#she has been the one to listen and validate his feelings when no one else did

[cold-neon-ocean]

Omigooooooaaaashhh 😭😭😭 your last post!!! Somebody PLEEEAASE SAVE BAATAR FROM HIS OWN MIND!! I literally know the feeling of fighting with yourself and your own thoughts and it's truly exhausting, nerve wrecking and draining!! But to have them centered around people who have extraordinary powerful abilities that literally change both the physical world and spiritual world HAS to be torture!! Omigosh by beautiful baby boy needs therapy!!

NO FOR REAL IM TRULY BEGGING HIM TO SEEK A GOOD THERAPIST LIKE SIR PLEASE 😭😭

Kuvira can just see on his face when he starts Thinking Too Much and then has to divert his attention lest he be consumed by the horrors of his own thoughts kshsjs Baatar doesn't like being fussed over like he's helpless and she knows that, but she can't help but check on his heart rate often to tell if he's having an anxiety spike or not. Especially when they're in public because it happens. He'll suddenly realize he's just surrounded by people who he can't ever know the intentions of and he'll just start quietly internally panicking and Kuv can't help but pick up his heart rate through the ground and have to go rescue him from himself :')

Like when he was captured and held hostage by Korra and she threatened him with the Avatar state, sure he called her bluff but that has to be the number one fear of any non-bender because what could they possibly do in response to that? He pretty much had his fear of being subjected to the mercy of someone with bending realized- in the worst possible scenario imaginable, and all he could do was try and talk his way out of it. And yeah Korra would have never hurt him in front of his family but he was still humiliated in front of them all the same. He's a champion at masking his feelings on the surface but I can only imagine how heart attack enduring as a non-bender being threatened by the Avatar themselves would be.

He's got so many mental anguishes going on at once, his status as a non-bender, how that has damaged his relationship with his family, his identity crisis, and also how he internalizes how Kuvira has felt outcast and he just reflexively gets angry for her. The man truly needs a mental health intervention because insisting that he can handle it all on his own has not been going as well as he thinks it has ajshsj

I've reoccuringly daydreamed about the scenario where Baatar does start going to therapy and detangling all his cumulative damage and feelings like that's truly what I want for him the most, some mental peace ;;

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[dolicekiss]

Hi,

I heard you were taking requests again, so I hope you don‘t mind me dropping one here.

Could you please write a story/one-shot, which takes place in the Hannibal universe, where Hannibal falls for one of his patients, who was a victim of a murderer, but managed to escape unscathed. When the murderer resurfaces again, she needs to stay with him and slowly he makes her depend on him. After hearing the news of his latest kill, Hannibal twists/abuses the situation to make her seek comfort from him.(with nsfw?)

Fragile Minds

PAIRING: Dark!Hannibal Lecter X Fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING: SMUT (18+, mdni please), coercion, adult grooming, taking advantage of reader, manipulation, trauma, mention of kidnapping, mention of nightmares, PTSD, gaslighting, age gap (unspecified but legal), unprotected sex, fingering, kissing, choking, bruising, slight fluff, infatuated hannibal who'll do anything to have reader.

Therapy was merely an escape.

For you, it was.

An escape from the people who gave you pitiful looks, sympathizing with you. Feeling bad for a girl like you who suffered from so much at such a young age.

You resented it. Everytime when you'd attend dinners at your relatives’ houses or when your friends would gaze at you with a sad pathetic look, treating you like some fragile little girl who needed extra care. It was all overbearing for you.

Hannibal Lecter’s office was the perfect escape.

He did not see you as some broken little doll, no. Rather he validated you, understood you, listened to you and made you feel comfortable in his presence. The only person who did not look at you with a pitiful, sad gaze.

You saw him as a kind and polite man who attended to your needs, your mental needs and took care of you in a way no one else had ever before.

You'd attended your session again, with a smile on your face. When the door to his office you opened, your smile widened and Hannibal returned it. You simply loved how he had created a safe space for you, how he did care for your well-being. You were his patient so it was his job but at least he was better than all the other people who only saw you as some broken shell.

“Hello.” Hannibal greeted and you nodded your smile, stepping inside. “Good evening, Doctor Lecter.”

His smile lines deepened. “Good evening. How are you feeling today?”

You slid off your leather coat, hanging it over the hook. Hannibal lead you to your seat and you happily followed, a constant routine which you'd gotten used to. Hannibal sat before you, on his own brown leather couch.

“I feel alright." You coyly said, hands toying with each other. Not a sign of discomfort but rather nervousness. Hannibal had made sure that you were comfortable around him.

Hannibal was not a man that was easily swooned away yet he was completely in awe whenever you played with your hands, twisting one finger over the other. That habit of yours was adorable to him, sort of akin to him.

Hannibal tilted his head.

You licked your lips. “I feel alright but I have nightmares about what happened.”

You had sort of disconnected from your trauma as that was the only way you could possibly cope. Hannibal noticed it but he didn't say much, when he should have. It was only to bring you closer to him, to make you depend on him.

“What do the nightmares consist of?”

“Him dragging me through a dark alley and showing me where he'll bury me.” You said all that so nonchalantly, Hannibal knew you hadn't broken up about it yet.

Ever since the incident, you shut everyone out. Felt like discussing about what happened and how it made you feel was not necessary at all and when the FBI advised you to speak to their psychiatrist, in order to help you regain the suppressed memories of the assault you'd encountered, it worked.

Hannibal smiled. “Does it scare you? You have trouble sleeping?”

You blinked, shaking your head. “No, I wake up numb. I was told it is unhealthy to not feel anything regarding this matter.”

“Are you bothered that he has not been apprehended yet?” You nodded your head in response.

You'd nearly died that rainy night. Your perpetrator had fully planned to murder you that night as you were the perfect victim in his followed pattern but somehow you managed to survive. Got away when he was busy digging up your grave.

The feeling that overcame you when you witnessed your own grave, where you'll be buried after your life has been snatched away from you — it was too foreign. A different type of overwhelming fear which consumed you to the point your brain had entirely shut it out.

As traumatized as you were, Hannibal was aware you had not fully coped up with this painful incident. You walked around and pretended like you were fine but he knew he needed to break you, in order to put you back together.

This time, to his own likeness.

“He has not killed anyone after I got away from him. I think he is going to come back for me.” You spoke, tone impassive whenever you spoke about your trauma. “The thought always lingers in the back of my mind, Doctor Lecter.”

The aforementioned tossed one leg over the other and nodded his head, acknowledging your restlessness. “You survived him with your strong will to live. If he is to resurface again, I'm sure you will be able to defend yourself against him.”

Hannibal was right and you knew it. You'd escaped him with the desperate urge to live and that desperation saved your life.

But then Hannibal spoke up again with certain darkness in his voice. “You'll always have me, love. I will be there for you as I always have been.”

You smiled softly.

He was right. He was there — from the beginning to the end. He had coaxed you out of your shell, helped you express your feelings, much more. Hannibal had helped you beyond anything and you felt like you'd forever be in his debt.

Hannibal’s proclivity for protecting you and caring for you stemmed from the romantic feelings he began to develop for you over the course of the past few weeks. The moment he laid his gaze upon you, he knew you were the one.

You'd climbed over the walls around him without even intending to do so. Your little laughs, your interest in seeing the art he'd created with only a pencil, even reaching you calligraphy.

Hannibal was deeply in love and that was not a good sign.

“I appreciate you, Doctor Lecter.” You smiled, teeth showing. The session soon came to an end and you left for your apartment. Hannibal didn't like seeing you go but he had to let you go. There was so much he could do to bring you closer to him and he noticed how you were already beginning to become dependent on him.

He liked that. The taste of freedom was on your tongue but your strings were controlled by Hannibal.

As soon as you reached your apartment, you could only look forward to another session with him. You were entirely blind to how much you had grown attached to Hannibal, how much he affected you and everything in your life.

You only saw the camaraderie he offered you in a time of struggle, pain and utter loneliness.

But little did you know that was the whole plan. Hannibal had been offered a chance at friendship before too but he rejected it, all and everytime though with you, the case was different. He was a lonely man, painfully lonely and he craved company.

Your company.

So when he saw you, he made it his mission to make you depend on him. Grow used to him, attached and fully bonded like you were his mate.

You turned on the TV, hoping you'd be able to relax but your phone dinged. You reached for it, picking it up and unlocking. Eyebrows scrunching up when you saw the link you'd received from an anonymous number.

You contemplated whether to check it or not and your curiosity finally got the best of you when you tapped on it. It took you to an article — by Freddie Lounds.

Your blood ran cold when you read the contents of it. Fingers losing their strength and your phone slipping out of their grasp, hitting the couch. You blinked profusely, hoping that this was a lie but you were all aware that no matter how problematic Freddie Lounds was, she delivered real events and not some made up ones.

The article included of your killer — finally risen again, taking another victim. Your breathing grew uneven, all the memories your brain had locked out now freeing themselves.

Shattered breathing and a thumping heart reminded you of your suppressed fears when the anesthesia of your mind had wore off.

Body beginning to oscillate on the couch, your teeth ripped the skin off your lips, causing them to bleed. Panic had filled you up.

You were next. You knew it.

In this vulnerable moment, you knew only one person that was capable of calming you down and that was Hannibal Lecter. You didn't think for a moment, grabbing your car keys and heading for the door.

Seeing the weather only increased the fear and uneasiness which you attempted to repel inside you. Grey clouds loomed above your head when you made it outside your apartment building and the rain only felt like droplets of acid pouring over your skin.

Tears losing their identity within the cries of mother nature, engulfing your whole being.

How sad, how pitful that what worked to calm down others was burning you.

You tried to scream but nothing came out.

All your suppressed emotions had swam up to the surface and there was no escape.

You don't remember how you managed to drive through the heavy rain, soaked with a blurred vision. It was a blessing — rather a curse from God to have protected you from an inevitable car crash.

All you remember was ending up outside Hannibal’s house — fist banging over the wood. When the door was pulled open, Hannibal found you soaked and withered like a flower in front of him. Drenched hair sticking to the ridges of your face, dress clinging to your frame, shoulders showing off a perpetual tremor, cheeks flushed and through all that Hannibal managed to pick up on the tears that slid.

He was quick to pull you inside, without a word exchanged between the two of you. His palm opened, laying on your back. You had no idea why you were here but being in Hannibal’s presence sufficiently managed to make you feel a tad bit better.

You looked up at him, mumbling incoherent words and the man didn't hesitate for a moment to bring you in a hug. His own button up and vest becoming wet in the process.

All that mattered to him was comforting you.

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing and finally breaking apart. The way he exactly needed you to. His heart ached feeling your little body shiver in his hold but this was necessary.

He had to do this. Had to trigger you somehow so he could find you in a vulnerable headspace and coerce full codependency out of you.

The killer only helped fasten the process and Hannibal knew Freddie Lounds was an unethical journalist who only cared for content. Working in the FBI wasn't that bad when Hannibal had access to the murder files and photographs. All he had to do was anonymously send to Lounds and then send the article to you.

A smile decorated his features when you crumbled in his embrace.

“He-He'll come—come back for me. He—”

You were a mess. A mix of overwhelming emotions and beautiful flesh. Hannibal shushed you, caressing your head with his palm as you unleashed weeks worth of suppressed trauma and anguish.

“I'm here.” He said softly, tightening his hold over you in a protective manner. “You have me, only me. You don't need anyone else.”

You nodded in agreement, both palms pressed over his broad chest. Your body had grown cold and Hannibal was beginning to worry.

He pulled apart from you, or attempted to but you clung to him like a koala. Fists bunching up the material of his button up, body aching to feel his warmth. Becoming greedy but Hannibal was going to give you all the warmth you so desperately craved.

“You will fall sick, love. Let me bring you some clothes.”

Your hands loosened their grip over his shirt and he peeled from me. Biceps soaked from how tightly they were draped around you, skin underneath them revealed. After sitting you down on the couch, Hannibal went to find you some clothes.

He could not put the paramount happiness he felt into words. Everything, from beginning to end had worked in his favor. He was in control and he enjoyed it more than anything. All he had to do was use your trauma against you, push you into a state of vulnerability where you only needed him.

He brought you his own clothes, a shirt that would be too big on you. Hannibal craved to see how you'd look, he was fucking excited.

You were still shivering, chest leaping up from little hiccups. Hannibal walked over to you with the shirt and a glass of water he'd fetched from the kitchen on his way to the living room.

“Here, drink this. You'll feel better.” You reached for the glass with shaky fingers and Hannibal noticed them. In one single go, you finished the glass. He took it from you and placed it on the nearest table before handing you over his shirt.

“Please change into this. You'll fall sick and we don't want that happening, do we?”

You had no energy to change. It required all your will power to drive here and now you were too far gone to even function like a proper human. Hands numb and frozen.

You raised your gaze at him, glossy and red eyes becoming the cause of his heavy beating heart.

Hannibal swallowed.

He did not know you would grow this beautiful, this breathtaking after breaking apart. In your destruction, you were the most beautiful. Blooming like a new flower. Like a piece of art, you filled his heart with bliss.

“I can provide help.” He tested the waters and all you did was turn around on the couch, moving to the side to reveal the zipper of your dress to him.

Hannibal sat next to you, brawny hands reaching for the zipper. You closed your eyes as tears fell, a few sobs escaping. Hannibal’s fingers slowly dragged the zipper down and you leaned more into his touch when his fingers accidentally brushed over your wet skin. You swallowed — body growing used to the man's minor touch.

He exposed your back when the zipper met the end, glistening bare skin greeting him. He could tell from the way you shifted in your seat or how the goosebumps poked through your skin that you were relishing in this.

Hannibal’s knuckles caressed your skin, your breath hitched.

Hannibal carefully and tenderly pushed the sticky dress off your shoulders, exposing your beautiful shoulders. Bare and raw to his lascivious gaze. He was so obsessed, so infatuated. Fingers dancing across where your shoulder blades sat, tongue swiping over his own lips.

He was a starving madman.

Only the sound of fire crackling over the wood in the fireplace could be heard in the room, along with your bated breathing and sharp intakes of air. Hannibal’s adam apple bobbed up and down as he fully pulled the dress down.

The heavy soaked material of cotton bunched up at your waist. Your bare chest rose up and fell down in uneven breaths, nipples hardening because of the chilly air.

You were ready to stand up to discard the dress but Hannibal’s hands circled around your arms, pulling you back against his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as he breathed over your nape.

His warm breath leaving chills in its wake and you shuddered in his grasp. The self control Hannibal possessed was worthy of immense respect and appreciation because only he knew how badly he wanted to let go and claim you.

But he had to wait.

He waited for so long, what's more a few hours or days.

He found himself growing obsessed with your mere scent. How sweet you smelled, how hypnotic it was. Worked like magic over him.

“Arms.” Hannibal sounded commanding and you raised your arms, slipping them into the large sleeves of the emerald shirt. Hannibal didn't bother to unbutton it as it was oversized and you slipped right into it.

He soon pulled the dress down to your legs and discarded it somewhere.

He brushed your hair with his beautifully sculpted fingers, mind overthrown by the images of your bare back and gorgeous shoulders.

You slowly turned to face him, face flushed and tears coating the apple of your cheeks.

“Thank you.“ You whispered, stifling the urge to sob. You were still all over the place, hoping that all of this was a dream and you'd wake up soon between your thick blanket.

