes teary, body aching and dirty. 

The tallest of the group laughed, “What, no shit talking now?” he asked, pointing his weapon at you. 

There had to have been some divine reason for why these jerks all ended up being in the monster group, with you being a farmer. It was fitting. You nurtured and helped those around you grow, while they attacked others for their amusement.

“Why don’t you just fucking shoot me and get this over with?” you spat, “Does it make your dick any bigger to beat up a magic-less student?” 

That response was not appreciated. His expression darkened and he kicked you in the side for it, “Shut up. I’ll do what I want, and right now that’s getting back at you for your little stunt. You think you’re so safe because you’ve managed to trick a few guys into giving a shit about you. Well, look around? No one’s here to help you now,” he hissed. The two at his side laughed.

Those words seemed to strike a cord, and foolishly you allowed it to show in the way your expression faltered slightly. You were all alone here and you were defenseless. Your bottom lip trembled a little.

“Aww, are you gonna cry?” one of them asked, his voice dripping with condescension as he bent down to grasp your jaw in his harsh hand, tilting your face up in his direction when you tried to pull away, clawing at his arm, “You’re cuter like this, you know. When you’re not talking shit like you could back it up.”

You averted your gaze and caught the sight of some blonde hair up in one of the many trees surrounding you. His piercing green eyes were so comforting at a time like this, and he held his finger up to his lips to warn you against revealing his hiding spot. You looked back up at the student holding your face and spat right at him.

“You little—” he raised his hand to slap you but then a sharp gust passed across and a harsh crack followed it.  The student was suddenly flinching away from you, clutching his injured hand, “What the—?”

Rook whistled to bring your bullies attention to himself. There he was, holding up a two pronged stick that had a stretchy hair-tie stretched across it, grinning as he balanced on a branch. He had shot a rock right at the boy who nearly slapped you, breaking something in his hand in the process. 

They stumbled back from you, which gave you the chance to crawl away a bit.

“The fuck, dude? We’re literally on the same team!” the taller one cried.

The hunter looked offended at such a claim, eyebrows raised as he shook his head, “I do not believe we are on the same team, non.” He began to gracefully make his way down, hopping from the branches in a skillful acrobatic performance. He always did have a theatrical way of doing things.

Foolishly, the quietest of the three attackers stepped forward, “We’re all monsters! You’re in the same uniform as us.”

Once he was before them, he took a protective stance in front of you as you shakily stood up, leaning on one of the trees, “Oui, c’est vrai. We wear the same violet uniforms, but we are much different. I respect the hunt, and you three don’t,” he hummed, stepping towards them, “Was there anything else you wanted to say to mon Trickster?”

The group stepped back. Rook was the type of guy who did not seem to have a ‘bad side’, even now he was smiling, but it was clear by the tension in the air that he fully was prepared to pounce. They shook their heads and booked it.

Rook turned to face you, gently reaching out to help you sit down on a nearby tree stump, “Ah, you have found yourself in quite some trouble, Trickster,” he said, carefully cupping your calf and lifting it up a bit. He looked up at your face for permission, before helping you out of your shoe and your socks, pulling your pants up over your ankle. 

You frowned at the sight. Your skin was swollen and red, “I messed it up while running away. Fell on it funny,” you explained. 

He nodded softly before reaching into his pocket for a roll of gauze, “It is good to be prepared, oui? I have no ice, but we can compress the strain and then you must rest. I will not let you play a moment longer in this state,” he said, as he began to wrap the gauze around it. There was still some anger that simmered beneath the surface of his smile. He had known about those bullies and he had gone out of his way to be around you more often in case they tried something like this. He carefully helped you back into your sock and your shoe, before helping you up, slipping an arm around your waist and guiding your arm over his shoulder.

“I won’t fight you on that. I’m ready to rest.”

“Très bien,” he said. And so, he began to walk you back, careful to stay away from any of the traps he planted for other farmers or any conflicts happening with other classmates. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was getting you somewhere safe to rest.

Over the duration of the walk, he spoke to you about just about anything that came to mind. The trees listened to it all, engraving the time spent into their growth rings. One day, years from now, someone will cut them down and find Rook’s passionate words and your quiet replies. He did not bother you too much for information, sensing that your mood was sullen after the encounter. He decided instead to just be there for you.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you muttered after a moment.

He turned his head to face you, helping you down onto a log to rest, “I could not leave you to the vultures,” he said, before pausing. He crouched down before you and took your hands. His brows knitted softly as his thumbs brushed circles into the back of your palms, “Je suis désolé. Had I come sooner, we could have avoided these wounds,” he added, looking at some of the scratches on your skin from being shoved about.

You managed a little smile and shook your head, “It’s not your fault, Rook. I shouldn’t poke the bear if I have no bullets.”

“Ah, a fantastique expression,” he grinned, “But I do admire your willingness to jump into battle for the service of good. Perhaps I will just have to teach you some self-defense for these situations.”

The prospect of having Rook over to teach you to fight was an enticing one. Him, standing behind you and guiding your arms into the proper positions… you nodded, “I would be honored, Le Chasseur d’Amour.”

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[kelsunnie]

What Isn't Said (Deltarune Kris X Reader)

HI GUYS LONG TIME NO SEE I'M VERY SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUTBUT FINALLY ITS HERE AND DONT WORRY CHAPTER 4 IS IN THE WORKS IM LITERALLY WRITING IT RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK FOR NOW ENJOY THIS ONE LOVE U ALL

Chapter 3: A CYBER'S WORLD?

Kris and Susie instinctively pull out their weapons, with Kris’ being a sharp sword and Susie’s, as you’ve seen before, is an axe. You thought that their weapons fit their personalities, but it made you wonder about the grappling hook. You didn’t even know when and how to use it properly, and you’d hate to use it to hurt anyone.

“Wait! Why are we fighting them? Shouldn’t we, like, maybe… help them?” You tried to reason with the two.

“Well, yeah, dingus. We’re gonna do that,” Susie shot back, gripping her axe, “We just have to figure out how first.” 

You swallowed hard, glancing between the sparking creature and your friends. “Okay… okay. Think,” you stared at the scenario around you, trying to piece together something that could help ease both sides. 

And then—

“… Susie, throw me.” Kris’ voice cut through the tension, low and flat. Their eyes didn’t meet you or Susie, but their voice sounded determined and rushed, like they were trying to finish things up quickly, which you don’t really blame them for. 

“WHAT?!”

Susie hesitated for half a second, then let out a low chuckle. “Man, you’re weird. But hey—whatever gets it done.”

“No, wait! What??? Obviously, don’t! They’re gonna get hurt!”

“Okay, suuure, but do you have any ideas? Maybe throwing Kris at the enemy will help,” 

“Well…” 

“… The wire. Throw me near the wires.” 

“No no no wait. Wait a second. Okay,” you gestured for them to wait, hand on your head, “Okay, I get what you’re trying to do now.” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to calm the panic in your chest.

For the briefest second, you thought you saw it — the faintest curl at the corner of Kris’s mouth. A smile. But it was gone too fast to be sure.

“I have an idea.”

You raised the grappling hook, gripping it tighter, “Let me try something. I can maybe hook the wires—pull them loose, cut the power. We won’t have to hurt Kris at all.”

Susie stared at you, then gave you a smirk, shrugging, “Huh. Alright, nerd. Let’s see what you got.”

You took a deep breath, and with all your strength, swung the grappling hook towards the Werewires in a curved manner. 

“Please, don’t hit them…!” you whispered to yourself, anxiety creeping up on your back, scared of your hook hitting the Werewires. The hook sails in the air as it gets smaller in your point of view, until you can see it reach near the Werewires, quickly pulling it slightly to help make the rope wrap around the wires. The grappling hook obeyed, catching hold, but only snaring one of the cords. Once the rope of the hook clung hard enough, you yanked it. The wire trembled, then snapped loose from the Werewires’ body, falling harmlessly to the ground.

“Damn, I only got one,” you cursed through your breath, frustration bubbling in your chest, “Think you guys can handle the other one?”

“On it!” Susie smirked, glancing at Kris for a plan.

Kris stepped up behind her, cool and focused, resting their arms on either side of them as if bracing for takeoff.

“Alright, then, you weirdo,” Susie grabs Kris by the waist, holding their blue-skinned friend from above while waiting for Kris’ signal.

“Go,” Kris steadily commanded Susie.

“Kris!” You cried, panic rising in your voice.

With barely a heartbeat to spare, Kris drew their blade mid air, slashing cleanly at the wire. Sparks flew as the wire snapped loose, unraveling from the Werewire’s body before dropping to the ground with a thud.

“Are you both crazy?!” You barked, breathless from the sight.

Neither of them answered at first—Kris adjusting their stance calmly and Susei brushing off her hands like it was nothing.

“Throwing Kris aside,” Susie came up to you, face looking smug, “We make a pretty good team.”

“… I can’t deny that,” you exhaled, shoulders still tense, “But that was reckless. What if Kris got hurt?” 

Susie shrugged, “Well, they’re not, aren’t they?”

“I’m not.” Kris answered, their voice steady.

“… That’s good to hear,” you muttered, relief finally washing over your body.

“Well, it was nice fighting after so long!” Susie faced Kris, eyes glinting with excitement, “Now let’s go catch up to Queen!”

Suddenly, a couple wires dropped from above, hitting the previous pink creatures, transforming them into the Werewires you recently fought.

“… Or not!” All of you quickly readied yourselves, 

Until the two Werewires dropped on the ground, as if they fell asleep, the power cords no longer attached and fell on the empty space.

“Huh? They calmed down?”

“I just used my PACIFY spell to put them into “Sleep Mode”!” came a cheerful voice from behind.

“Ralsei! You’re here!”

Ralsei? you thought to yourself. You turned to the unfamiliar but kind sounding voice and your eyes widened. The Ralsei they spoke of looked a lot like Asriel, except way shorter and softer, wrapped in green with a pink scarf. Your heart twisted a little. It shouldn’t have surprised you. After all, this world had already broken every rule of logic the moment you woke up alone in a strange outfit with a grappling hook in your hand. But still, seeing that face—the one you used to look up to like a big brother—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You’re not him, you wanted to say. But you remind me of everything I’ve lost.

You quickly tried to compose yourself, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of your thoughts about the new arrival’s physical appearance. 

“I felt a dark presence and hurried over!” Ralsei ran towards all of you, a cheerful smile plastered on his face, “I’m so glad you’re all okay.” 

His gaze shifted to you, soft and warm and he spoke your name, “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… how do you know my name?”

Ralsei beamed, the adorable goat looking extremely adorable in your eyes, “You’re the star that will mend the bonds!”

“Whaaaaaat?” You blurted out in disbelief, voice raising up to an octave, “This isn’t some game or something, right? I’m probably dreaming all of this, yeah. And what does that even mean?”

“Well, I can help you understand by telling you our history and prophecy!”

“Okay, I think that’ll—”

“BORING!” Susie suddenly groaned, cutting you off, “No more of your fairytale speeches, Fluffyboy. We’ve heard it all before.”

Ralsei flinched, his ears twitching, “But.. But they haven’t…”

“And if we stand around yappin’, Noelle’s gonna end up having her face be turned into a robot or whatever Queen’s got planned,” Susie added, crossing her arms with a loud huff.

You blinked between the two of them, still stunned, “Wait. What prophecy? What ‘star’ thing? What does this have to do with me?”

