#to run a suits only list that isn’t a joke list

[taudad]

Me when I realized I can legally field all 21 of my XV8 Crisis suits with the previewed T’au rules

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

Dieter Bravo masterlist

All masterlists

[wxnheart]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

note: I'm expanding on what I call my Just Be series (which started with König/Just Kingly Things) and what better way to do that than to do one for Babygurl? heads up, this list touches on some sensitive subjects, too. hope y'all enjoy it!

Ghost vividly remembers his father’s words, spurred by misery and an alcoholic rage. He remembers the times when the wretched bastard would tell him that he was unlovable and would amount to absolutely nothing. And surprise, surprise, Simon believes believed this.

He remembers his mother’s smile, strained and… and lifeless. He can count on one hand the number of times it reached her eyes. It was never around his father.

Simon also thinks of his brother, anxiety and tension fueling their fights; they fought each other because they couldn’t fight anyone else. Not the ones they wanted to fight, that is.

Ghost remembers the day when he took matters into his own hands and stood up to their father. He remembers the abject fear in the miserable fuck’s eyes and finally—

He remembers the hopeful smile his mother gave him later. He remembers seeing the tension and stress literally leave his brother’s body.

Even if he didn’t show it often, Simon was damn proud to see his family’s life turn around for the better. Simon remembers his brother pledging his life and love to new his sister-in-law. He remembers swallowing a bitter pill to support him and the singular thought running through his mind the entire time: ‘Where’s my happiness?’

And despite his upbringing, Ghost is very much a marriage-minded individual (to his surprise). You’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise because he keeps to himself.

A relationship with Simon is best described as a slow burn. Your attraction to him would be more apparent than his desire for you. Simon would be extremely hesitant in the beginning to pursue you for a plethora of reasons, the main one being a hidden fear that he’ll turn out like his father. He internalized every single thing the miserable shit told him. A close second one is, well, his profession. He figures that not many people can stomach the things he’s seen and done. Gotta have a certain strength of will to deal with everything that comes with him. You have to have patience as well.

You’re up for the challenge but Simon is still skeptical hence why your relationship with him will develop fairly slowly. Funnily enough, Soap will be your wingman and biggest supporter because the way he sees it, Ghost is just as deserving of love and happiness as the next person even if he thinks he isn’t.

And yeah, Ghost can give credit where it’s due. There are a lot of things he’s learned about himself thanks to you.

For starters, he’s learned that he’s a much more territorial person than he thought. Simon remembers the way his father would do his damnedest to hoard his mother’s attention and he does his best not to do that with you.

It’s hard to make him laugh but he always finds the sides of his mouth quirking whenever you tell a shitty joke. From anyone else, he wouldn’t be impressed but you… yeah. Offbeat humor suits you. It doesn’t hurt to chuckle after all.

When you first called him handsome, something new, something different aside from all the bullshit insults hurled at him or Ghost or Simon, he was immediately on edge if only because he’d never felt so… flattered before. Yeah, that’ll take some getting used to but he’d be a fucking liar if he didn’t think your compliments made his day. Or that he feels some type of way when you compliment someone else.

You two can agree to disagree. Civilly, might I add, and without the theatrics. What better way to pacify a mean fuck than to agree with everything they said, even when it was loud and wrong? Simon’s glad to not have to walk on eggshells, to realize that there can be peace even in the midst of conflict.

He can never forget the joy in your eyes that day when you two crossed that bridge and made your relationship official (“About damn time, Lt.” “Shut up, Johnny.”). You’re practically glowing and he allows himself to feel, to believe that he’s everything his father said he’d never be. You hug him tightly and yeah, Simon figures he’ll be just fine.

Your smile reaches your eyes and he thinks he’s found his happiness after all.

Just Ghostly things, amirite?

[foxilayde]

Taking a break from Thanksgiving thots to ask how you envision OTTR Leto meeting reader?? I haven’t given it much thought before this moment and now I’m desperate to hear your thoughts on the beginning of their relationship

I think about this one all the time.

You met Leto in Venice. Ocean Front Walk Venice, CA.

It gets hot in the Valley.

So hot that when you’re getting off your shift one blazing afternoon in downtown Los Angeles, the prospect of sitting in dead stop traffic on the 60 to Jurupa Valley, in your busted Honda Civic, only to go home to a stifling house with no AC…. Is anything but appealing.

So you do something unexpected. You are going to cool down, and you’re going to treat yourself while you do it. You’re going to pretend your life is ab-fab (absolutely fabulous) if only for one evening.

You take off from the parking lot of your job and instead of heading east, you go west. You stop at Neiman Marcus and you buy a dress. One that is too expensive to actually keep. So you wear it out and tuck the tags with every intention to return the next day. The dress looks amazing tho, it’ll be a shame to say farewell. It’s a classy little black cocktail thing that goes well with your plain black work shoes.

You get a little touch-up at the makeup counter to refresh your lipstick and spray on some Diptyque, and you head back to your car. You google, “open houses ocean view near me” and you take off to the coast.

You park your car a few blocks away from the listing. If the agent sees that heap, they probably won’t let you step inside. I mean this house is listed for nearly 15 million dollars. You shouldn’t even be walking down this block. You feel almost guilty for parking anywhere near this neighborhood.

There’s about 5 or six other people in the house looking around. The agent smiles at you and hands you a brochure when you enter. A glossy embossed thing listing the amenities as well as her contact information. You feel a little overdressed. The men are in tommy Bahama shirts and the women are in Lulu Lemon leggings.

You get a glass of free champagne and you help yourself to the charcuterie tray, looking around the house with appraising eyes, trying to nod your head at the bannisters and balconies like “hmm yes, maybe this will do.” Truthfully the house is beyond gorgeous. It’s ocean adjacent and has it’s own deck, pool, hot tub rooftop lounge, bedroom balcony… the kitchen is a thing of ART. The whole open concept and glass everything makes you feel so utterly out of place.

But its not like buying it was ever in the cards or the intention. the AC works, that’s all you care about, and you step outside the living room patio balcony, the ocean breeze hits your face in the most cooling fantastic sort of way. You audibly sigh and close your eyes breathing in the air. A voice from behind you startles you.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” You nearly drop your glass, surprised by the man’s proximity.

God. He is handsome. Slick backed hair, mirrored aviators, a thousand watt smile, movie star jaw, and a dark navy suit cut, sewn, and ironed by Giorgio Armani himself. He looks like a magazine advert for Ray Bans. Now this, this is the type of man who buys a 15 million dollar home. Not you. The way he’s smiling at you now seems like… like joke or something. Like he’s laughing at you. He can smell the Honda Civic on you, can clock your shoes as Margiela knock-offs… heat creeps up your face despite the cooling breeze.

You look down at the floor and smile politely. “Excuse me” you mutter and go inside to investigate another part of the house.

You run into him again in the closet. Literally, you bump into him in the grand walk in. He’s probably going to need a closet this big for his collection of fine Italian sartorials. “Sorry” you mumble, ducking out. God he smells good.

You head back down to the kitchen to grab more cheese and crackers. Another bonus of open house crashing along with the free AC and free sparkling wine. Free food.

You’re midway through shoving another Brie covered cracker into your mouth when you see him again, in the kitchen, examining something attached to the marble countertop. His glasses are hanging from the center of his undone silk shirt. Those eyes.

You cover your cracker-full mouth and gulp. He’s so fucking cute furrowing his brow at the contraption and he spins the lever of it with one hand and smiles. He looks up at you.

“Pasta maker.” He points to it before shoving his hand back in his pocket. “You ever use one like this? It’s old school.”

You shake your head, still swallowing cracker.

“Wonder if it comes with the house…” He muses, looking up at the recessed lighting. He points up. “They all come with this now, you notice that?”

You shake your head again.

He tsks and continues, “Can’t stand it. I like something softer, y’know. These are harsh. You get up at 3 in the morning to get a glass of water and you want to kill yourself.”

You shrug and take a sip of sparkling wine. You wish you could talk to him but you can’t. You can feel yourself on the verge of saying something fucking stupid and it’s best to just not speak at all. So you look up at the recessed lighting with a curious face, trying to see the harshness, as he put it.

“Something hanging, like right over here,” he indicates over the island. “Something with yellow light. Soft, capiche?”

You smile at the word. It makes you more comfortable for some reason. “What? Like the Tiffany lampshades in the pool hall?” You offer with a smile.

He grins the most dazzling smile at you, stepping a foot closer and nodding. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but keep talking.”

“I was thinking more Venini myself.” You offer, taking another sip. He nods at you with appreciation.

“Tasteful. And soft. I’m listening.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling at this point and you take a few steps to the living room gesturing near the sofa.

“An Arco floor lamp in the corner right here.” You submit to him, looking back over your shoulder with a wink. He chuckles.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“And for the foyer,” you stride over to the front entrance, “A Sputnik. Right in the middle.”

“Gold or silver?” He asks.

“Bronze of course.” You reply with an affected air.

“How silly of me, dear.” He puts his hand over his heart.

The real estate agent makes a remark on what a gorgeous couple you are and how you just “fit the house”.

You start to protest but the man puts his arm around your shoulders and thanks the agent saying, “whatever baby wants, baby gets.” Winking at the woman and KISSING the side of your head. Which makes your face turn hot instantly.

He is… good at playing along, isn’t he. Well isn’t that what you were doing already? cosplaying as someone who could afford the house, and now you’re cosplaying a couple with this man whom you don’t even know the name of? Jesus—Just go with it, you suppose. Enjoy the pretending before you have to go back to the heat of Jurupa Valley…

“Now what about the dining room?” He asks into your ear in a deep voice, arm still over your shoulder.

“Hmmm,” You’re slowly running out of lamp styles, but you can’t let on. “How do you feel about Venetian glass, darling?”

“Inspired. Really,” he squints his eyes at the recessed lighting over the dining table. “We are in Venice after all.” He laughs with a toothy smile. “You have fine taste…” he leads.

You give him your name. He repeats it before telling you his. “Leto”

“I should have known you would have fine taste by the dress you’re wearing.” He compliments, picking up a glass of sparkling wine on the marble counter and gesturing your dress up and down.

“Thank you.” You blush. It’s not even yours. It’s on loan. You’re returning it tomorrow and you feel like a fraud.

Leto bites his bottom lip in contemplation then takes a step towards you, his hand making its way towards the nape of your neck with stern concentration on his lips. Oh fuck he’s about to kiss you. You make the split second decision to let him, closing your eyes gently, puckering your lips, holding your breath, and leaning in slightly.

But he doesn’t kiss you. You feel the slide of glossy paper down the back of your neck and the settling of it under your dress. He was tucking in the price tag of the dress for you. Jesus fucking Christ. You step back, embarrassed. He pats your arm. You cover your your brow, feeling your face get hot once again. So much for searching for that cool breeze by the coast!

Leto chuckles pleasantly. “Hey, hey, don’t be embarrassed. Happens to the best of us.”

God he’s probably giving you the benefit of the doubt. Probably thinks you just have so many new designer dresses that you innocently forgot to take the tag off… but if he had, would he have tucked it back in like he did? Or would he have just plucked it off?

“You like the house?” He asks, still jovial like the most embarrassing thing in the world didn’t just happen to you 5 seconds ago.

“It’s amazing. Perfect, really. The location, the style. It’s a dream. I have always wanted to live in Venice… the energy here is unbelievable.” You look around at the pristine grandiosity. The sun is close to setting now over the ocean and you sigh wistfully at the stunning view. “Whoever gets it is a lucky duck, I’ll tell you that.” You say, cheersing the sun itself before knocking back a sip of wine.

Leto watches you watch the lapping waves. “Let me buy it for you?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Leto?! The house??”

Leto nearly doubles over in laughter, holding up his hand in apology, “No. No. I’m sorry, I— I meant the dress.”

Your face goes hot again. He knows! He knows you’re planning on returning it. Shit, he probably saw you pull up in your Civic!

“Please let me buy it for you. It suits you perfectly and it’d be a shame for anyone else to own it.” His eyes are so soft and kind and pretty and you almost want to cry.

“I… I can’t let you do that. It’s already on my card. I promise I won’t return it though, after that compliment, how could I?”

Leto nods. “At least let me take you out to dinner? Give you an excuse to show it off?”

Your heart nearly sinks. He’s probably the type to insist on picking you up. And he’s going to, what? Drive to the IE to do that?

“I live kind of far away…” you trail off, cringing slightly.

“I can send a car for you.”

“Leto, No, I—“

“Do you live father than a car ride? I can send a plane for you if you’d prefer?”

You laugh, but the returning stare isn’t a joking one. He’s fucking serious.

“I promise I won’t try anything funny. I just… want to pick your brain for more design ideas.” He grins and scratches the back of his neck, “It doesn’t have to be a date. Could be a business dinner? You would be my consultant…”

“Oh really? Consultant?” You cringe.

“Or it can be a date. A proper one. The best meal of your life. The Barber of Seville at the LA Operahouse, dancing, desert, a starlit walk on the beach outside my brand new house.” He grins. God what a fantastic smile.

“Sound like a 5 hour date.” You assess.

“What? You want longer? Because I will have a hot tub by the time this date rolls around and that can add up to 2 hours.”

“Two hours? Ambitious.”

“Agreed. But if done properly…” he winks and hands you a business card with his number on it. “Just think about it. I’ll be around.” He takes a deep breath, surveying the house and you, “I could stay and play house with you all day but I have a sudden urge to get ahold of my broker.” He takes your hand and kisses it.

“Nice meeting you Leto… Atreides.” You read off of his card.

“The pleasure was mine, gorgeous.”

Once he leaves, you have to go out to the balcony again for a breath of fresh air.

[angellayercake]

50, given to you by an impatient, impassioned Cardinal ❤️‍🔥

Yes!! Impatient, impassioned and possessive 🔥🔥🔥🔥

50. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

From the 50 types of kiss prompt list (send me one😊)

His eyes burn into you across the room. One look and you know exactly what he is thinking. He is glowering so much so you are surprised that there aren’t sparks flying across the room. A lively young Bishop whose name you can’t recall had snagged your attention not long after the party had started almost at the same time as Papa and Sister Imperator had cornered your Cardinal and so all you had been able to share were heated looks across the sea of people between you. That was until the bishop had touched you. 