Hannibal nodded. “I told you, I will always be here. You're safe with me, love. I can protect you from this man, keep you safe but you need to stay close to me in order for me to protect you.”

You thought about it and he was right.

If you'd gone to someone else after reading that article, they would have never opened their door to you. Never would have allowed you in but Hannibal, like your guardian angel, was right there.

Your gaze fell to capture his lips for a moment before flickering back up to his sparkling eyes.

“It is your decision, at the end.” Of course it was.

But your words were driven by Hannibal’s manipulation and gaslighting. Using his wit and psychology to push you over the cliff, only to be waiting down there to catch you.

Your words were yours but your lips were controlled by Hannibal.

You shuffled closer to him, knees coming in contact with his. With hesitation, you threw your arms around him and veiled your face with his nape. Hannibal circled his arms around your frail waist, a smug smile crossing his lips.

A smug smile of victory.

When you broke the hug, Hannibal cupped your face and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. You didn't complain, knowing that this was unethical but you didn't care. You craved this, a doomed touch starved creature you were.

Hannibal’s blonde strands fell over his face and you reached for them, caressing them between your fingers. He took in a deep breath, fingers nearly digging into your waist from the sheen of desire on his mind.

“You're like spring, my love. Bloom like the flowers.” Hannibal whispered, finally leaning in to press his lips over yours. You allowed him to, your own hands slithering over his nape, fingers tangling in his roots.

Hannibal pressed his body against yours in desperate attempts to feel you as he pushed him down on the couch. His lips devoured you, the kiss full of seeting passion. You felt his tongue coat your lips with saliva and you parted open your mouth, a lustful invitation.

His tongue mingled with yours, breath and spit becoming one. You whimpered into thw kiss as Hannibal’s hands moved up from your waist to unbutton the shirt he'd put you in. Only enough to expose your breasts to him. Hannibal loved how the silk shirt clung to your body, how it complimented your soft skin.

You arched your back when his hands fondled with your breasts, thumbs squeezing your hardened peaks between them. Hannibal had lost all his restraint. He could not stop kissing you, forbidding you the pleasures of breathing.

You tried to pull away but that was a mistake as he began to kiss you with more vigor. Locking your lips together, fucking your mouth with his wet tongue. His saliva had coated your lips as well as your chin, in tiny invisible rivulets

“H-Hannibal, wait.” You whispered and he finally tore himself away from you, breaking the kiss.

When your eyes got used to his vision, your cunt throbbed at how handsomely disheveled he appeared. Hair a mess from all the entanglement of your fingers, lips glossy with your saliva and eyes darkened. His blown out pupils were a full proof of his overbearing need for you.

His face moved to hide in your neck, lips peppering soft wet kisses over it. You winced when you felt him bite into you, a whine leaving you. Hannibal's one hand slithered down to the lace panties you wore, fingers grazing over the hem of them. You inhaled a sharp breath — feeling him slip his hand inside your underwear.

His fingers gathered your arousal before pressing over your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. Your back arched off the couch as your breathy moans grew louder. One hand toying with your cunt while the other twisted and tugged at your nipple, you were in complete bliss.

Hannibal’s fingers dropped lower and he slid one inside your cunt. Your walls clenched around him, a whine escaping you. If you'd been told you would end up with your psychiatrist’s fingers buried inside your cunt, you would probably think of it as a fever dream but here you were.

Hips writhing underneath him. Hannibal stared at you, licking his hungrily. You looked so breathtaking, panting like you'd run a marathon. Cheeks blossoming with a sweet pink hue.

Hannibal pulled out his fingers, losing his grip on patience. He could unfold the layers of your body some other day, right now he needed you and he was going to take was his.

He rid himself of his clothes, discarding the pieces by the couch. You were in awe of what he had to offer especially when your gaze lowered to between his legs. A cock rock hard — standing proudly, deliciously curved. You subconsciously licked your lips and fluttered your eyes back at him.

Hannibal parted open your legs, sliding between them. Holding his cock, he guided it into you and your hands flew to grip his bare biceps, nails piercing.

As you felt him enter you, stretching you past your limits, you flinched. It didn't hurt nor did it bring you unbearable pain but you still needed time to get used to Hannibal’s size.

Hannibal cupped your face, large hands bringing you warmth.

“My beautiful Love. You will feel better soon as all I wish to do is bring you pleasure.” You nodded your head at his sugary words, releasing your grip around his biceps and moving your arms around his neck.

You pulled him closer, an action which gave him the order to fuck you and he did. Hannibal lifted your legs, placing each on each side of his hips before fully driving himself into your soaked cunt.

A whimper emitted from your throat when you felt him fully sink into you. Your gummy walls gripping around him like the tail of a snake around its prey — feeling every protruding vein.

Hannibal started to move, back and forth but slowly to make you feel each and every thrust. A whine of need and desperation echoed in the room, silencing the crackling of the fire.

“Tell me what you need, my love. Tell me what is it that you ache for?”

Your vision blurred. “You.”

That was all Hannibal needed to drill his cock into your tight pussy. Like some animal who'd finally caught its prey and with the intention to tear it apart limb by limb consumed it. Your body jerked forward from each harsh thrust, his balls slapping against the stripe of your cunt.

“Hannibal! Hann—ohmy.” Your moans grew, so did his pace. He fucked you with strong will and determination to draw a rippling orgasm out of you.

Hannibal’s hand wrapped around your throat in a purely possessive manner. To claim that you were his. He bruised your throat but not with the purpose to hurt you, rather taint you as his. Brand you forever.

A fucking collar embedded in your blood streams.

Both your hands held onto his wrist as he bruised your skin, all the while mounting you and chasing his own orgasm. Everytime he hit that spot of yours, tears fell and collapsed against the couch. His cock head driving itself ferociously into your cervix.

Hannibal felt his stomach taut, so did you.

Your thighs shivered, hips stuttering underneath his and Hannibal caught that. How could he not? He captured every little action of yours, every response your body gave to his. He was in love and his love was not the good kind.

“I feel it, Hannibal I-I feel it.” You cried out and he nodded, panting and groaning. All the sounds he made only worked to increase your sex drive — you craved him more, despite him being inside you. Your cunt clenched around him, gripping him and Hannibal nearly whined at how fucking good you felt.

Both of you were close and with one harsh thrust, Hannibal spilled his load inside you while you released all over him. His seed had tainted your walls. He didn't stop there.

He continued to thrust inside you, slow and sensual rolling of his hips inside your cunt.

Your eyes had fallen shut, disappearing into your skull. Seeing the same white Hannibal had painted your walls with.

“You're the prettiest, my pretty girl.” Hannibal whispered against your forehead, pressing a soft kiss to it. He soon pulled out and collapsed right next to you as you shuffled to give him space.

Laying on his chest, you were the happiest. Naked bodies entangled together for eternity and you had no idea just what you'd gotten yourself into. Raising your eyes at Hannibal’s face, you already found him looking at you with a smile.

His fingers trailed along your hair as he held you rightly in his arms. You released a sigh of content. “Hannibal, I-I think I'm in love with you.”

You sounded sure that you had fallen in love with your psychiatrist and as unprofessional as it was, you hoped that he too reciprocated these unbridled emotions. You had no idea just how happy you'd made him by uttering out those words.

He kissed the top of your head. “I have always been in love with you, my girl. You have no idea how much I tried to control these feelings I harbor for you.”

You shook your head. “You don't have to control them anymore, Hannibal.”

He didn't have to, not anymore. He had you right where he wanted you and everything had fallen right into place. Pushing you towards the edge was worth it — when the result was you, in his arms, it was all worth it.

[e-nonsense]

Request for batfam x estranged daughter who looks like Batdad's mom Martha💔 she's more independent and has been raised by her mother's family who she is extremely close with, but when it comes to Bruce’s side of her fam she gets awkward and shy cuz she never really interacted with them and doesn't know how to approach them which leads to misunderstandings and angsty setbacks in bonding time. But for whatever reason, she gets along great with Damian and Stephanie as if they've been friends for years. Which causes everyone else to feel left out and a bit jealous when they see the trio hanging out having a good time.

𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

pairing. Batfamily x batsis!reader, slight Dick Grayson x reader

summary. Reader looks startling alike to Bruce’s deceased mother, Martha Wayne.

warnings. swearing, platonic jealousy, mentions of death, horrible parenting (its Bruce), reader is like crazy rich, reader is also 22 and dick is 26. NOT PROOFREAD

authors notes. hope this is what you envisioned. no part 2 so don’t ask

wc. 1.4k

It was Alfred who made the mistake first. Accidently calling you Martha first. He couldn’t help it, you just look so much like her.

Of course he apologised right after and then nearly had a heart attack when you smiled reassuringly, “its fine Alfred.”

A kind heart to match the face of a woman long gone. The elderly man just nodded in response, deciding too keep his mouth shut from then on.

Then it was Bruce. He completely froze the day he met you, froze and stared like a creep. “Holy shit—“ He was immediately cut off by your mother’s glare at him swearing in front of you. “Sorry.”

That day went on with you being shy and awkward around him and Dick —his newly adopted son— who didn’t seem to have any interest in you at all.

“Bruce Wayne,” the man kneels in the get to eye level with a twelve year old you.

“Uh—“ you found yourself string at your mother nervously, only deciding to utter your name after she nods.

Bruce tries to smile —could you see the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes?— at you, “pretty name.”

That was the first time he had seen you, and the last — unless you count the little run ins you’ve had over the years— until ten years later. You were twenty-two, and looked even more like his deceased mother than before.

Bruce found himself watching as you gave Damian tips on the perfect brush stroke to get a texture that would look more like a cloud on canvas.

You nod and smile —one of those encouraging smiles his mother (Martha) used to give him when he got something right— “that’s it. Just try to get lighter towards the end, gives it that fluffy feeling.”

When you had decided to contact Bruce yourself ten years later it had caught him off guard but he agreed. He watched as Damian took to you immediately, the ten year old boy milking you for that motherly affection he never got from his own mother.

The validation when you pat his head and smile at him proudly at his minor achievements, something was child's play to him and yet you were so proud because of it.

The warmth you gave when you smiled in encouragement, or when you’d chuckle softly at his annoyance about one of his brothers. His brothers, not yours as well. You didn’t Bruce’s other wards as siblings, they hadn’t tried to reach out to you so you decided not to bother them with trying as well.

You were nice not stupid.

Stephanie walked into the art room you and Damian had filled with art pieces. You chuckled when the younger girl groaned and draped her arms around you, whining about some inconvenience she had been victim to earlier in the day.

You patted her head and chuckled when Damian scowled at the blonde girl, “get off her you mongrel.”

“Damian,” you say sternly and the young boy huffs before going back to painting clouds. You dragged both yourself and Stephanie towards the couch in the corner of the art filled room and listened as she whined about her day. How Bruce had scolded her about a mistake she made on the field, a minor mistake that even who would make from time to time.

You saw the tears of frustration brimming in the girls eyes and you sigh. “It’s alright Steph,” you hum softly as the girl presses her face into your shoulder.

If Damian hears the blondes sniffles he ignores it, leaving the comforting to you.

None of you speak of Stephanie’s breakdown after it happened. Opting to ignore it afterwards and move on.

Dinner later is chattier than usual, both Damian and Stephanie sitting on either side of you, giving the other member of the family zero chance to gain your attention.

Across from you sat Dick Grayson, who tried to gain your attention but continuously failed so decided to annoy his other brothers. You’re attention is finally somewhere else when Jason growls in annoyance at something Bruce had said.

“It’s for kids Bruce,” Jason seems to be seething. “Children who don’t have the luxury of getting a meal everyday.”

“I can’t trust that the money will actually go into that cause Jason,” Bruce simply sighs. You frown at that, for the first time you speak up.

“Sorry to intrude, but what are you arguing about?” Your voice isn’t timid or soft, it’s stern and had an authority quality that has Jason looking at you in shock before replying.

“Charity thing I’m tryna do,” he begins to explain. “Wanted some money to buy an empty warehouse and build a place that serves food on a daily basis to homeless people.”

You hum in response, “it’s a good idea.”

Jason beams at the praise, “thank you.” And you smile in response, “how much do you need?”

The question catches everyone off guard, “sorry?”

“How much, it’s a good idea and I’d like to help.” You ask and Jason nods.

“Well i wanted it in a good area in Gotham, might help relocate people and stuff.” You nod taking in his words. “$300,000. I need that much.”

Jason shrugs nervously as you think it through, “done.” You smile slightly, “call me if you need anymore though. I’d be happy to help.”

Jason stares at you like you’re some kind of saint, “where are you going to even get that kind of money?” He asks nervously, surely this was too good to be true. You barely knew him, why would you give up that much money so easily.

You chuckle in response, “my dad’s rich.” You pause before adding, “the man my Ma married I mean.”

“So is my Ma,” you shrug. “I inherited it all when they retired.” Jason blinks a few times, as if trying to determine if you’re actually real.

“So would you say you’re richer than Bruce?” Tim asks and you glance over at him before shrugging. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Bruce watches from the head of the table, “she is.”

You raise a brow at that, “stalking my bank account or something?”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head, “no. But I know your father and he’s been years ahead of me for a long time.” You snort in response, “sounds like him alright.”

The rest of dinner passes and you go back to talking to Damian and Stephanie. Jason watches you three from his seat beside Dick. “Why does she only talk to them?”

Dick pauses to look at Jason and puts his fork back down onto the plate, before glancing over at you who seemed to be nodding along to whatever Damian was saying.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “To be fair we haven’t tried to exactly reach out to her as much either.”

Jason hummed in response, “demon brats a bit attached to her though.. don’t you think?”

“Guess so, pretty sure he looks up to her.” Dick says to Jason before moving his fork towards his mouth. “Like a motherly figure or something.”

Jason snorts and Tim looks over at them, “funny. He’s got two of his siblings substituting as parental figures.”

Tim chokes on his food before laughing, “now that you’ve said it.”

Dick rolls his eyes and chuckles, “leave the kid alone. He got a shitty deal of parents.” Jason snickers but he doesn’t deny it.

Dinner finishes quickly after that, and they watch as you let Damian drag you away, Stephanie following closely behind. “You must meet batcow.” Damian says before leaning in closer to you, to whisper in your ear, “Don’t tell father but there are ducks in my room.”

You wink at him and nod, “our secret then.”

The rest of the night passes and Damian is asleep by the end of it. You find yourself back at the front door, slipping your coat on deciding to go home. “Leaving?”

You turn around quickly to see Dick Grayson, an amused look on his face and a small smile playing on his lips. “I am too,” he shrugs approaching you and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll walk you,” he offers and when you nod he grins outstretching his hand.

Nervously you take his hand in yours and let him pull you along towards the front door, “I know a great view.. I could take you?”

You smile and shrug, leaving the decision to him, “guess we’re going then. I’ll warn you though it high up and its Gotham so don’t expect it to be too pretty.”

You chuckle and he keens at the sound, he finds himself wanting to hear it again, and again, and again.

“I won’t get my hopes up then,” you smile up at him.

He grins and leads you out of the manor and onto the streets of Gotham, that coincidently happened to quite peaceful that night. He silently thanked Bruce for fucking up again, he wouldn’t get this chance if he hadn’t.

© hells-escapees. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[pearlessance]

Locked Doors - Idle Threats [ii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — You leave your front door unlocked. The devil invites himself in.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt

SERIES MASTERLIST

[crossposted to AO3]

In truth, Joel is glad to be rid of you.