Ralsei looked apologetically toward you, his hands nervously wringing together, “I… I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”

“So this isn’t some kind of dream?”

“We’ll talk about it after we save Noelle,” Susie turned around, walking ahead of you, “C’mon, she’s waiting. If we don't do something, she might be..."

You stood there for a second, reeling, glancing at Ralsei, whose worried but hopeful eyes stayed on you before forcing your feet to move. His eyes were gentle, but seemed to be clouded with something unspoken. Whatever he meant earlier still echoed in your head like a riddle half-whispered. The questions in your mind piled higher than ever, but for now, you had no choice but to follow and listen to their conversations. 

One of them will slip eventually. What is this place anyway? You thought with a quiet huff, scanning your surroundings.

“You’re pretty worried for someone you barely talk to,” you eyed your purple classmate, “No offense, but you’re kind of mean to everyone.”

“Well–!” Susie faltered, quickly crossing her arms and looking away, “No! I mean… she’s… nice… I guess. That’s all!”

Then, more defensively, she added, “Aren’t you supposed to be her friend? You’re just messing around in OUR Dark World!”

You blinked, stunned for a second. That stung more than you expected.

“... I didn’t ask to be dragged into this,” you muttered, your voice quieter but sharp, “but I’m not about to stand by and do nothing if Noelle’s in danger.” 

The group fell silent for a beat. You glanced at Kris, hoping for something—anything—but their face was unreadable, eyes distant like they were watching the scene from a step outside themselves. You felt a pang in your heart, thoughts rushing in your head like a dam that broke open—does Kris care about Noelle? Do they care about you? Do they care about your friendship? Their expression unsettled you more than you admitted.

You turned your gaze back to Susie, softening just a little, “I just want her safe, too. That’s all.”

Ralsei quickly stepped in, “Worry not, everyone! All we have to do is seal the Fountain!”

“… Yeah. Yeah! Can’t be mad about another adventure, right?!”

Dark World... Fountain... You echoed in your mind. Right. I’ll remember that. 

“C’mon, Kris!” Susie called out, already cracking her knuckles with anticipation. 

Then suddenly, they all turned at once, striking familiar poses—Ralsei smiling with his arms raised playfully, Susie’s hand on her hip while the other is curled into a loose fist near her chin, a smirk plastered on her face, and Kris… 

You stared for a beat too long. Kris had their arms crossed, their back facing you—silent, unmoving, like they were trying really hard to be mysterious.

“... Are you guys always this theatrical?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

No one answered. You blinked, the three of them still holding their respective poses.

“... Seriously?”

Ralsei giggled softly, “It’s tradition!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, sigh, or start walking away. Instead, you just muttered, “Okay… Sure. Pose break. Got it,” and reluctantly struck your own awkward stance, hoping no one was watching.

Susie smirked, “Not bad, nerd.”

Kris didn’t comment on your pose, but you thought—just maybe—you caught the tiniest twitch of a smile. Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, swearing to yourself over and over that you were never going to do that again.

“… Let’s go,” Kris said quietly, their voice echoing just enough to pull you all forward again.

Your group pressed on, footsteps rhythmically echoing around the unfamiliar space. Questions still lingered in your mind—about what Ralsei knew about you and the prophecy he was supposed to tell you. Susie seemed to know something about the prophecy, did Kris know about it, too? Did they know anything about you and your involvement? You glanced at the trio walking just ahead. Ralsei was humming a soft tune, his cape swaying with each bounce in his step. Susie was grumbling about “another detour” and “just wanting to hit something already.” And Kris—Kris remained unreadable, walking just slightly behind the others, silent as ever. Why didn’t they say anything back there? Why was it that you, of all people, were "the star that will mend the bonds"?

You sighed, scratching your head in frustration. There were too many questions, but too few answers. 

I guess I’ll wait for Ralsei’s explanation later.

The four of you head to a cliff with yellow arrows—something you were familiar with in this world. Without thinking, you moved first, stepping ahead to scout it, until a sudden tug at your shirt pulled you back. You turned in surprise.

Kris stood behind you, hand still gripping your clothes, “Long way down.”

You turned back to the cliff and almost immediately fear washed your entire body. One step closer and you would’ve been down there, laying flat. 

“… Thanks,” you whispered to your childhood friend, your pulse still hasn’t slowed.

“I’m going ahead, nerds,” Susie called, already sliding down the slope with a confident huff, “try not to fall off the cliff or whatever!”

Ralsei hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two of you, “I’ll make sure Susie doesn’t accidentally break anything… or anyone.” He offered a small, warm smile before following after her.

Their voices and footsteps faded. You and Kris were left in silence, a long pause. And then—

“... Hand,” Kris spoke up, their voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. They had extended their hand to you—calm, yet a little hesitant. Not demanding, but… waiting. You look up, meeting their crimson eyes. Something about the gesture made your chest ache a little. Their gaze felt familiar, unlike the ones observed from them just moments ago. You weren’t sure if it was the same person you’d been watching just minutes ago—the one who felt distant, cold, almost mechanical. Kris didn’t say anything else but continued on staring at your eyes, gaze unreadable but grounded. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and reached for their hand. Their grip was steady and surprisingly warm, making your heart beat a little faster than you’d like to admit. 

Hand in hand together, you both took the first step down. Sliding on a dangerously long slope while holding hands with your childhood friend in an unfamiliar place with robots and moving wires was certainly not your kind of supposed study session. Still, the warmth radiating on Kris’ hand and the comfort you’ve longed for all this time made the chaos feel… bearable. You tried not to think too hard about how tightly you were holding on—or how tightly they held back.

As you and Kris slid further down the slope, a blur of grey, gold, and booming bass erupted from above, matching you and Kris’ pace while sliding down.  A short, square-headed figure zipped into view, its body shaped like a living speaker, with wobbly wires as limbs and their speaker-looking head bobbing rhythmically. An 8-bit music groovy enough for you to bob your head mid-air was playing from its head… speaker. 

“Wait, Kris, who’s tha—” Before you could finish your sentence, something hit Kris. Not physically—but rhythmically. A glowing beat-shaped projectile slammed into their chest, knocking their balance off. Their grip on your hand tightened as they stumbled, pulling you slightly forward. You gasped, nearly toppling over yourself as you both continue falling. 

“You okay?” you yelled over the wind, hoping Kris could hear you, “Whoever that is, they better not be the one doing that!”

“... Yeah,” Kris gritted out, hand still gripping yours tight. Then softer, almost out of breath—“You’ll be okay.”

“Wha—?” You whipped your head toward them, heart racing, “What do you mean me? You’re the one who just got hit!”

But Kris didn’t answer. Their eyes were locked ahead—focused, sharp. Another rhythm-laced projectile lit up the air, pulsing toward you both. 

“… Duck!” they barked, and instinctively, you dropped low just as the beat whizzed past your head. Your body slid faster from the shift in weight, and Kris tugged you closer, using the momentum to steady you both. The air roared past your ears as you kept sliding, dodging glowing notes and gripping Kris’ hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then finally, after a gruelling session of dodging and intense hand holding out of pure survival, your feet hit solid ground. You staggered forward, nearly collapsing, but Kris held on, pulling you upright. 

You gasped for breath, hair windswept, adrenaline still spiking in your veins. “Okay… that was not in the library’s afterschool plans.”

Ahead, the square-headed figure skidded into a pose, striking a confident pose as it flies, or hovers away. 

You looked at Kris, still catching your breath, “Okay. What is happening right now?”

Kris, still unusually calm, gave you a look that said: Welcome to the Dark World.

“Took you nerds long enough,” Susie shouted from the end of the slope, a toothy grin spread across her face, “C’mon, let’s go!”

You were about to speak out about what just happened when your eyes landed on the scenery in front of you. The sky was painted dark blue with a green web enclosing the whole space. Countless tall buildings emerged from below, a few of its lights shining bright enough for you to squint your eyes even if they were miles away. Everywhere you looked, it was all neons, metals, and technology, making for what you surmised was some kind of cybernetic city. A huge sign hovers near the pathway, the words ‘CYBER WORLD’ glowing in neon green. 

You took a step forward, feeling the cool metal beneath your footwear reverberate softly. “… This is where we are now?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone.

“Welp. Cool, I guess?”

[viridianvulpine]

Fuck it here’s what nezha would look like if he existed in my Oc’s world :3 (+ his weapons)

I forgot to put his species on there but he’s a Chinese mountain cat x sable (cuz I couldn’t choose between the 2 of em so he gets to be both :3)

ALSO if there’s anything wrong with the refs ignore it, I finished it at like 7am after staying up all night so I was very eepy

[ceramini]

DAMN IT NERD ⋆˚࿔ ARE YOU LISTENING?

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags creampie, cockwarming, overstim, dirty talk = nerd talk, jake likes legos ✿ scene jake is sweet, dumb, and accidentally packing a weapon between his legs. no one understands how he landed his insanely hot gf, not even him. but she loves him anyway, even if he won’t shut up about legos, star wars, or his ridiculous love for her… especially during sex. note let’s pretend jake likes star wars ─── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

You’re not even sure how you got here.

Well, no… you do know. You were in bed, legs tossed over Jake’s shoulders, back arched, spine pressed into the mattress like a damn sticker. He was inside you. Deep. Relentlessly deep, like he was on a fucking mission.

You weren’t sure what the mission was, but Jake clearly was.

He was, talking.

Still.

“You know the Republic Gunship set?” he pants, rocking into you a little too slow for how breathless he sounds. “I’ve been saving up for it. It’s so cool. It has, like—twenty clone troopers. Twenty. And they all have these little helmets that come off. I didn’t even know they did that until—until I watched this review last week—shit, you feel so good—wait, so anyway—”

You cut him off with a groan, fisting the sheets. “Jake.”

“Huh?” He looks down at you, blinking like a golden retriever who just got caught chewing drywall. “What?”

“You’re talking about Legos again.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hips forward with a little whine. “Sorry. You’re just so warm and I was thinking about that set and how cool it’d be to build it with you while we watch Clone Wars and—and—fuck, you’re squeezing me again.”

You squeeze him on purpose this time. “That’s because you’re babbling about minifigs while you’re raw inside me, Jake.”

His eyes go big. “You like when I’m raw inside you.”

“I did. Before you compared it to building a Lego set.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” He nuzzles your neck like he’s not splitting you in half. “But also? You’re kinda like a Lego set.”

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean that lovingly.”

You drop your head back against the pillow. “I swear to God, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Because like. You’ve got all these beautiful little pieces. And I wanna learn how they all fit together. Every time I touch you it’s like I’m figuring out where the next part goes—”

“Jake.”

“—like, do I kiss here?” He sucks a hickey under your jaw. “Touch here?” Trails his hand between your legs. “Or maybe—fuck—maybe I just fuck you and see what happens.”

You’re clenching again. Hard. And you hate that it works.

He beams. “See? You do like my metaphors.”

“I like your dick,” you hiss, arching as he thrusts up and hits that spot. “I tolerate your metaphors.”

“You love my metaphors,” he says smugly, fucking deeper like he’s trying to prove it.

You moan into the heel of your palm. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake whimpers, forehead tipping to yours. “You’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re hot when you shut up.”

He slows, just a little, and looks genuinely wounded. “You don’t like when I talk?”

“I love when you talk,” you gasp. “Just not when I’m trying to come and you’re talking about fucking battle packs.”