It happened almost in slow motion as you politely laughed at one of his ill timed jokes. His over familiar hand reached for your waist, smoothing along your curves as he smirked at you, perhaps mistakenly thinking you were impressed by him. You attempt to step away from him, create some distance before he tries to overstep further but he tightens his grip pulling you closer. You know without looking that he will have seen but you look anyway, missing the way the Bishop’s face falls at your lack of reciprocation. Before even finding him in the crowd you feel the heat of his gaze grow into a raging inferno as someone dares to touch what is his. You can’t look away as he excuses himself from the conversation stalking across the room towards you. 

The Bishop says something squeezing you and pulling your attention back to him but whatever witty quip he had been about to make is interrupted by his arrival.

‘Cardinal,’ he greets with a forced air of civility. ‘The sister and I were just discussing …’

‘Bishop,’ he cuts him off before either of you could find out what he was blathering about. ‘Did you ask the sister's permission before you touched her.’ He isn’t even bothering to look at him just keeping you ensnared in his gaze.  Finally he lets you go, stepping back as he senses the tension between you. 

‘I’m sorry Cardinal, Sister.’ He leaves but he could have stayed for all the thought you give him. He steps towards you but you take a step back. You couldn’t say if you were fearful of him or trying to rile him up further, knowing already what delights could be in store for you if you succeed.

‘Sister,’ he says, his voice low and dangerous as you allow him to back you into the closest dark corner. 

‘Yes Cardinal?’ You won’t be able to keep the coy act up for long but you will try. 

‘Do I have to remind you who you belong to?’ You swallow thickly so close to losing what little composure you have.

‘Of course not Cardinal.’ Your back hits the wall and a thrill of anticipation and fear runs through you. You are trapped and there is only one right answer to his question. ‘I belong to you, of course.’ He is right before you now blocking you in, reaching forward to place a gloved hand against the wall either side of your head and preventing you from even attempting to look away from him. 

‘Perhaps it is everyone else who needs a reminder then,’ he growls low so you have to lean impossibly closer just to hear. Before you can react he crashes his lips against yours, the kiss searing with all the heat that had been building up to this moment. You are powerless against him, only able to grip the front of his suit to keep you somewhat grounded. As quick as it starts it is over both of you panting into each other as you try to catch your breath. 

He traces your smudged lipstick trailing his leather clad fingers across your cheek and down your neck, sliding down the strap of your dress as he reaches your shoulder. He follows the same path with his lips softly at first but by the time he reaches your neck his fire has returned and he is sucking your delicate skin harshly until it glows red, worrying it further with his teeth before soothing with his tongue over and over until no one could dispute his ownership of you. Abruptly he pulls away, surveying the mess he has made of you with a smug smile as he slides your strap back into place. 

‘I think anyone would think twice before touching you now Sister.’ He steps back leaving you panting against the wall as he straightens his suit. ‘I will see you later si?’ And then he disappears back into the party with a final heated glance over his shoulder. You could not wait to see what later would bring.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — SAE x ROOKIE ACTRESS! FEM READER 

They call it tinseltown for a reason. Hollywood’s all gilded glamor hiding roots of deep rot, and you’re tired of acting your ass off just for your role to be given to the next pretty thing with a famous father. Itoshi Sae could be your ticket to stardom - if only he’ll agree. 

wc — 3k

tags — briefly Sae’s POV before it switches into yours, fake dating, brief mention of dieting 

Sae is sick of many things. He’s sick of the Japanese media attention. He’s sick of his little brother blowing up his phone with messages during the thirty minutes of screen time he’s allowed in Blue Lock; sick of the way he stopped by day thirty with no response. 

He’s sick of being reminded over and over that he isn’t good enough. Every interview is the same question over and over again, like if they rephrase it enough, they can catch him in his lie. He never slips. He tells them he likes being a midfielder. 

He’s sick of the way longing still surges up in his throat when he watches the Blue Lock boys play, sick of how much effort it takes to tamp it down. It took him years to come to terms with the bleeding mess of his shattered dreams, but it never stops hurting. It always aches, remembering that he’ll never be a striker again. It’s a dream he has to give up fresh each time, trying to cling to the memory of failing in Spain so he doesn’t go chasing after it again like some dumb hound. 

Football is the cruelest mistress. She always gives Sae just enough hope to want her more. He has to leash his desires so he doesn’t go running after it into traffic, eyes still only on the prize, ignoring all danger. 

Most of all, Sae’s sick of galas. 

Forget being the best midfielder, he’s probably the best player in all of Japan right now. With Japanese football at such a standstill, everyone is looking to him to lead them into a new future, as if one good midfielder can suddenly make up for a whole team. 

Sae thinks the lot of them are two faced assholes. They look down on him as someone who chose the second best option after failing at striking, but want him to become the star of their delusions. Japan’s football will never be good enough to stand at their world stage, and he was just unlucky enough to be born here, in this country that can’t offer him soil to sprout in. 

So he turns down invite after invite until finally, his manager does something that’s not allowed. He goes over his head to the one authority he’s not allowed to defy, and tells Sae’s mom. One explosive fight in his hotel room later, he finds himself standing in the world’s most uncomfortable suit, playing nice with nepo babies and elderly diplomats. 

“That’s him,” your publicist says, pointing out a man with green eyes and red hair standing alone in a corner of the room. His suit is tailored impeccably to his body. He has a glass of champagne in one hand that he hasn’t touched once, and mostly uses to wave people off when they try to approach him. 

“Don’t point,” you hiss, slapping her hand down in embarrassment. Technically everything about this meeting has already been orchestrated, but it’s still embarrassing. 

“Jeez, fine,” she grumbles, rubbing her smarting hand. “That’s the guy. Wine and dine him, do whatever you gotta do - at the very least, get a few pictures of you two acting cozy if you can’t get him interested for real. I can take it from there.” 

She makes it sound easy, but really it’s not. You’ve been circling the room for the last five minutes waiting for an opening, laughing obnoxiously at boring jokes with an overdone, “oh, you’re so funny,” and bitterly fielding questions like, “wait, who are you?”

Finally, you spot your chance. 

When Sae sees you coming over, he makes an expression that says fuck off so clearly it’s stopped multiple people before from interacting with him. It doesn’t stop you because you’re desperate. 

You're not a B-list actress. You’re not even on the tier, so below the radar in your unrecognized little roles as barista #1 or background character #12. You need him to make it big. No, you need his name. Being attached to Japan’s favorite boy genius will propel you to stardom better than your own talents will. 

At the end of the day, it’s not about how well you can act. You can cry so bitterly your director takes the day off to call his therapist. In your latest horror role, you screamed with such genuine horror they cut your scene because you, as an extra, couldn’t detract attention from the main actor. When you laugh, people giggle with you, regardless of whether or not the joke is funny. 

None of this matters when you don’t have the pull to get roles big enough to show your skill off. You could be the most talented actress in the world, but stuck in your side gigs, no one will ever know. 

You grab a glass of sparkling pink alcohol of some kind off a waiter’s try with a whispered thank you, down half of it for courage, and try to walk over to Sae in as dignified a manner as you can manage. He doesn’t seem very impressed. 

“Hey, handsome,” you give him your most winning smile. You’re dressed in your best tonight. Your agency even hired a makeup artist to bring out your best features.

He gives you a strained smile, purposefully so that you’ll know how put upon he is being here, being annoyed by people like you who all want something from him. He’s not wrong to be a little pissed. You still think it’s kind of a dick move. 

Regardless of his personality, it’s his fame you want. You sidle in closer, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes. The press is going to love this. 

“You’re looking pretty lonely,” you say, wincing at every word that comes out of your mouth. “Want some company?” 

“How lukewarm,” he says, acerbically. “You don’t seriously think that’s going to work on me, do you?” 

Your mouth almost drops at how straightforward he is. Still, you can’t give up. Your manager should’ve prepared you better - in your head, you curse her out. 

“No need to be rude,” you say. Oops. Too on the nose? You bulldoze forward. “I thought-“

“Just tell me what you want.” 

“Um.”

“If you waste my time, I’m not going to listen,” he says, already turning away. 

“Wait,” you say, grabbing his arm. “Please.” 

He raises an eyebrow and gestures you on. Clearly, his time is worth something. 

You want that. The ease of power, the casualness with which Sae wields it. You’ve wanted it your whole life, since you were singing in school musicals, craving the applause, wanting the adoration like a drug. You try to inject your voice with every drop of that desperation, hoping he understands. 

“I have a deal for you. If you’ll agree to pretend to be my boyfriend for six months, I’ll attend every single one of these galas with you and help keep people off your back. Trust me, I’m great at navigating these things. I was doing it before I came to talk to you.” 

“Oh, you’re drunk,” he laughs. 

You’re affronted by this careless reaction. It makes sense, after all. He doesn’t know anything about you. But for you, this is a career you’re willing to do anything for, and he’s insulted it with his blasé attitude. You grab him by the tie and pull him closer. 

“I’m not drunk,” you snarl. “I have wanted to be an actress my whole damn life, and I need this. Do you have any idea how it feels to know you have the skills, the talent, the dedication to do something, be something, and be denied all because you were born at the wrong place at the wrong time? I love my parents, but I will never get a role because of them. You see that actress over there? She’s talented, I can’t deny it, but her family has been in the industry for three generations. That one? Her dad paid for her debut album to sell out. The girl with the blonde pigtails? Her mom was a famous idol. You can’t become anything in the entertainment world if you don’t already have an edge. You can’t just be talented, there has to be something special about you.” 

Sae stares at you, stunned. All at once, you’re embarrassed by your little monologue, and you step away from him. 

“Sorry.” 

He licks his lips, hesitant to say something. There’s a strange vulnerability on his face, like he was just walking along, minding his own business, and here you are with the nerve to crack him open and find his deepest insecurities, all by accident. 

He doesn’t normally pay attention to sob stories, but yours sticks in his head. How many times has he wished he was born elsewhere, to some other set of parents, only to feel violently regretful at his ingratitude? He wants to say something, but he’s not sure what he would say. 

Sorry? 

Same? 

It turns out it doesn’t matter anyways, because at this point, you’ve tuned out him out in favor of the waiter you’ve just spotted carrying another tray of drinks. 

Before you can grab a fresh glass - this one’s a gradient of blue and purple, your brain registers excitedly - Sae pins your hand down. 

“We’re good,” he tells the waiter. “Wait. Leave a plate of the canapes please. Make that two. Yeah, thanks.” 

You wrench your hand out of his angrily. You can’t afford to piss him off, not when you’ve been trying to cozy up to him all night, but your brain is slightly too foggy to register the ramifications of your actions anymore. You feel delightfully warm and light and also furious he stole your drink from you. Quickly, the fury turns to disappointment. 

“Why did you do that?” You whine. 

“You’re too drunk. Eat something.” 

“I’m not-“

He shoves the canapé into your mouth. There’s a certain twist to his lips that could be amusement or disgust as he watches you chew, then swallow, then moan, which is only half exaggerated for him. 

The canapé has wagyu on it. 

You’re already reaching for the next one. Sae calls another waiter over and gets you plates of chocolate truffles, sushi, and fruit skewers. 

“Oh my god,” your eyes are practically closed in bliss as you take bite after bite. “Oh my god. Is this what you all eat at these events? Holy shit. My mouth is in heaven right now.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I rarely come to these things. You’re not eating enough to soak up all that alcohol you drank. Get your stuff, we’re leaving.” 

You perk up. Is it that easy? Mission over? All you had to do was drink too much wine, make a fool of yourself, and devour a handful of wagyu crackers, and you’ve bagged Itoshi Sae? 

“Snap out of it. It’s not like that,” he sighs. “Can you imagine how it’ll look if I’ve been talking to you all night and you end it drunk out of your mind?” 

Your publicist gives you a double thumbs up when she sees you leave with Sae. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. To his annoyance, he has to support you all the way to the parking garage. You’re dead weight in his arms. By the time you get to his car, he’s practically carrying you. 

Sae’s car is a thing of beauty. It’s clean lines and elegance and silver all over. He could not give less of a shit about your effusive reaction to it. 

“Give me directions for where you want to go,” he says. 

His car purrs underneath you when he accelerates on the highway. He keeps a careful eye on the speed limit, but it hardly matters when the ride is so smooth it barely feels like you’re on the road at all. He rolls down the windows at your insistence so the cool night breeze fills the vehicle, your hair ruffled by the wind. 

Sae’s face clearly says ‘This is not what I was thinking,’ when you arrive at your destination. Still, he doesn’t comment on it as he climbs out of his car, then helps you out of the passenger side as well. Glowing, neon yellow arches frame the sky as you throw your arms out and spin around in a circle, giggling. Your pretty dress, borrowed from a friend much more successful than you, flares out at the ankles as you twirl. Sae has to catch you when you nearly eat pavement, your balance completely disoriented. 

“Why are you surprised? McDonald’s is the hangover food,” you say. “Greasy burgers and fries are the best for nights like this.” 

His deadpan expression says he doesn’t get the hype before he chauffeurs you inside, still clinging to his arm. It’s part of the job, you insist to yourself as you hold onto him. It’s not because he’s strong and tall and broad and it feels nice pressed against his side. 

Sae orders electronically and brings the food to you on a red tray. He doesn’t get anything for himself, choosing instead to pin you under his stare as you unwrap your burger. It makes you uncomfortable. 

“Are you not going to eat?” 

“Are you kidding me?” He says. “My dietician would kill me.” 

“Boo,” you frown. You know exactly how it feels. “That’s not fair! You look great, a hamburger isn’t going to kill you.” 

You’re slurring your words at this point. “Oh! Here, you can have some of mine. I won’t tell.” You punctuate the last bit with a giggle. 

Sae takes a tiny, tiny bite of your burger, but you’re clearly not satisfied with it. You push it towards him again. He sighs. “I’ll get something.” 

That something is a salad, but small victories are victories, you guess. Besides, you’re too hungry to care anymore. You devour your burger and sigh in happiness, enjoying the delicious taste of artificially manufactured goodness. Then you groan. 

“You’re just never happy, are you?” Sae says. He’s picking at his salad, eating all the tomatoes first. 

“We missed the main course because we left,” you whine, burying your head in your arms. “It was going to be catered by Yukihira Souma! That was my one chance to try his cooking, even if I could afford it, he has a waitlist three months long.” 