Not because he didn’t enjoy himself, but because he’d enjoyed the night with you too much. The two of you had fallen into an easy, respectful energy for the remainder of your watch. 

Joel discovers you’re quite funny when he isn’t the butt of all your jokes. And he knows you’re beautiful, painfully so—but when you smile at him, truly smile, it lights up your whole face and ignites a warmth inside him he can’t explain, that he doesn’t even want to think about. 

So, yeah, it’s a bit of a relief when the next two watchmen take over and you go your separate ways. Joel sleeps real heavy that night, more relaxed than he’s been since he set foot in Jackson.

Until Tommy knocks on his door that afternoon, that is. The moment Joel opens it his brother asks, “What the hell did you do to her last night?”

Joel feels his anxiety spike. Tommy knows him better than anyone else, and he’s not sure why he thought your tryst in the tree blind would ever be kept secret. And he knows he shouldn’t lie, but he’s too embarrassed, too afraid of his brother’s judgment. So he shrugs and says, “We…had a conversation.”

“Conversation?” Tommy laughs and shakes his head, pushing into Joel's house. He sits at the kitchen table beside Ellie, who’s shoveling a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Nah. Nah, I don’t believe that.”

Hesitantly, Joel asks, “Why not?”

“That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.” 

You listened to him real well last night. Joel resists the smirk that tugs on his lips.

Tommy continues. “So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she comes knockin’ this morning asking Maria if she can take the rest of Mike’s shifts. After she threw a big tantrum about having to cover one of them.”

No. No. Joel’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t spend another night with you. He can’t. He’s not strong enough.

Ellie’s brows furrow together as she looks between the two brothers. “Who?”

“Strawberry scone,” Joel supplies with a casual wave of his hand.

“Oh, my future wife,” Ellie corrects. Then she turns to Tommy with a scowl. “Be nice when you talk about her.”

“She ain’t nice,” he counters. 

Joel remembers how nice you’d been, begging him for mercy, begging for his hands, his mouth, his cock. How nice it sounded when you apologized to him, using that warm, wet tongue of yours as a weapon. He swallows. “We just talked. That’s all.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t push the subject and Joel’s grateful for it. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well—maybe y'all can have a conversation about her giving Maria a break. She’s been back from that run for a month and she still won’t even talk to her. Maria’s tried, but she pretends she can’t hear or see her. Like she’s invisible.”

Ellie chuckles but quiets herself with another bite of eggs when Joel turns and scowls at her.

It’s a valid concern, Joel thinks. Maria and Tommy have been good to the people of Jackson, have been good to you. Given you a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, the protection of monitored walls. All in exchange for a little physical labor. 

Joel doesn’t know what happened on that run for Maria’s barbecue flavored chips, but he understands being angry. Complete and total silent treatment is a bit harsh, however. And for weeks at a time? It’s childish, absurd—bratty. He gives his brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll…see what I can do.”

Tommy thanks him, steals a forkful of Ellie’s eggs, and bolts out of the door as she yells after him. 

Once he’s gone and the noise has quieted, the panic begins to set in. 

He can’t be in there with you for another night. Joel knows he has to do something, find someone to cover his watch. Maybe Bonnie will be willing to switch him for a day or two. Just until Mike returns, until Joel can control his errant desires.

“I’ve got some stuff to get done today,” he tells Ellie. 

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, just…don’t go far,” he says, evading her question. “And don’t go alone, either. Stay with Dina.”

He half expects her to make some witty remark, but she must see something in him that stops her. Ellie nods slowly and asks, “Everything okay?”

No, it wasn’t. Not even close. But there’s no subtle way to explain his turmoil, no words to make her understand that Joel was currently at odds with himself and his morals. That perhaps he’d damned himself, damned you, all for a single night of perfect bliss. So he shrugs and says, “Fine.”

Bonnie’s house is a short walk from his. And when she opens the door, Joel can see her son lying on the couch in the living room. His cheeks are red and he’s got his thumb in his mouth, staring off into space. He can’t be older than four, and Joel begins to feel guilty before he can even say a word. “Joel? Everything alright?”

God, what was with people and that question today? Joel looks away from the little boy on the couch and instead at his mother, who has the same blonde curls. 

He has to ask, doesn’t he? He has to. This is about more than just his peace of mind. It’s about your safety. Safety from him. And you deserve that, after all. Being a brat doesn’t mean you deserve to be preyed upon by an older man. 

So, Joel swallows and forces the words out. “Hey, Bonnie. I was just wondering if maybe you could switch with me tonight. I’ll take your watch today if you’ll take the night shift.”

Please say yes. Please say yes. 

Her green eyes soften, and Joel knows the answer before she speaks. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, Joel. It’s just that Sammy is sick, and…and I feel bad enough being gone all afternoon, you know? And I don’t want to leave him during the night. You can understand, right?”

He nods quickly, not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has. “No, yeah, of course. Completely. I’m sorry I asked.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bonnie suggests that he ask Greg instead. 

But that thought unnerves him even more than being alone with you himself. 

Greg is older than Joel by almost ten years, pushing sixty-five. And he doesn’t think he’s that type of guy—but Joel didn’t think he was that type of guy until he’d been left alone with you, either. 

Maybe he’s wrong, though. Maybe Greg has more morality. Maybe he’s not as bad a man as Joel. Maybe he has more resistance to the forbidden fruit.

Maybe you’re safer with him.

It’s because of that particular thought Joel winds up on Greg’s porch.

And Greg gives him that same sympathetic look Bonnie did, and Joel’s back to square one. “I’ll ask around, though,” Greg says. “See if anyone else is willing.”

Joel thanks him, and busies himself in the stables, in the armory, in anything that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts far from you. He sends a prayer to whatever god may exist, hoping Greg will find him and let him know someone is interested in his shift. Not that Joel would be deserving of forgiveness nor a favor— especially from anyone worth praying to—but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

Nightfall comes too soon and eventually, he decides that maybe it’s better to seek out the source of the problem. To tear out the rot by the roots.

You answer the door after the second knock. You’re leaning against the frame, wearing those jeans again—that dark wash denim that’s skin tight, a gentle stitch of gold down the seam of the pockets.

Joel wonders where you found them, wonders how it’s possible that he’s been reduced to finding so much sex appeal in a pair of jeans, for Christ’s sake. Your black t-shirt is cut into a low V shape, and your breasts are pushed up because of your bra, providing him with a view so tempting it hurts.

“I hear you’re trying to get rid of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you didn’t like me, the least you could do is say so. Kinda shitty I had to find out from Greg, of all people.” You turn away from him and walk inside, leaving the door wide open. 

It’s an invitation. But Joel hesitates, because he knows, he knows what happens when he’s alone with you. Knows just how far he’ll go, how much he wants it. He’s not sure if it’s desire or shame or excitement that coils around his spine, gripping tight.

But it’s rude, isn’t it, to refuse? It’s not like you’re doing anything to tempt him apart from existing. Joel can handle that, can’t he? He’ll just explain himself. Have a quick five minute conversation about why he needs to avoid you at all costs, why you cannot—cannot—be on watch duty with him for another day.

And then he’ll leave. Wipe his hands clean of the guilt, the sin, of you. 

Joel walks inside and closes the door behind him. “You need to tell Maria you can’t be on watch tonight,” he says. 

Your house is small but cozy, more personalized than the other homes in Jackson. Cluttered with things you no doubt picked up on some of your runs—framed photos of landscapes, whimsically shaped, half-burned candles, a crinkled and slightly water damaged band poster that reads The Bravery. The kitchen on his left is quaint, the counters occupied by stacks of old, worn books. There’s an old vase with a faded picture of a cat sitting on the stove, filled with mismatched utensils. A small, square table sits in the corner with two upholstered chairs and in front of one of them, a leather-bound journal sits with a pen beside it.

Joel suddenly, more than anything else, wants to know what’s in that journal. Thinks about sneaking in late at night to flip through it. It’s well loved, and he knows even from several feet away that inside of it is you. The parts you don’t share with others, the parts he desperately wants to unearth. 

“And why would I do that?” You follow his gaze and casually move to close the journal. You wrap the leather cord around it twice, pick up the pen, and toss both into an inconspicuous drawer.

“Because I said so,” Joel says sharply. He’s standing by the front door still, and his skin prickles as you close the distance. And for good measure, he adds, “Because you’re not feeling well. You’re sick.”

You’re standing so close now he can feel the heat of your skin, beckoning to him, pulling him in. You’re so magnetic that he doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand and place his palm against the side of your neck. “Does it feel like I have a fever?”

Feverish? No. Warm, soft, addictive? Yes. Joel can feel your pulse beneath his hand, strong and steady. He can feel himself losing the battle already. He pulls his hand away and closes it into a fist behind his back. “Stop,” he says. “We can’t do this.”

You snort but turn away to give him some much needed space. “You can’t, you mean.”

He steps forward on instinct and freezes. He can’t bring himself to retreat, but he has the strength still to keep from going to you, from seeking you out just to feel you in his hands. That has to be enough. Joel knows he needs to say what he has to say and leave, before his resistance withers into nothing. “People are already starting to talk.”

“People,” you mock. “You mean your brother?” When he doesn’t deny it, you continue. “Let me guess—he said something this morning, asking about what we did all because I said I would pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

Joel doesn’t mention the other things Tommy said, about you being a pain in his ass. Joel can relate to it. “He also said you’ve been blatantly ignoring Maria.”

“No fucking shit I’ve been ignoring her,” you snap. But your eyes widen as Joel’s whole body tightens, seeing the mistake. 

But he isn’t here for that. He’s not. If you’re going to be a foul-mouthed brat, so be it. It’s not his place to discipline you. It can’t be. “You need to give her a break. Maria’s done right by all of us.” 

“Why? Because you said so?” You laugh, and it’s a sick, maniacal sound that grates against his nerves. So different than the soft airy giggles he’d heard last night. “Cut the shit and be honest with yourself, Joel. You want me to be nice to Maria so you don’t have to hear Tommy bitch about me anymore and you want me off watch duty with you because you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of a little girl?” Joel thinks you're joking at first. But you’re not laughing anymore, and when he realizes you’re serious he lets out a long sigh of frustration. It releases the tension in his shoulders just enough to keep him from losing it. “You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“Well I’m not wrong,” you say, brows raised. 

It’s the attitude that gets to him, the contempt. Joel can’t stand it. He wants to take you by the throat and force you up against the wall. But he doesn’t, using the last of his patience to keep his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.

“It was so good,” you say, the cadence of your voice lowering to a near whisper. There’s a warmth in your eyes that makes his chest ache. “I know you felt it too. You can’t tell me you didn’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe you, Joel.”

The sound of his name in your mouth is nearly his undoing. It’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. Joel swallows hard, suddenly aware that for all he defiled yesterday, he’s never kissed you. Not truly. 

He’s kissed your forehead, your cheek, has tasted your skin and the wetness between your thighs. But he’s never once tasted the inside of your mouth or felt your tongue against his.

Joel clenches his teeth. 

He can’t. He shouldn’t.

But he has to. Good fucking God, he has to.

Joel reaches you in two strides. Your eyes widen in fear, but the moment he places his hands on either side of your face you’re melting, becoming pliable material for him to manipulate. Joel tilts your head up and leans down, crushing his mouth to yours.

You’re gripping his brown leather jacket, trying to keep your balance. But he’s crowding you, forcing himself into your space, into your mouth, pressing himself against you as if every inch of separation pains him.

Joel thinks you taste like bad decisions, like pomegranate seeds and glowing apple slices, like poisonous peach pits, like something so tempting it’s forbidden for good reason. He bites in anyway, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan at the deviation from heaven, and he grabs a fistful of your ass and drags you impossibly closer as a low growl leaves his throat. 

He knows you can feel his cock through his jeans, pressing hard against your belly, but Joel does his very best to ignore it as he licks every soft part of you. He wants to remember this, to savor it, because he promises himself it’ll be the last time he ever takes advantage of you.

When he pulls away, Joel’s gasping for air like he’s never been kissed before. Like this is his first time, like you’re his first. It’s certainly the only time it’s ever been like this, heavy and weighted, hot and desperate and sacrilegious.

Your eyes are glassy and beautiful as you look up at him, fingers still clutched in his jacket. “You’re afraid of me, Joel,” you repeat, snaking a hand between you and rubbing his cock, squeezing softly over the denim. “You’re afraid of how good this feels because you’ve never been able to hold onto anything good in your entire life.”

And, distracted by the soft feel of your mouth, by your hand, he’s able to listen. To rid himself of guilt, of shame, truly hearing you. Joel silently wonders if you’ve been the conductor of this mess all along, if you’ve somehow seen behind the scenes, if you are, impossibly, the one who’s manipulated him. Because how else would you be able to rip those razor-sharp truths out of him? Truths he’s never faced, truths he’s never planned to. 

“It slips through your fingers every time, like smoke,” you say. 

Joel can’t pull himself away, can’t reestablish that distance he so carelessly erased. You feel too good, touching him, sighing softly between words as if he were the one touching you.

“And so you’ll push me away, so far that you can forget whatever it is you feel for me. And it’ll work. For a little while, anyway.” You rise to your tiptoes, swollen lips a breath away from his ear. “But one day you’ll be laying in bed with some lovely, soft spoken, age-appropriate woman, and you’ll look over at her and you’ll imagine me in her place. And I think you’ll miss bossing me around, and teaching me how to behave for you, and how good it feels to be inside of me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, and he feels you smile against his skin. “I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller.”

The picture you paint is a dreary one, and it leaves Joel cold. Even colder when you finally step back and he can’t feel the warmth of your skin anymore, the heat of your breath. But he doesn’t say that, because this feels like a goodbye—the goodbye he came here for. Joel steels himself, pushing that God-forsaken image far from his brain. “Tell Maria you’re sick,” he orders. 

And then he’s leaving, and it hurts to slam the door behind him, but he does it.

For the first time in days, Joel feels a drop of redemption trickle back into his bloodstream. 

Thankfully, you don’t show up to the tree blind to relieve Greg and Bonnie. But no one else does either, and Joel knows that you never even attempted to speak to Maria. A last-ditch effort at defiance. 

When they ask about you, he lies easily and says, “She’s running a little behind. Go on home, you’ll probably pass her on the way.” 

And they do as he suggests, leaving Joel in the tree blind alone with his thoughts. 

It’s almost as dangerous as being alone with you, because your words echo in his brain. I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller. 

He will. He does. Already, he misses the way your body feels against his. He misses the taste of your soft tongue. He misses your sweet laughter and carefree demeanor. He misses the innocence in your eyes when you look up at him like he has all the answers. Joel wants to give them to you, wants to take care of you. Wants to make you feel good, to protect you, to keep you safe. 

But you’re right. Goddamnit, you’re right. He is afraid of you. Terrified, in fact—because it could so easily turn into more than just physical need, more than just sinful desire. That one day you spoke into existence could come and he’d miss more than how it feels to be inside you, he’ll just miss you.

Joel knows how dangerous that is. It’s bad enough he’s gotta worry about Tommy and Ellie. Why would he want to add another name to that list? Another person he’d die for, another person he’d kill for.

It’s no good. He’s no good. 

Joel feels the ghost of your mouth against his and can’t resist pressing his knuckles to his lips, hoping to cement your DNA there so he can keep the lingering taste of you forever. 