“Oh.” He slips out almost entirely, just to push in again, hard. You cry out. His ears go pink. “Noted.”

You try to glare. You really do. But he leans down to kiss you and his stupid soft lips and stupid tongue make you forget how to breathe, let alone stay mad.

And the way he’s throbbing inside you doesn’t help.

Jake pulls away with a dumb little grin. “I think I’m gonna come. Can I stay in? I know I asked earlier but I wanna make sure it’s still okay—”

“Jake, yes, God, yes—”

He sinks into you one last time and shudders, full-body, like he’s short-circuiting. You feel him twitch, warm and heavy, and moan his name as his hand clutches at your waist like he’s scared you’ll float away.

He comes like he’s overwhelmed. Pretty and flushed, forehead pressed to your collarbone, one hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline.

You’re both panting. Slick. Shaking a little.

And then.

“Did you know the Lego Titanic set is almost four feet long—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry! I’m just—still inside you and happy and thinking about boats and I love you and—”

You grab his face and kiss him hard. He whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching again, not soft at all.

You pull back. “You’re gonna shut up now, right?”

“Totally,” he breathes, blinking fast. “Except—can I keep talking if it’s just about you?”

You blink. “Maybe.”

Jake buries his face in your neck. “Cool. ‘Cause I was gonna say, you’re prettier than every minifig I’ve ever owned. Like, if you were a collectible, I’d never take you out of the box.”

You groan. “That’s not romantic, Jake.”

He laughs. “I thought it was.”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky you let me fuck you.”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then, very slowly, starts moving again. Just a little. Deep and slow, the kind of rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.

“Can I stay in?” he murmurs. “Just for a bit?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Cool. You feel better than any Lego set.”

You cover his mouth. “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you let him stay inside. You really don’t.

Maybe it’s the way he’s so big, the way he fills you up like you were made for it. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm brain melt. Maybe it’s the genuinely tragic puppy-dog look he gave you when he asked if he could just stay for a little while longer.

You said yes. Like a fool.

And now he’s talking again.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “If you were a Lego piece, I feel like you’d be one of those rare ones that only come in, like, three sets. And I’d trade my whole collection just to have two of you.”

“Jake.”

“Or like, like if I was building a Millennium Falcon and your piece wasn’t in the box? I’d cry. Like actual tears. I’d email Lego Customer Support and tell them it was a tragedy. I’d say my girlfriend is missing. That I can’t build without her. That it’s ruining my life—”

“You’re still inside me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m being romantic.”

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Your idea of romance is comparing my vagina to missing plastic.”

“It’s not just plastic, it’s—hey, wait—” He props himself up on an elbow, wide-eyed. “Are you getting mad again?”

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. “I’m just. So full. And so tired. And you’re talking about spaceships and crying and clone troopers while your dick is still hitting my goddamn cervix.”

Jake flushes. Hard. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just…this is like, peak life for me. Like, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think about it a lot and it makes me feel like I should be doing more. Like, you’re smart, and you wear those little skirts that make my brain short-circuit, and you never make fun of me for how much I love Star Wars even when I definitely deserve it—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you getting hard again?”

He pauses. You feel him twitch inside you.

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it!” he whines, and somehow he sounds genuinely upset about it. “You’re so warm and soft and I like how you clench when I say dumb stuff, and I know I’m not supposed to keep talking, but I love you and I’m having a feelings crisis and also your tits are out and I didn’t even mention them yet.”

You uncover your eyes and glare. “Don’t.”

Jake glances down at your chest. Immediately goes pink. “Too late.”

You shift under him and he moans, a soft, helpless sound like he’s ashamed to have made it. You can feel him starting to get hard again, slow and steady like a threat.

And the worst part is? You like it. Your body’s already reacting. He’s still so thick, so deep, and now he’s whining like he can’t help but want more of you.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispers, like he’s confessing something serious. “And I’m, ugh, I’m such a loser, I know. Everyone always asks how I got you and I never have an answer. They’re like, ‘is she into Legos too?’ and I have to lie and say yes, just so they don’t try to hit on you.”

You laugh. You shouldn’t, but you do. “So you lie about me being into Legos to keep me safe?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jake beams. “Your idiot.”

He leans down and kisses you again, sloppy, soft, so sweet it makes your stomach flip, and you groan against his mouth when he accidentally rocks his hips.

And just like that, you’re clenching again. Wanting him. Wanting it all over again.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oh. That was—yeah. We’re doing it again, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Not if you keep talking.”

“I can be quiet!”

“You can’t.”

“I can. Watch—” He places a hand over his own mouth.

You raise a brow. “You look ridiculous.”

He wiggles his brows, nods, then thrusts.

You gasp. His hand flies off his mouth. “Oh fuck, that was hot—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He puts it back. Mutters behind his palm, “I just love you so much.”

You stare at him, flushed, wrecked, still hard and inside you, his hand awkwardly slapped over his own mouth, and you realize something terrible.

You’re gonna marry this dumbass.

You sigh, toss your head back, and say, “Fine. Just shut up and fuck me again.”

Jake nods furiously. Slips his hand from his face and whispers, “Yes, Captain.”

You sigh into the pillow.

🪷 ─── @gyarumindd

[apatheticsunday]

Manifesting Destiny

AKA "Danny knows about Bruce Wayne's little adoption habit, so he actively fights back by making digs at the older man's age. He doesn't realize he essentially adopted himself by calling Bruce 'grandpa'!" prompt idea!!

Okay, so 19-year-old Jazz moves to Gotham because Arkham has an psychiatrist internship that guarantees a job after graduation from Gotham-U. She takes a 12-13 year old Danny with because the "ghost attacks" (i.e., her parents are getting very obsessed with dissecting Phantom and it's genuinely worrying) are getting worse. Now Danny's in Gotham Prep... along with Damian Wayne.

They do not get along.

Damian stabs Danny with a pencil, Danny bites Damian so hard that he needs stitches, and the detentions only increase their bloodthirst because, "He started it!!" It comes to a head when Damian shoves Danny down the stairs (he wasn't really meaning to, he just pushed too hard), and Danny goes down hard. As in not-getting-back-up kind of hard. And Damian realizes he just killed a civilian. He's running through contingency plans, trying to figure out whether he can hide the body or if he should confess to Father, when the Fenton boy's broken neck... becomes un-broken?? And he sits up??

So, 13-year-old Damian makes a logical decision. Daniel Fenton is clearly his Arch Nemesis. He's undeniably a meta (perhaps with super-healing abilities?) so he can withstand Damian's too-enthusiastic violence. And Danny's like, this fucker just killed me. I'm going to beat his ass. Except Damian has a really high pain tolerance and is literally the heir to the League of Assassins. Long story short, Damian and Danny have "play dates" where they spend the entire time trying to kill/beat each other up. Jazz is just happy that Danny seems to have made a friend.

Bruce, on the other hand, takes one look at a scrawny, black-haired, blue-eyed kid who clearly has some childhood trauma, and mentally becomes Bat Dad. He tried to approach the subject once. Bruce carefully, tentatively asked, "Do you have a place to stay, son? We have plenty of rooms." To which Danny replied, "I'm not your son, I have a dad!! Why don't you go sit down before you break a hip, grandpa!!" (Tim choked on his tea, Damian nearly climbed across the table to strangle Danny, and Dick - who doesn't even live at the manor, he was just dropping off a case from Bludhaven PD - laughed so hard he cried.)

Except... Danny keeps coming over to the Wayne Manor (since Damian refuses to 'spar' at Jazz's one bedroom apartment, as it lacks a personal gymnasium). And Bruce is still kind, no matter how many times Danny makes fun of him for wearing bifocals or turtlenecks, or when he just straight up calls Bruce an old man. Plus, Damian's kind of mellowed out, too. He's teaching Danny actual sparring techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and explains different types of weapons/how to use them. Alfred brings the boys snacks. Occasionally Dick and Jason will visit for dinner, ruffling the boy's hair and joking about something or another. He's even introduced to Steph, Cass, and Barbara.

It dawns on Danny one evening, when Alfred is readying the car to take him back to his and Jazz's apartment. Bruce is scraping leftovers into a plastic container for Jazz to re-heat when he gets home and Danny's debating quietly with Damian about whether octopi are smarter than Superman. (Damian says yes, octopi are definitely smarter; he's seen Superman mutter to himself "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when trying to unscrew a water bottle cap.)

Then Bruce is handing Danny the leftovers, and Danny distractedly gives Bruce a side-hug, saying, "Thanks, grandpa."

Totally unironically. Danny's internal monologue is just what the fuck did I just say as Bruce slips him a $20 ("For a treat on the way home.") and escorts him to the front door. He thinks about it as Alfred drives him home. Thinks about it when he and Jazz curl up to watch a movie that night. Danny belatedly realizes that he's been unintentionally thinking of Bruce "Serial Adopter" Wayne as his grandfather??? For months now?? How could this happen??

Back at the Wayne Manor, Bruce is still in the kitchen, listening to Damian continue to debate Superman's intelligence while Tim scrolls on his work tablet. He'll probably take the kids, including the newest edition to the family, to the zoo this weekend.

[carnalcrows]

The one with the Scandal

pariring: rockstar! male OC x male reader [profile]

summary: You’re not dating him. You don’t even like him like that. He’s younger. He’s your job. He’s also apparently into fixing your collar, looking at you like you’re his, and letting the entire fanbase run with it. You’re just trying to not get fired. He’s making it really hard.

content warnings: 18+, idol/manager dynamic, bottom male reader, Jiho is younger but he is in control, reader is spiraling professionally but holding it together (barely), scandal via leaked video, yandere tendencies if you squint, oral (reader receiving), Jiho calls the reader Hyung, someone is watching. also: subtle HR violations and bad decisions made in very quiet hallways.

word count: 3.1k

White Eclipse’s manager's job description didn’t include “babysit rockstars,” but here you were at 6:47 a.m., standing outside the dorm in socks, trying to get a key card to work while someone inside was blasting what could only be described as sad trap piano.

You didn’t bother knocking. They never heard it anyway.

The door opened a beat later—Jiho, hoodie half-on, eyes still sleepy, holding a toothbrush like it was a weapon.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough. “Thought you were food.”

You blinked. “It’s me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

Then he just… stepped aside to let you in.

No apology. No explanation.

You used to be surprised by things like that. Not anymore. It’d been seven months since you took over as White Eclipse’s full-time manager. Seven months of group chats at 2 a.m., misplaced earrings, broken in-rooms, passive-aggressive silence in makeup chairs. You were barely keeping the group running. You didn’t have energy left for things like normal boundaries.

Jiho wandered back down the hall. You followed, because your job required it. Not to hover, just to check the morning schedule—radio taping, press call, one-on-one interview for Juhwan. Makeup in twenty.

“You slept?” you asked, mostly to check.

Jiho shrugged. “Eventually.”

“Eat something before we go.”

He didn’t answer, which usually meant no.

You sighed, already noting it down in the log.

⋆｡°✩  

The van ride was quiet, except for Doyun humming aggressively off-key to a song no one else liked. You were seated up front, checking your tablet, trying to remember if anyone had confirmed Jiho’s brand outfit for the shoot. You didn’t hear him move until he leaned forward between the seats.

“Hyung,” he said. His breath ghosted the side of your neck, too close.

You didn’t flinch, but your fingers stilled.

“Yes?”

“You left your charger last time.”

He held it out—your USB-C cable, neatly wrapped.