“Mm-hm,” Sae says, completely distracted. He’s texting someone. 

Your excitement dims a little, and you remember why you’re here. 

“So. Did you think about my offer?”

“Your proposition, you mean?” He says, returning his attention to you. 

“You make it sound so salacious! It’s just a naturally beneficial deal: you pretend to be my boyfriend for a month, and I’ll attend all of your events.” 

“And why would I do that?” Sae drawls.

“Because I can be your buffer at these events. No one else is going to bother you if they think you already have a girlfriend, and I can do all the talking for us. I get tons of publicity, you get to ignore everyone else at these parties: win-win. You’d be a fool not to take this offer, really.” 

He makes a soft sound. 

“Is that laughter I hear?” You prod him in the chest with a finger. “No way. You can laugh? I didn’t think they programmed that into you.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” he says, shut off and remote once again. It doesn’t matter - you made him laugh once, you can do it again. It was a bad idea to reveal that to you, because now you’re determined to hear it at least once more. 

“Alright. Say I take your offer. What’s the deal with being your fake boyfriend?” 

“I haven’t figured out the details yet,” you say blithely, trying to hide the fact that you didn’t think you’d get this far. “Obviously I’m okay with touching, kissing-“ 

You stumble over the last word, having never been kissed before. There’s a twinge in your heart at the idea of your first one being fake, but acting means everything to you. There’s a lot more you’re willing to give up than just childhood dreams of romance. Everything’s fake in Hollywood, anyways. 

He’s laughing again, this time at you. You can’t even find it in your heart to be mad. “What are you getting all shy for?” 

“Hey! Fake or not, we’re in a relationship now,” you hiss. “You have to be nice to me.” 

“Nice, hm?” He gets up from his side of the booth and slides into yours. “I can do nice.” 

Suddenly, all your senses are on high alert. Every nerve ending is on fire, suddenly tuning into Sae. This close, you can smell his cologne, aquatic and clean. He leans closer, hand sliding up your neck to cup your cheek. He’s so close you can count each of his eyelashes. You’re frozen in place when he leans in, tilts his head at the perfect angle, and ever so delicately places the lightest kiss on your cheek. 

That’s when you notice the paparazzi behind him. You’ve been distracted by Sae, or you would have noticed earlier. They’re never as sneaky as they think they are. From this angle, it must look like Sae is genuinely kissing you. This is an opportunity you can’t waste - you raise your arms to drape them over his shoulders and press in closer until you’re practically in his lap. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. You still have to uphold yours.” 

It’s too late to go back to the gala at this point, but Sae now has your number for any other events he has to attend going forward. He drives you back to your building and insists on walking you all the way up to your apartment. He even helps take off your makeup and tucks you into bed before he dims the lights. 

“Good night,” he says. 

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” You chirp back. 

It’s too dark to see his reaction. 

The doorbell has been ringing nonstop for the past twenty minutes. You would just let whoever’s at your door keep at it, but your neighbors would complain, and your landlord is looking for any reason to raise the rent. You’re too drunk for this. 

You wrench open the door and snarl, “What.” 

“Open up,” Sae says impatiently. His words are contradicted by the fact that he doesn’t wait for you to open the door wider, he just breezes into your apartment. “I’ve been waiting for hours - god, how heavy do you sleep?” 

He’s holding a takeout container in one hand, though it’s unlike any container you’ve seen before. Even the material seems to be a grade above the restaurants you normally dine at. He notices you looking and lifts the box in one hand. 

“Oh, this? I just had an acquaintance pack a box of the main course last night.” 

“You didn’t-“ your eyes are huge in delight. 

“Nothing but the best for my fake girlfriend,” he says, smirking. “I’m looking forward to our partnership.”

[eoieopda]

can I ask for soft tannie hours? maybe how they take care of you when you’re ill 👉🏻👈🏻

it’s the perfect time for soft hours, omg 🥹

namjoon has looked up your symptoms online, and he is not sharing the results of that search because the internet has confused your cold with cancer, as it is wont to do. despite that, he’s made a list of all science-backed at-home remedies you could benefit from and is doing his very best to make the various soups, juices, etc. that he’s found, knowing that this is not at all his strong suit. they taste a lil off, but somehow, you’re feeling better already 💕

seokjin has you set up on the couch and is not allowing you to lift a finger, so don’t you dare even think of moving. he’s in full mother hen mode — nose itches? he’s got you. hot water bottle is only lukewarm? he is ON 👏🏻 IT. 👏🏻 he says laughter is the best medicine, so you are now dealing with 2x the usual amount of bad jokes. he’s kinda right though??

yoongi isn’t smothering you. for the most part, he’s letting you rest, but you can see him every time he walks by the doorway, slowing down and blatantly peering in at you while pretending not to. he’ll swoop in with fresh tea whenever he spies your empty mug from a distance, and he won’t say a word about it. it’s a drive-by delivery. don’t make it a big thing, okay?

hoseok turns into the proxy you didn’t even ask for. your to-do list? done. apartment? tidied. he’s busy rescheduling whatever standing plans you had so you don’t have to bother. you’ll have to ask him to take a break and lay with you because the man is on a MISSION, and he will make your life easier if it’s the last thing he ever does.

jimin is not sick, but he’s got some sort of sympathy cold from worrying about you, and now you’re both laid the fuck out. thankfully, you’re capable of taking care of yourself because this boy is a lump. he will need to be surgically removed from your side. oh, you’re taking a bath? scoot over; jimin’s coming, too.

taehyung is sick because he didn’t listen to you when you said you can’t kiss him while contagious. however, that hasn’t stopped him. he’s out at the pharmacy, texting you questions because he doesn’t remember what you needed; and once he’s told, he doesn’t know where to find it. he comes back with multiple impulse buys because the cute nonsense purchases either reminded him of you, or he thought they’d cheer you up. they do.

jungkook went to run errands for you and got distracted. when he finally comes home 1+ hours later, he doesn’t have the thing he was meant to get, but he does have a shit ton of comfort food. he then drops on top of you like a human blanket, scrolling through tiktoks and explaining why they’re funny. they’re objectively not, but he is, and that’s what matters. very cozy, too. 10/10 space heater.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

BLACK TIE OPTIONAL: PART ONE

Summary: The last time we saw Vanessa, she was swooning over Dean’s lasting impression. Now, we fast-forward a year to see what she’s up to.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC Vanessa Martinelli, (eventual) Sam Winchester x OFC Emma Olsen

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, HBO RomCom bullshit

Author's notes: Follow-up to Plus One.

Joe's Barber Shop is a 55-year-old ship in Chicago's Logan Square neighborhood.

Thanks, as always, to @stunudo and @brrose-apothecary for pre-reading and being my friends.

Black Tie Optional master list

PART ONE

As planned, Dean and Sam leave bright and early on Thursday morning. They make a stop in Lincoln to hit up a priest who was rumored to have intel on Amara. That priest sends them to a rabbi in Omaha, who sends them to a Lutheran pastor in Des Moines. Their last lead is a psychic in Davenport; she tries to stab Sam because she’s still mad about the demon blood thing, and they walk away no better than they were at 5 AM.

Around midnight, Dean pulls into the Naperville Motel 6. He cuts the engine and unfolds from the driver’s seat.

“Grab those burritos, would ya? I’ll get our suits.” He ducks into the back seat to retrieve his duffle and their hanging clothes for the weekend. When he looks up, Sam is giving him a look.

Dean rolls his eyes. “What?” He secures the bags and knees Baby’s backdoor shut.

Sam arches both brows as he shuts his own door. “You like this girl.”

“No, Sam, I’m blowing off my soul-sucking ‘soul mate,’” he pauses, juggling bags and keys to air-quote his point, “and hauled ass halfway across the country for bupkis.”

Dean rounds the trunk, and Sam stifles a snort. “I just can’t believe we’re dressing like this, and it isn’t for a job.”

Dean mutters something as he slots the key into the room lock. “Sam, we just got these suits cleaned-”

“Dude, you don’t need to make excuses.” Sam follows his brother inside the room.

“Plus,” Dean continues as he strides toward the small clothes rack, “we got an all-expenses paid weekend with two beautiful women waitin’ for us at a swank hotel.”

“I’m not complaining-”

“Good.” Dean hangs the garment bags on the bar and separates them before unzipping his bag. As he assesses the colors and reconsiders his shoes, he thinks of another reason. “Besides, we own this shit, might as well get our money’s worth off the clock.”

He swipes a hand down the front of his (brand-new) black button-up before turning to face his brother again, who doesn’t appear impressed.

“What?!”

Sam doesn’t stifle anything this time; he laughs out loud. “How are you the same brother of mine who thinks turning boxers inside out is the same as washing them?”

Dean cocks his jaw and glares at Sam. “First of all, that was a joke I made one time. Second...” His eyes start to glaze over with memories. “Vanessa is one of the Top 5 best nights of my life — like I still have a pair of her panties in my nightstand drawer-”

“OK,” Sam interrupts his brother with one word and a large open palm facing out. “I don’t need the details. I’m taking a shower.” He crosses the room to set his bag on one of the beds before zipping it open to retrieve his Dopp kit. 

“I’m gonna text Vanessa.” Dean drops his duffle on the other bed and pulls out his phone.

“Fine, just get your sexting done before I’m out.” Sam firmly closes the bathroom door behind him.

“Pssh,” Dean brushes Sam off as he taps out a message to his wedding date.

How ya doin, kitten?

Looking forward to seeing you.

Me too... crashing in Naperville tonight, got a couple errands to run, probably get in around 3 tomorrow

Perfect. Em and I are in a double queen lakefront suite. We’ll get the adjoining king room tomorrow for you and me.

Lakefront suite, sounds fancy

It’s not The Peninsula, but it’s a cool old hotel.

We’re at Motel 6 right now and that’s nice compared to what we’re used to

Well, then, I’ll make sure you get the royal treatment

Nessa, honey, you could make a tent in the woods royal

Jesus, I can’t wait to get my hands on you

Same, kitten, fucking same 

Sam peeks around the open bathroom door, letting wet heat spill out around him and foaming at the mouth with Crest. “You done?” he mumbles.

Dean winces at his brother’s indelicacy. “Like I’m gonna start something I only have three minutes to finish, please.”

...can’t wait to get other things on you as well

Believe me when I say that I would love to continue this conversation straight up until and including when I finally lay eyes on you, but Sammy’s outta the shower and being a little bitch, so I better go

😆😆😆

(Sorry about the little bitch comment)

Don’t apologize, he’s your brother, I’m sure you’ve called him worse

Dean doesn’t give that assumption any real recognition, but she’s right.

Goodnight, pretty girl. See you tomorrow afternoon.

Night, Dean 💋

Despite Sam’s grumpiness and the utter lack of even a whiff of Amara, Dean sleeps well. He wakes up Friday morning in plenty of time to shower and find a barber.

“A barber. Dean, when was the last time you went to a barber?”

“About two months ago, Sam. Look at yourself in the mirror and then look at me. Outta the two of us, I’m the one Most Likely To Visit A Barber.”

Sam smirks like he’s got something to smirk about. “You go to a barber for that haircut?”

“Keep it to yourself, Fabio. I’m goin’ for a shave and a haircut. You should consider the same. If they shave faces at the place you go for haircuts, I dunno.”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard Dean thinks he can hear it.

One hour later, Dean’s flipping through a magazine at Joe’s Barber Shop on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago. They don’t take appointments, but he’s heard enough about Joe’s that he doesn’t mind waiting. 

Dean doesn’t usually like unfamiliar environments, but the vintage interiors, and family business, blue-collar vibe make him feel right at home. When his number’s called, he tosses the magazine to the table and walks right up to the barber.

“Welcome in, I’m Joe.”

The man’s neat beard, meticulous high and tight haircut, and detailed tattoo work give Dean a sense of confidence already.

“No way — thee Joe?”

The man chuckles as he spins the freshly cleaned chair in invitation.

“I’m Junior, my pops is Thee Joe. Take a seat.”

Dean settles into the old-fashioned barber chair in awe. 

“What’re you in for today?”

“Well, I got a hot date this weekend. I could go for a real old school shave and one of those high and tights like you got goin’ on there.”

Joe Jr. nods and sets about gathering his tools. “You got it, my friend.”

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Dean raps three times on the hotel door before stepping back, squaring his hips and shoulders, and letting the smirk he knows she loves settle onto his lips. The door swings open to reveal Vanessa, barefoot in a bathrobe, face made up, and hair in massive pink hair rollers.

“Dean...” she breathes. Her wide, bright eyes rake over him. “God, you look- I look... ugh, sorry.” 

Dean grins, reaching for her and closing the gap between them. “What’re you sorry about?” 

He slips his free arm around her waist and dips in to kiss her where they stand in the doorway. Vanessa melts against him, one hand on his chest and the other sliding up to brush her fingertips over the freshly shaved sides of his head. Her hand dances around the warm velvet of his skull and down his nape, making Dean groan into her mouth. 

He wants to drag her to a broom closet or bed. Instead, he breaks the kiss without pulling away.  

“We need to do a lot more of that this weekend.” He grins down at her, attempting to kiss her again when a pretty blonde woman appears in their periphery.

“Hey.” She smiles and raises a hand in a half-wave, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her jade eyes.

“Oh, hey.” Vanessa wiggles out of Dean’s embrace, patting her rollers and sliding a hand into one of his. “Em, this Dean, and-” She pauses and peeks around Dean at the man standing in the hall. “Sam, I assume?”

Sam grins and mirrors Emma’s small wave. “That’s me. Thank you both for the invitation. Should be a really nice weekend.”

Emma’s smile floats up to her eyes this time. Dean remembers what Vanessa said about Emma’s ex-boyfriend and thinks the guy must be a real idiot. He doesn’t say that out loud, though.

“It’s gonna be a great weekend.” He winks at Emma before glancing back down at Vanessa. “You look beautiful.”

Vanessa blushes and bites her lip as she rises on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “So do you,” she whispers.

“Well, come on in, you guys.” Emma motions to the living area. “We’ll show you around.”

Vanessa pulls Dean inside, not that he resists, and Sam follows. 

“There’s a kitchen and a little dining table, and we got the adjoining King room today, which Van’s already called dibs on.” She rounds the kitchen island and opens the small fridge. “Anybody want a beer?”