But if not him, who else will take care of you? It’s dangerous outside these walls.

It’s only then he remembers his conversation with Tommy and Maria, who wouldn’t let Joel be on watch alone. Yet they let you go on runs alone, and often. 

The realization has his blood boiling.

Because if not him, then who? Some other, older man? Someone capable of enduring your fury, your foolishness, of knowing when to have a heavy hand and when to touch you softly? No. 

Fuck no. 

By the time his shift is over and the next two patrolmen come to relieve him, Joel knows right where he’s headed. They ask him where you went, if you ever showed up—and he covers for you. Saying, “I cut her loose early so she could get some sleep.” 

At first, he’s not sure why there’s an innate desire within him to lie for you, to keep you safe from ridicule or consequence. 

But as he’s walking to that white house on the corner of the street, Joel realizes that it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else to punish you—ever.

That’s his job.

And, Christ, does he have plans for you. 

Joel freezes a second before he bangs his fist against the door. The night is quiet and cold. The air is still. And, through the thin walls, he can hear you.

Can hear those sweet, soft moans. It’s faint, but it’s there. And Joel knows because those cute little sounds are forever embedded in his memory. 

All the blood in his brain rushes south at the image his mind produces. He can almost see you; sprawled out on your bed, legs parted with your hand between your thighs. He wonders what you’re thinking about and selfishly hopes it’s him. 

His hand shakes as he lowers it and reaches for the doorknob. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you? 

The question is quickly answered when he twists the handle and encounters no resistance. Joel suddenly thinks of a quote his old, southern pastor once told him when he was a kid. Fittingly enough, he’d used it in a sermon about abstinence. 

Temptation is the devil looking through the keyhole. Yielding is opening the door and inviting him in.

But what is Joel to do when the devil leaves the door unlocked and wide open with a bratty little girl on the other side of it? How is he supposed to resist the forbidden fruit knowing just how sweet it tastes? 

He just can’t help himself. 

Joel eases his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket and flannel, laying it over the back of the worn leather couch as if he belongs here. Your house is dark, but he’s able to follow the sound of your whimpering down the hallway. He pushes your bedroom door open as silently as he can—and what he finds is somehow a million times better than what he’d imagined.

You’re sitting in the center of your bed, straddling a pillow that’s folded in half between your legs. You’re facing the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed in euphoria. Joel can see everything from here. The curtain over the window is open, the moonlight casting a purplish hue over your soft skin. 

His whole body tenses up as he watches you, eyes stuck on the wet spot between your legs. Joel almost doesn’t believe you’re real, nearly convinces himself you’re some sort of backlit, demonic little thing. Sent to him by the devil himself to ensure his damnation. As if it somehow wasn’t already a guaranteed thing, because Joel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, watching you desperately try to get yourself off.

You tilt your hips back and forth, moaning at the friction. The sounds you make are so beautiful, and Joel is thankful at this moment that you have little consideration for others. Because you’re moaning and whimpering loud enough that you don’t hear the wooden floor creak beneath his feet as he closes the space. 

In a sick, sinister way, Joel enjoys the fact that he’s watching you, so close he could reach out and touch you, and you have no idea. Pretty, stupid little girl. Joel is a bad man, you know. Real bad. And he could do whatever he wanted to you right now. Could cover your mouth with his hand so you can’t scream, could force you to your knees and have his way with you.

You let out a sweet sounding gasp, and Joel knows you’re close, nearly there. He would bet your clit is throbbing against your pillow, pussy just aching to be filled.

More than anything, more than teaching you how dangerous it is to leave your doors unlocked in the dead of night, Joel wants to help you. Wants to make you feel good. Wants to show you that yeah, one day he may be lying next to another woman thinking of you, but he will be the only man to ever satisfy your sadistic cravings. No one will ever be able to touch you again and make you feel as good as he does. 

He wraps his hand around your ankle and squeezes, anticipating the terrified cry you make in response. Joel holds tight, wrapping the other hand around your calf and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

But not before you reach behind, pulling a serrated sawback knife from beneath the sheets. It’s clutched tight between your fingers as you hold it towards him. Your frightened eyes soften as recognition comes. He can hear your breathing settle, but your chest is still heaving. He doesn’t think you notice as his hands begin to slide up your legs, over the softness of your thighs. “Joel? What are you doing? Did you break into my house?”

There isn’t a single trace of alarm in your voice anymore, even though you’re still pointing that knife at him. “Didn’t have to,” he says, completely unfocused on the point of the weapon. Joel leans forward, running his hands over the swell of your hips, your ribs. He takes both breasts in his hands, unable to hold back the groan at the heavy feel of them. 

“I thought,” you swallow hard, inhaling a ragged breath. “I thought…you said—”

“I know what I said.” Joel takes the knife from your hand with ease and lays it on the battered nightstand. And the second he’s no longer under threat, he forces your back against the mattress and crawls between your legs, pulling them up over his hips. 

He pushes his hard cock against you, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare, sensitive skin. He watches the way you immediately soak the fabric, evidence of your near-release. You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows knitted together, the cutest little pout on your lips. “Wait,” you say, and he does. “I just…I don’t understand.”

Joel sees the concern etched on your face and thinks you’ve never looked so vulnerable in front of him as your eyes search for an explanation. He doesn’t have one that makes sense, that justifies his being here, justifies his hands as they roam freely over your skin. He pushes his hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “You don’t have anyone to take care of you,” he mutters. “I’m gonna keep you safe, baby. Real safe.” 

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you argue. “I can keep myself safe just fine.” He twists his hand in your hair, pulling lightly. His free hand comes between you, and Joel forces you to watch as he runs his thumb through your folds, spreading you open.

He doesn’t reply to your proclamation because he doesn’t believe it and he doesn’t think you do, either. He speaks as he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb softly. “But I gotta keep you safe from me, too, sweetheart. Can’t let an old man touch you like this. You’re just a little girl.”

Your back arches, pushing against his hand. You’re grinding against his cock over his jeans, and Joel can feel himself leaking at the warmth of you. You breathe his name, begging for more, begging for him like he knew you would.

Joel slides his thumb down further, smirking at the groan you let out as he pushes it inside you. “Precious little thing,” he whispers to himself. He switches his thumb for his middle finger, turning his hand palm up so he can press hard on that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs immediately start to tremble around him, and Joel smiles to himself knowing he’s barely touched you and already he’s accomplished what he set out to do. “I know, baby,” he says. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Not that pillow, not your hands, no other man but me.”

He releases his hold on your hair, letting you relax against the mattress. Your spine is still arched at the base, allowing him easy access to where you want him most. When he slips another thick finger inside of you, your hands clutch the sheets and your pleading gets a whole lot more convincing. “Joel, please—please just… mmm, Oh, God—”

Even though they burn his throat, Joel forces the words out before he loses the courage. “This is the last time, pretty girl. The last time I’ll ever touch you, okay? I promise. Gotta keep you safe…startin’ tomorrow.”

He almost wonders if you heard him, so lost in your satisfaction as he fucks you with his fingers. But then you lean forward, pulling eagerly at his leather belt, and he hears you say, “Liar.”

Joel knows you don’t believe him, but it’s true. He just needs to get it out of his system—to be inside of you knowing it’s the last time so he can savor it properly. To memorize it so he never forgets. He watches, enraptured, as you unbuckle his belt. Your hands are so much smaller than his, trembling lightly as you pull his cock out. He chuckles darkly as you lick your lips and hurry to line him up at your entrance. His middle and index fingers are still buried deep inside of you, hooked upwards right where you need him. “You want it now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you say so quickly he laughs. “Please, Joel, please.”

With his free hand, he knocks yours away and presses his tip into you between his fingers. “Right now, huh? So fuckin’ needy, can’t wait one more minute. Just wanna be so full’a me you’re beggin’ for it, s’that it?”

He inches in further, leaving his fingers inside of you, watching the glorious stretch it makes, relishing in the whine you let out in response. 

“Wait,” you say, fear laced in your voice as you realize his intent. Joel does—giving you the option to deny him, to say no. But you don’t. Of course you don’t. Instead, when your pretty eyes meet his dark gaze, something heated and curious appears on your face. 

Joel sinks into you further, even as you toss your head back and force the air from your lungs in a ragged exhale. He knows it must feel so full —because he can feel every inch of you, squeezing him like a vice. 

“It hurts,” you hiss, wincing. “Joel, I can’t—!”

“Yeah you can, baby,” he encourages. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Joel pulls back out slowly, cock glistening with your slick. “You say it hurts but this pretty pussy is just cryin’ for me, little girl.” When he pushes in again, stretching you slowly, he lets out a low groan at the feeling and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

“Oh my God,” you whine, hooking your legs around his back. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” Joel mocks, rocking his hips slowly. He can feel your body react immediately—walls fluttering around him with every movement. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, making an even bigger one all over the dark hair above his cock.

A single tear falls from the corner of your eye, and Joel leans forward to kiss it away. He presses his lips to your forehead and gently strokes the side of your face with his free hand. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I…it’s just,” you pause to let out an elated sigh as he thrusts in deep. “If this is the last time you—ohh, God, Joel—please, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know, little girl, I know,” he says. Joel thrusts his hips forward hard—once, twice, until your legs are shaking so bad he knows you’re one stroke away from combustion. And then he pulls his cock out of you, lips curling into a smirk at the whine you give in protest. “S’okay, baby, don't cry,” he promises, dropping to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Wanna taste it, sweetheart.”

His mouth is bliss when he puts it on you, licking long, gentle strokes through your heat with his soft tongue. He uses both hands to spread your legs wide, holding you still even as you squirm, and his chest rumbles in satisfaction as he drinks you in. Joel wraps his lips around your clit and focuses his efforts there. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he groans against you as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face as if you can’t get enough. 

Joel understands. He really, really does. Because even when your body pulls tight and you moan his name over and over, soaking his facial hair, his chin, his mouth—it’s not enough. He wants more, wants you impossibly closer, wants to hear nothing but your moans for the rest of his life. 

He doesn’t stop until your muscles begin to relax and your breathing slows. He releases your clit from between his lips and you shudder as he licks through your folds, devouring any trace of your orgasm left behind. The urge to praise your behavior rises in him, wanting to tell you how good you’re being, how perfect. 

But this—tonight—is about Joel. It’s a selfish act, his taking you. It’s for his memory, for his satisfaction. Which is why, when he crawls back over you, Joel rests his calloused hand against your neck and crushes his mouth to yours. You open up immediately, giving him an all access pass to your tongue, moaning at his reverence. You taste so fucking sweet, and Joel knows just how easy it would be to find obsession in kissing you.

With his free hand, he reaches down and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, the metal belt buckle clanging to the floor. He pulls away for only a second to grip the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head, discarding it quickly. 

And then he’s turning you over, grabbing your hips, and forcing them up. The sight of you with your face against the mattress and your arms braced in front of you, the enticing slope of your spine, your glistening, needy pussy—it’s almost too much. Joel’s cock throbs painfully, desperate to be inside of you. He runs his hands over the perfect globes of your ass, spreading you open. “You’re so pretty, baby. The cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your whimpering in response to his compliments is so cute it warms his heart.

You arch back for him, and Joel can’t resist his grin. You’re just so eager.

He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip between your cheeks, watching it slide down your pussy until it reaches your clit. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes back into you, can’t resist leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to your spine. He won’t last long—not like this, buried so deep inside you there’s no end of you or beginning of him.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. Joel’s thrusts are punishing and relentless. He slams into you, holding you down against the mattress with one hand and using the other to paw at your ass, pulling you back onto him every time he retreats. “This what you wanted? Hm? Wanted to be bent over and fucked like a whore, huh?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “It feels so good, Joel—fuck—”

His hips still. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls you up, back against his chest. His mouth is at your temple as he asks, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry—don't stop, don’t stop, please,” you beg. The words are desolate and frantic, but there’s a knowing, arrogant smirk on your face. 

You’re playing him, Joel suddenly realizes. Playing into his games to get what you want—you clever, bratty little girl. His palms twitch with the urge to force you into true submission instead of whatever this forgery of it is.

But he can’t do that in a single night. And so Joel decides to give you exactly what you want instead.

He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he presses your head to his shoulder. He uses the other to reach down and stroke your clit in soft circles, thrusting up into you all the while. “Aw, baby,” he tuts. “Look at you. You’re so fuckin’ easy. Doin’ whatever I want you to. Lettin’ me fuck you however I want.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—Joel I’m gonna—!”

Joel thrusts harder, circles your clit faster. Arousal pools low in his belly at the delicious way you say his name. “Give it to me, baby. Yeah, there you go. Mmhm, thaaaat’s it.” You squeeze him hard, and Joel has to close his eyes to hold himself back. 

Your moans are music to his ears, pretty little sounds that urge him on. His hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t slow, and his mouth never quiets, filthy words sending you to immeasurable heights.

“Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. It’s soakin’ me so good. This what you like? Hm? Like to be fucked real rough, treated like a fuckin’ slut. That’s what makes it all wet, baby? Don’t you worry. I’ll give you everything you need, exactly what you’re beggin’ me for.” Joel feels your muscles go slack, but his hand on your neck only tightens, holding you upright. He doesn’t stop even as your hands fly to his between your legs, pulling at his wrist, needing reprieve.

“Joel, oh my God, please—I’m finished, I’m finished—!”

He presses your clit harder, fucks you deeper. “Ain’t this what you wanted? Didn’t want me to stop. Real sensitive, isn’t it?” His tone is so mocking, so mean. “Gonna fuck you till it hurts, pretty girl.”

You’re writhing in his hands, the cutest little tremors rocking through you. “It does, it does, Joel, please, it hurts so bad,” you cry. He kisses your tears away, savoring the taste of saltwater on his tongue. 

“Tell me who’s pussy this is,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me baby, who’s pretty pussy is it? Huh?”

No answer comes right away. You’re too fucked out, fucked stupid, thoughts emptying out of your head. But Joel is there, right at the precipice, and he has to hear it before he follows you.

“C’mon little girl, use your words. Tell me,” he gently urges.

“Yours! It’s yours, I swear, Joel, fuck, fuck—!”

He pulls out of you just in time to spill his come onto your back, his cock sliding against your ass. Joel feels satisfaction down to his bones, knows that it’ll be easier to resist you now that he’s succumbed to his indulgences.

But as the euphoria fades, the guilt slowly starts to seep in. Joel lays you gently against the mattress, chest heaving.

“Don’t move,” he says. And then he’s leaving your room, picking up his flannel from the back of the couch. When he returns, he wipes away the mess he made, cleans up the lingering wetness between your legs.

While you climb up the bed and slide your shaky limbs beneath the thick comforter, Joel starts to pull his clothes back on. When he’s dressed in his boxers and t-shirt you ask, “Joel? Can you…can you stay? Just for a little bit?”

Your voice is so timid, so mousy, as if you’re embarrassed to even ask. He’s never heard you like this before. It tugs on his heartstrings, makes him feel the beginnings of exactly what he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 

That feeling chokes him, makes him feel covered in sin. Because you’re so young. So young that Joel should know better. He does know better. He’s just really, really bad at resisting temptation. Astronomically bad, in fact. And he doesn’t want to hurt you—truly, he doesn’t. Despite all he’s done and all he’s said, Joel has your best interest in mind. And he has no place there.

But, fuck, he wishes he did. 