You blinked. “You… kept it?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Figured you’d come back for it eventually.”

Then sat back like nothing happened.

You turned toward the window. The city rolled by in silence. You didn’t say thank you.

You weren’t sure you wanted to know what else he was keeping track of.

⋆｡°✩  

The radio taping was delayed by forty minutes. Not that anyone told you until you were already standing in the green room, watching the stylist re-iron Taeyang’s shirt while Juhwan paced like he was on trial.

You were half-listening to a PD explain the new segment structure when Jiho appeared beside you again—like he always did, like gravity.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed you a bottle of water.

You took it automatically.

A few seconds passed before you glanced over.

“…This isn’t mine,” you said.

“It’s cold,” he replied. “You like it that way.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

He didn’t stick around for a reaction—just walked back to the couch and sat, legs crossed, earbuds in, expression unreadable as ever. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just said something small and specific enough to stick in your brain like a splinter.

You told yourself it was normal. He probably remembered from a post-schedule snack run. He was observant. That was all.

It didn’t mean anything.

But when the boys were being ushered into the booth, he lingered again.

Waited until the others were out of earshot.

Then said, “You looked tired yesterday.”

Your hand paused on the equipment list.

“…That’s not part of your job description.”

Jiho gave a half-smile. Small. Secret.

“Neither’s remembering your charger.”

You didn’t smile back.

You wanted to.

You didn’t.

⋆｡°✩  

That night, you stayed at the company building longer than you meant to. Not unusual—schedules had to be reshuffled, the stylists were panicking about a delivery delay, and someone had somehow misplaced two of Doyun’s in-ear backups despite the fact that you’d personally labelled them in obnoxiously bold font last week.

By the time you packed your bag, the halls were half-dark and the lights in the vocal practice room were still on.

You almost didn’t look.

You almost walked straight past.

But you didn’t.

Jiho was there. Again.

Seated on the floor, guitar in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up. His face was lit only by the screen of his phone, and he looked so relaxed—so out of uniform—that it threw you off for a second.

He didn’t see you right away. But the second you stepped into the room; his fingers stilled on the frets.

He looked up. And didn’t look away.

“…You live here now?” you asked dryly, trying not to let your voice give anything away.

“Only if you do,” he said, which wasn’t funny, but it made your mouth twitch anyway.

You sat on the bench near the wall, just to rest for a minute. Just to breathe.

Jiho shifted slightly, setting his guitar down.

“They let you have solo schedules today?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Temporary probation.”

He hummed. “For what?”

You gave him a look. “You really want me to spell it out?”

“I want to know what they think happened.”

His tone wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t particularly curious, either. Just steady. Like he was testing something.

You didn’t answer.

He stood slowly and crossed the room, not close, not quite, but just enough that the air changed.

“I know what I felt Hyung,” he said.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your manager.”

He smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not lately.”

That sat in the space between you, heavy and uncomfortable and true.

You stood up, suddenly. Bag over your shoulder. Shoes already pointed toward the door.

Jiho didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. Just said, quiet and sure,

“Then what are you still doing here?”

⋆｡°✩  

You’re already at the studio before the sun finishes rising, two iced Americanos in hand, and neither of them are for you.

The schedule’s stacked—two back-to-back interviews, followed by a commercial shoot, and then a fitting for a brand collab you only got confirmation for at midnight. You don’t even realise you’ve been typing out emails with your neck tilted and your jaw clenched until someone passes behind you and mutters, “Hyung, you’re gonna shatter your teeth.”

It’s Doyun.

You don’t respond. Just hand him one of the coffees and tell him to finish it before makeup.

Jiho’s the last one out of the van when you arrive at the venue. Hoodie up, expression blank, one earbud in. He doesn’t speak until the others have wandered off in different directions. You’re halfway to the front doors, double-checking a logistics note, when he suddenly says behind you, “You forgot your charger... again.”

You stop walking.

“I didn’t.”

He holds it up anyway. Neatly wrapped. Slightly warm, like he kept it in his pocket.

“Don’t leave your stuff around if you don’t want me touching it,” he adds.

It’s not flirtatious. Not playful.

Just a little… too direct.

You take it from him without meeting his eyes.

By the time the day wraps, you’ve been on your feet for nearly eleven hours, you’re starving, and you’ve answered the same three questions from the same sponsor rep three separate times.

You’re in the back hallway finishing a call when the door beside you creaks open.

Jiho again.

Of course.

He doesn’t say anything. Just leans against the wall next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me around like a ghost today?” you ask, keeping your voice flat.

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

There’s a beat of silence between you.

“You know they’re already watching,” you say quietly. “Even if nothing happens.”

He shrugs. “Then let them.”

You stare straight ahead. If you look at him now, you might say something you can’t take back.

He leaves without another word.

⋆｡°✩  

It starts the next morning, before you’re even fully awake.

Your phone lights up with a buzz sharp enough to break through sleep, and the notification preview makes your blood run cold.

You don’t open it at first.

You already know what it is.

You sit up in bed, screen half-lit, and there it is:

A video.

Low-res, muted, zoomed in from somewhere behind the practice room window.

You, standing in front of Jiho.

Him, fixing your collar like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You, frozen.

Him, looking at you like no one else exists.

WHO is that? he looks like STAFF??? That’s the manager hyung. I’ve seen him in airport vids. They’re so domestic, what the hell 😭😭 The way he looks at him, oh my god, he’s SO GONE idc if it’s fake, this is the best ship in K-pop rn

It’s only ten seconds.

But that’s all it takes.

You can’t breathe.

The DMs are already coming in. Three calls from PR. One from someone in legal. Your group chat with the other managers is blowing up, and your name is already trending.

You close the app.

Open your notes app.

Start typing an apology that no one’s asked for yet.

Jiho.

Then you stop.

Because your phone buzzes again.

A single text.

[ come up to the roof.]

You stare at it.

Ignore it.

Then, against your better judgment, you go.

⋆｡°✩  

The rooftop is quieter than you remember.

It’s probably not even technically accessible—some intern left the door propped open during a late-night smoke break once, and now everyone pretends it’s still locked. You used to come up here alone. That was before. Before the video. Before the call from PR. Before your name started appearing in the trending bar.

Now Jiho’s already here, hoodie sleeves bunched up to his elbows, fingers curled around a can of grape soda that’s starting to sweat through the aluminium. He looks like he hasn’t moved in an hour. Like this isn’t the first time he’s sat here, waiting for you.

You shut the door behind you.

He doesn’t turn to look at you immediately. Just nods toward the railing beside him.

You don’t sit.

“You saw it?” you ask.

He hums in response. You’re not sure if that’s a yes or a who hasn’t?

“You’re not panicking.”

He finally turns. There’s no smile. No bite. Just his usual unreadable calm.

“Should I be?”

You almost laugh, sharp and humourless. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know.”

He tosses the soda can into the nearby bin without looking. Deadcentrer.

You cross your arms. “They’re going to kill this. Quietly. I’m already off the schedule for next week.”

“I noticed.”

You expect a flicker of regret. Frustration. Some trace of guilt.

You get none.

Instead, Jiho steps closer—not aggressive, just deliberate. There’s no camera up here. No PR team. No lighting cues or stylists, or handlers. Just him. Just you.

“They think we’re together,” he says, voice low.

You don’t answer.

“Maybe we should be.”

You look away. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what, Hyung?”

“Say things you can’t take back.”

He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth from his body—his chest rising slowly, steadily. He doesn’t try to touch you. That would be too easy. Too obvious. Instead, he just stands there like gravity, like inevitability.

“I’ve been waiting for something to break,” he says, quieter now. “I just didn’t think it’d be a ten-second clip.”

You inhale through your nose. Try to stay steady.

“I’m older than you,” you say.

“So?”

“I’m your manager.”

He leans in—not touching, not yet.

“Not today.”

The silence between you hangs, taut and electric.

Then you walk away.

You don’t run.

But you don’t look back.

⋆｡°✩  

You don’t answer his messages after that.

Not because you don’t want to. You just don’t trust yourself to say something that won’t get screenshotted and sent to HR. You spend the rest of the day buried in logistics—flipping through updated schedules, emailing photographers, pretending your phone isn’t buzzing every hour with a new article, a new fan edit, a new speculative thread. You don’t see Jiho for the rest of the day, and you let yourself believe maybe that rooftop conversation didn’t mean anything.

Then he shows up at your apartment.

It’s late—past midnight. You’re wearing an old shirt and mismatched socks, half-asleep, when the intercom buzzes. You think it’s a food delivery at first. You didn’t order anything. But when you answer, all you hear is—

“Hyung— It’s me.”

You don’t open the door right away. You hesitate. Long enough to consider what this will mean if you do.

But when you finally unlock it, he’s standing there. Hoodie off. Cap gone. Just Jiho—his real face, glasses slightly fogged from the night air. He looks calm. Like he’s been here before.

You don’t ask him why he came. You don’t need to.

He steps inside like he’s done it before, like this is normal— hoodie slung over one shoulder, hair pushed back messily from his face. He looks like he belongs here, even though you’ve never invited him in, not really. You tell yourself you’re only letting this happen because you’re exhausted. Because there’s no one else around. Because you’ve already been dragged into the narrative, so what’s one more mistake?

But you know better.

You always have.

You lock the door behind him and turn to find him watching you like he’s memorising something.

“You always leave it open when you’re nervous,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“The collar. You don’t button the top one. You fidget with it when you’re trying not to look at me.”

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Jiho walks past you—through the short hallway, into the living room, casual like he’s heading for the kitchen. He doesn’t. He stops at the edge of the couch and looks back.

“You gonna keep pretending?”

You cross your arms defensively. “Pretending what?”

“That you don’t want me to stay.”

That lands harder than you expect. Not because he’s wrong. But because you’ve been trying so hard to keep that exact thing from showing on your face for weeks.

And maybe you haven’t been as successful as you thought.

When you don’t answer, he turns fully. Walks up to you slowly, deliberately, until the heat from his body reaches your chest and you have nowhere else to go.

He touches the collar of your shirt. Just the fabric. No skin. Yet.

“You should stop wearing this,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

“Because I want to take it off.”

Your breath catches. He hears it. You know he does.

Then, carefully, he undoes the top button. Then the next. You don’t stop him.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

You didn’t even realize.

“I—Jiho, this is—”

“Too late.”

He steps forward. Presses his mouth to yours—once, slow and sure. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t push. But there’s heat behind it. Control. Like he’s waited long enough, and he’s not going to let you talk your way out of it now.

You kiss him back.

⋆｡°✩  

He leads you to the bedroom without speaking, only touching you where he needs to—your wrist, your hip, the small of your back. You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels without hesitation, hands sliding up your thighs, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you. “But you don’t get to lie to me either.”

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Jiho peels your pants down with practised fingers, pushing them past your hips, then your briefs. You’re already half-hard, pulse thudding like your body’s already a step ahead of your thoughts.

He leans in. Licks a slow stripe up the underside of your cock.

Your hands twitch at your sides. You don’t touch him. Not yet.

He doesn’t look up when he takes you into his mouth. Just sinks down, slow and steady, jaw relaxed like he’s done this a dozen times—maybe not for anyone else, but in his head, you’re sure he’s thought about it. Over and over.

His tongue presses firmly along the base. His lips seal around you, and he moans—soft, like it’s for him, not you. The vibration makes your knees buckle.