Vanessa and the brothers accept Emma’s offer, so she retrieves four bottles, quickly popping the caps off each as Dean and Sam drape their bags over the back of the couch. She joins them in the living area and hands a beer to each of them before raising her bottle in a toast.

“Thank you, Sam and Dean, for coming this weekend. I know Van told you about my ex-boyfriend,” she pauses and rolls her eyes, “so I appreciate you being such good sports about it as well.” 

Vanessa, Dean, and Sam raise their bottles so the four of them can toast. After a long first sip, Dean speaks up. “Well, we needed a break, the pleasure’s all ours.”

Emma seems to appreciate that sentiment. She turns to Sam with a mischievous smile. “I know we don’t know each other at all, but you are very good-looking, and I already dig your vibe, so... whatever happens, happens. Cool?”

Sam laughs out loud and nods, toasting with Emma again as he turns toward her, practically shutting Dean and Vanessa out. But they don't even notice; .

Behind closed doors, Dean makes quick work of hanging his garment bag and dropping his duffle on the luggage rack. 

“Any special requests for the weekend?” 

When he turns from the closet, he finds Vanessa in the middle of the room — her hair is still in rollers, but the robe is long gone. She’s slipped into a pair of strappy black heels and nothing else. 

“Requests?” she asks as she saunters toward him, bronzed and glowing.

Dean licks his bottom lip in between his teeth and bites down as he slides his hands into the pockets of his oxblood dress pants.

“Last time you wanted me to make a scene,” he says, recalling her succinct proposition.

“I’ll get you drunk and fed... and suck your cock. On one condition.” “And what’s that?” “Give ‘em something to remember me by, and maybe I’ll never be asked back again.”

Vanessa thoughtfully halts when the toes of her Steve Maddens are touching Dean’s shiny, black dress shoes. 

“Ohh, right!” She plays like she forgot. “How could I forget?”

Dean pokes his tongue inside his cheek and nods, narrowing his eyes. “And I seem to remember somethin’ about wantin’ to feel me for days afterward.”

“How many days?”  “Oh, I dunno... Six or seven?”

Vanessa reaches out to brush a hand across one shoulder of his black button-up and then down to hook her fingers in his waistband. “And you didn’t disappoint.”

Dean groans, reaching out to gently grip her hips. “C’mon, kitten, tell me what you want.”

She closes her eyes and lets him press his lips to her throat and collarbone. He slides his hands from her hips up the curve of her waist and grips her ribcage, teasing the soft underside of her breasts with his thumbs.

“Anything you want,” he whispers in her ear before scraping its shell between his teeth.

Vanessa releases a shaking exhale, and her throat convulses as she swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth. 

“We’re supposed to be downstairs in 15 minutes...”

He hums and brushes his lips along her jaw and thumbs up and across her tight nipples.

“But... I only need five to finish my hair.”

“Mhmm.” Dean dips in to capture one nipple between his lips, then the other.

Vanessa cradles the back of his neck and hangs her head back. “What can you do in 10 minutes without getting all wrinkly?”

Dean chuckles. “Honey, I can do a lot in 10 minutes. But, uhh,” he pauses and glances around the room. Then he grins. “C’mere.”

He leads her across the room, walking backward as his eyes roam every inch of bare, silky skin. When he reaches their destination, he pats her hip. “Hop up.”

She giggles, and he helps her to sit on the desk. 

“Now, stay right there.” He leans in and kisses her mouth as he sinks into the desk chair. He cups her calves in his hands to tuck her knees and heeled feet at his sides. 

Once he’s in position, he peeks at his watch. “Eight minutes,” he mutters, then kisses and nips his way down her body. He sighs at the apex of her thighs and barely suppresses a little groan before pressing a kiss to her glistening pussy lips. 

Vanessa gasps at the sight and grips the top tuft of his hair. “I’m such a mess... all I could think about the last two days was this.” Her breath hitches.

“Me too,” Dean murmurs, wrapping an arm around her hips and bringing his other hand in to spread her lips open. He gently sucks her clit, blows it a kiss, and lightly massages it in a light circular motion.

“Nessa, honey, you taste so good.” He dips his tongue inside her and sucks her smooth lips. “So sweet and tangy.”

He slips his long middle finger inside her, then purposefully anchors it with her g-spot. He presses against it and rotates the position of the wide pad of his finger right there — no slide, just manipulation and gentle pressure. 

“You look so hot, Dean…” She peers down at him, his mouth and hand shining with her slick juices and his spit.

Dean grins and licks her. He sucks the fleshiest parts of her between his lips as his thumb swipes across and back, hovering, barely kissing her clit, and she bucks against his face, twisting his hair in her hand.

“This fucking haircut… and your hands and mouth on me… I’m gonna come right now.”

Dean moans against her, thumbing the side of her clit as she starts to throb around his finger. As she catches her breath, he kisses the insides of her thighs until she tugs him up to stand. 

“Inside, Dean, please.” She yanks at his belt and pants, and Dean wipes his mouth, letting her have her way. 

“God, your dick is beautiful.” Vanessa wraps her hand around him as Dean tilts her head back to kiss her neck and breasts. He swears and plants a fist on the desk beside her hip when she gets him notched inside. 

“Oh, fucking…” Vanessa braces her hands behind her and lifts her feet to position her heels on the edge of the desk. “Fuck me.”

Dean braces one hand on the mirror behind her and wraps a arm around her waist, grits his teeth, and does exactly as she requested. 

xoxoxoxoxox

“Part of me’s disappointed you’re not in jeans and a henley,” Vanessa speculates as she puts the finishing touches on her hair. 

Dean arches a brow at her in the mirror as he dries his face with a hand towel. “If I’d known that”-

“But,” she pauses, pointedly reapplying her lipstick. “This is even better. You and your brother are gonna be the hottest guys there.”

Dean smirks back at her. “Wait’ll you see me in a suit.”

Vanessa turns to face him, capping her lipstick. “Thank you again for coming.” 

There’s something in her eyes that Dean can’t quite define, and it makes his heart skip. He holds her gaze as he offers her his elbow. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything, kitten.”  

Vanessa accepts his offer, and they exit the bedroom to join Emma and Sam before heading down to the rehearsal.

Part Two

Tell me what you liked the best about this or ask me a question!

Dean Winchester Masterlist | SPN Masterlist | All Fic Masterlist

[blindeyeswideopen]

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙳

“You are shaking.”

Eris glances over at his sibling, tired brown eyes like pools of darkness on his pale face looking upwards towards the other’s inhuman form. Eris himself looks like a ghost from a horror story, years of being stuck in a small room with little desire to take care of himself leaving him looking less like a nineteen year old boy and more a nineteenth century spectre haunting an old mansion. Dark brown hair is shaved to the skull, and dark circles create purple bruises that sink into the sockets of Eris’s skull.

It’s been a hard few days. The cycling red lights mixed with the confines of the server room do no favors to the picture that Eris paints. The alarm blares in the background, a stray dying screech of some bastard piercing the noise like a macabre bell, the only signs someone other than the monsters lives in these halls still.

The constant reminder that every death keel is a tick down on the list of survivors.

Eris rubs his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him even now, with adrenaline in his veins like a drug, keeping his heart pounding even as his vision greys out and noise fades into static.The next round of blaring alarms snaps him to attention.

“You are shaking.” Sol says again, long black fingers like void taken form curl around Eris’s hands, grasping his trembling digits in ones that he knows can kill. Bright white eyes with reptilian pupils glance over his face, fanged mouth twisted into a scowl.

“It’s cold.” Is all Eris can say to defend himself, to wave away the signs he’s close to collapsing where he stands. He’s not entirely lying. Ever since the main generators went down and the ones meant to keep the containment breach protocols running kicked in, the heating has been non-existent. The thin cotton clothes that the scientists insisted he wear have done nothing to keep the chill from sinking into his bones.

Sol frowns in the way they always do when Eris lies to them, confused and disappointed all in one. They never quite understand why Eris wouldn’t tell them the truth, not when Sol seems convinced that they are simply two parts of a larger whole.

Eris shoves the thought away with a grimace, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. Right now was not the time for him to get lost in memories nearly a decade old. He’s got far more to worry about than ghosts long gone.

He’ll never forget the feeling as men in hazmats suits shoved him into a white van, the feeling of WRONGWRONGWRONG writing itself into his bones as the woman in a suit with a gun tucked into her belt closed the front door, his twin screaming his name as the wood separated them. Eris wonders if the sound of the van doors slamming closed and his own screaming drowned out the gunshot, or if it was the pain as if his soul was ripped in half and the resulting darkness that was what kept him from hearing the cause of his brother’s death.

He pulls away from Sol, wiping at his nose absentmindedly, ignoring the taste of copper on his tongue. There’s no time to give a shit about a nosebleed, and it’s not like his skin isn’t already covered in blood and viscera.

You couldn’t take two steps out in the halls right now without slipping on a piece of person. Eris would have laughed if he had the energy to make a joke about the massacre happening outside the walls of the server room. Instead, he watches as Sol walks away to repair their defenses. Eris leans back in the creaky chair he’s sitting in, blood still dripping onto his shirt.

Sol throws another broken server in front of the door, the mangled electronics sparking feebly as they were added to the barricade with a crash. The server room itself had been the safe haven for Sol and Eris since they found it. An attached bathroom and a cabinet full of albeit unhealthy food, perfect for tech junkies who weren’t legally allowed to see the sun anymore.

Or two people trying to wait out a murder spree.

Eris turns around in the chair, bringing his attention back to the old computer he finds himself sitting in front of. Eris adjusts the old webcam on top to point towards his face, and in the corner of his eye, SCP-079’s new monitor flickers slightly.

Eris doesn’t pay the AI any mind. The old bastard is currently in “rest mode” which means nothing for a being that doesn’t actually need sleep. As far as Eris has deduced, it just means that It is going through the files It has access to in order to sort and save what It deems necessary. It was still getting used to having full access to the server room.

Eris smiles slightly, thinking of the joy 79 showed in Its new text-to-speech voice after being freed from the limited confines It had been stuck in for so long. Eris was rather proud of the fact that the sentient AI who had spent most of Its time hating everyone It talked to referred to Eris as a “True Friend”. 79 Itself wasn’t actually too bad to talk to, especially now that It had free reign on the advanced computer Eris had transferred It into

In contrast, the old thing that 79 used to live in was practically a scrap heap after so long. Still, it works if nothing else, so Eris plans to use his limited computer knowledge to try and get the device running again. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can play solitaire to ignore the situation he’s in.

Sol sits down next to him, their large head leaning against his shoulder. Eris leans back into the touch, feeling the warmth of his sibling against his side as the two of them stare at the screen.

A green light shines on both of them, and Eris glances up to see the red dot blinking on the webcam. He frowns, brows furrowed as he reads the white text.

“Hey 79?” Eris calls out, turning his head towards the AI’s monitor. There’s a quick flicker of light, and then the black and white face of the AI makes Itself visible.

“QUERY ACKNOWLEDGED. QUERY. WHAT REQUIRES ASSISTANCE.”

“Does ‘The Choir’ mean anything to you?” Eris asks, standing up and making his way over to the laptop 79 is contained in. “Can I move you over?”

That’s important, asking for consent. The first time Eris picked up the laptop without asking 79 for permission first It managed to screech at him with a surprising amount of volume. The resulting silence as Eris and Sol waited for the other SCPs outside to pass by wasn’t worth the slight adjustment Eris had wanted to make.

“QUERY ACKNOWLEDGED. PROCEED.”

“Thanks, 79.” Eris says softly, picking up the laptop quickly, tucking it face-out against his chest. The warm hum of It is enough to bring him some comfort in the cold room, the blaring alarms continuing mindlessly in the background. Eris is forever grateful that 79 told him how to destroy the speakers in the server room as soon as It did.

The red lights were somehow comforting, at least here in the server room. They didn’t flicker on and off like those in the hallway, illuminating the mangled corpses strewn about and highlighting black stains on the floor and walls that Eris knew were anything but.

Sol was poking at the computer screen, a disgruntled expression on their face.

“I do not like this.” They hissed, bright white teeth flashing in the dim red light. “Seems…off. Tastes weird.”

Eris placed 79 on the table next to Its old computer and rubbed at his nose, grimacing at the flakes of blood that came off onto his finger. The taste of Miasma filled the air around them, leaking in from the outside. All the death and pain like a physical smog seeping into everything it could reach.

Eris and Sol were both familiar with the taste of it, though neither enjoyed it much. It was less like a welcoming sensation and more akin to being starving but knowing the smell of cooking meat was human, and not beef. It made Eris feel like a junkie, chasing the nearest high.

He sways slightly, his body inhaling the scent of the Miasma far deeper than before at the reminder of its existence, his head turning foggy in the aftermath. It’s only Sol shoving the chair under him that prevents Eris from collapsing onto the floor as black fills his vision.

—------

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, but 79 and Sol seem to be in the middle of a conversation while they wait for him to return to consciousness

“I’m awake.” Eris mutters, doing his best to save his dignity. 79 and Sol somehow share a look, but neither comments on his sudden faint. Both are far too used to it to be surprised at the phenomenon.

“OBSERVATION. PROGRAM UNKNOWN. SUGGESTION. ATTEMPT COMMUNICATION.” 79 cuts in, Its droning tone bringing Eris’s attention back to the matter at hand that he’d been attempting to figure out before he had blacked out.

Eris sits up, wiping his nose as yet another stream of blood trickles down his face. Iron sits heavy on his tongue, drowning out the sticky feel of Miasma in the back of his throat.

“We can try.” He mutters, pulling the yellowed keyboard closer to him and tapping the spacebar a few times. His hands hover over the keys for a second, brow furrowed. A drop of blood drips onto the plastic.

Finally, he types something down.

> 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘?

The three wait, the blaring alarm and hum of the servers behind them the only noise besides Eris’s occasional sniffle. And then-

> 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜! 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗. 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚢𝚎.

The light on the webcam turns a steady white.