Words don’t come easily to him. They never have. Especially when he has so much to say. “‘Course,” is all he manages.

Joel climbs in bed next to you, shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in a very long time as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, rests his cheek against the top of your head. He’s so warm, like a big cocoon of heat and safety. 

The silence stretches on. And he thinks you may have fallen asleep already. But before you do, he says into the dark, “I didn’t mean it, you know. All the…the stuff I said. I don’t think you’re…”

You lift your head, turning those spellbinding eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t for you to give him an award-winning smile and say, “Good to know Joel Miller doesn’t think I’m an actual whore. If he did, whatever would I do?”

He doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm right away. And you must see something on his face that’s real amusing—because you burst into a fit of girlish giggles and Joel can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“I’m kidding,” you say. And then you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Goodnight, Joel. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.” 

He waits until you fall asleep, until your breathing evens out and you turn away from him on your side. Joel gathers his things quietly and leaves through the front door. 

This time, he locks it up tight.

[part one] [part three]

[angie-words]

Second part of details from the Am I Broken: Survivor Stories episode titled Claire "I ignored It and I Believed Him Because He's A Storyteller [Neil Gaiman]". Part 1 here

Again, a reminder that I really, really urge you to listen to the episode if you feel able, found on Apple and Spotify.

EDIT (1st August 2024): two further women have made allegations

CW: details of sexual coercion, gaslighting, power dynamic imbalance, sexual assault, trauma, ptsd, sexual predator behaviour, grooming, abuse of power, discussion of rape culture, victim-blaming

Claire says she is glad the fandom is doing the work to believe victims, but she also understands those "burying their head in the sand" because that's what she tried to do

DeBoer asks what else has helped Claire, besides learning new vocabulary to help her frame her experiences (e.g. grooming, sexual coercion). She says that listening to her body's physical responses, including the trauma dreams, has helped

She began telling friends and she said this helped a lot as they validated what she was feeling rather than believing Gaiman's narrative

Claire says that writing has also helped her process, including writing letters she never sent. She wrote blog and reddit posts, but didn't publish any of them because she didn't know how to come forward with her story

DeBoer thanks her for finding the ability to come forward and asks her what allowed her to feel this was possible now. Claire says that talking with a friend allowed her to develop a certainty, especially when she starts advocating for herself and other people

Claire says that she had been in denial because she was trying to protect herself from the knowledge that someone she trusted and adored had violated her trust

She expresses a deep sadness about how her memories and love of Gaiman's work have been tainted by what he has done to her. She describes that loss of "such magic and beauty" as being deeply sad

The last time she spoke to Gaiman was 2022, which it now turns out was the same year he got Scarlett to sign an NDA.

Claire reiterates how he is seen as a god, deified by the fandom

During one call, he said "I don't know what I see in you - I'm an award-winning author and you are-" and he didn't finish the sentence but she says he didn't need to as the meaning was clear. She describes herself as one of many fans willing to do almost anything for him

Claire says she and others worshipped him. She says consent wasn't impossible, but she was operating from a hero worship complex, fueling a fawn response

DeBoer states that fans are incapable of true consent - what they see is a projection, they are worshipping someone who isn't real, and so they are incapable of being in a real relationship with that hero

Claire agrees it was his responsibility to open the discussion about power dynamics and adhere to it. She said he didn't check in or respect boundaries; she says that wasn't because of autism or something else - she doesn't know why he felt he was owed her body/consent. DeBoer agrees the responsibility was Gaiman's

Claire says that ongoing consent discussions are needed; DeBoer agrees that such things also need to start slowly, and they both discuss how fast Gaiman moved things between him and Claire

Reflecting on how these experiences have affected her in light of the allegations, she can see now she experienced trauma responses to things that reminded her of him. She had to distance herself from friends who still loved Gaiman; she found she couldn't even enjoy reading. She even stopped going into book stores.

Claire almost stopped volunteering at the rape crisis centre. She wasn't sure how she could advocate for anyone else when she hadn't been able to do so for herself. Her manager validated her feelings and said that if everyone who'd had their boundaries violated left, they'd have no one left. It's implied this gave her a new perspective and moved her away from some victim-blaming of herself

She still experiences feelings of doubt and a lack of self-worth in comparison to who Neil Gaiman is, what he's done. However, Claire is trying to move past this mindset, the voice of him in her head

DeBoer encourages her by reminding her that she matters, that she has a voice. They thank her for her bravery and courage

Claire hopes people come away with believing how our bodies respond to trauma - "listen to all of it, not just what people around you are saying"

Claire says she is not broken: she is sad for the child who lost her hero. At this point, Claire becomes a little overwhelmed. She states he influenced how she thought about the assaults

DeBoer ends by talking about how sexual abuse is about both sex and power, not just power as some have stated, otherwise this would be a different type of abuse. They say that there are many indicators of Gaiman having power (money, fame, social capital, age, maturity, gender, eloquence and mythopoesis)

DeBoer says the person with the power has the greater responsibility for shaping the boundaries of the relationship

They say that Claire's healing has come through being able to tell her story, finding the power within herself. DeBoer details an exercise called "safety bubble" that can assist with this (I'd recommend going to about 1:09:00 into the podcast if you want to learn more)

DeBoer reiterates listening to our bodies and how they respond to trauma - it can be difficult to interpret what the sensations we feel are, but it can allow us to reclaim our stories

They define rape culture and how it is insidious, blaming victims, then sharing original notes DeBoer sent when Claire first contacted them. They say Gaiman was testing and pushing boundaries, that this was predatory behaviour; they also said at the time that there was a high likelihood Claire was not the only person Gaiman had done this to

They end with mentioning where to find more information about restorative justice steps someone can take if they have hurt another person

I think that's all folks. It's been extremely difficult for me, as someone who's experienced sexual assault and also this kind of gaslighting thanks to rape culture mentalities. I hope this has been useful for some folks. Please look after yourselves❤️

[deaddovedecadence]

hello ! I hope you’re well I wanted to ask you if are planning to do something about the platonic batfamily ? Thank you for your work, you’re literally my favorite blog 🥰. (sorry if there are spelling mistakes)

Ah thank you for the question i love it so much! What we’re doing today is breaking down each yandere and how they treat you in order

Alfred: very gentle, very caring. He makes you think that he’s on your side only to betray you if you ever try to run away. His loyalty is to the health and well being of the family and if you left it would nasty for all parties involved. He isn’t overly possessive, and is the most likely to let you out and about (so long as you’re with him or another trusted member of the family)

Bruce: At least you were a tool for making up with his son, but he grew to see you as his own child. You’re younger then Dick so he treats you as such, and is very unlikely to let you out of his grip,/let you out of the house because he’s paranoid. He’s the ultimate possessive yandere, wanting to keep you safe in the house at all times. He’s like this with his children too but because they’re fighters/have proven themselves it’s a lot different

Dick: Good luck with this. Dick sees you as someone who deserves childhood, who deserves to be young, so he treats you younger then you actually are. He’s very possessive, and almost doesn’t realize that you’re capable of taking care of yourself and he’s ver y smothering because of that. He’s the type of yandere to be in his own world and not really see. things as they actually are..

Jason: Caretaker to the fucking MAX. He likes. taking care of people and things that he considers his and you are absolutely one of those things to him. He needs to tak3 of things because it makes him feel real, feel. focused again especially when he’s tired of angry. The least likely to ever hurt you but will break you mentally if he has to.

Cass: does not get it, at first. She doesn’t understand why her family wants something that she perceives as helpless as one of them. Cass is all about getting her shit done and you interfere with that. It isn’t until she sees Jason visibly relax around you and stay in the same room as bruce that she understands. You keep things stable which means that you need to stay. She‘ s obsessively, can be cruel and uses physical punishment like forced dancing or sparring to keep you in check if you leave or deny your place in the family.

Tim: Oh good fuck. Tim is pretty close to yandere in canon, he’s terrifying, possessive of what he thinks is his and cruel as hell. with you he’s cruel cold, only to turn gentle when he deems it the right moment. Tim wants to break you because that means that you won’t run away and try to go and be somewhere else (with someone else). Tim is sadiastic and if he and damian are working together it’s best to go and beg jason for sanctuary from them.

Duke: Honeslty you aren’t sure whether he’s like you or like them at first because Duke is so easy doing, listens to your problems so well and makes. you feel like you’r valid for being angry. It’s all true what he says, it’s just that he also is on his family’s side about you and is slowly working his way into your heart in a way that the others can’t because they’ve never been where you (and he) has. Duke is the gentle yandere unless you really manage to make him angry by getting hurt in any way.

Damian: I wish you the best of luck. Damian is the son of thalia and bruce. His ver y nature is to be possessive over anything that he considers his and you are his. You’re his older sibling in a way that Dick is, someone to be trusted, someone to ask questions too, but that does not mean he’ll let you escape. If anything the thought makes him infuriated and he’s likely to blow up. Damian is obsessive, and sadistic, willing to do anything if it means that you’re safe at home with him.

[strwbrryeyes]

☼ bye ☼ (oikawa tooru x reader)

⟡ cw: she/her pronouns used, angst, break up, getting back together at end, idk im still bad at these, lmk if i miss anything else

⟡ a/n: i have my own interpretation of this song so it doesn't really follow the meaning behind it? idk but i still like it (even if i did write it poorly) but bear with me this song didn't have a lot to work with despite it being very catchy also rip a good third of this was just iwa #iwa4life

⟡ eternal sunshine masterlist

You and Oikawa had been dating since your third year of high school so about 4 years now and to say you had a wonderful yet disastrous relationship was an understatement. He was the perfect boyfriend, attentive, loving, caring, admirable- anything that comes to mind. Oikawa Tooru was picture perfect and so were you. At least 99% of the time. That 1% that was not perfect was whenever you would feel insecure or jealous of the girls that would constantly throw themselves at him. It’s a silly thing really, he did choose you over everyone else after all so you didn’t think you had anything to worry about and Oikawa thought so too so he never really reassured you and tried to take those insecurities away from you. Anytime you brought up how uncomfortable you felt with how touchy his fans were with him he would shrug it off and tell you to pay no mind to it but never actually address how you felt about it all.

There were countless times where you would lie awake at night thinking about if you were really just overreacting or if you were actually valid in the fear of losing Oikawa’s interest over time as he gains more fame and as more girls fall for him. You even confided in two of your best friends, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and sure they were also best friends with Oikawa but over the last few years they have not been that close to Oikawa considering how much he traveled for volleyball, regardless though, they remained as neutral as they could. The pair of boys would reassure you and say that it’s just the result of the spotlight Oikawa has had on him since the beginning of high school. This reasoning made you feel better and you would shrug it off for as long as your mind would let you. It was a constant cycle and you were as used to it as you could be until one day when Iwaizumi knocked some sense into you.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

“Listen [name], as much as I cherish shittykawa as my best friend, I also cherish you just as much.” Iwaizumi says with a worried expression on his face as he slows down his pace as you two were on your weekly jog and after you didn’t respond for a few seconds, he stopped jogging all together and grabbed your wrist to make you face him. “Break up with him.” Iwaizumi said with all seriousness in his tone.

You had just told him about your most recent fangirl incident where a fangirl asked for a picture with Oikawa where he would kiss her cheek, this wasn’t an unusual request that was asked of him but that didn’t make you feel any better every time it happened even if you did simply roll your eyes at it and just shrugged it off every time. This time was different though. As Oikawa was going in for the kiss on the cheek, the girl turned her head so that their lips would collide. Of course the girl faked a panicked apology and said she wasn’t ready and just turned to ask him a question and of course Oikawa said it was okay in an all too calm manner causing the girl to give you a smug look when Oikawa turned around to tend to another fan. At that point though, you didn’t even bother bringing it up to Oikawa because you thought he would just dismiss it as usual.

“I was expecting you to find some way to defend him to be honest… I was kind of hoping you would actually…” you sigh as you sit down at a nearby bench with Iwaizumi sitting down next to you.

“Why would I defend him?”

You sigh while burying your face in your hands “I don’t know? Because you guys have been friends since you were childr-” “We’ve been friends for ages, [name]” Iwaizumi interrupts you “All three of us met each other at the same time back in grade school. Just because I’ve spent more time with Oikawa doesn’t mean I don’t care for you both equally and because I care for you two idiots so much…I think it is best for both of you to end things.” he continued as he forced you to face him once again.

“But Haji…he’s all I’ve known. Even before we started dating in our last year of high school… it has always been Tooru.” Your words begin to wobble as you feel a few tears fall down your face.

“Which is exactly why you guys need to at least take a break,” Iwaizumi begins as he wipes away a few tears. “You need time for yourself, to figure out what you want out of this relationship or any relationship. Hell, to figure out what you want for yourself, [name]. For the last few years you’ve been following Oikawa around while he plays volleyball and not once have I seen you be passionate about your own interests. You’ve made your life revolve around him ever since we graduated high school.” Iwaizumi’s tone starts to harden causing you to slowly stop crying “As for Oikawa, he just needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that there are other people in the world besides himself.” Iwaizumi finishes before standing up and holding out his hand to help you up that you accepted. And with that, you knew what you had to do.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

“Welcome back, darling!” Oikawa greets you with a kiss on the forehead as you walk into your shared apartment. “How was your jog with Iwa? What did you guys gossip about this time~” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows as he waits for your response since he knew you both would always talk shit about people.

As you walked to the couch without saying a word, Oikawa followed you assuming you were tired and just wanted to sit down and catch your breath first but that assumption didn’t last long when you turned to look at him with a serious expression making him confused

“We need to break up, Tooru.” you finally say, causing all the  color drain from his face.

“What do you mean we need to break up? I thought everything was going great?” Oikawa sputters out while desperately grabbing your hand.

“Everything is great but there are just some things we need to think about if we want to continue with this relationship…” You start off before explaining all the things that have been troubling you along with the talk you had with Iwaizumi.

After a long talk that lasted hours and that included a lot of emotions, you and Oikawa came to an agreement to end things and to better yourselves- you with your confidence and insecurities and individuality and him with his consideration for other people and how he handles boundaries he and other people set. You also both talked about the possibility of maybe trying a relationship with each other  if you both still had love for each other later down the line.

With all that said and done, Iwaizumi came and helped you pack your things right after the break up just so neither you or Oikawa would back out of it and by afternoon the next day, you were moved out of the apartment you had known for the last few years and moved in with Hanamaki and Matsukawa who were more than glad to give you their spare room.

You were now excited to start a new part of life even if it would take a while to get over the grief of the relationship and even if it did take a while to stop crying every night because all you wanted to do was call Oikawa. You knew better than that though. This was the best decision or the both of you.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

Two years later, Oikawa’s fame in the volleyball community skyrocketed and he was doing what he loved and always dreamed of, while you were the happiest you’d been in what seems forever.

The last two years have taught you both a lot about yourselves and allowed the two of you to grow as people. You have grown more confident with yourself and have picked up new hobbies and have gained passion for a few things that you plan to turn into a full fledged career and you were excited for what more the future holds for you. As for Oikawa, he has become less self-focused and has set proper boundaries with his fangirls and even other people, overall has just gotten better at maintaining his relationships with his friends, family, and whoever else mattered to him. Except you.