He takes his time. Pulls off to suck at the head, just enough to make you gasp. Then down again—deeper, sloppier now, until your cock hits the back of his throat and he still doesn’t stop.

You manage his name. Once. Barely.

His hands grip your thighs, firm and steady, keeping you in place. He sucks you down again and again, never breaking eye contact, never faltering. He wants you to watch. To know exactly how far he’s willing to go.

When you start to lose control—hips stuttering, breath slipping—he only tightens his hold and hums around you again. That pushes you over.

You come with a choked breath, your hand in his hair, every nerve lit up. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t spill a drop.

When it’s done, when your heart’s still racing and your fingers are trembling, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s nothing.

Then he leans in again, not to kiss you, but just to speak.

Voice low. Calm. Possessive.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “you’re going to beg for it.”

⋆｡°✩  

You wake up before your alarm.

The light in your bedroom is pale, soft, barely filtered through your blinds. The air is cool against your skin, your sheets kicked halfway off the bed, your body still aching in that strange, satisfying way. Not sore. Just… used. Thoroughly.

Jiho is still asleep beside you.

His hand is curled against the pillow, palm up, fingers relaxed like he has nothing left to chase. His mouth is parted slightly. His hair’s a mess. One leg is tangled with yours beneath the blanket.

You lie there for a moment, still and quiet.

You don’t know what time he fell asleep. You don’t know if he meant to stay. You don’t even know if he thinks this was a one-time thing or the start of something. You should care.

You do care.

You just don’t know what to do with it yet.

Eventually, you get up. Carefully. Quietly.

You don’t leave the room, just stand near the doorway, shirt half-on, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to feel. It doesn’t feel like a victory. Or relief. It just feels inevitable.

You reach for your phone out of habit. You’ve got two unread messages.

One from your replacement manager, asking if you’re available for a rescheduled meeting later in the week.

And one from an unknown number.

[hope you enjoyed last night. This is just the beginning.]

No context. No name. But your stomach drops anyway.

You read it again.

And again.

Behind you, Jiho shifts in the sheets.

You don’t turn around.

Not yet.

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[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is a clone/reincarnation in the DC universe au. Danny meets an alien [pt2 here] [pt 4 here]

Danny was jittery all day, but he is trying to not cling to Cass. He'll definitely give in once Damian's friend is here, but he's determined to not give into his childish instincts before then. And he's being mostly successful!

He ignores the amused and concerned looks Cass sends him every time he forces down his instincts. He wants to stop being so codependent. He won't lie, it's been nice to let these people baby him, but he didn't use to be such an anxious wreck that can't do anything without his hand being held. It makes him hate himself at the end of the day when he only has his thoughts, so he's going to take the effort to do a little better. And this is his first baby step.

"I'm home!" Danny perks up at Tim's voice.

"Green Room!" Cass calls out, and Tim sticks his head in a moment later.

"I want to change out of my suit, but I'll be right back." Tim explains. "Damian and Jon won't be here for at least another 20 minutes, and that's only if traffic is good, which it never is, so it'll probably be closer to 30 minutes."

Danny nods, trying to swallow his rising panic. He hasn't been able to get a single word out all day. Luckily Cass can understand his body language when his hands are full and he can't write.

Cass comes and sits next to him when Tim ducks out. "You're being very brave."

[Doesn't feel like it.]

"New things are scary. Trauma makes it hard." Cass smiles sadly before switching to sign language. Danny can sign too, but he prefers his iPad.《My father was a very bad man. Trained me to be weapon only. I understood no language other than body. When I came to live here, I was scared too. I knew only to hurt, but it hurt to read pain. Had to learn how to be a person, like you are now. It's very brave to face what scares you. Like new people.》

[I still don't feel brave.] Danny fiddles with his stylus [There's too much wrong with me for normal people to be nice. I will be vivisected if people know.]

《Family will not let that happen. You're baby brother and we will fight for you til you can fight for yourself.》

Danny sniffles and manages his first word of the day. "Okay..."

Cass hugs him tightly and kisses the side of his head. "We love you. Trauma and all, baby brother."

Tim enters the room in a stolen hoody, some leggings, and house shoes at that moment. He pauses to look at them before sitting on Danny's other side, rubbing his back.

"It's not too late to tell them you changed your mind, kiddo."

[No. I need to do this. It's unhealthy to isolate yourself or hide from new experiences.] Danny gives a deep sigh. [I'm tired of being scared all the time.]

"Have you thought about going to a therapist? I don't want to push you, but I have found it really helpful." Danny knows Tim started going to a therapist about 2 weeks after Danny arrived. He can't help but wonder if Tim did that because Danny started clinging to him and Danny was too much. It makes him feel guilty, but he read enough mental health papers recently to know even if Danny is the straw that broke the camel's back, Tim was wise enough to get help.

[I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to someone about everything.]

"A good therapist will help you at your own pace." Tim tells him, "I vetted a dozen therapists, and am currently vetting another 6, so you can switch if you need to at any point. I just want you to be as happy, healthy, and safe as you can be."

Danny is thinking it over so hard that he startles into invisibility when he hears the front door open and Alfred greeting someone.

"Oh! Damn, time moved fast." Tim blinks at the doorway before turning towards Danny's invisible figure. "We can still turn them away."

Danny wills himself back into the visible spectrum. [I need to do this.]

"If you say so..." Tim's face is an odd mix of emotions; grief, sorrow, pride, and relief are all there. He calls towards the door. "Damian! We're in the green room!"

With them all sitting, Danny can't hide behind Cass or Tim, so he just buries himself into Cass's hug. A few moments later, Damian and a honey tan guy with black hair and deep sky blue eyes enter the room with a slightly nervous energy. Danny blinks at that. Damian's nervous energy is clearly over introducing them, and who-is-obviously-Jon's energy screams "Please like me! I want to be friends!". He briefly wonders if this is how siblings usually introduced friends to family. All parties scared that they won't like each other. He and Jazz didn't really have friends to introduce, so this is new territory for him.

"See?" Cass smiles at him, clearly talking about Jon's gold retriever puppy energy. Danny nods at her before shyly waving at the newcomers. Jon beams and Damian relaxes a hair.

"Hi, I'm Jon! Dami's told me a lot about you!" Danny sends Damian a confused frown. "He likes to brag about his cute new little brother."

[What is there to brag about?] Danny tilts his head. [I haven't done anything to brag about.]

"Are you kidding?" There's sadness in everyone's body language, but Jon is still smiling at him. "You sound awesome! You can read body language like Cass! And are trying to learn alien languages and history for fun! You apparently memorized every space fact you come across! You like learning in general! Trying to cover all the education you missed because your evil creators! And you want to know the coolest thing about you currently?"

Danny rapidly blinks at Jon's list, actually sitting up straighter and unintentionally pulling from Cass's hug. She lets him go easily.

[What?]

"You're letting me meet you despite your crippling anxiety." If Jon had a tail, it would be wagging hard. "No one would blame you for locking yourself away and hiding from the world after everything you've been through, but here you are! Trying to concur your fear and meeting me!"

Danny can feel himself blushing, but realizes Jon is kind of right. While he can still feel his anxiety wanting to smother him, he doesn't feel like he's drowning and needs to run away.

[I still don't see how any of that makes me "cool".]

"It's okay if you don't get it. The people who care about you do and can remind you to be nicer to yourself." Jon nods to his own statement before excitedly floating off the ground. "I love your hair! It looks like it has stars and comets in it!"

Danny's face feels like it's on fire. He can feel Tim and Cass trying to compress laughter.

"Well, that's a way to win him over." Tim can't quite keep the amusement from his voice. Danny hides his face in his hands, while Jon flounders.

"Wait! What?? What did I do??"

"You told a kid who's obsessed with space that his hair looks like space." Damian sounds exasperated and fond.

"Oh. Oh!" Jon sounds embarrassed, so he clearly hadn't thought about that when he said it. Which is nice.

Danny huffs out a tiny laugh and can feel the room freeze at the sound. It only lasts a second before Cass is hugging him in delight, and the tense moment is gone.

"I can now tell Todd only his ugly face made Danny cry." Damian says with all the maliciousness of a petty sibling. He recognizes it from his time with Jazz. Luckily, none of his new siblings have directed that tone towards him yet, he just knows he'll start crying. He's pretty sure they know it too.

He hates how fragile he is now, not being able to take slightly mean sibling teasing is the worst, but he literally can't do anything about it. He has to take baby steps and heal his trauma at a pace his brain and core can handle, or the potential ghost of Jazz will beat him to a third? fourth? death when they meet again.

Danny reluctantly leaves Cass's hug. He can still feel the steady thum of his anxiety, but Jon hasn't been mean or scary at all. Jon also potentially has advice for how Danny can control his ghost powers that are leaking steadily into his human form. It's like getting his powers all over again for the first time.

[How are you floating?]

"Oh! It's one of the powers I got from dad!" Jon beams.

[I know. But HOW? Can't control mine.]

"Damian! You didn't tell me he has powers!" Jon complains.

"I wasn't going to say anything in public." Damian glares lightly at his friend.

Jon turns a beaming grin at Danny."What do you do? I've got flight, superstrength, durability, lazer eyes, superhearing, and ice breath!"

Danny turns a pleading look to Tim, who flashed an amused but reassuring smile. "So far we've seen; flight, invisibility, intangibility, and we think an ice power is trying to develop. His hearing is advanced as well."

[Ghosty]

"You are not a ghost." Damian is pouting. This is one of the few play arguments Danny has been able to have without having a panic attack.

[Ghost powers. Hides from people. I'm a ghost.] Danny is playfully serious.

"I can see your point, but you're not dead!" Damian seems genuinely a little frustrated, and Danny freezes. Unfortunately long enough to make everyone worried, but he snaps out of it.

[I'm not sure I count as alive.] Danny admits, and the concern in the room skyrockets. He directs the next note towards Jon. [You have superhearing?]

"Yes..?"

[Listen.] Danny pats his chest. Jon's eyes lock on where his heart is.

"No.. no way! Why is it so slow?" A pause. "Your breathing is slow, too. Even though I can tell how anxious you are, meaning this is fast for you... What's that buzzing sound?"

[I'm a freak.]

"Danny, honey, don't call yourself a freak." Tim scolds. "It's not your fault you're like this or were even made. The real freaks are the LoA."

《And even if you were, we like you the way you are.》

"How about we focus on something else?" Jon is frowning in concern, but smiles when he makes eye contact with Danny. "How about we go to the gym, put out the thick mats, and see if we can get you flying on command?"

Everyone is silent as Danny thinks it over.

[Okay.]

The rest of the visit is spent in the manor's gymnastics gym. Danny is still too skittish to let Jon within 5 ft of him and doesn't say anything aloud, but he interacts, and learns some neat tricks when it comes to flying and landing. He still has trouble, but he made some real progress before it's time for dinner. Danny trails after Jon when he goes to leave after dinner, and graces the alien with a quiet.

"Bye..." Danny doesn't understand the funny thing everyone's face does, but he has to dodge Dick's tackle hug directly after. He quickly hides behind Tim after that, completely done with social interaction now. Tim fends off Dick and gets Danny to his room.