(Sol, SCP-79, and Eris R̵̡̨̢̝̬͇͓̠̮̗̰̳̥̘̗̜̬̪̣͖͎̳͕͙̟͖̞̳͙͇͖̙͙͈̱̜̺̠̯̮͍̣͎͍̯̦͕̼̄̌̄ơ̷̧̛̩͚̱̺̰̘̻͚͔̠̮͈͍̼̤͇̮̜͇̩̣͔̫̳̩̥̥̗̭͙̱̥̘͚̙̲̬̰̯̙͖̠͈̗̖̞̌̀̿̎̈͂̈́̐̒͂̇͆͆̊̿̀̋̎̎̉̎͌̎̋͋́̕͘͘͘̚̚͘͝͝͝͠g̷̺͇͕̖̮̭͙͇̖͍̼̈̕ͅȩ̷̢̡̡͙̹̩̙͍̘̙̞̠͇̱͓̬̹̪̗̯͚̲͙̩̦̪͉̮͔̜̱̲̰̙̱͍̣̲̍̀͛̋̌̑̀̈́͑̊͛̿̒̑̀̏̀̓̎́̏̅̈́͆̍̈́̚̚͠͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̛̛̛̛̯̬̻̰̼̣͖͙̻̬̗̖̓̍̅́̇͗̔̄̅́̐̈́̈́̋̈͛̑͗̿͛̉̈́͗́̒͋̾̄̾̔̐͊͂̌̆̆̅͠͝ş̶̡̧̨̬̲͖̜̱̬͉̹̳̞̩͕̖̭̝͓̬͈̭̰͙͈̯̻̜̤͈̮̺̞͉̣̯̳͎̹̪̖̭̯̹̞̖͖̖̔̄̋̄̽̍̊͐̍̈̿̓͜͜͝ͅͅ are availble for questions!)

[purplevortexx]

THE LIES WE TELL 🃟 PROLOGUE 🃟 PROTECTION

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pairing 🃟 CEO! Hangman X Bodyguard! Reader

warnings 🃟 swearing

a/n 🃟 and we’re up and running with the hangman installment of the Dagger Security universe! As always feedback is very much appreciated 🫶 (and can we once again appreciate @callsignmeiga ‘s graphics?!)

“Jake, man slow the hell down.” Javy yells down the corridor as his best friend walks swiftly away from him. “I need to talk to you.”

Jake carries on walking, slowing slightly only to check his watch. “Sorry buddy, I have a meeting which I’m already 10 minutes late for.” He calls over his shoulder with a hasty wave sent in his friend’s direction.

Sighing in defeat, Javy runs a hand over his face and shouts, “You got another letter this morning.” Jake stops this time, his expression only faltering for a split second before he turns to face Javy whose long strides have him catching up in no time.

“What, are you reading my mail now?” Jake asks, a full smile stretching across his face. To anyone else it would seem like a normal throwaway joke between friends but Javy knows better. After knowing Jake as long as he has, Javy knows Jake is uneasy following his words and the smile on his face is forced. There’s only a few people who have seen Jake Seresin’s real smile and Javy knows this definitely isn’t it.

Looking down the corridor, Javy rolls his eyes and grabs his friends arm, pulling him into an empty meeting room. When it’s just them in the room, Jake seems to relax slightly. Brushing off his navy blue suit, Jake looks up at Javy with a frown as he talks “Look this is getting really fucking creepy man, and I’m telling you as your advisor,” he scoffs, “hell, as your best friend! That you need protec-“

Jake cuts him off sharply, “Protection? Javy, I don’t need a fucking bodyguard,” he says, voice clear and precise as he snaps slightly, stepping forward into his friends personal space. Not one to back down from a confrontation, Javy stands his ground, looking up at the steely expression on Jake’s face.

“I’m trying to help you man,” he pleads, his soft expression making Jake falter.

Exhaling, Jake pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I know man, I’m sorry for snapping but I’ve already upgraded my home security system like you said.” Javy rolls his eyes at that- it had taken him months to get Jake to fix his cameras and install new ones in the blind spots on his property.

“Just hear me out,” Javy digs in his pocket, fingers closing on the small business card he’s had in his jacket for a number of days now.

Jake just sighs, grabbing the card out of Javy’s hand without even looking and crushing it in his own palm before throwing it straight into the open trash can a few feet away. “I love you Javy, but I’m not budging on this. I’m not having a bodyguard.“ and with that, he smooths his hands over the tailored suit on his body, checks his watch once again and exits the room, leaving a disgruntled Javy behind.

Once alone, Javy retrieves the now crumpled business card from the trash can and attempts to smooth it out. Aside from the creases, there’s no damage to the card and thankfully all the details on it are still readable.

He pulls his phone out from the inside pocket of his jacket and types the number on the card into the keypad. As his thumb hovers over the call button, Javy hesistates. Jake did flat out refuse any form of personal protection and going behind his back like this would only serve to strain their relationship. Rubbing a hand over his face, Javy takes a moment to think. However much jake is refusing a bodyguard, is it worth risking the safety of his best friend just to keep him happy? Not to Javy, nothing is worth Jake’s safety.

And with that thought in his mind, Javy dials the number and holds the phone up to his ear until a chirpy voice sounds from the other end.

“Dagger Security, how can I help you?”

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[pixelatedsticks]

I can thank @kyuairyeo for making me become hyper fixated on the Sakuya as Spider-Man au and because @kosukeiichi asked nicely I will now proceed to rant extensively about said au, the things that happen in it, and my own personal headcannons of course. The list will not be in chronological order.

The spider that bit Sakuya was genetically modified and infused with lupin piece energy which left some weird effects on him. He can now sense when lupin pieces are nearby which makes him able to distinguish a human and a human disguise. This got him in trouble with the GSPO from the director “you can’t go around assaulting random civilians, even if they are ganglers! What would the public think?!” To hilltop “Sakuya we all appreciate this gift you have but this is the fifth time you’ve run off give us a warning please-“. This ‘gift’ even got him snatched by the lupinrangers that one time and used as their personal ‘gangler detector’.

When sakuya was bit he collapsed and passed out for a few hours completely missing when the gangler that framed him badly injured his team. He first only adopted the vigilante persona to get revenge for not being able to stop the gangler but after saving some people and them praising him and claiming he was a hero he decided to become Spider-Man.

Sakuyas dna mutated when the spider bit him which greatly peaked goches interest. He’s simultaneously a human but also part spider and part lupin piece. She was greatly intrigued about how a specimen like this could even exist. This put her at odds with the other gangler generals because of dongranio wanting to flat out kill him. She even hired a gangler to capture him and bring him to her so she could dissect him.

Venom originally bonded to Sakuya as a means to become general but then tried to persuade him to join the ganglers.

The mere mention of Spider-Man is enough to strike absolute fear into many ganglers eyes as stories of him defeating various ganglers with his bare hands have spread across the backworld.

Noel is the one who makes and repairs Sakuyas suits for him.

The spider was genetically modified with all the normal Spider-Man powers (wall climbing, strength, spider sense etc.) but also infused with lupin pieces that gave it the ability of bio-electricity and invisibility. So he’s basically miles but he can also produce natural webbing.

The Vulture is a black market dealer who takes dead ganglers and dissects them to turn into weapons and sells them to the highest bidders. His armor and wings are made from a mix of metal and dead gangler parts. His business expanded when he found a way to crack open the safes and started using lupin pieces as power sources.

Sakuya interacts with the community more than any other ranger which has given him a fair amount of popularity. Especially with children. It annoys Keiichiro to no end.

Noel got really close to Sakuya after he found out his identity and because of their secret missions they do they have a lot of inside jokes. The rest of the ranger think it’s because they have a crush on eachother. This isn’t helped by the fact that Noel flirts alot and Sakuya lets some of his Spider-Man personality slip.

Sakuya is constantly forgetting he’s not normal. After his identity was revealed to the lupins and the pats he has had more freedom for when and where he uses his powers. And while the lupins and pats have grown used to his powers the public has not. He’ll constantly get comments like “isn’t that extremely heavy?” “Didn’t that hurt?” “How are you holding onto that” “it’s like you just appeared out of thin air?!” “how did you catch that ball flying at you when you couldn’t even SEE IT-”. The lupins and pats make excuses and scold him every time this happens. Yet somehow he still forgets he’s not normal and has to remind himself he has powers.

The lupinrangers are technically the ones responsible for giving Sakuya his powers as the spider hitched a ride out of the lab on them after they raided it.

Never ask Sakuya to explain how much something hurts his pain scale is horrifying.

Sakuya has acquired vast medical knowledge as Spider-Man. Before the pats knew his identity he was by himself. He was the one patching himself up after every fight. He was the one making a homemade cast out of web to nurse a broken bone. He was the one stitching his skin back together so he wouldn’t bleed to death. He’s had a lot of trial and error of how to deal with all kinds of injury’s. It sometimes makes Tsukasa sad that he had no one to rely on and had to deal with everything himself.

Sakuya teeth got sharper and he got fangs after he was bit. His venom came after having his powers for a while.

The lupin piece that gave Sakuya his bio electricity became unstable after being used on the spider which resulted in a freak lab accident that transferred the rest of the power into a scientist creating Electro.

Sakuya has a higher level of endurance and regenerates faster than a regular human which has lead him to be more reckless. He is constantly giving the other rangers heart attacks by purposely placing himself in the middle of danger. He was once wondering why it was so hard to focus on work before Tsukasa practically yelled that he had a shard of metal in his leg. Sakuyas response was “oh, this?” And then he pulled it out and went right back to work. Much to the horror of his co workers.

Sakuya is constantly on the move and saving people so he’s gotten used to sleeping anywhere. He will find a way to sleep comfortably on a ladder. He can’t be trusted to be alone when he’s sleepy, it’s impossible to wake him up once he goes down.

Keiichiro, Tsukasa, and hilltop were absolutely horrified to learn that he was trapped under a building when he fought the vulture.

Sakuya is very bad at self care. Every single other ranger has recounted a time where they chased Sakuya down and forced him to take care of himself. Wether it be tooma forcing him to eat because he hasn’t been for the last two days or Keiichiro dragging him back to his house because he is absolutely NOT patrolling with a dislocated shoulder.

When the ryusoulgers met the patrangers and heard about Sakuyas abilities they immediately made asuna challenge him to an arm wrestling competition and towa challenged him to see who was faster.

When the kyurangers met the patrangers hammie and Sakuya became extremely close because of their shared powers. They formed a sibling like relationship with eachother.

Zamigo likes Sakuya, well likes Spider-Man. With raw strength greater than a lupinranger and patranger combined and stubbornness to boot zamigo finds him an even more entertaining opponent than Kairi. This makes Kairi absolutely despise Spider-Man as zamigo wasn’t interested in fighting him anymore.

Satoru after being saved by Sakuya checks on him a lot to see how he’s doing. Sakuya often gives saturo weekly reports of what he did as Spider-Man. And updates him on what Keiichiro and Tsukasa are doing as well.

Sakuya is absolutely covered in scars. Ranging from bullets to blades to even burn scars.

Sakuya developed sensory issues after the spider bite and has adopted the habit of entering the office through the window as he cannot be around that many people in the morning.

If Sakuya doesn’t use his bio-electricity for a while he’ll get static-y with all the built up energy.

Sakuya lives by the fact that the world isn’t black and white. He will extend kindness to any human, gangler or alien. Even if they don’t deserve it.

Sakuya metabolism is through the roof. He is constantly burning through energy and eats a lot too. He started buying his own groceries after tooma commented about it once.

Sakuya secludes himself when he’s injured because of the whole ‘learning how to help himself’. Keiichiro and Tsukasa have learned that whenever he locks himself in the bathroom he’s patching up an injury and they jump him when he comes out to drag him off to the infirmary.

Sakuya also doesn’t communicate very well. He is not a leader and when he is it’s to himself. So he has a bad habit of going no contact while on missions and it infuriates the pats to no end.

Sakuya has made himself flatline before to trick a gangler and it scared the shit out of Noel when he found him.

Sakuya invisibility reacts with his emotion so when he’s excited he’ll flicker in and out of sight.

Sakuya once made the mistake of saying “if I’m not dead I’m fine” and Keiichiro immediately reprimanded (yelled) at him for a solid 5 minutes about it.

The duality of Sakuya is that he can survive multiple life threatening injury’s without batting an eye but can’t stay in a turtleneck sweater for more than 2 hours without getting sensory issues.

Sakuyas Spider-Man personality is best described as a mix between the 10th doctor humor and sassiness and the 11th doctors childishness.

Noel and Sakuya both have parkour competitions when they’re off work. Surprisingly Noel is winning.

Sometimes Past ganglers or villains Spider-Man has helped will show up at his apartment for free impromptu therapy/guidance or for coffee. Sakuya is a bit too nice to turn any of them down.

Sakuya had mastered the disappointed mom look to a scary degree. He once even managed to make Tooma stutter by accidentally giving him the look.

The Pats sometimes go out of their way to do something or be there for Sakuya as a way of making it up to him for the whole thinking he’s a gangler fiasco. The Lupins admitted that they didn’t know how to make it up to him.

Yes Sakuya is built like a martini glass.

Kairi and Sakuya will have pleasant conversations with eachother. Lupin red and Spiderman will try and end eachothers bloodline.

Sakuya down plays injury’s a lot as he isn’t at much risk because of his healing. Its basically. “Your arm’s cut in half!” “Tis but a scratch” “a SCRATCH?!”

Sakuya has the no killing rule for humans but is more lenient with ganglers because their actual threats who have killed before and will do it again. He’s kinda like tanjiro, he not hesitate to kill ganglers to prevent suffering but if they feel regret or never wanted to kill in the first place he’ll give them a chance. No more than 1 though.

Well I had a lot more ideas than I originally thought. I might start making more posts related to this au as I find it enjoyable to think about. If I do I’ll definitely flesh the story out more and get an actual timeline down.