You and Oikawa haven’t spoken to each other in a year and half but that doesn’t mean you guys didn’t think about each other all the time. Oikawa has never left your mind and you have never left his. Admiring each other from afar, you both have grown very proud of the person the other has become. You both have gotten so proud of each other that it's gotten to the point where it’s so bad that Iwaizumi, Makki, and Mattsun have to force you and Oikawa into the same room to finally talk and catch up so they wouldn’t be forced to listen to your praises for one another every time one of you so much as blinked.

So that’s how you ended up stuck in Iwaizumi’s room with the door blocked on the other side so neither you or Oikawa could escape.

“We’re not letting you out until you kiss!” Makki shouts from outside the room earning a smack on the head from Iwaizumi.

“Ignore him and just talk.” Mattsun says with a giggle before walking away with Makki leaving only Iwaizumo to guard the door.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, you finally gathered the courage to sit next to Oikawa who was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room. He watched you as you fiddled with your hands before grabbing them into their own as to calm you down since he always knew that was a sign of you being anxious. And in that moment, you hugged him like you were never letting him go and of course, he hugged you back with the same amount of love and care before you both started happy crying.

After a few more moments of emotional silence, you pulled away from each other and talked about everything you’ve been wanting to talk about for the last year and a half and it was like you never left each other’s side.

“I missed you, Tooru.”

“I missed you too, angel.”

Finally, after all this time, you both had talked things out and decided to try things out again. You loved Oikawa and Oikawa loved you and you would and will do everything you can to never be apart from each other ever again.

[diamond-champagne]

8. Did I Lose You?

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: None that I know of but please let me know!

Summary: In which happily ever after isn't today

A/N: nothing to say but I love you, besties <3

Azzi is a liar, a thief, and a coward. A lethal combination that swims deeply with the basketball player. She doesn’t mean to be these things. Azzi doesn’t want to be these things but she is. It’s a sad truth that only the brown-eyed girl carries the burden of knowing. It only adds that she can call herself these things in the name of Paige.

Azzi is a liar; has been since November. A lie escaped her lips every time she told Riley that she was happy. The basketball player knew that the relationship wouldn’t survive when everything the other did was compared to Paige. It’s disrespectful, Azzi knows. Riley listened to, supported, and gave Azzi everything she could’ve asked for in a partner. Even when she would’ve had every right to, Riley didn’t push. But, Paige did. She pushed every button the younger girl had. If getting under Azzi’s skin was a sport, then Paige was the MVP. Maybe it was her signature smirk or the confidence she has in everything she does. It’s maddening and addicting but it’s all Azzi craves at the end of the day. 

Azzi is a coward as a result of her lies. It’s with those lies that she stays in a relationship with Riley longer than she should have. The same lies that bury her friend in guilt. The same relationship that caused Azzi to walk out when asked if she had feelings for the blonde-haired girl in front of her. Her lies resulted in a truth being hidden. A truth that would’ve prevented the tears and heartbreak that the two girls had to endure. The truth being that Azzi is absolutely, without a doubt, unconditionally in love with Paige. That love though, is also something the younger girl cowers from because it scares her. She’s terrified of her emotions and Paige’s. The intense emotions roll off the blonde in waves; and sometimes it’s just a bit much for Azzi. She’s never been one to face her fears.

Azzi is a thief because in the end, her cowardness and lies didn’t stop her from taking bits and pieces of Paige all the same. 

-

Azzi swallows nervously. The apartment is familiar to the eye, yet somehow she feels like a guest as she stands awkwardly in the kitchen. Everything is exactly in the place as she knows it to be except he’s here. Cameron is standing in her kitchen, watching her while Paige gets Azzi water from the fridge. He’s the one that’s opening her door when she’s too busy to do so. He’s the one occupying her space as if it’s his own.

It throws Azzi off kilter because these are things she used to do. Her teammates were used to seeing the curly-haired girl on the other side of the door when they came over. She used to roam around the kitchen and admire the blonde in front of her. 

Now someone else was doing it and that made Azzi want to scream. 

The younger girl was only at the apartment to discuss the kiss from last night. It seems as if she had no choice in the matter as there was a litany of demanding text messages waiting for her when she woke up. So, after carefully agreeing to a time, here she was.

Azzi watches as the football player places a kiss on Paige’s hair before whispering something in her ear. Paige nods her head in response before she watches as Cam leaves the apartment. When the door shuts, the older girl turns to her best friend; ready to talk.

“You said I’m what you want.” Paige stated. It was a direct way to start a long overdue conversation. 

“You are” 

“What changed?” Azzi watched as Paige leaned back on the counter and crossed her arms. She could tell that the blonde had her guard up and it broke her heart. 

“I realized how much I missed you.”

“You missing me doesn’t mean much. You missed me while you were dating Riley and you didn’t want me then.” Paige snarks. It’s a valid point.

“I know, but I missed you. I miss waking up and having your hair in my face, or your vanilla perfume on my sheets. I miss being able to hold you and kiss you. Fuck, Paige, I miss talking to you.” Azzi pleads. It softens the blonde’s resolve for a short second but then it doesn’t.

“I understand that you miss me. I miss you too but do you want me?” Paige asks. Her voice is soft and without malice. She only wants to understand what this means for them now.

“I want you everyday, in this life and the next.” The curly-haired girl answers truthfully. 

“When?” Paige starts. “When did you know?”

“I’ve known since November.” Azzi confesses. She watches as her favorite pair of blue eyes widen with shock and then narrow with anger. The blonde shakes her head and scoffs in disbelief. “So when you texted me and asked me to come over, you had feelings for me? Paige grits out. 

“Yes,” Azzi starts. “But I was scared and I was already in a relationship. Everything just got messy.”

Everything was messy. She wasn’t wrong.

“Az, I just don’t understand why you continued in a relationship knowing you had feelings for me. Why did you walk out of my apartment that day?” Paige asks. Her voice is low but tired.

“I was scared,” The brown-eyed girl admits nervously before she’s rambling. Then, she’s repeating everything that she confessed to Riley in the club bathroom. Azzi talks about how Paige looks at her with such intensity, it terrifies her. She shared how sometimes it can be too much and how she worries about not being enough. 

She talks and talks and Paige just listens. The blonde takes in every word that spills out of the brown-eyed girl's mouth, until silence settles between them. The two continue to stare at each other, both trying to read expressions on the other’s face. Both of them failed miserably. 

“Say something.” she demands.

“I understand that you were scared. Hell, I was scared.” Paige laughs, “That much, we could have worked passed because in the end, being with you was enough. But instead, you slept with me while you had a girlfriend.”

“Please, Paige! I was scared!’ Azzi begged. She was terrified of loving Paige. She was terrified of Paige loving her. “Riley wasn’t intense. Being with her was easy.”

“It isn’t about Riley, Azzi '' Paige explains. “It’s about you! I could understand you being scared. I was fucking terrifed of loving you. But you being scared of loving me didn’t stop you from taking parts of me.”

“Paige-”

“I understand that you were scared. I promise, I do, but it didn’t stop you from holding me, kissing me, fucking me. It didn’t stop you from-”

For once, Azzi is the one cutting her off. “I know but I’m not scared anymore.” She doesn’t know she’s crying until Paige reaches up to wipe a tear away.

“But I am. I’m scared of you breaking my heart.” It comes out in a whisper but Azzi hears every word.

“Please just trust me.” The shorter girl pleads. She grabs Paige’s hand that wiped the tears from her face.

They’re both crying in the kitchen. Slow tears cascade down both of their faces as they drown in each other’s love; simultaneously healing and breaking each other’s hearts. It shouldn’t be this hard for them, but they’ve been messy. It’ll take a while to clean up the damage left in their wake. 

Today Paige’s wounds are fresh and her emotions are heightened. Today, there’s still so much left to talk through and resolve. 

Today, Azzi is still scared of what their feelings mean and what they could be to each other.

Today isn’t their day and Paige knows this. So as much as it pains her, she breaks both of their hearts with one sentence.

“I trust you with my life, just not with my heart.”

-

Paige is selfish, hypocritical, and cowardly.

Paige is selfish because she takes what she wants without any regard to others. She did that twice actually. The blonde didn’t have to spend the night with Azzi but she did. Paige did it knowing she had a girlfriend. She did it knowing that her actions had the potential to hurt someone else. Doing it in the name of love is simply a sad excuse and she knows it.

Paige is a hypocrite because she flirted with her best friend while her girlfriend was in the other room. She got upset that Azzi had the audacity to wear the volleyball’s player shirt in her home but walked right by the girl after spending the night with her. She’s the one with the audacity. She’s the one that’s disrespectful. Paige was being truthful though, she feels guilty about it all the time.

Paige is a coward because she, like Azzi, is scared, but the blonde was the last to walk away from what could have been her future. She left because she was scared of Azzi loving her. 

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[yesimwriting]

MA'M I LOVE YOUR BEST FRIEND FELIX WRITINGS BUT MY JEALOUS AND SOFTY SHORT ASS CAN'T HANDLE IT 😭 IM HURTING MYSELF BUT IT HURTS SO GOOD, LIKE IF I WAS BEST FRIEND Y/N ID BE BAWLING MY EYES OUT AFTER SEEING HIM WITH ANOTHER GIRL LIKE- WHY IS ALL OF THIS SO CARDIGAN BY TS CODED-

a/n i love taylor and taylor related angst and i get the jealousy thing,, but i think the thing with bestfriend!felix is that he's so obvious about his priorities that by the time reader can register jealousy,, felix is already there

so here's a drabble

----

Going out tonight wasn't your idea. A week of long lectures and even longer homework had drained you. But Felix wanted to...and you...You wanted to be around Felix.

Maybe Farleigh's comments about you following Felix around like a puppy aren't as exaggerated as they feel when you're sober. Ugh. The thought of Farleigh being right gives that pinch of irritation something to latch onto.

"They have those drinks you like." The voice is clear despite the base of the music that you can still hear from right outside the club. You turn your head away from the group of stragglers hanging around the outdoor bar. "Had. I got the last one."

You grin at Felix, any lingering angst not exactly evaporating into the cool night air, but the shift is enough to make the smile feel unforced. "Lucky."

He's finally within arm's reach, a fact that he takes advantage of immediately. Felix's palm settles against your shoulder, his thumb dragging across your skin. "Extremely." There's a fondness there that chips away at what's left of your irritation. "Here." You take the glass from him. "Sam almost tackled another bar tender to get the last of the simple syrup."

Ironically, the sip that's halfway down your throat seems to lose any hints of sweetness as soon as the words come out of Felix's mouth. You've met Sam, and while you don't dislike her, you're not sure the neutrality is mutual.

It's a fact you don't dwell. Sam's a bottle blonde bar tender who looks like she was born to walk around in low cut tank tops and cut off shorts. Not that her being pretty matters, but there's an edge to her beauty that implies an effortless coolness that doesn't usually meld with who you are. It's no one's fault. You think those types of girls are charming and fun in a way that's somehow even bolder than the friends that you consider wild. It's just never been a mutual admiration.

And Sam's been hanging around Felix a lot lately, showing up at parties, staying later than anyone else besides you. They've gone home together a few times. Felix hasn't said too much about that, but that doesn't indicate anything. You guys don't talk about that kind of stuff. Even best friends as close as you two have boundaries.

Not that it matters if Felix is with someone like Sam. She seems fun and pretty and bold and--the total opposite of you.

That hits you like a thumb jabbing into a bruise. Since when is Felix's constantly rotating door of flings a sore point? When he pawns you off on Farleigh--even when he's not in the mood for you--so he can have a moment in the employee bathroom.

"Y'okay?"

You nod, "Yeah." Felix's eyebrows pinch together, a barely there implication of concern that's almost ignorable beneath the poor lighting. "Everything's just kind of hitting me a little."

He nods, "Do you need to sit?" Felix's hold on your shoulder tightens. "Is that why you came outside?"

"Uh--no." The response feels flat. "I mean--yeah, I wanted some air, but I don't feel sick or anything."

He watches you openly for what feels like its own eternity. You're not sure what he's looking for, but you must not pass the inspection because he frowns. "Okay." As if to validate Felix's attempt at letting your mood go, you bring your glass back to your lips. "You know--if you're not feeling--if you want to go, you can tell me."

"I know." You do know that. Felix has always been good about listening, about wanting to make sure you're comfortable.

You take another sip of your drink. Of course Sam's good at mixing drinks. You can picture her tripping over herself, rushing to grab the nearly empty bottle of syrup and risking making an enemy of a coworker to avoid having to tell Felix no.

Felix takes a step forward, his hand sliding across your back so that his arm can settle around your shoulders. It's instinct to lean into the contact. He's warm in a way that rivals the buzz in your system. "When we do go, we're going to have to go out the back way."

You let your head rest against his side. "Why?"

"Don't think Sam's going to be going out of her way to get me drinks again."

You crane your neck to look up at him, "What? Why?"

His eyes meet yours, and then he's dropping his gaze to the floor. "You have become such a gossip."

A sound that's a combination between a scoff and a laugh tumbles past your lips. "Have not."

"You and Farleigh," Felix continues, "You two always need to ask, always need to have an opinion."

"Not true," you defend weakly, "If I was a gossip I'd talk about how slutty--"

You cut yourself off, regretting your phrasing as soon as the word is out. Felix pulls back slightly, mouth falling open in exaggerated offense. "You called me a slut?"

"No," you defend yourself through a laugh, "I was saying that you have been slutty." Felix raises his eyebrows at you. "It's different." Felix's eyes narrow in an attempt to offset the smile tugging at his lips. "It is."

"Yeah?" He leans forward with no warning, his lips pressing against your cheek. That kiss is followed by another. Again and again, each more affectionate and touchy than the last.

His lips brush against your jaw. "Fe-lix." It wants to be a warning, but the nervous giggle that breaks his name into two makes coming off as threatening impossible.

"What?" He hums, his lips finding your neck. "If I'm that slutty, we should have a go at it."

You laugh, ignoring the heat burning its way up your neck because it's just Felix. "There's a bathroom inside."

Felix stills before pulling away enough to look you in the eye. There's the faintest flush tinging his skin. You laugh again, this time the sound fuller. It's nice to see flashes of the softer side of Felix while out in the real world. Felix laughs with you.

You tilt your head, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "For you, I'd spring for a hotel room."

"Now I feel special."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

[autistic-robin]

more dynamics i need to see in st5 for my mental wellbeing

1. el and dustin. that’s it send post. they were genuinely so sweet in season 1 and i miss their mad scientist/test subject vibe immensely. i know el and lucas are going to be paired up this season because of their shared connection (polyamory) to max, but i would love to see more scenes between dustin and el— maybe some lighthearted bonding over their matching leg injuries or daddy issues.

2. mike and robin. i don’t think you understand i need this like i need air. will has already had his gay awakening he doesn’t need a queer life coach!! mike on the other hand is out here in the TRENCHES. this man is down critically horrendously morifyingly BAD for will but is convinced el needs him and that will could never reciprocate his feelings. he needs robin’s gay intuition and advice if anyone does.

3. steve and jonathan. HELLO??? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HELLO???? i know this is pretty much guaranteed to happen in st5 because full-circle character development and hammering in themes and blah blah blah but i’m still gonna talk about it because listen. steve got his shit rocked by jonathan one (1) time and immediately decided “fuck my idiot friends” developed a moral conscience and SHOWED UP AT HIS HOUSE to apologize. he wasn’t there for nancy he had no idea nancy was there!!! he bought jonathan a new camera!!! he was so respectful of nancy and jon even when nancy dumped his ass a season later!!! yet we never get closure between him and jonathan or even a conversation and i’m PISSED about it. matt and ross duffer rectify this or else.