Danny likes how his room has changed over the months he's been here. The giant bed is gone, replaced by a bunkbed that's been modified to have sturdy planks hiding the bottom bunk on 3 sides and sturdy folding doors on the 4th. Danny can't sleep in the open anymore, so they made him a nice hidden bed so he'd stop sleeping under the bed. It's also shoved to the wall where he can see all the exits when he peeks out of his hidey hole. Every available surface is covered in space stuff. The built-in bookshelf near the windows is full of his favourite books and different workbooks for alien languages. Rocket ship models are on any book free space. Different space themed posters are plastered all over his walls, the side of his desk and dresser, even his bunk's sturdy exterior. Glow in the dark stars are placed in his home dimension's constellations throughout the room, not that anyone but him knows that. Inside his bunk, he has star covered bedding and star shaped fairy light.

Danny's space obsession has never been so filled. He feels well-fed and safe in this room.

He ends the day feeling accomplished for once. He starts looking forward to meeting his siblings' friends, even if he's scared shitless by the idea.

[yanderedrabbles]

I desperately need Yandere! Military Contractor fun facts/headcanons or anything else really. Like how tall is he? How old is he? When did he actually saw us/started stalking us? What made him stalk us even? Just anything about him

I think a big part of what makes him so menacing is how mysterious he is. But here are some things you've pieced together from watching him.

Yandere! Military Contractor who kisses your forehead every night before he falls asleep. Who holds you against his chest no matter how warm the weather is. How can he be so tender in the dark, but so awful in the light of day? You've yet to figure it out.

Yandere! Military Contractor who spends every Sunday taking care of his guns. Disassembling them, greasing, cleaning, the whole nine yards. A cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes apart an M16 like it's nothing.

You aren't sure why he let's you watch him. If anything, you assume he would want you far away from any weapons. Eventually you get brave enough to try your luck. Grab a rifle when his back is turned and pull the trigger.

Nothing. Just an empty click in the suffocating silence.

Yandere! Military Contractor who just scoffs. Doesn't even bother to turn and look at you.

"Safety's on," he says simply. Like you didn't just point a gun at the back of his head and pull the trigger.

You expect him to punish you. He doesn't. If anything, he looks pleased. Glad to see you still have some fight left in you.

Yandere! Military Contractor with tattoos all across his arm. Names. Dates. Places. A list of comrades or victims? You're too scared to ask.

Yandere! Military Contractor who cooks surprisingly well. Doesn't really eat with you though. Just dumps the plate on the table in front of you and stands with his arms crossed, watching. For a while at the beginning, you tried to stop eating. Hoped that by wasting away he'd maybe lose interest in you. It was a terrible idea.

He got irritable. Angry. Grabbed your thigh so hard it bruised and snarled that if you wanted to eat all your meals through a fucking straw, he could make that happen. You never finished a plate so fast in your life.

Yandere! Military Contractor who keeps his hair short. Not really buzzed, or military cut, but still pretty short. You think maybe it's a habit, but one day when you try and pull him off you by the hair, you realise it's entirely practically. You can't grab it and yank like you would with longer hair. It's just one more way to take some leverage away from you. One more way to stack the cards in his favour.

Yandere! Military Contractor who doesn't soften, no matter what you try. Begging doesn't work. Swearing and fighting and trying to claw his eyes out seems to just amuse him. Crying...well crying just fucking turns him on.

You try being affectionate towards him at some point. Kissing his cheek, hugging him, cradling his face in your palms. Either you're a terrible actor or he's an overly suspicious bastard, because all it does is make him double check the locks every night.

Eventually you give up that approach. You think he doesn't care, but not being nice to him must really hit a nerve. He fucks you extra hard until you realise what he wants.

"I love you," you say through gritted teeth, your palm against his cheek. "I love you."

He slows his pace then. Doesn't keep ramming into you like the goal is more to hurt you than to satisfy himself.

He doesn't say it back. He just drops his head to your ear and snarls.

"Mine. My girl to kiss, my girl to fuck. Mine."

Yandere! Military Contractor who finds you crying in the shower. Head between your knees, sobbing like you're dying. You flinch when he squats down next to you.

He doesn't comfort you. Just looks at you with those flat, empty eyes.

"Get tough."

You want to laugh. Get tough. Like getting held down and fucked is just some kind of training.

Yandere! Military Contractor who takes you out for walks a few times a week. His property is remote, thick with trees and circled with electric fencing. You didn't find out about the last bit until the day you tried to make a run for it and sprinted straight into the wires.

He found you heaving on your hands and knees. Shaking with the aftershock.

"Voltage was any higher you'd be dead."

He grabbed your collar and dragged you behind him, your shoes leaving furrows in the dirt.

"Thought you'd try somethin' stupid, so I put it lower today. Gonna hurt a whole lot more in the future."

You don't try running away on your walks after that.

You think he gives you a bit of freedom because he likes seeing you fail to escape. A cat with its prey. After the first week, he stops keeping you cuffed. You try to escape the first opportunity you get, hanging out of a second story window when he walks up right underneath you. Leans against the wall and lights up a cigarette, eyes on you the whole time.

When you pull yourself back into the bathroom you climbed out of, he just grins in that mocking, lazy way of his. As if to say, what did you think would happen?

Yandere! Military Contractor who keeps his mouth shut tight when you ask him about himself. And it's even worse when you ask him about you.

"How long were you watching me?"

"Why did you choose me?"

"Are my family looking for me?"

"Am I the first girl you've done this to?"

That one he answers. Sort of. He scoffs and squishes your cheeks between his fingers.

"Only ever gonna be you." The way he growls it, it feels more threat than promise.

Yandere! Military Contractor who says he loves you, but never in a language you can understand. He must've picked up a dozen different tidbits from three dozen different countries. Arabic, Swahilli, German, Afrikaans. Always the same. Always I love you. But you never figure it out.

Yandere! Military Contractor who tells himself he deserves you. He's done such awful things. Committed crimes the ICC would happily try him for. But in his mind, it's all justified. All just justification.

He's done awful things. Doesn't he deserve something sweet to cleanse his palette?

Yandere! Military Contractor who entertains the idea of teaching you to fight. You've managed to give him quite a collection of cuts and scars. How much more of a spitfire would you be if you knew how to really throw a punch?

It's counter productive. It's self sabotage. It's making things harder for himself in the long run. But oh, it's so much more fun to wrestle you to the ground. His prize tastes all the sweeter when he has to work for it.

Yandere! Military Contractor who's an irredeemable bastard. He's going to rot in hell for what he's done, going to dance with the devil himself.

But even knowing that, he wouldn't change a single damn thing. He has what he wants - a pretty girl who fucks and fights and cries just how he likes it. And he ain't letting you go.

No matter what.

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 2.2K

read the: next chapter

a/n: based this on request from anonymous!

The Winter Solider was not a man. He was not capable of forming his own thoughts or having feelings. He was a killing machine that was able to be turned on and off at any moment, bringing only death and destruction wherever he went. That was until he heard one word, one name. Bucky. That moment altered something in his brain, a voice in the back of his head coming to life. It sounded like his own. The Winter Solider was not sure he had ever heard his own voice in his head before.  

He had learned very quickly, and against his will, that he was once a man named James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. That he used to be a solider from a different time. That he had a life that was taken away from him. That he has been used as a weapon. And that he should be dead.  

The man he had once thought was his target, Steve Rogers, was actually his friend in the life he no longer knew. The one he couldn’t remember.  

And now as he sat in this tower over looking the city skyline, all he could think about was that there was no one to be trusted. Sure, maybe Steve, but he wasn’t even in the right frame of mind to distinguish if this was still some trap – some lie.  

“He’s been sitting like that for two days.” Sam says as you and Steve approach. Everyone has been taking turns keeping watch of him since he and Steve returned from their fight near the river. First Nat, then Sam, now it would be your turn. “He hasn’t eaten or slept.”  

“I don’t blame him.” You mumble as your arms cross over your chest, watching the back of Bucky's head. “He just found out his entire life has been a lie. He’s been used a killing machine for the last 70 years.” You try to keep your voice low so that he can’t hear you, but you watch as he tilts his head back and forth a bit, the memories filling his mind.  

“Let me go introduce you.” Steve’s voice is soft, as he places a hand on your elbow guiding you over to where Bucky was sitting. Once you approach his chair, you take a step back keeping your distance while Steve goes to speak to him.  

“Hey, buck.” He says, Bucky wincing a bit at the name, obviously not used to it yet. “Sam’s going to be heading out of here in a few minutes. I wanted to introduce you to another team member.”  

Bucky's head turns to the side to look at Steve, his eyes raking over the man. You can tell he’s trying to figure out if Steve in that moment is a threat to him, his body rigid as he asses. You can’t imagine the amount of stress he’s under, how his brain must be on fire with trying to discern between realities.  

He soon looks over at you, his stare is hard as the two of you make eye contact. You’re not scared of him, and you know you could disarm him in a moment despite the difference in size between the two of you, but there’s something in his gaze that feels so disconnected from the world – from emotion. Steve introduces you, saying your name a few times as he gives Bucky the Same rundown as he had with both Natasha and Sam, trying to reiterate that they were here to help – not hurt.  

Bucky doesn’t respond, he didn’t the first two times either, his gaze moves back over to Steve and he continues to frown, wanting to be done with this conversation, wishing the screaming in his head would stop.  

Once Steve wraps up his rundown he looks over at you, giving a firm nod before he walks out of the room, beginning your time on the clock to keep watch of this man, while they figure out how best to move forward.  

Nothing really happens for the first few hours, Bucky shifts slightly in his chair a few times, you lead him to the bathroom once or twice, and your phone buzzes with some texts from Steve checking in, but overall nothing worth noting.  

You can see the dark circles under Bucky's eyes as you sit a few seats away from him. You feel bad for him to some extent. He had done bad things, sure, but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. The sun begins to set and you hear a loud sigh leave his lips, it makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.  

He hasn’t eaten.  

Sam’s voice rings through your head and you realize it’s probably best to get Bucky some food.  

“Hey.” You say, getting his attention, his head slowly rolling to the side to look at you. “What do you want to eat?”  

Bucky's eyes graze over you for a moment, you can see him making a mental note that you are a threat to him and that no one right now is safe. He makes no attempts to respond before he rolls his head back to continue staring into space.  

“O...Kay.” You mumble to yourself, taking out your phone and making a few arrangements to have food sent up for him.  

It doesn’t take long for someone to arrive, pushing a cart filled with food, you jump off your chair to thank them before grabbing the plate and moving it over to a table where Bucky could sit.  

You don’t realize he’s watching you until you turn back around, your head nodding over to the table and he stands. He’s much taller than you had anticipated, your eyes taking in the size of him as his metal arm shines brightly even with the dim lights in the tower. He sits down and waits for you to sit across from him.  

“I guess they sent over ...” you eye his plate for a moment. “Salmon.” The face you make after the word is one of pure disgust – a food you hated with every fiber of your being, you didn’t envy that he had to eat it.  

But, he makes no attempts to reach for his fork or knife, his hands curled into fists as they rest at the table, his eyes watching you intently.  

“Do you not like salmon?” You ask, trying to coax even an answer out of him, but he doesn’t budge. It takes you a moment before you put two and two together – the most obvious reason of all as to why he’s not eating. “Steve wouldn’t poison you.”  

He grunts in response, his fists tightening a bit as his eyes move down to the food then back up at you. It’s hard to understand what could possibly be going through his mind, what horrors he’s had to endure and the false reality that he was placed into for all those years.  

“Steve wouldn’t poison you, Bucky.” You say again, trying to reiterate the point as much as you possibly could, your words holding so much weight to anyone but it falls flat with him.  