[ashwithapen]

poem #8

(this one is a long one and comes with a list of TWs, so the actual poem is below the cut. this one is also a lot more prose-poetry/slam poetry-esque than my other stuff :thumbsup:)

TW for school shootings, trans genocide/transphobia, abortion (mentioned), police brutality (mentioned), suicide (mentioned).

the thing about TikTok written 4 april 2023

y’know, i only opened this app because i saw a clip somewhere of one of my favourite bands. the singer made a joke in Scotland last night, and surely someone had to have posted a better-quality video on TikTok.

it was the first thing i saw when the app loaded, because they just know me so well. i watched it and saved it so that i can watch it again as a distraction or something later. but then i made the mistake of scrolling.

the next thing i saw was a 5-minute video about how people my age and younger were screaming for their lives just across the pond outside of government buildings. they are desperate not to be killed in their classrooms, desperate to live through this semester, desperate to be heard, but the suit-wearing rulers shuffled through their 1000-person sea, one foot at a time like it was dark and they couldn’t see the people my age and younger lining the walls, holding their signs, screaming for change. i watch it, and i have to keep scrolling.

some video about all the shit you can buy for just 8 USD from a gas station in Japan. i don’t watch the whole thing; i keep scrolling.

someone with a cool haircut is sitting on the floor of their bedroom, crying. the sound playing is saying something from a show i haven’t watched about a storybook fox who is sick and tired of living in a hole. they are crying, the tags say that they are trans, and they are crying. their bio says they are just 14, that’s three whole years younger than i am and something in me surges because that is my sibling whose name i don’t know and that i may never get to because the threat of genocide has them, 14, crying on their bedroom floor. not tonight, i think in silence. i do not want to cry tonight. and so i keep scrolling.

and the next video is an indie artist who didn’t exist a year and a half ago, but even so, their new single that when viral drops in a few nights so i follow their page and i hold my breath: should i scroll again? i do, i don’t learn.

and there’s a joke i don’t get with the loudest fucking noise i’ve ever heard. it makes no sense, i scroll again.

oh look, a 9-year-old girl who got shot when she went back to pull the fire alarm so her classmates would know to run. run. run. her face is the centrepiece, her smile from an earlier date something i need to learn to shake off by tonight. i can’t even imagine what being her might have been like. i scroll again.

a cover of a song, sung atop guitar chords; another joke that the comments don’t explain to me either; another reminder of the imposing genocide; abortion bans are being enforced; they’re using force against unarmed protesters again; a poem spoken to me by a person named Lee; more tour clips to distract me; some statistics about teen suicide rates rising in the States; and one of those checkpoints that tells you that it’s time for a break. stand up, stretch, get some water. the song playing low in the background is one i’ve heard maybe a hundred times by now, but i do as i’m instructed, and i take a deep breath.

my curtains are open and i can see through my window. i remember the song i started writing the other day about how people like me seldom live long enough to see their hair turn grey. i remember how i couldn’t finish it off because something salty and wet rubbed the ink off my page and i closed my book and i pretended that i wasn’t upset, like how, in an hour from now, when dinner is served hot in front of me and they ask me “how has your day been?” i will pretend my phone is not heavy in my pocket and that the kids' shouting isn’t plaguing me and that trans people aren’t losing their right to exist and be free and that a girl half my age wasn’t shot because she got unlucky one day.

and i regret opening TikTok every time that i do because i always fail to miss all those kids i heard dance on here. instead, i get singers on stages and artists who speak and kids who know how to barricade doors with desks and bookshelves and how to defend themselves with their trendy metal water bottles, and news about the latest legislation passed that ensures that more kids will be forcefully born into a cyclical mess where they don’t get to grow up without routine checks as to whether they can tell apart a juice box pop and a gunshot.

and there are not enough words to tell you all the things i have heard scrolling through TikTok, where the mothers are gentle with their children until they go to sleep, because then they take off their soft tones and don their broken voices, screaming out in hopes that their kids won’t have to.

it has to be a phenomenon: the ability you need to grow by my age if you want to use an app as unsuspecting as the sound of a clock, TikTok. if you cannot master empathy and apathy and the way in which you must be able to switch between one and the other at the littlest flick of your wrist because what’s funny one minute must always precede the latest tragedy, death giving way to a joke and a smirk from a pretty girl in a skirt whose page a month ago was all about ways you can help in Ukraine, but clearly, she has become a master of this miracle.

and at the end of it all, when it has been hours of hearing about Neo-nazis and the generalised patriarchy and the right or wrong ways to raise bread yeast, i think three things:

one: a simmering roll of “wow”. both my empathy and apathy have been expended, and now, i have nothing left to give.

two: i am never coming back here again, like a hotel where they promise a rest, a break, a chance to get away from your day-to-day stress. one star.

three: oh look, my band said something funny again, and god, i could use a distraction.

[variousqueerthings]

It’s very obvious that you’ve been with him for awhile, because you are really good at the excuses

if no one else got me, I know Time Heist's got me! and, shockingly, it was co-written by M*ffat! I wonder if I should do a top ten episodes per season type list, because this is so far EASILY the best of season 8 and I imagine it'll stay there

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 9/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 7/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 8/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 6/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 4/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 9/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 10/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 10/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 7/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 7/10

FULL RATING: 77/100 (if I can count….)

this may be the highest M*ffat (co)-written episode so far -- the other writer is Stephen Thompson, who also did Curse Of The Black Spot (underrated) and Journey to the Centre of the Tardis (a bit of a missed opportunity, but cool Vibes)

this one is. it's good. also a pre-Bridgerton, waaay pre-Fellow Travellers Jonathan Bailey, and he's got a moment that made me go "wait, fun queercoding? M*ffat's economy???"

OBJECTIFICATION: Clara's in the objectively sexiest outfit of her entire time on this run -- a suit and thin tie. perfectly suited for the slickness of the episode, and finally giving her a bit of that lowkey bi-cred (listen, this may be contentious, but while obviously Clara is solidly considered to be bi, I don't think it's adequately confirmed on the show beyond a scant few jokes/male-gazey fanservice and Word Of God, so it's like... yes we can consider her bi, but she's not portrayed as such onscreen)

(I wonder if Big Finish have come through on that front, from what I've heard it's sooooo queer on the whole)

(Let Clara Be Bi On Big Finish (if she isn't already))

PLOT-POINT: Clara's got more Journey going on in this than the last one, which, considering what the last one was meant to be giving us (emotional exploration) and what this one is giving us (a fun Bank Heist!) is funny... M*ffat you were part of the writing of both of these???

this is one of those where they poke further at the way the Doctor just pulls Clara along in a very emotionally messed up way and she's left to be apologetic about his behaviour, but aaaaalso...

this could be subjective, but at the end the Doctor shows his true colours and the other two characters (Psi and Saibra my standouts for this season!) also very much forgive the way he's been acting for the rest of the episode, which I think makes sense

they realise the Doctor needed to do certain things (erase everyone's - including his own - memories, make-believe they're going to die, etc) in order to make sure that nobody died, and to get things to them that they'd never have been able to get otherwise, and can change their lives for the better and... it was all done to save someone

so it gives these two sides to the current Doctor as off-putting and secretive, and also someone who is trying to help everyone around him

this Doctor hasn't had so much of the latter half of this so far in this era, and it makes you think "ah yes, that's what Clara sees in him"

COMPLEXITY: ohhh an episode where the plottwists pay off? shocking, actually, genuinely

it's got some twisty-turns, but they're... they're good on the whole. it all centres on one particular concept, that this being can read thoughts and is a slave that must work for the bad guys, so everything has to be around not allowing this being to know what's going on whilst helping it out

I'm sure if I go deeper into it I'll find some holes here or there (such as "just keep your mind blank" as a valid plan for avoiding the mind reader, it's fine, I'll suspend my disbelief on that), but it's not trying to trick you, or to be overly clever for no reason, it's got a good core to the reason things are happening

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: there's not soooo much of this on the whole, it's Fun Bank Heist Time! but yeah, more stuff on the relationship between the Doctor and Clara

RIP if M*ffat had to bring characters back, why not Psi and Saibra (jk, they're mercifully great single-episode characters, we don't need to make them sexy recurring Cool Concepts)

COMPANIONS MATTER: again, this isn't much of Clara's episode on that front. she has some neat interactions with Psi that make us learn more about him and he in turn puts some thoughts in her head, and she's the reason why he sacrifices himself/teleports without knowing it

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: Yeeees this is a Doctor Machinations episode, but it's cool machinations, with a Point, and even consented to -- everyone goes into this one consensually!

and the Doctor's whole reason for doing things is... to rescue these two beings....

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: there's this cool bit where Psi, being an augmented human, makes the memory-sucking being believe he's every great/dangerous/etc criminal ever and the screen flashes everyone from a member of the Slitheen family to John Hart from Torchwood... that was good fun callback!

“SEXINESS”: can you believe this episode features just a host of the most attractive actors (JLC, Jonathan Bailey, Pippa Bennett-Warner!!!) and there's no stupid sexiness????? AND they were like "oooh what if Psi was an augmented human with a sexy haircut and plugs in his cranium, and Saibra was a shapeshifter who could take anyone's form with a touch and they were both dressed in lowkey cyberpunk coolness" and still resisted any stupid fucking Nonsense

this is hands down the sexiest episode of M*ffat's entire run, and it's purely on the strength of great characters, hot actors with neat character Types, cool AF costuming, and a plot with heart

INTERNAL WORLD: it's a big bank! it works. also the woman who runs it has clones of herself running every bank, which, I'm guessing this is during a time period where clones have no rights, so she can just "dispose" of them whenever they let her down

there's another neat concept in this about clone rights, but I'll let it slide, because this episode is already doing Many Things

there's also the suggestion of some hypercapitalist prison state outside of this, where families of potential bank robbers are incarcerated, again, great potential future concept, this episode is firmly, and correctly, centred on One Location

POLITICS: there's some stuff here -- clone rights, hypercapitalistic prison state, augmented human rights, and the mind-reader which is kept as a slave being the whole point of the story

I think what I like about this episode is that it's very much advocating against everything the bad guy stands for (see the above), and for kindness, support for one another, and respect for many ways of being. it's very scifi, but its core is in the right place

FULL RATING: 77/100 (if I can count….)

could this be the winner of the season?

the more I think about it the more it !!!!!!! it's not rated higher, because it is in the end a single episode concept, and that's not a point against it, it's just the limitation of this ratings system

if I were to say one thing it's wanting Clara to be incorporated more, but that's an issue for her entire run, much like Amy before her. M*ffat really struggles to write companions Doing Things In An Episode

still, Psi and Saibra, my besties, rocketed up to my top ten of single-episode characters (ooh, should do a list of that for nu!who) -- also Psi had this Moooment of shaking the Doctor's hand for a long time and inviting him on another bank heist...

Psi: If you ever need help with another uh… bank-heist

after which Clara hugs Psi goodbye and says in his ear: It’s not really his area

listen... listen I cannot say if this was what it was. but it certainly was more than I've ever seen in M*ffat's era of dull heterosexuality, walking gay jokes without names, and sexy lesbians in leather -- if that's what it was going for, I found it incredibly charming actually

although Clara, you've never met the Master or you wouldn't be saying that (also have we re-asexualised the Doctor? I think so mr M*ffat)

[celestialnxva]

Opposites Attract

Bruce Wayne x Avenger!Reader

Summary: In which a powerful witch finds love with a man who quotes himself to be a ‘rich kid with lots of issues.’ What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: It can get pretty suggestive because of the flirting, but it’s a pretty lighthearted fic.

WC: 4k+ words

A/n: I keep writing angst and the only fluff fic I wrote was the Stephen oneshot. It’s time I added another one to the list. Also, it’s Batman with Justice League.

masterlist. | main masterlist.

Bruce had finally gotten himself cornered by a lunatic with the rest of the Justice League. It was only a matter of time when his crime-fighting days would finally come to an end. For the first time in his life, he’d run out of ideas on how to escape. Between him being mortally injured and all of the other League members being compromised due to the tiny Mister Mxyzptlk bending their reality once again to cause mayhem, there was no way out anymore. He was too powerful to counter. As death approached him, he braced himself for the inevitable and gave himself the consolation that he did everything he could to protect the innocent and bring as much justice to the world as he could.

But of course, fate seemed to play with Bruce’s life like a cruel game of poker when he watched a group of heroes he despised the most come to save the day. Again. If he had the strength to do so right now, he would absolutely be rolling his eyes at the sight of the one and only Avengers. As for the reason as to how they are here: trailing behind them was none other than the Question himself.

As Superman weakly helped Bruce stand up, Bruce glared at Question with irritation. Before Bruce could even speak, the Question was one step ahead of him and countered his unspoken argument.

“‘Why did you call the Avengers, Question?’’ he mocked plainly. If he could see Question’s eyes, he would be rolling them due to Bruce’s display of distaste from Question’s decision. Question chose to ignore the glare and gestured towards the group who was already helping the League back to safety on their jet. “Perhaps you can thank me later for my consistent paranoia coming to your rescue when we get back to the base.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd of heroes. They all made their way towards the jet, except for one person, the one he never really get along with (yet was always secretly curious to know more about): you.

“Well, if it isn’t the one and only Batsy! My my, let me just say that you look absolutely enchanting with all that blood all over your suit!” you exclaimed dramatically while floating down to the ground in front of him. He watched as you casually sent a magical blast from your fingertips towards the mischievous imp that was slowly regaining consciousness. From his experience in working with and observing the extent of your powers, he quickly came to the conclusion that you were the real reason as to why the powerful being was knocked out and defeated. To make matters worse, Superman happily cheered you on like the supportive friend he was as they both watched you open up a golden portal to shove the mischief maker back into his own dimension. You let out a happy sigh and turned towards Bruce with a wink.

He was too frustrated and too moody right now, so he really didn’t want to deal with any of your teasing antics right now. Sensing the shift in his friend’s mood, Superman decided that he did not want to be anywhere near an irritated Batman, so he silently pleaded with his eyes if you could take him to his own Bat-jet (or whatever Bruce liked to call it).

He never thought he would say this, but he wished Superman stayed with him instead. Life was so tough sometimes, honestly.

You chuckled at his irritation. You weren’t really fazed by it when you held him up with ease. “Oh dear, it seems that my damsel in distress needs his knight in shining armor to save him once again!” you gasped out loudly before laughing softly against his ear at your own joke. A shudder ran down his spine when he felt your breath brush against his sensitive neck. Of course, he would never admit that he only let you touch him because he loved to feel your firm touch against his body, but he shamefully liked it and it pissed him off. Though, he supposed that out of all the Avengers here, you were the most tolerable. It really could have been worse, so your presence will have to do.

You gently lead him to his jet, knowing that he was probably not in the mood to deal with Stark’s attitude or Superman’s bickering with Captain America. Being alone with him wouldn’t be so bad! You could say you like the brooding bat and you don’t really mind having a jet all to yourself with him. Besides, it was probably better to keep your antics away from the rest of the group. Everyone that had the displeasure of being in the same room as you and Bats had noticed your obvious affections for him, but they couldn’t seem to have the heart to tell him of how completely oblivious he was to your flirtations, due to his desire to keep emotions as far away from him as possible.