4. hopper and jonathan and will. you see the vision. these kids have never had a stable father figure who truly understands them (i love bob but he was only there for st2 and was sweet but naive) and everything they’ve been through. jonathan DESPERATELY needs to be de-parentified and released from the emotional burden of constantly putting will and joyce before his own needs and dreams, and hopper desperately needs to feel like he can protect his family instead of “cursing” them. will needs a loving father figure who supports his queer identity, and hopper only had a fire lit under him in s1 when joyce mentioned it could have been a hate crime. this is like textbook recipe for healing and closure for these characters.

5. joyce and karen? i just think it would be neat. we know karen’s getting more involved this season and i think she should get to be a little gay for joyce as a treat. we had crumbs of their dynamic in s1 and on a more sincere note i honestly think joyce could help give karen the courage to leave ted or demand better from him moving forward.

6. nancy and mike. if they don’t have a genuine conversation i’ll actually be fuming raging pulling my hair out. i get it i get that they’re both emotionally repressed but GOD i wish we had more moments with them talking about their trauma or empathizing with each other’s survivor’s guilt and crippling savior complexes. all the “max and mike are the same character in a different font” business is very valid and i agree madwheeler is like ten shots of espresso injected directly into the bloodstream HOWEVER, nancy and mike’s traumas and emotional issues are so so similar please let them talk about it!!!!

7. steve and robin???? please for the love of god????? literally what the fuck was happening in s4 they were NOT given enough screentime together. not cool. i want them BACK on their queerplatonic bullshit in s5, fully codependent disgustingly clingy like god intended.

8. jonathan and el. i just want them to be siblings together!!! we got a lot of willel sibling vibes in s4 and some sweet jon-and-will moments, but i would love for them to delve into jonathan and el’s dynamic. this girl is a big reason why will was saved in s1 and we just… never really see the byerses address that? jonathan has a lottt of self-blaming tendencies when it comes to will and i’d love for el to help remind him he isn’t responsible for protecting and saving his brother all the time. conversely, i’d love for jonathan to remind el that she’s just a kid and that the weight of the world shouldn’t be on her shoulders. they’re both really soft-spoken and sweet characters with hard veneers and i feel like they’d pair well together for more emotional scenes.

9. literally the entire byers-hopper family they are the heart and soul of the show and i will never forgive the duffer brothers for losing that in s3-4 in favor of expanding the scope of the story. i miss them.

10. steve and el. i would maim and kill for this dynamic actually. both of them are involved in love triangles and have arcs centered around independency and platonic/found familial love, and steve has his whole mom-of-the-group shtick that could be really endearing paired with el’s plucky weird-little-girl vibe. idk i just think they would be a cute team, maybe paired with dustin or lucas.

11. stoncy and robin. literally give me this team or give me death. i miss stoncy’s iconic end-of-season-1 monster-hunting trio dynamic SO MUCH i would give anything for them to go on a sidequest and really just hash it all out with each other. and robin could offer steve moral support and comic relief— while we’re on the subject i would also kill to see her and jonathan interact!! like they are so similar in that brooding-noncomformist way and i feel like they would either immediately gravitate toward each other based on values OR immediately clash due to their personality differences. jonathan is all quiet and avoidant and robin can be… A Lot (said with love) when she’s not masking like s3. i just think they’d be funny together.

12. this is devolving quickly so scott clarke and the party. no i will not elaborate. thank you for your time

[reareaotaku]

Hi

So I recently found you page and I love you miles x nanny reader

Can you do one of reader being florias nanny and shes super sweet and caring so she doesn't deny miles of much of anything like hugging him if he wants or kissing his cheek, I wanna see how he'll react to her

Wow Taglist: @fxchild Tw: Yandere! Miles, NSFW Themes/Subject Matter

He takes advantage of your kindness and can you really blame him?

He can get away with anything around you, because you're so lax with him

Though, he's a little annoyed you don't see him as a 'Man' just some teenager

He's 18, that means he's an adult, so you should treat him like one

Like maybe give him a blowjob- Is that to much to ask?

Besides, that makes you a real man huh?

He's always on his best behavior around you, because that's when you give him validation. God and when your arms squeeze around him- His pants suddenly feel so tight

He's in denial about the affection at first, shrugging you off, because no one has ever truly been nice or cared for him before- Especially without an ulterior motive

You don't care about him... You've only known him a week

He really needs this kind of attention in his life

He at first may act like he's annoyed, but he kind of craves it

He'll never admit it- Never to a soul!

But god when you touch him- He feels loved for the first time in his life

He'll listen to you, because there is a small part of him that does respect you and wants you to be happy

And he knows he'd make you happier than anyone else. Hell he can give you the world- All you have to do is ask

You don't even have to ask, he'll just do it, because he adores you

You know that Miles might have a little bit of an obsession with you

You chalk it up to him coping with the loss of his parents in a friend

You shouldn't have let it slide for as long as you did, because now it's too late to stop it

[punkeropercyjackson]

Batfam and Spiderfam dynamics

Jason and Miles are platonic soulmates,thanks.As a black dominicano myself,there is no reaction Jason would have to meeting the Spiderfam other then making a b-line to the lil nigga talking with his hands to someone who's not listening and asking him about what he's rambling about to genuinely listen and this applies to any timeline Jason cause the Lazarus Pit isn't gringofication juice.Miles takes an equally quick liking to him and they've got tons in common but enough differences to keep their interactions interesting and add some mutual angst(I see you in me and you see me in you but the feeling isn't exactly the same,not always but we're getting there for eachother)

Babs fucks with Miguel by hacking his Spidertech and dosen't even do any actual damage but pretends she has or is planning to to keep him on his toes.He is Screaming

Stephanie and Gwen hit it off almost as instantly as the Flowerghost Brothers did for the same reasons and Stephie calls Gwendita 'sister' first as the slang but then as a found family thing.Gwen convinced her to dye her hair like Hobie did her and Stephanie now has a split down the middle purple dye to her natural black butterfly locs and she brings her over to Batgirls hangouts so she can feel like a real girl as gender validation but also trauma healing and on first meeting Stephanie had a reverse to her and Jess' first meeting as Gwen chattered off about herself in autistic awkwardness and she responded with 'Can i adopt you?' to Gwen's touched shock and Steph's embarrasment(Gwen is still 16 and Stephanie was 18 btw)(Death may love you but i love more and i'll save you from it)(You're the Robin that flew the highest even though you flew for the shortest time)

The babygirlfication of Duke Thomas:By Hobie Brown.Duke was flustered and weak in the knees enough just from Hobie unmasking but the fact that Hobie found him equally attractive didn't help since he instantly started flirting with him.Duke powered through after getting used to it a significant instences of Spiderpunk rizz and Hobie was pleasently surprised that he actually wasn't a shy meek 'normal' boy but as chaotic as he is and that was when it went from attraction to real romantic love as they got to really know eachother and Hobie shows off Duke to his band's fans and they take care of eachother post-hero work and before it too(You're SUCH a punk........I can't fucking tell if i wanna be with you or be you or roast you/I'm Spiderman and you're Robin.We can do all three,Sunlight.This the part where you kiss me,yeah?/Obviously-Why else would i have done that 1920s toons ass shit to get you upside down?)

Dick and Peter B are iconic 'The ones who started it all and mentor the ones to keep the legacy going' solidarity but Dick's a cool hot tgirl about it and Peter B's a lame in a sexy kinda way tboy about it.Their friendship is healthy if weird and they do hero jobs together occasionally and exchange trans stories/jokes.Also:".........We seem to have the same type?" "You mean.....Redheads...?" "What?!No,black women!" "OH THANK FUCK,I KNEW THAT CREEPY RUMOR ABOUT YOU WASN'T REAL!!!"

Talia and Rio met through Jason and Miles and formed a friendship of their own.It was really nice for Talia to befriend another woc who's deep into and proud of her heritage and they do cultural bonding and hang out casually too and they're also both bi women with a past history of multiple girlfriends which is a nice surprise and they can be found drinking tea and eating tostadas together at least once a month.Talia and Uncle Aaron would've been besties too if he'd lived and her breath hitched when she met his 42 Variant and Miles G from the flashbacks to Jason's ressurection and her reconnection with him as he turned into Red Hood under her wing(It's like looking at ghosts that'll never really die)

Cass and Peni suffer from the infantalization and moefication of easian women and girls both in-universe and out of universe so they go beyond and Cass helps Peni go back to her authentic japanese roots by having a storyline with her that's a ref to her Nge inspo and this includes Earth 14512 and Prime Earth glitches fuckery and Cass briefly goes chinese cartoon incarnated which she's more than okay with.They listen to Mcr and participate in Cass' tradgoth hobbies and Peni gets her to embrace her hidden small love of cute shit and there's anatomically dehumanized child soldier bonding(Don't let them make you a rose without thorns)(Be beautiful to everyone you want to but terrifying to everyone else.You've earned both)

Kory and Jessica get black milf-y with it by increasing their hotness by 100+ with their combined energy and Kory teases her about the Spiderkids calling her 'Spidermom' as a half-joking mantle and Jessica just rolls her eyes playfully and says she's jealousy she's milf x 2 now.Kory also gives her free clothes she got from her modeling job and Jessica takes her out on motorcyle rides with her own pastel pink helmet and was confused for a Tamaranean a few times so she gaslight the media about it for funsies.Street food gyals too and get their nails and hair done together at different dimensional black salons as a quest of sorts.THEE Spiderbatfam battle duo,they are whole ass GREEK TITANS in damage level(Also jic no ion ship Peter B and Jessica,Dick was talking about 616 MJ who is black to me due to one of few mcu W's)

Maps and Margo be peppy girl geeks of color who're twinnin' on almost all their tastes,the only real difference being Maps' japanese ones vs Margo's haitian ones BUT they get to diaspora bond thanks to being inmigrant kids♡Margo has pretend drawn constellations with Maps' freckles and this my friends was the true beginning of Margomaps.Margo social media brags and posts about 'her girlfriend Maps' like the slang and Maps drags her into Gotham mystery solving and they're call themselves 'Team Birdbyte' know damn well that's a ship name.Maps once put her hairclip on Margo's hair and kissed it 'for good luck' because she was scared shitless for her on a life or death mission and Margo sweeped her up into her arms to give her a big 'ol smooch upon return and Maps had heart eyes afterwards as they went on their first 'date' i.e Sharing a bed for the first time as they talked out their love for eachother in detail over pizza and strawberry fizz(You're not my Player 2,you're my main girl)

I don't got fancy schmancy for these last two but Tim x Miles is so fucking real,,,,,,,,,Better than any yt boys only crossover ship for sure.They're just,autistic trans teenage boygirlfriends but like realistic ones not fake deep wonderbread and they're brown4black because Tim's biracial on Janet's side cause she was cherokee and Miles is an honorary Young Justice member who earned a Blue Lantern ring and they're so sweet and soft and sappy and cringe together...........Cool girl Miles and her losercore bf who loves her so fucking much and that she loves so fucking much back and she thinks SHE'S the desperate loser.And the other thing is Tiffany Fox is Batgirl here!!It only feels right considering it's Spiderverse and she hangs out the Spiderteens/Tim and Duke's age group/the older Batgirls!!She's a recurring major character i have for this in my head and is one of Miles' big crushes although not endgame since she realized she'd rather make friends for a long time first than date right then.And she grows up to have a happy healthy marriage and kids!!♡(Red Table mutual you know who you are,ADD TIFF)

Misc extras:Prime Earth has a Dairy Queen equivalent called Dairy Super,Miles and Jason have texting Tamagotchis that were upgraded by Margo at random because she wanted to see if she could and Miles' is a cat while Jason's is a bat,Gwen's mom was afro-dominican and she got her Atsv hair but in locs and Stephanie is specifically jamaican/korean and blondephobic as is Tim,Peter B's character assasination didn't happen cause the writers were so darksided for that,Jessica is trans as per her comics,Stephcass is a thing and share an apartment and basically act like a butch4femme eternally married couple(A la Bubbline in Obsidian and onward)and it's perfectly possible to make a Batfam crossover that isn't about blue eyes,incest or pedophillia shipping or spits in the name of superheroes and what they stand for in favor of propaganda,gatekeeping and writing that's so horny it circles right around to being sexless.And you just read one :)

[brainrotallthewaydown1312]

I need to talk about this right here for a second.

When I first got into Lockwood and Co, it was cot3 propaganda that convinced me to actually watch it. Specifically, I saw a lot of people talking about the subtext and some people debating if there was some intentional coding. I knew very little about the show except that it was ghost detectives and that there were a lot of people talking about this polyship. And as I watched, I definitely saw it. I quickly got invested with the ship too, but I realized early on that it was not purposeful subtext. It was definitely there if you wanted to read it, but it hadn't been written in on purpose and it wasn't really canon. Which is okay. I don't need all my ships to be canon, and I really enjoy the dynamic the characters all have either way.

But then I got to the last episode. And listen. I'm ace and arospec. I am all for big professions of platonic love and platonic love saving the day. And I'm also all for multiple readings of everything being valid, especially when it comes to the readings of character relationships and dynamics. But the way the whole catacombs sequence plays out first with just Lucy and George and then with Lockwood when he gets there, I legitimately can't understand how to read that besides them being in romantic love.

First you have Lucy's speech. And this one I do like multiple readings for. I get seeing this as relating to romantic shipping, but to me, it feels like someone who is stating their love for someone and that love could be any context. But the way she does it is so important to me. She gets right at what he felt bad about and told him why it was wrong and asserted that he is important to her, and then reinforced it with logical context instead of more emotional details. Because he needs evidence to believe something, and she knows that about him. She knew exactly how to say it to him so he'd hear her.

For me, the next important thing for what I'm talking about is when George runs to her after she passes out from ghost visions. He is still bound, but he gets to her so quickly, and he gets so close to her. He is so desperate for her to be okay. The way he talks to her. The way he huddles into her space like he wants to scoop her up and hold her. How he says “it's me, I'm here” showing that what she had said sunk in because he wouldn't have thought that a comfort before and now he does. How when her eyes pop open, he visibly relaxes for a moment before remembering where they are. The way they huddle together, shielding themselves from the danger. There is something in all of that that just feels like there is something unexplored that they are finding between them. It feels like this is a moment where the stakes shifted from where they had been. Not higher or lower, but different.

This feels reinforced by the conversation they have when Bickerstaff is ghostlocking them. The way they both apologize. How desperately they both mean that apology. How they are accepting their fate, grateful to have their lives tangled together. How they are still so close together. Again, I can still see multiple readings for this bit.

But then Lockwood gets there.

And he saves them. Because of course he does. And he has his dramatic moment because he's Lockwood, and he can't get by without one. And this happens

The way they both run to him as he falls. The way he catches them. How they all slide together perfectly.

The way they crowd into him. The way George is crouched below Lockwood even when he falls. The way Lucy is purposeful but careful with his arm. How she leans into him and her hand on his stomach.

The way Lockwood is so defeated here but still looks at Lucy like she is his hope. How she says “we won't let you” not “I won't let you” or anything else. We won't let you.

The look on George's face. George's ragged breath and the way he is crouched against Lockwood. The way he is staring into Lockwood's soul.