“I don’t know Steve.” His words send a chill through your spine, his voice is deep and hallow, lacking any emotion, but, to be fair, he’s not wrong. “I don’t know you.”  

“Fine. I’ll prove it to you then.” Your words come out faster than your brain has a chance to stop you. Standing up from your seat, your chair pushing back as you do so, you lean across and grab his fork, hands shaking slightly as you grab a piece of the salmon.  

You regret doing it almost immediately, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as he watches you bring the fork to your mouth. It’s fishy and pink and the bile is rising in your throat just at the smell of it, but you know you have to do this. To earn some sort of trust. If Steve was here, he’d do anything to prove to Bucky, so you had to show him you were just as capable of proving this as well.  

Taking the bite your body wants to reject it almost immediately as you chew, but you manage to get it down, taking a long sip of your water once it’s been swallowed to try and get the taste out of your mouth. Horrible. Terrible. Disgusting. If he didn’t eat the salmon now, then you’d definitely kill him.  

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as stare at each other. Bucky moves his hand, grabbing his fork back from you and moving to take a bite of the food, having an easier time choking it down than you do.  

There it was. Something. Maybe not trust yet, maybe just a spark of the idea.  

You sit down across from him again, shaking your head as you try not to imagine eating anymore of the food, the idea of it sending a shiver down your spine as you continue to watch silently.  

“Thanks.” He manages to say between bites, his eyes on the food in front of him.  

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” You quip back, your voice flat before letting out a dry cough.  

It’s once he’s finished with his food that he pushes his body back against the chair, sinking into it slightly, his flesh and metal hand grip the arms tightly. The tension in the room is palpable at this point and you know Bucky can feel it too.  

“How long have you known Steve?” His voice is gruff as it comes out, and you’re surprised he’s willing to talk to you, let alone ask questions.  

“Two years.” You respond. “Since they found him in the ice.” You remember that day vividly, watching as they brought him in for evaluation, making their plans to slowly acclimate him to the real world, which in true Steve rogers fashion did not work. You had been assigned to his team ever since. “I was one of his first recruits on the team. Sam was next, Nat is just a friend.”  

Bucky nods at that, his long hair falling in front of his face as he takes in your words.  

“Has he always been ...” he looks over in the direction of the door that Steve had walked out of hours ago. “Like that ?”  

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head a bit at his question – you knew exactly what he was talking about. Steve, while he had everyone’s best interest in mind, was a bit overbearing, always over explaining everything and a bit ... self absorbed. It was the hero complex.  

“Yes.” You nod, a small smirk on your face as your gaze catches Bucky's again. His eyes are tired, not as guarded as they were a few minutes ago – softer. “He means well, but he can be a little ...” you trail off, but Bucky nods his head understanding where that was going.  

Bucky lets out a long sigh, his eyes closing for a moment as you can see his hands gripping the chair tighter, the knuckles on his flesh hand white.  

“I hate that he looks at me like that.” He admits through gritted teeth. “Like i’m supposed to just remember everything that happened. There’s ... bits and pieces, but i don’t know him. I barely remember myself. He doesn’t understand.”  

“He doesn’t expect you to remember anything.” You add in after a few long moments of silence. “It might feel like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s just excited to have his friend back.” Your eyes trail over his face. “A version of his friend.”  

Bucky's grip loosens on the chair, a deep breath leaving his nostrils as he moves to stand from the table. You watch as he makes his way back to where he was sitting before, his head lolling back onto the chair as he stares up at the ceiling.  

And he stays like that for the remainder of the night. His shoulders aren’t as tense as when you had first arrived, he turns to look at you when you ask him a question and he even manages to gruff out an answer.  

By the time morning comes, Steve is there bright and early, ready to release you of your duties as it was now his turn to keep watch over Bucky.  

“Hey.” He says, startling you a bit as you and Bucky both turn to look at him. “How’d it go?”  

“Good.” You nod, standing up and straightening your posture. “He ate late last night, he’s feeling a bit ... overwhelmed.” You keep your voice low so Bucky couldn’t hear you. “Give him some space. Don’t ask so many questions.”  

You felt suddenly protective over Bucky, the need to make sure he felt comfortable as he navigated his way through this new beginning was blooming in your chest. And as you turn around to see him one last time, you swear you seem some sadness in his eyes. You pat Steve on the shoulder as you walk past him, finally being relieved of your time. Though you’d never admit out loud you’d be counting down the hours until it was your turn on watch Bucky again.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Works Hard So He Can Nap Harder

The thing about Tim is that he gets things done.

Not in a normal, reasonable, “wow, he’s really productive” way. No, Tim operates on an entirely different plane of efficiency—one that defies common sense and possibly the laws of physics.

Give him a five-hour task? He’ll finish it in two. Tell him something is impossible? He’ll stare at you, offended, before proving you so wrong it physically hurts.

Sometimes, it’s out of sheer spite. Bruce once told him a mission was too complicated for him to handle alone, so Tim completed it in record time out of pettiness alone. Jason told Tim he didn’t have the skill set for corporate espionage. So Tim hacked three shell companies overnight, uncovered Black Mask’s entire financial network, and sent Jason a PowerPoint presentation with the subject line: “Skill Set Acquired”.

Other times, it’s about time management. Tim understands, at his very core, that the faster he works, the sooner he can stop working. If he has to burn through a mountain of reports in a single hour so he can take a nap, then so be it. If he has to analyze data at inhuman speeds so he can binge-watch a show later, then he will.

The bats have learned to just… let it happen.

Dick once made the mistake of asking Tim to help him streamline his schedule. Tim, in under an hour, not only optimized his entire calendar but also accounted for every possible emergency, scheduled backup time slots for rescheduling, and somehow made Dick twice as productive without making him feel busier. It was kinda terrifying.

Barbara asked him to double-check some intel. He cross-referenced it against every available database, found three hidden links no one had noticed, and sent her a color-coded report with visual aids.

Bruce told him to track a smuggling ring in Gotham. Tim mapped out their entire operation in one night, had arrests lined up by morning, and then went home to sleep like a corpse.

Steph once sarcastically asked if Tim could figure out how to clean up the Gotham underworld in a week. Tim pulled out a ten-step plan before she even finished her sentence.

Tim doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t believe in half-measures. He works fast, works well, and then disappears before anyone can ask him for more.

The only thing scarier than Tim’s efficiency is the fact that he actively chooses to use it selectively.

Because while Tim is capable of working like a one-man army, when it benefits him, he’s also capable of weaponized uselessness. If he doesn’t want to do something, suddenly he’s the most inefficient person alive.

He’ll take weeks to answer a text. He’ll forget how to do basic tasks. He’ll act so completely incapable of anything that people just stop asking him for things.

But when he wants something done?

It’s over before you even realize he started.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Average transformers g1 episode:

Megatron is attempting to black out the entire sky across a hundred mile radius and funnel all the sunlight into one, concentrated solar death ray to target a heavy duty solar panel he's having soundwave and the cassetticons build in order to convert it to energon. Then he plans to hit the autobot base with the death ray just for funsies. Starscream plans to push Megatron directly into the death ray, also just for funsies.

Optimus sends Wheeljack and Spike to deal with it, along with two bots you're pretty sure have not been in this show before this point, but you're kind of past asking how many of these fuckers were on the ark offscreen when it crashed. One of them has the worst fake Canadian accent you have ever heard, and the other's name sounds inexplicably dirty.

Starscream tries to get Megatron to stand in the spot he told Skywarp and Ramjet to direct the death ray, but is interrupted when Rumble asks why Starscream stuck him with extra work (a task Megatron assigned specifically to Starscream). This vexes Megatron. The autobots show up and try to figure out what the point of the blacked out sky is while Starscream attempts to talk his way out of it. Then the death ray goes off two feet away from Megatron, which only pisses him off further.

The Canadian bot yells "AH BINARY-BEAVERS!!" because the death ray caught him off guard and completely gives away the bots' position. Soundwave immediately fires on them. Gratuitous robot violence ensues. Spike is generally useless and tries chucking rocks at Rumble. Megatron is too busy trying to almost-murder Starscream to bother with the autobots and just lets Soundwave handle it.

Probably-an-innuendo-name-bot is luckily a flier and takes the chance to see what's blocking the sun now that their cover's blown anyway. He gets up there and the seekers are sticking tinfoil on the clouds to make the tops reflective. The writers are really just hoping you don't think too hard about it.

Skywarp starts firing on dirty-name and calls him a nerd. Dirty-name takes evasive action. Skywarp runs out of ammo and starts just chucking tin foil at him. Dirty-name calls him dumb and says his processor is made of spare toaster parts. Then he crash lands and canada-bot asks if dirty-name's wings are spare toaster parts as well. Wheeljack yells that they'll all be spare toaster parts if they don't focus on the decepticons. The death ray goes off again and barely misses the autobots. Wheeljack corrects himself to Melted spare toaster parts.

Dirty-name gives Wheeljack the rundown on the tinfoil clouds so he can figure out a way to get rid of them while Canada-bot fights Soundwave and the cassettes in the background. Spike is kind of helping too sort of almost. Those rocks hes chucking sure are damaging. Ravage gets straight up drop kicked. It cuts back to Wheeljack whipping up a good old fashioned Device™️.

Starscream flies up past the tinfoil barrier while Megatron shoots at him. All the holes he's shooting in the blackout barrier are just making more, slightly shittier death rays and the main one is losing concentration. One of them hits Megatron right in the optic and he keels over with an over the top screech. Starscream descends, breaking another hole in the tinfoil to see a golden opportunity.

"MEGATRON HAS BEEN BLINDED!!! I, STARSCREAM AM NOW YOUR LEADER!!!"

Wheeljack finishes his Device™️: A grenade that makes tinfoil entirely invisible, thus rendering the whole weapon unusable. The writers are hungover, please do not think about it too hard. Pretty please. Dirty-name doesn't know if he can throw it into one of the holes in the barrier on his own since he can't fly in robot mode and he cant throw in altmode. Spike offers to get on his back and throw it in for him if he can get close enough. And he's just SO good at throwing things. The other two agree he's their best shot, they're so happy spike is around, couldn't do it without him.

Starscream is hovering in the air as he gives his Decepticon Leader Acceptance Speech he's prepared for this very occasion, golden light streaming in from the him-shaped hole in the barrier. Dirty-name and spike zip past him and spike makes the best goddamn throw of his life. Before starscream can properly question the Fucking Audacity of these autobots interrupting him while he's trying to have a moment, the invisible explosion goes off that the animators are just happy they don't have to put that much effort into drawing. Starscream gets knocked out of the air and crashes directly onto Megatron. This vexes Megatron.

Sky's normal again. Don't worry that there's still tinfoil there, don't even fuckin worry about it dude. Spike and Dirty-name touch back down. Round of applause for spike for throwing super good. Wheeljack comments that he's just happy it blew up the way it was supposed to. Cue uncomfortably long laughing. Megatron manages to roll starscream off him and calls for a retreat.

Back at the decepticon base, Megatron has an eyepatch and is skulking. Starscream yaps about how it makes him look like a proper tyrant, brooding and battle scarred, and, dare he say, darkly handsome? This vexes Megatron.