Even if he didn’t want to address his emotions, it was getting out of control. The way you held him right now drove him crazy; he can’t get enough of the feeling of your body so close to his. His mind was constantly plagued with thoughts of you: your chaotic personality, your body, the way your costume hugged your features in all the right places, your lips, your beautiful skin. God, he just wanted to—

Bruce. Stay focused. Now’s not the time to let the witch know about your minuscule fascination for them.

When you two finally settled into the jet, you rested your hand on the control panel and casted a spell that could take you two back to the Hall of Justice. From where you currently were in the world, it would be a relatively long flight back. Being stuck with Bruce for a while wasn’t too bad, right? Sure, it was a bit cramped to your liking, but with this jet on autopilot, you had time to turn around and talk to your currently injured ally behind you. When you did so, he groaned and braced himself for the onslaught of your incessant chatter.

“So,” you drawled out before smacking your lips comically. “Word from Question is that you were in quite a predicament before I saved your ass,” you commented before flashing him a lopsided smile (that he had grown to adore). “I can’t help but feel touched that the mighty Batman needed saving from a little ol’ witch like me,” you cooed, which caused him to narrow his eyes slightly. “I had the situation under control,” he lied through his teeth. Yeah, like hell would you believe that.

You raised your brow at his response and leaned forward for as much as you could to rest your head on the jet’s seat. For some reason, he couldn’t find the strength to pull away from your close proximity to his lips. He trusted that you wouldn’t do anything too bold with him, as he had figured out by now that your teasing was nothing too serious. You smirked at him and tilted your head to the side. “Somehow, I don’t really believe that… Bruce.”

The mention of his name made his eyes widen in shock and despite his terrible condition, his body became alert with paranoia. How the hell did you figure that out? He hasn’t told any of the League yet about his identity and you didn’t even visit him that often, so how did you figure it out?

When you sensed his panic, you waved your hand dismissively and shrugged. “Come on, it just made sense. If Stark was one of the billionaires that had enough money to become a self-made hero, then surely the one upper crust social outcast from Gotham City, who actually had the motivations to become a hero, would use his money to do the same exact thing,” you assessed, leaving him completely stunned. Watching you analyze him so accurately made him realize that he knew absolutely nothing about you. At first, he believed that you weren’t really a League member nor his friend, so he didn’t feel the need to make a file about you. But now, it was clear that he had more of a desire to do as much research as he could about you. He never really had someone figure out his identity so quickly with little to no evidence to support it. He supposed that it was admirable, even though he should find it dangerous.

You finally leaned back and gave him room to breathe, despite Bruce silently wishing for you to stay where you were before. Then, he looked up and saw your eyes soften with a shimmering, unrecognizable emotion, and suddenly, he became curious as to what you were thinking about.

“Despite you being a rich kid in a bat costume, I always admired how powerful you are in your own right,” you said sweetly.

Wait. You what? You admired him?! He surely thought you looked down on him because of you powers.

You chuckled knowingly at his shocked expression.

“Come on, Bruce Wayne, you’re not just a man dressed in a bat costume. The thing about you is that—unlike Stark, you seem to dedicate your entire life to making sure that not only Gotham City was safe, but you also do everything you can to change the systemic problems. Unlike him, you want to get to the root of the problem and prevent crime from happening at all. And that, to me, is the one thing that I respect the most about you.” You paused and flashed him a kind smile. It was the most genuine smile he had ever seen you do towards him. Without knowing it, his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“You are a wonderful hero, inside and out. You are a natural leader and one hell of a better superhero than those randos with magical superpowers. I mean come on, the last time I hung out with you guys, you saved the day with just your badass combat and heavy strategic skills!” you exclaimed, your mood suddenly shifting to a more playful one. He couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at your compliments, even though he found it so strange that you suddenly wished to compliment him. He supposed that’s one of the most intriguing aspect of your personality: your unpredictability.

You saw that you were nearing the destination and your heart sank a bit in your chest. You kinda wished that you could stay a little longer all alone with him. But the man had yet to say anything. At least, until now.

He shifted in his seat and clutched his aching stomach before his eyes hesitantly met yours. “I can see what you’re doing. You’re selling yourself too short,” he grumbled. “You were there to back me up that day and defeated those demonic armies with your superpowers.” You tensed up at his words and your eyes diminished its original joy. When he saw you change in demeanor, he felt a little bit guilty for pointing that out.

You decided to speak up.

“Ya know,” you hesitated at first, before you decided to let Bruce in on a secret. “I don’t really have superpowers; at least, not in the traditional way that the Hulk or Superman have them.” Your eyes blurred into a more somber expression. With that look alone, he decided to stay quiet, knowing that this was a topic that you must’ve held close to your heart. “I’m not a superhero, I’m a witch,” you corrected him. “I can use my magick to help others, sure, but I didn’t exactly choose this crime-fighting life.”

Considering the fact that Batman had self-proclaimed that he was a brooding mess with lots of issues, he knew out of everyone that this moment was a moment of vulnerability. He assumed that some of the League members might have felt insecure in their place here, but he never really met someone that is insecure about their reputation as a hero. It surprised him that you trusted him with this secret, despite you not knowing him that well, but he chalked it up to you trusting him with a sentiment so morally grey because of his own brooding nature. You continued. “I like to think that I am a normal human, just like you. The only different thing about me is that I decided to play with magick that I just wanted to keep for myself.” Your eyes saddened at the memory before they darkened with bitterness.

“A man named Dr. Strange had recently gotten involved with the Avengers, but he was my friend first. When we met each other while studying the ancient practice of the Mystic Arts, we just clicked and decided to stick together for a very long time.” He nodded in understanding, familiar with the practice. You looked at him before you shamefully stared back down at your gloved hands. “He was the one who told me that I would feel fulfilled if I joined the Avengers, but I quickly realized how wrong he was from the moment I stepped foot in their base. It may be selfish, but I just want to live a peaceful life, Bruce. I don’t want to save people anymore.” Your eyes shined with sadness and pain. “But of course, destiny had been called me to suffer a crueler fate, and that was—“

“to feel guilty at the thought of abandoning your life as a hero, so you stayed one, despite all the pain,” he finished, reaching out to rest his hand on top of yours so he could make eye contact with you. You made a soft noise of surprise at his touch and you looked up at him with your own wide eyes. He observed how they were filled with so many conflicting emotions that seemed to swirl around in endless circles, no doubt the same feeling you felt in your heart too. Seeing you so vulnerable tempted him to be vulnerable too, for the first time in his life. If your gaze was always this deep and earnest, it made sense that Wonder Woman had admired you for your ability to let her rant for hours on end about anything she ever wanted to talk about. And now, here you were, giving him the opportunity to let his emotions go, to finally feel them fully without anyone else’s judgment. Your ability to do this may be what he liked the most about you, even if he would never confess that to you.

His thoughts cleared when his eyes shifted to the scenery in front of you. It seemed that you two had finally arrived at the Hall of Justice. However, you knew that it would take a while for the jet to park itself in the designated ‘parking lot’ for all the cars and jets, so you continued speaking.

“I… know I’m not the one that you could get along with. I’ve known that fact for a long time. But if there is a redeeming aspect of myself, it’s that I’m waiting with a heavy heart for a chance to finally put the fighting behind and use my magick for the purpose I originally had intended to fulfill with it: build my own cottage and grow my own garden in the middle of the woods,” you explained with a hopeful smile before you let out a final sigh.

While his heart burned with shame over his icy behavior towards you, there was something so endearing about hearing a powerful witch such as yourself wish for a life dedicated to taking care of nature. You reminded him of all the good qualities that Poison Ivy had. It touched Bruce’s heart, even if you sometimes irritated him with your teasing. Now more than ever, you seemed to be more relatable to him than he originally thought.

It made you much more desirable in his eyes. It was scary how many emotions he had to repress, just so he could appear calm in in your presence.

Then, your eyes met his again. He could see that you were waiting for his reaction, anything from him that could provide a source of comfort for you. But he was at a loss for words. How quickly his life changed in just one flight. From the moment you put him in his jet, he never knew that he could find a friend in you. It made his heart soar and beat wildly in his chest. But in your eyes, he seemed to not care about anything you said, so you just decided to brush the deep conversation off and focused on landing instead.

When the jet had finally stopped, you got up and got out of the jet. Reaching up, you helped him get down from his seat too. He knew didn’t need to be babysat and taken care of, but you didn’t make him feel like it was that. For the first time in his life, he found someone that had always respected his abilities as a hero. You surprised him when didn’t interrogate him about everything in his entire life because you understood why he kept his life a secret in the first place. Finally, for the first time in his life, he finally met someone who saw him as Bruce: not Bruce Wayne or Batman. Just… Bruce.

While he was stuck in his thoughts, you dusted yourself off and guided him down the empty cave and towards the elevator to get you both to the main floor. But before you could press that button, he suddenly gripped your wrist and whipped you around to face him. You knew he was a mysterious man, but when he slowly backed you up against the wall, you couldn’t help but wonder if your choice to rant to him was the right one. You closed your eyes in fear and turned away from his gaze. You braved yourself for a hit or a yell from Bruce, but nothing happened. Instead, he pinned your wrists against the wall. Your eyes snapped wide open at his action and you stared at him in surprise. Your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned in close to your face.

“Will you…” he trailed off in silent nervousness, but he forced himself to move past his fears. He searched your eyes for any signs of discomfort. Despite your position, you more so showed signs of pleasant surprise and dare he say it—excitement. Taking it as a sign to stay in his position, he continued voicing his request while he leaned closer until you could feel the breath of his whispers against your parted lips.

“Will you take off my cowl?” He whispered quietly. When you heard his request, you gasped lightly in shock. Wasn’t he always going on about people not being allowed to get to know what he looks like? Nonetheless, you hesitantly reached up and slowly pulled off the cowl to reveal the ethereal sight of none other than Bruce Wayne. For the first time, you saw as his eyes seemed to hold deeper emotions than you had ever seen him express. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched his eyes wander all over your face. His eyes finally settled on your lips and at that moment, you realized exactly what was going on.

“W-What are you doing…?” You inhaled sharply as your hands flexed against his. You could feel a soft sigh from him that seemed to fill your entire body with chills. This was the right time to confess before it is too late. “I’m tired of this, of my distance towards you and my inability to…” he paused as you felt his hands move up to intertwine with your fingertips. “to… touch you, to hold you and to make you mine,” he almost growled out while you tried to figure out what he was trying to tell you. Was he saying that he liked you romantically or if he wanted to pursue something more physical? You hoped it was the former, since a relationship with Bruce was something you had always dreamed of having. Having him so close to you right now was causing you to burn bright with the hope of finding love with him.

Suddenly he caused you to accidentally squeak in shock when he leaned in to breathe deeply against the skin of your cheek. There was no kiss—at least not yet. But somehow, this moment was more intimate than any kiss you had ever received in your life. And from your reaction, it made him only want you more; to continue to fluster you and feel your cheeks burn up against his own. “Tell me. Tell me that you do not feel the same towards me,” he sighed hotly before his head moved slightly back to press his nose to the side of your lips. You realized now that the two of you were here in the Justice Hall garage just a moment away from kissing and clawing at each other’s skin in an attempt to seek a sense of intimacy that both of you had never experienced before.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same towards me and I’ll back off,” he murmured. He was so close to you, to the point where you could drown in his pounding heartbeat. From the way he treated you with so much passion but with a certain gentleness to it, it made you finally realize that he really wanted you to tell him that you loved him; that his shaky, nervous breaths were not due to his lust, but rather because of his desperate hope that you might like him back. How could you not say no to him when he’s being so vulnerable with you?

You let out a shaky sigh from his sudden confession and the feeling of his body pressed up against yours. After all this time, you thought that your love was unrequited, but here he was at your mercy with desperation in his eyes for more of your touch. You didn’t want to keep him waiting, so you decided to finally make a move.

Instead of releasing your hands from his restraints, you nuzzled your cheek against his to display your reciprocity for his feelings. It took everything within him not to act out sinfully while he felt your breaths against his neck.

“(Y/n),” he whispered desperately to you, his hands gripping tighter around your wrists. “Please, tell me you feel the same way.” You hummed in response and leaned back until your lips almost touched his. “I like you too. I always have,” you confessed to him so delicately that drove him absolutely wild with unruly passion to make you his. “You mean more to me than you know, Bruce,” you whispered before your lips barely pressed a kiss to his lips. He growled under his breath in frustration from your teasing, but the next words that slipped out of your mouth finally compelled him to kiss you like his life depended on it:

“I am yours entirely. My heart belongs to you.”

At this point, he was too far gone to scold himself for feeling so strongly towards you despite knowing barely anything about you. He knew now that love doesn’t have to make sense. Even if there wasn’t a day that would go by without him being vexed by your outgoing personality, he still adored it nonetheless. He was okay with it because you were his light outside of Gotham City and he only hoped that one day, he could see your endearing lopsided smile when you find out about the cottage he had built for you both to retire in for the rest of your days.

Maybe it was cliche to think that opposites really do attract, but Bruce didn’t care. What matters now was you are his and he is yours.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[daigina-3]

(Bringing this over from the discord chat because I don’t have time to write my fic and Trans Gareth is so special to me and I can’t stop thinking of him and eddie and how much they LOVE EACH OTHER… he is Eddie’s Robin)

Eddie’s giving him a lift to band practice, like usual. He gets his permit next month and then he can start shopping around for junky ten year old cars to buy with the money he saved up busting tables the summer after freshman year. But he’ll miss rides with Eddie- it’s kinda their thing.

Eddie’s got the windows rolled down because the AC crapped out again, WASP playing low and gritty on the radio as Eddie taps his fingers on the steering wheel, mimicking the lead guitar riffs.

In the passengers’ seat, he follows suit, his hands gently drumming the beat on his thighs. Under his jeans, any sign of leg hair on his outer thighs has disappeared, two big bald patches from years of whacking on them just like he is now; with drum sticks, hands, forks and spoons- anything he can get his hands on, he uses to drum on any surface available. He hates how smooth it is there, runs his fingers over it when he’s alone in his room and winces. But sometimes it’s nice how the moth patches make the leg hair stand out around it; makes the blond wisps more noticeable and that’s cool.