The way Lucy looks at George here. The way she confirms the decision to make this a moment for all of them. The way George's eyes shift, but not away from Lockwood. The way his voice tears from his throat when he says “never.” The way he pushes up into Lockwood, trying to get even closer, even when they were already pressed together. The way Lockwood looks like he is accepting something new in this moment as he understands how much he is cared for by both of them.

I just don't understand how this could be read without the implication of that shift happening. All the other moments of subtext are passable with other reads. But something about this specific moment with the three of them on the ground in the catacombs. I don't know how this could be anything but them being in love and sort of each realizing for themselves the extent of that.

I think what makes it so difficult to wrap my head around other readings for this moment is watching George here. At his desperation and fear and the way he shoves into Lockwood at the end there. Because it's an obvious locklyle moment, but Lucy made the effort to include him. And he was ready to be included. And he was so desperate for them all to make it out so that it wasn't too late for him to realize he was loved too. And that little push really sells it for me.

And I know that it makes sense for the character beat that George is at and as follow up for the scene leading up to it between George and Lucy. But even with that context, it feels like this specific moment only makes sense if there is something non-platonic growing between all of them.

And like I said, I know that cot3 is not canon. And that it wasn't being written for in either the show or the books. And I'm okay with that. But I have no idea how to categorize this scene in my head knowing that, because I am incapable of seeing this scene any other way.

[wingedblooms]

I am a fan of Elain and azriel but I really want to ask why azriel was holding Bryce hands for a long time. We all know he hates physical contacts, but that part has been on my mind for a while

Thank you for sending this to my inbox. 🫶 You’re right, he doesn’t often initiate physical contact so it is worth noting when he does. When I read the scene below, though, I laughed because it reminded me of when I hold my child’s hand as we’re crossing the street. My child will run off, straight into danger, without my guidance. I know that Bryce is an adult, but Azriel acts a bit like a parent in this whole sequence. He does not trust Bryce to walk on her own or do what she says she will do and tries to exert control (for everyone’s safety) as a result. And to be honest, his suspicions are valid: she lied and drew a wyrm to them with her bleeding hand before this, and distracts him and runs for it in this specific scene.

“There are caves and doors throughout the land,” Azriel said, “that open into distant places. Maybe that was one of them.” His gaze flicked to Bryce, noting how closely she was listening to all that, and said, “Let’s go in.”

He took Bryce’s hand in his broad, callused one, pulling her toward the chamber beyond. His face was a mask of cold determination in the light of the golden orbs floating over them, his hazel eyes darting around to monitor the gloom.

This close to him, hand in hand, she could feel the sword and dagger again thrumming and pulsing. They throbbed against her eardrums—

The hilt of the Starsword shifted in her direction—she could have reached out and touched it with her other hand. One movement, and its hilt would be in her grip.

Azriel shot her a warning look.

[…]

Bryce sucked in a breath. “I’m going in. Keep a step back,” she warned Azriel.

“And miss the fun?” Azriel muttered. Nesta chuckled behind them.

“I mean it,” Bryce said, trying to tug her hand from his. “You stay here.”

His fingers tightened on hers, not letting go. “What do you sense?”

“Wards,” Bryce replied, again scanning the arena-sized cavern ahead. And there, right in the center of the space…

[…]

Azriel scanned the chamber, still not letting go of Bryce’s hand as he said to Nesta, “We don’t know what else might be kept at bay in here.”

“I didn’t sense anything except the Harp last time,” Nesta replied, but she still assessed the chamber with a warrior’s focus.

“We also didn’t sense that there was a second entrance into this place,” Azriel countered. “We can assume nothing right now.”

[…]

Bryce’s fingers tightened around the amulet. Then she looked over Azriel’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Watch out!”

He dropped her hand instantly, whirling to the unseen, unsensed opponent. The nonexistent opponent.

Bryce moved with Fae swiftness, and by the time Azriel realized there was nothing there, she’d already crossed the ward line.

Cold fury tightened his features, but Nesta was smirking with something like approval.

“You’re on your own now,” Azriel said, blue stones glimmering at his hands with a cold fury that matched his expression. (hofas)

This does not carry a hint of romance to me. It’s even more noticeable when we compare specific scenes:

He took Bryce’s hand in his broad, callused one, pulling her toward the chamber beyond. His face was a mask of cold determination in the light of the golden orbs floating over them, his hazel eyes darting around to monitor the gloom. (hofas)

He took Bryce’s hand and pulled her. But Elain?

“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (acowar)

He offers his hand, she accepts it, and they walk out together. Offer and permission.

Similarly, Bryce takes Truth-Teller from Azriel.

There were two blades practically screaming for her to use them. Bryce again reached out a hand, her will, toward Azriel. And as surely as the Starsword had done, Truth-Teller flew from his grip. He tried to grab it, but even his swift lunge wasn’t fast enough to stop it. To stop Bryce as the knife soared for her fingers.

The dagger’s hilt landed in her palm, cool and heavy.

Her body began to hum. Like having one blade in each hand—the Starsword and Truth-Teller—electrified her.

And proceeds to leave with it despite his panic and pleading (🥺).

“Please,” Azriel said, his gaze now on her hands. On the Starsword—and on Truth-Teller. Something like panic filled his hazel eyes.

Shaking her head, Bryce backed toward the hole she’d made in the world. In the universe. She could only pray it would lead her to Midgard. (hofas)

But he offers Truth-Teller to Elain and she accepts it. Azriel has never allowed anyone to touch his dagger, but he chose to give it to Elain…amid the sighing meadow grasses, poetry once again dripping from his lips in her presence. This act required deep trust and care. He could have offered her a different dagger, but he didn’t. He gave her the one that meant the most to him.

And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming…

Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard.

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I moved closer.

Elain weighed my words…and slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel lent out that blade—

Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. (acowar)

And she immediately returns it to him, most likely grasping its importance and proving his instincts and trust are well placed.

But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. (acofas)

Sarah made the dynamics very different for a reason. There’s a reason the shadowsinger would only give up his dagger to and spout poetry for the lovely fawn, and I am excited to learn more about that in the next book. ✨

[teamsasukes]

ok in my opinion, many things are wrong with the idea that sakura viewed sasuke only as a prize to be won to boost her self-worth; that when it comes to sasuke, she's forever frozen in time as a 12-year-old girl who can't see beyond his good hair and great grades. this post is my attempt at thoroughly unpacking and refuting that notion

when we meet sakura in part 1, she is obsessed with societal standards and her admiration for sasuke is almost entirely rooted in that. he's the ideal future husband -- from an ancient clan, stoic, intelligent, skilled, and by sakura's own description, "cool" -- these are things that she has been conditioned to want! so this is the sasuke that she envisions, until...

until they get put on a team together, and sakura gradually comes to realize that perhaps sasuke is not what she's made him out to be in her mind. he talks about crying, about being afraid. he's paralyzed with fear in their first mission. naruto may very well be stronger and more capable than him! oh, and sasuke gets into silly fights with naruto all the time. none of that is "cool." suddenly he seems less like the ideal future husband and more like a real person with flaws and baggage of his own.

that sakura's view of sasuke changes is so apparent through how radically her behaviour around him shifts between the early formation of team 7 and the chunin exams (and any point after). sakura goes from being unable to listen to a bad word about sasuke (maybe even the ones that are deserved) to defying him when she deems fit. she even praises naruto at his expense, because societal views are not at the forefront of her mind when it comes to the two boys anymore -- they're just naruto and sasuke. they're her friends! she goes from calling kakashi out for bad-mouthing the uchiha clan because she's doesn't want to risk sasuke getting mad at her, to calling naruto out for a similar statement, not due to personal involvement in the equation, but simply because it's not right.

and people typically agree with me up to here. it's when we get to sakura cutting her hair in the forest of death that opinions diverge, and some people tend to think that sakura should have "gotten over" sasuke to propel her character development forward. i don't necessarily find this reading invalid -- it's certainly a more straightforward direction for her character to take. sakura's goal was sasuke, now sakura's goal is to be strong. the problem is that there was always more nuance to her goal of winning sasuke's heart than people afford it in fandom discussion, and similarly, i don't think that the progression needed to be as clear-cut as "sakura gets over sasuke" to still be meaningful. in this case, i feel like people's expectations about what should have happened following this scene might preclude them from seeing the growth that this moment did produce.

sakura cutting her hair in the forest of death is the critical point her arc built up to for all of part 1. sakura is insulted by the sound nin for pouring so much time into her appearance when her training is clearly not up to par, and she cuts her shiny and perfect hair in a declaration that she will no longer derive her self-worth from the validation that would come from romantic attachment (to sasuke, or anyone else). instead, it will be from standing shoulder-to-shoulder with (or even ahead of) her teammates in battle -- so that she can protect them rather than the other way around. then the flashbacks during her fight with ino make it explicit that sakura has wanted to become a skilled shinobi -- one who could match up to ino -- all along, but since that is not a socially acceptable goal from a girl, she instead declares them rivals over sasuke's heart. the boy is not important here (haha, it always sticks out to me that when she asks him out before the chunin exams, sakura is more bummed about sasuke's assessment of her skills than his rejection). she doesn't even think of sasuke while fighting ino, lol -- she grandstands about how only she can "get him," but that's for the purpose of riling up ino, so that there's no chance she'll go easy on sakura. sakura wants to know, definitively, that she can match up to ino. and she does.

in light of all of this, people often say sakura had "no reason" to like sasuke -- after all, i did spend the entire last paragraph establishing that sakura's pre-series crush on sasuke was an immature infatuation that had nothing to do with sasuke and everything to do with ino. but, again, team 7 spent months together on a team and sasuke and sakura became actual friends! he was a good teammate to both naruto and sakura, if a little rough around the edges. i don't think it's implausible for sakura to develop real feelings for sasuke during this time. and if that is not enough, if you need deeper, thematically fulfilling reasons -- well, i sort of object to that on principle. i think friendship, having fun with one another, being at ease around each other -- these are all perfectly good reasons to fall in love with someone. and you may say that naruto also fulfills this criteria, but if sakura was physically attracted to sasuke and not naruto -- well, i think that's fine too, and it certainly doesn't warrant any moral judgment. people say often that sakura should have ended up with lee or naruto -- the first of whom stated outright that he loved her because she was beautiful, and the latter who introduced her as a "pretty girl" -- but whether their feelings are shallow is not endlessly dissected. (it's not narusaku or leesaku i protest to here, just the double standard)

but for the record, i think kishimoto did write in enough for us to understand why sakura would fall for sasuke in particular. i discussed this in another post, but alongside ino, sasuke sparked the most significant character growth for sakura. he was the first to make her reevaluate her treatment of naruto (and by extension, her rose-tinted view of the world), he was the first (and only) of their teammates to express disappointment that she wasn't investing in her own skills, he figured out when she felt insecure and reminded her of the areas in which she was more proficient than the rest of the team. sakura's initial idealized view of sasuke does not endure for a number of reasons, one of which is that the real sasuke actually expects her to hold her own and sees potential in her. for sakura, whose main motivation as a character is to become stronger for her teammates, this must mean a great deal! we mostly lose track of this element of sasuke and sakura's dynamic in part 2, which is a shame, but when she cracks open the earth with only her fist, naruto and kakashi are utterly astonished, while sasuke just smiles -- like it is no surprise, like she's been capable of it all along -- so there is that, i guess.

(and for more on thematically fulfilling, see this post on what i think could have played out if sakura were not relegated to a side character in all but panel presence in part 2. but really, i find it so interesting that sasuke and sakura both repeatedly have a lot of trouble suppressing their compassion to do what is expected of them as shinobi. apart from sasuke, i think sakura is also the only character to express that human life has inherent value -- at least, she says something along those lines when she fights sasori.)

anyway, post-forest of death, sasuke version 1 has pretty much dissipated in sakura's mind -- the only place he ever existed -- and sakura's treatment of sasuke changes further. she stops intruding on his physical boundaries, stops flirting, stops asking him out -- she's there for him, but as a friend first. she hugs him in the hospital, but that's not necessarily a romantic gesture (she's physically affectionate by nature, which is why she ambushes naruto with a hug in the same manner at the end of the pain arc) and sasuke finds it comforting (signalled by many things, chief among which is that naruto leaves the room after observing sasuke's face). and yes, she confesses to being in love with him twice afterwards, years apart, but that is only because she is extremely stressed and panicked and wants him to stay for his own (and the second time around, add in naruto's) safety. her first confession is too centered on her own feelings, while the second is just woefully oblivious (through little fault of sakura's -- she doesn't know why sasuke is so intent on destroying the shinobi world), but neither of them come with the condition of sakura wanting sasuke to stay only so he can be with her. sakura wants sasuke to be safe! she wants him to be mentally sound! she lets him know that she cares about him!

i absolutely need to reiterate: at no point in part 2 does sakura display any sense of entitlement to sasuke. she always pleads with him to stay, rather than demanding anything of him. and even in the privacy of her own thoughts, sakura ponders bringing sasuke back in a few contexts: she wants sasuke to be okay, she is so sorry for burdening naruto, she needs to help naruto, and if sasuke comes back, they can all be a team again. romance does not even enter her mind. it is such a willfully egregious misread of the text to say that she only wanted sasuke back so they could be together.

moreover, it is honestly just nonsensical to me when people say sakura wanted sasuke as a prize, because it laughs in the face of her entire character arc and completely ignores why her pre-series crush existed at all. back then, sakura wanted sasuke as a status symbol. as of part 2, though, he is decidedly not what konoha's society would see as the ideal man. in the eyes of the state, he is a wanted criminal. sakura, meanwhile, is a student of the hokage, one of the most skilled medics in konoha at the ripe age of 16, and one of the most powerful shinobi of her generation (a feat achieved entirely through her own labour). she has stood next to her teammates in battle and helped take down a literal god. she does not need sasuke to feel fulfilled. nevertheless, she chooses, every day, to care about him, even though it would be infinitely easier not to. and if sakura wanted to haul around a status symbol in the form of a boyfriend, if only to bolster her already impressive profile (which she would not. that's the point!) -- naruto, konoha's new favourite traumatized teenager, is like. right there. but sakura loved naruto before he was proclaimed a hero by konoha, just like she continues to love sasuke even though he is very far from the coolest boy in their class.

my feelings on chapter 699 are... mixed, because the way things resolve for sasuke is just so sad, but what we see play out between him and sakura is: 1. sakura asks to come with him 2. sasuke is 100% comfortable saying no (how do the "sakura forced sasuke to be with her" truthers reconcile with that one, lol) 3. sakura appears mildly disappointed but like. she'll survive. that's it. then he thanks her, taps her on the forehead (but promises he'll see her soon, in an inversion of what that gesture meant from itachi), and we leave them in a pretty hopeful place, all things considered. there's room for reconciliation, for growth, for love. (and i don't want to hear about post-699 because i don't care. i don't consider it canon, and pretty much no one on tumblr does either, except to occasionally shit on ships they don't like)

this ended up being way too long, but i want to say: if you don't like sasusaku, that's your prerogative. i'm not here to change your mind. i certainly think they should have been written better in part 2 (but i'd argue that, like, 99% of those issues are just a natural consequence of sakura being continually sidelined by the narrative, rather than problems inherent to the relationship itself). regardless, i think too often people let their opinion of a ship impede character analysis. to claim that sakura relentlessly propositioned sasuke and that she saw him as a prize does such a huge disservice to how much she has grown and what she has accomplished over the course of the series.