[fandom-flight]

The S-Classes that I Raised often gets grouped with Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint and Trash of the Count's Family, but there's something distinctly different about Han Yoojin as a protagonist. I think it's that his story really makes you feel how much of a fighter he is. I'm not saying that Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo aren't fighters exactly, but they tend to come off as schemers first and foremost. Their approach to most problems (from my perspective as someone who's read all of ORV and like a third of TCF) involves leveraging secrets of the world that only they know in order to get the better of their adversaries and achieve their goals. They plan things out a long time in advance, and sure, things don't always go their way, but they feel like chess players when they're confronted with obstacles.

Meanwhile, Han Yoojin feels like a guerilla soldier. He definitely also schemes, but SCTIR makes a dedicated effort to showing that his current knowledge of the future and the world's secrets will only take him so far. He does think ahead and plans for the future whenever he can, but most of his problems are solved by improvising. One of his greatest strengths is that he thinks on his feet and doesn't let himself be fazed by surprises. This ends up making him feel more like someone who has always had to fight desperately for every last scrap of respect and survival he could get his hands on in a way that ORV and TCF don't go for as much (as far as I can tell for TCF as of now). Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo's plans go "first, I'm going to go to the super secret location to get a weapon that will help me in six months, and then in five weeks, I'm going to recruit an obscure powerhouse to be my spy for the operation I'll do next year..." whereas Han Yoojin's plans are more like "first, I'll get into some shit, and then, I'll figure it out."

It's kind of hard to explain the vibe difference because these characters are all defined by their cleverness, but I guess the best way to put it would be that Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo seem more... exasperated? with the way they've been wronged in the past, whereas Han Yoojin seems more angry and spiteful about it. The first two mostly seem tired of dealing with the way their lives were going before and just want to be happy, but Han Yoojin gives off the feeling that he doesn't think he can find happiness without biting and clawing his way to it

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[absolutely-esme]

Amity Park is different

Amity Park has a local superhero.

He's great. He works hard to protect his town. That said, Amity's local hero is a teenager. The people he relies on to help and support him are teenagers. The town's superhero defense is a handful of kids figuring things out on their own.

They do good, but sometimes the people of Amity have to be prepared to lend a hand or hold their own for a bit. That's just how life is under these conditions. Communities come together and support each other. It's fine. People adapt. Life goes on. They're really doing quite well.

A class from Amity Park visits a museum in Gotham on a field trip. They get caught in an unfortunately timed Scarecrow attack.

Scarecrow should have known better than to activate the fight or flight responses of a group of Amity Parkers.

The gas canister drops and discharges. The field trip group explodes into action.

A pair of Football players quickly overturns a table and use it as a shield as they charge the goons with the most firepower. Cheerleaders toss each other into the air for aerial attacks. Nerds turn objects from a nearby Janitor closet into a surprisingly effective trebuchet with astounding speed. One girl utilizes impressive martial arts skills.

A boy with Black hair and blue eyes flits about the battlefield pilfering and disassembling weapons with a shocking degree of efficiency as a Goth girl follows him around and bludgeon anyone who attempts to make a grab for him with a stand that had been holding up a rope barrier, and a boy in a beret lays down cover fire by launching pencils out of a makeshift bow formed from a binder and rubber bands with a startling degree of accuracy.

The teacher flits around pulling kids out of the path of attacks they hadn't seen, stowing any injured behind cover, and giving foes solid thwack on the noggin when the opportunity arises. He actually ends up knocking out Scarecrow himself.

The statement "We're not trapped in here with you. You're trapped in here with us," is repeated several times by different people.

When the Bats or police arrive, they have to carefully pull the feildtrip group off of the unfortunate rogues.

It takes a while to get the antidotes administered, but they do eventually manage. The class remains in defensive formation the whole time.

When the kids finally calm down enough to give statements, they mostly just say that Scarecrow gets what he gets for deliberately activating Amity Parkers' fight or flight responses. After the antidotes take effect, the class seems unfazed and goes about their business as soon as the authorities allow.

Some other visitors to the museum upload videos of the event online with titles like "the one class that was prepared for a field trip to Gotham" and "What kind of place is Amity Park, and why haven't I heard of it before?"

It doesn't take long for people to edit the videos to set the fight to music. Popular song choices include Ballroom Blitz, Bring 'em Out by Hawk Nelson, and the "we like to party" song from the six flags commercial.

Now the Bats are investigating Amity Park (and why they haven't heard of it before).

[spikeface]

Really loved the reveal that Sammie’s guitar once belong to Smoke and Stack’s father.

The twins’ father stands out as the one truly abusive parent figure in Sinners. Sammie finds his father oppressive but the movie stresses that he’s at least trying to protect him. In general the movie focuses on how much parents and the community as a whole adore their children. The twins’ father is there through the shadow he casts on them, which shows up primarily in how they make sure Sammie isn’t being abused by their uncle.

And in the lie Stack tells Sammie, that his guitar once belonged to Charley Patton.

The lie fits with how Sinners is, amongst other things, a story about Sammie discovering what it means to be a blues player. He knows from the beginning that the blues are the only escape he’s found in a brutally hard life. At the same time, Delta Slim laughs at his inexperience: “What do you know about the blues?”

Sammie knows plenty about hardship, and he’s a dedicated musician, but he literally doesn’t know something about the blues: the guitar’s history. What he knows is that his cousins believe in him: they want him to play, they gave him Charley Patton’s guitar. Stack even seems surprised by Sammie’s talent when he hears him sing on the drive, so the cousins didn’t even necessarily know he would be good when they gave him the guitar, just that he liked music. They gave it to him out of love for him and faith in him.

When Sammie plays at the juke, it seems like those things drive him. He loves music, he has faith in its ability to free him. The connections to the ancestors that he creates reflect that love and faith, but they’re also invisible to him, and about the community as a whole. He doesn’t know the family history he’s transforming with his music, in the same way he doesn’t know the violence that’s headed his way because of his music.

It’s only after he’s survived the events of the movie, and seen the true power that he has as a musician—the guitar literally a weapon he can use to defend himself—that he also learns the truth about the guitar’s history.

By playing the guitar, Sammie is helping the twins process their relationship with their father. Giving Sammie the guitar is them passing on this part of their father that wasn’t violent; about crafting a legacy for him they don’t fear; about Sammie creating a future with it that isn’t harmful, something they can love and have faith in. Even lying to Sammie about the guitar lets Stack briefly free himself from his family history by rewriting it, replacing his father with someone they admire.

Through the night, Sammie learns the stakes of the power he has as a musician: that it can bind the community, that it makes him vulnerable, and that it can be used (literally) as a weapon against predatory whiteness. He still has to decide if he wants to pursue the blues, and now can make an informed choice.

At the same time, he finally learns about the most personal ancestors he connects to with his music: his own family history, his father’s brother and his cousins’ fraught relationship with his memory. One of the movie’s most spectacular scenes is about how Sammie’s music connects the community to their ancestors, and the reveal of the personal ancestry in the guitar is much smaller by comparison. At the same time, it suggests that Sammie—and the blues in general—doesn’t need to change everyone in order to have power. It’s enough to help just his family connect to their ancestors.

[tac-the-unseen]

Things they only let you do

Micheal Myers:

•Exist next to him unharmed

-Lets be honest, that is a privilege only you get

-The fact you and only you can co-inhabit with the boogeyman is something nobody but Michael can figure out, and for the record, he can’t

-Not a moment goes by that police teams, doctors, and the general public doesn't wonder how on earth you managed to get a deranged serial killer to become your personal pillow. 

•Watching him sleep

-Micheal rarely sleeps, so when he does he expects you to be looking out for him. He trusts nobody else like that.

-He does the same thing for you every night, so he sees it as returning the favor 

-You know better than to play any tricks on him (lest you be stabbed to death) (Of course he sleeps armed, do you take him for a fool?)

•Harm him

-While this sounds odd, it makes sense 

-He simply doesn't view you as a threat. So even if you do end up hurting him, i.e bitting, scratching, hitting, kicking, or use a weapon against him, He doesn't care much

-Unfortunately he seems to enjoy your company and affection. That coupled with his regenerative properties it really doesn't matter what you do 

-IF it gets that bad, It's not like you'll be a difficult enemy. You'd simply just be another body 

Bo Sinclair:

•Yelling at him

-He will yell back, but if anyone else yelled at him they'd get a right hook to the jaw

-He doesn't even let his brother ‘disrespect’ him like that

-He not used to affection of really only kind (other than sexual) so sometimes Screaming matches are his love language

•Being affectionate (in any way)

-Again, he's not used to it. He finds it uncomfortable even though he knows he shouldn't.

-He also knows he's the odd one out when it comes to affection. Because of this he doesn't stop you from hugging, kissing, for simply holding his hand like he might of for past partners

-Him not pushing away is a big deal, mostly for him

•Messing up his work area 

-Anyone else fucked with his tools they'll get an ear full

-You mess with his tools might earn you a hard sigh and told to not do it again 

-Might yell at you but that's really the most he's doing

Hannibal Lecter:

•Not counting Will, being rude

-He has a type, and that type is mentally ill and wants to make that everybody’s problem 

-Loves watching you cuss somebody out after they themselves are rude. 

-Gets actual goosebumps while you glare at him for tricking others into his dinner plans 

•Complain about his food

-He is always trying to impress you with food

-The thing is, that sardine jelly is just plain NASTY 

-He lets you get away with it because he wants to make sure your well fed at all time (He just really wants praise and approval) 

-If you don't want to dine on the guest Hannibal understands and lets you pass without any passive aggressiveness (If you DO choose to carry on with dinner he cannot stop looking at you. Like full on heart eyes kind of look)

•Let you win

-Hannibal has a superiority complex. been there, knew that. He never lets anyone one up him, no matter the cost. 

-You are the only exception! Not even Will can get an actual victory. 

-He'll let you win in both large and small scale scenarios. That's not to say he won't try to win, but if he loses fairly he'll let it rest there (for the most part)

The Lost Boys:

•Touch their Motorcycles 

-Not one, not Max, Star, or Laddie can touch their bikes without permission first. 

-1) because it's how they get around the human way, and 2) They take great pride and care for the damn things

-You are the only person allowed to sit, lean, lay, or whatever on their bikes. They even teach you how to care for them properly just so you can look after them in their absence.

-You looking after their bikes is their equivalent to a girl handing her drink to someone in a bar. They will bark at someone over your drink and they expect you to bark over their bikes. 

•Touch the Nest(s)

-They built you a nest deep in the cave and there are so many rules involving said nest. One of those rules being that you HAVE to be invited to enter the nest.

-They already had a nest made but when you became mates with them, they had to redo the whole thing for you. This process takes hours and sometimes days to complete, So in the meantime they invited you into their old nest before building you a new one. 

-They all cuddled around you while telling you the importance and rules of the nesting process. When you get into the more personal questions (What Nests meant to them then, now, and later) they told you that besides themselves, you are the only person to ever be in the nest. 

•Call them ridiculous pet names

-Paul and you thought it would be funny to make up horrendous nickname for everyone

-David became Fee Fee the Ferocious, Sugar pie, Bimbo doll, Fossil fuel, and Wet sock

-Dwanye became Pookie bear, Cowboy, Sky Scraper, Princess, and Cum stain

-Paul became Big ol’ dog, Smoochie poo, Boo Boo Bear, Dolly, and penis fly trap

-Marko became stinky little guy, Lollipop, Sexy Thang, 2% Milk, and Armrest

Thanks for reading!

.....Hey......hey.....how y'all doin?.......

I've suddenly found I have more time on my hands... And I remembered that I enjoy writing.....so....um....yeah....