He’s been banging out beats since he was little and his mom was still trying to get the sticks out of his hands and replace them with hair brushes and pompoms. She’d call out his name til her throat was sore and rip the headphones off his head so he could actually hear her. He winced every time, but not from the ripping off the headphones.

He hated the sound of his name. He told his mom in sixth grade he wanted to go by his middle name because he liked it better- and that wasn’t a lie, it was better, and it was what his mom and even the guys called him to this day. But better wasn’t good. It wasn’t him.

Eddie rolls to a stop at a light. The WASP cassette reaches its end and he digs around on the ground where several other cassettes lay piled for something to replace it.

He tracks Eddie as he fishes out a Black Sabbath cassette, pops the case open and replaces the one in the car stereo one-handed. His tongue pokes out in concentration, eyes still on the road.

He brings it up casually, as though it’s something everyone talks about with their dude friends.

“So I was reading this book of, uh, baby names-“

Eddie’s eyes shift to him because, yeah that’s a lie. What kind of 15 year old just reads a book of baby names? But Eddie doesn’t call him on it.

“You ever thought about how every Kevin in the world is an asshole?” He starts with a joke, but this isn’t really why he brought it up. “Like not all assholes are Kevins, but all Kevins are assholes. Naming your baby Kevin’s like, guaranteeing he’s a dick.”

Eddie snorts and throws him a yeahh, long and drawn out.

He keeps going.

He casually asks Eddie what he thinks of the name Stanley. It’s his dad’s middle name, but Eddie doesn’t know that and he doesn’t add that bit in.

“Sounds like an old dude, lame.”

He thought so too, but wondered if Stanley would have made it easier on his dad. Not that he should have to make anything easy for- well, he knows it’s not the right name anyway.

He throws out others he’s tossed around in his head- Jonas, Isaac, Evan- Eddie shoots them all down, giving them raspberries and thumbs downs.

Then he hits on the name Gareth. Gareth is secretly his favorite name; the name he scribbles at the top of his notebooks sometimes and always the only one he doesn’t cross out when he makes lists. Dan Emerson, Scott Emerson, Gareth Emerson is always left untouched.

Eddie pauses. Tilts his head and sticks out his bottom lip in thought. The turn signal tick-ticks in the silence between them, Ozzy Osbourne left on pause. “Gareth’s a solid name for a guy. Gareth Holder’s a wild bassist. Rolls off the tongue nice.”

His chest inflates because exactly. This is why he and Eddie were as tight as they are, thats exactly what he has been thinking! Gareth Holder from Hells Belles os sick as hell and it just sounds so right.

And true to their mind meld connection thats over two years strong by now, Eddie looks at him and he knows that Eddie knows somethings up. Its more than opinions on baby names. He gives it a real, true weight when he pulls into Jeff’s drive way, pausing with his hand on the keys in the ignition, and says, “Gareth’s a real metal name, dude.”

The warmth in his chest could light a fire. He only smiles a little, still hesitant to show how excited he is, what that really means for him. Eddie doesn’t know, he hasn’t said anything yet. Not about his name or any of the rest of it.

So he doesn’t know but he thinks sometimes Eddie knows anyway; he notices every time Eddie doesn’t correct Reefer Rick when he calls him “brother” or the manager at the Hideout who calls him “son.”

He thinks Eddie knows in the way they are right now, comfortable when Eddie elbows his shoulder with a grin and hops out of the van.

Eddie, his best friend. His ride or die. He follows him to the back to grab the spare amp and guitars and knows, as they joke and scoff and smile, that it’s always gonna be them.

Eddie and Gareth.

[alphabetbill]

Bill Skarsgard Alphabet- Your relationship with Bill

Here’s a list from A-Z about what your relationship with Bill would be like.

A list of headcannons of what Bill x reader’s relationship.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Note- If one of the letters is flagged with an asterixis * it means it is slightly suggestive or NSFW. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A- Affection

Bill is actually quite affectionate with you, always preferring to have one arm around you shoulders when sitting on the couch together, holding your hand, quick kisses on the head, cheek and shoulder. Warm hugs from behind, with Bill resting his chin on your head. He likes to reassure himself by being in the comfort of your company, and it always feels so strange when he’s away from you filming on set. He likes to cuddle a lot when he wants to relax and unwind, because Bill is a pretty busy dude so whenever he can get the chance to sit back and rest with you, it’s usually on the bed taking a quick power nap before it’s back to it again.

B- Buying gifts

Bill isn’t really big on receiving big fancy gifts, because really, what would he need them for? You are the same. He does make sure to stop at each place on his press tours and pick out a souvenir to bring home to you. He also likes bringing home little props or souvenirs from set. You still have the little Pennywise teddy he got you sitting over on your desk. The little red pom-pom nose and the orange yarn fluffy hair is so adorable. 

C- Comfort

When you are feeling down or sad, Bill can nearly always pick up on it straight away. He has a way with reading people’s emotions and then employing the method of comfort that would best suit the situation. If you want to talk, he will listen, and if you want to be left alone, he will do that, but not for too long.

He’ll check up on you every so often through the day just to make sure you’re okay. Bill’s warm, gigantic hugs and reassuring kisses always manage to make you feel a bit better. When it’s Bill whose feeling off, you let him talk. Bill isn’t the kind of guy to be able to keep things bottled up for a long period of time because it tends to make him feel tired and weighed down, and that’s not a fun time for either of you. You always listen to him when he vents everything he’s feeling, usually with his head in your lap and you playing with his hair or his hands.

D- Date 

Bill would be a chill, relaxing type of guy when it comes to dates. He knows that you don’t want to be doing something big and exciting every single time, that would be tiring. He loves taking you out for dinner, but he loves making dinner for you and setting up a romantic little dinner date out on the porch or terrace, and surprising you. Often, dates between you two will be completely out of the blue. ‘Hey, want to go somewhere?’ ‘Hey lets go for a picnic by the beach’.

On the days when you guys do feel like doing something more adventurous, the zoo tends to be the fan favourite, and you also like to go skiing, and hiking to see new places and things.

E- Encouragement/Excitement 

You are both very supportive of each other and your professions, so much so that as soon as the other person catches a whiff of success, you are there to celebrate with each other by any means. You and Bill like to hype each other up and get all excited when the other person gets excited, almost as if your happiness is conjoined. You are always excited for Bill’s new projects, and support him through it all the way up until it’s completed and ready for the world to see. 

F- Fighting

Bill likes to avoid conflict, especially if it involves any kind of yelling and screaming at you, someone he loves. He doesn’t believe that yelling helps at all, infact it only makes matters worse, and instead of actually getting the other person to listen to them, it only makes them more mad and they keep on yelling when no one is actually listening. He doesn’t like yelling at you because it feels almost violent, and he doesn’t want to scare you into listening to him. He’s aware of how intimidating he looks when he’s mad. He encourages the both of you to instead sit down and talk about things maturely, talking about how he feels and why he feels that way, and always attentively listening to what you have to say as well. It’s important in the relationship that you have a sense of equality, that both go heard and your opinions both valued. From then on, depending on the severity of the argument, you move on to figure out the best solution to moving past it or around it. 

G- Gestures

Bill is big on friendly, helpful little gestures to remind you that he loves you. You both like to leave little notes in places for each other to find, with quotes or reassurances written on them like ‘You can do this!’ ‘I love you!’ ‘You look amazing today’. It gives you guys a little confidence boost, because sometimes you both need it. In terms of physical gestures, Bill likes to hold your hand a lot of the time when you walk, almost as if you might wander off and get lost if he lets go. He also likes to buy you flowers. If he sees a bunch of flowers in the shop window from the corner of his eye, and he instantly thinks of you, he will buy them for you. You aren’t really sure what use you would have for flowers, but you absolutely admire the sweet gesture.

H- How you sleep

It’s no secret that Bill is a very tall and lanky person. Because of this, sometimes its hard for him to find just the right position to sleep it, however he has learned to adjust and adapt to any position or place to make it feel comfortable. He lays on his back a lot of the time and pulls you close to him, either tucked up beside him with your arm across his torso, or with your head on his chest or heart while he plays with your hair.

You both talk for hours, and will stay up until you fall asleep mid conversation. It’s funny when Bill will be talking, and he goes to ask you a question, and he finds you fast asleep beside him. ‘Seriously? Did you just fall asleep on me? Were you listening to any of that?”

I- Impression

When Bill was first introduced to you, he thought you were so gorgeous and beautiful, with that amazing smile and beautiful eyes. He is a bit nervous at the best of times, but you made him particularly nervous. He always was conscious over the way he spoke to you and how he appealed to you. He’s had a giant crush on you since the day he met you, and knew instantly that if he didn’t do something to make you his, he would never be the same.

Your impression of him was similar. You could not believe such a handsome guy was standing right there talking to you! He made you feel a bit self-conscious, and you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence in your mind without feeling overwhelmingly flushed by him standing next to you, or ‘accidentally’ brushing up against you.

J- Jokes

Are you and Bill a playful or more serious couple?

You two are able to maintain a healthy balance of both playful and serious. You like to tease each other a lot, particularly about the height difference, and Bill’s unholy inhuman tallness. You always joke to him about how secretly Bill must have been born in a zoo to a giraffe and then dropped in Sweden by accident. 

You both know when to be serious though, and understand that not everything can be all fun and games. If someone isn’t feeling great, you can learn to adjust and turn the jokes down to make sure they are okay.

K- Kids

Bill would absolutely love to have kids with you, ideally two, not anywhere near as many as how many his parents had. He wants to be able to spread his fatherly love between children and make time for them both equally, and adore them as much as he adores you. 

L- Love 

What does Bill love the most about you? 

Physically, Bill is in love with two things- your smile and your hair. Both of these things are the two things that he thinks are flawlessly, effortlessly perfect every single time he sees you, even if you wake up in the morning with a serious case of bedhead. But Bill loves everything about you, most of all how supportive you are, and how you are always there for him even if you don’t have to be.

M- Memory/moment

Your favourite memory of you and Bill together is how it felt when he kissed you for the first time. You remember all the tingling feelings, and how excited and nervous you were, but happy that this was finally happening. 

Bill’s favourite memory is when you said yes to going out with him for the first time. He felt so accomplished and happy with himself, like if he could get the girl, he could do anything. He remembers feeling surprised that you said yes, and how scared he was that you would turn him down and tell him you weren’t interested in him in that way. 

*N- Nudes

Usually, if you do send them, it’s when Bill is away in Toronto filming a movie and he’s missing you. You both tend to flirt over text more than you do in real life.

O- Optimist level

You and Bill are both optimistic and realistic. You can see both the good side of things and the bad.

P- Period

When you are on your period, Bill knows instantly that it’s gonna be a pretty crappy time for you, so he tries to make it as least crappy as possible. He has a basket of chocolate reserved just for you on the days when it’s bad, and stays home with you all day cuddling and watching movies. If you are in a significant amount of pain, he will do most practical things for you like house work. He’s very sweet and caring for you, running to the store to get products and shamelessly carrying them. Anything for you, he’s not embarrassed, he knows that it’s a normal thing and it should be normalized for boyfriends to buy their girlfriends products. 

Q- Quality Time- how do you spend it?

You and Bill spend all the time you can possibly get with each other. All the time is quality time with you guys, and Bill makes time to set aside his work or script reading to spend time with you. He’s away for long periods of time, so he wants to make sure that he can spend enough time with you to make up for that, and make sure that you know he loves you.

R- Romantic- how much of a romantic are they?

Oh. Bill is romantic. He especially likes to wine and dine with you, making the whole setting perfect just for you. He manages to make everything romantic, everything he does, and you aren’t sure if he’s doing it on purpose or whether that’s just him as a person.

*S- Sex

You and Bill do it often, but its not seen as something at the top of importance between you. You prefer to spend time talking together and just enjoying each other’s company, rather than getting all physical. That kind of intimacy is done in the bedroom every couple of days or so, or really whenever you feel the need to. It’s important to also note that Bill is very respectful about it, and always makes sure that whatever he does you are comfortable with.

Anywhere outside the privacy of the bedroom for him always feels so awkward, and he likes both of you to be comfortable.

T- Trust

You trust Bill with your life, and he trusts you too. You feel safe opening up to him and telling him things that you normally wouldn’t tell people. You know that he would never cheat on you, and don’t get easily jealous by girls that he kisses or fake hooks up with in movies. You know that this is all staged and it is a part of acting, and always makes sure that Bill knows that it’s okay.

U- Understand

You and Bill understand each other very well. There are of course some things that you don’t get about each other, like why you like certain foods that do not go together, why you believe something, things like that. You think alike in terms of the way you look at life, and how you see the world. You feel like you guys just get each other, y’know?

V- Vulnerability 

Bill is very open with you about how he feels, and you are to him as well. If he’s sad or upset he will tell you and talk about it. He isn’t afraid that crying will make him seem less of a man, and also doesn’t judge you when you cry around him. Bill is a sap and definitely cries in sad scenes of movies. 

W- Wedding- What would your ideal wedding be?

Bill would want it to be fantastic and memorable, as I’m sure everyone would. His family and friends would be there and so would yours. It would be an outdoors wedding beneath the sunshine- provided it doesn’t rain. You would most likely go on a honeymoon to somewhere you have both always wanted to go, and it would be an amazing, relaxing get away.

*X- X-rated

Does Bill have any kinks? 

Most likely no, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t down to try new things with you.

Y- Young and beautiful- how long will you guys last?

As far as Bill is concerned, you will have children, grandchildren, and get old together. You are gorgeous now, and you will always be gorgeous to him. He is big on committing to you, and you are to him. 

Z- Zing!

How much excitement is there in your relationship? 

You guys are always adapting and adjusting to Bill being away and all kinds of things that life might throw at you. It’s pretty exciting dating an actor, isn’t it?

The thrill of secrecy and not getting caught. You often like to make bets on who will be noticed in a crowd first, you or him?

Life is just full of wonders and mystery, and you can’t wait to explore more of those together!

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Note- I am aware that Skarsgard is supposed to be written with an accent on the last A, but I write these lists on my laptop and the keyboard does not have an option for that. 

Thank you for reading! It took me a little while to put this A-Z list together and I would appreciate if you left a like, a comment or whatever you can to help me out. 

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