#EVEN AT HIS LOWEST he was trying to get them out of there — to keep others away from the danger while he had his back willingly turned to it

[lanternlightss]

the

[zarla-s]

[DELTARUNE CHAPTER 3+4 SPOILERS]

Thinking about why I like Tenna, he's fun, but he doesn't grab me like Spamton does, in spite of them both being OTT flashy weirdos who are sad and attention-starved. On the surface they act pretty similar, to the point where I thought of Tenna as Diet Spamton, but the more I think about it they actually have a lot of really big differences between them. They're almost opposites, actually. What I think it comes down to is their greater themes. Tenna, King, and Queen are all about abandonment/neglect. Spamton, in comparison, is all about failure.

Spamton is a persona non grata in Cyber City, no one ever talks about him and the Addisons refuse to if you try and confront them about it. He has a strange and quirky battle, but if you forget to follow up on him later, he's a footnote in the whole chapter. He's a tiny guy in a big world.

Tenna is the absolute ruler of TV Land and the entire reality of it bends to his whims. He's huge, bigger than life, everything revolves around him at all times. Everything has his face, everyone does what he wants under restrictive contracts even if they don't want to. Tenna IS TV World.

You meet Spamton at his lowest point. He's living in the garbage, no one will talk to him, he has no control or power over anything without manipulating them into giving it to him (usually unsuccessfully). A lot of his dialogue implies he's beaten by other people regularly. He's angry and frustrated and desperate, and he knows he needs a patsy to get out because he can't get out himself.

Tenna in comparison is living the high life. Almost everything is showy and glamorous (except the Z room, which is associated with Spamton). He IS the Big Shot Spamton used to be and wants to be again. He can, like Jevil, do anything.

Spamton wants to be BIG, partly for the attention and power but mostly because he wants to get OUT. He wants to LEAVE the Dark World and become real, not just an object in the shadows trapped by how Lightners perceive him. He wants to escape the fantasy world into reality, ascending into what he thinks is Heaven. He's the only boss that seems to want this, rather than validation from Lightners.

Tenna wants a past that's gone, where he felt like he glued a family together and everyone was happy watching him and being with him. He wants attention and validation and love from Lightners again, promises that he's still relevant and useful as an escape from reality. Tenna wants to stay in an eternal fantasy world and expand and enable it.

Spamton feels trapped by the voice on the phone and reaches out to Kris by saying he can't force them to do anything, that he can tell Kris is desperate for freedom just like he is. He asks Kris to do him favors to get him the body that he thinks will let him become real. He gives himself into their hands as the LoadedDisk because he can't do it himself (normally). Spamton treats and talks to Kris like a potential partner/customer to scam.

Tenna actually seems scared of Kris, saying that he did everything that they told him to. Kris was the one giving the orders, not Tenna. Tenna's desperate to bring Kris back to a time when their family was intact and they were happy and he was valuable and needed, and he tries to force Kris into more games to try and keep them there. Tenna treats Kris fearfully, like his boss or a sponsor he needs to please or he'll suffer the consequences.

Spamton started as a failure and needed outside support from the voice to become a success, which eventually exerted total control over his life, driving him right back into the dumpster. When he was about to share the secret of that "success" with Tenna, the voice scared him into running away, abandoning him.

Tenna was always successful. It seems like rather than a parabola of failure-success-failure, he's just in a steady decline. Tenna has complete control over his Dark World but it doesn't matter, he can't actually change reality in the Light World. Tenna is in the process of failing when we meet him - Spamton has already failed.

Spamton is obsessed with money. The absolute core of his being is scamming people and making money, it defines his existence. He will do literally anything for it.

Money doesn't even work in TV Land. Instead you get points that Tenna doles out (completely at his discretion) that are worthless outside of TV Land. Tenna gives away prizes and points as incentives to stay and pay attention to him. He wants attention more than anything else.

Spamton is a member of a group of Darkners, the Addisons, who all look very similar to each other with some small variations. He spent a lot of time with them as loverscoworkers. Another instance of being a little guy in a big group.

Tenna is one of a kind. There's no other being in TV Land anything like him. Nothing even comes close. He's completely unique.

Spamton doesn't want validation from Lightners. What he wants is the power to get out of the Dark World and become real. He has his own entirely self-focused goals that don't involve Lightners or the Dark World at all.

Tenna will do anything for validation from Lightners, they define his entire existence. Without them he feels purposeless. He's desperate to give Kris the world they want and for Kris to tell him he's doing a good job, essentially. In this, Tenna is very much like Queen and King. He begs you repeatedly to say you love him and to never leave him.

This is just funny to me but Spamton mentions Tenna rarely but Tenna talks about Spamton constantly lol. Spamton just lives rent-free in Tenna's head.

When you beat Spamton, Kris has a breakdown about it, presumably because they see a lot of similarities between their situations (unwilling puppets trapped by forces controlling them, usually coming from a phone) and how Spamton in the end couldn't escape his strings.

Kris on the other hand doesn't seem that upset about what happens to Tenna, even if he dies. Maybe Kris just didn't have a chance to, given the Knight jumps you almost immediately, but that kind of connection that Spamton and Kris have just isn't there with Kris and Tenna.

Spamton can understand the voice on the phone. Tenna, Blue Addison, and the Player cannot.

Tenna (and his death) are foretold in the prophecy. Spamton, so far, is not.

Television was a massive success and defined multiple generations, and, while diminished, still plays a massive part of the media landscape. Spam email has always been a nuisance no one likes and has a very low, if any, success rate, even though it's inescapable. Television platforms ads, Spamton IS an ad.

Spamton has connections to a variety of other Darkners, like Queen, Swatch, Jevil, and the Addisons. Tenna, being the complete center of his Dark World, really only has a connection to Spamton. (They do share a connection with Mike but that's a weird case.)

Tenna is very isolated in his world, with only his lackeys around him that he treats rather badly. Spamton in comparison is surrounded by other people constantly but all of them deliberately ignore him, isolating him in a different way.

Thematically, this matches their respective mediums. TV is a self-contained passive entertainment source that's primarily solitary, although it can be shared if others are nearby. The things you see on TV are tightly controlled and structured. The internet in comparison is a massive eternally expanding collaboration of people constantly interacting with each other - by its nature it's inescapably social and uncontrollable.

Spamton was always doomed to fail. In the end all his dreams are shattered and all he can do is give himself to you as an item to try and help you achieve yours. He can come out of the glasses on occasion but his life on his own as far as we know it is over. This tragedy (and presumably the sick irony of gaining control over Spamton as an item when all he wanted was freedom) is what leads to Kris's breakdown.

Tenna nearly dies but recovers (usually) and starts a new life with Mettaton, who appreciates and promises to care for him. When we leave him, Tenna is off to a brand new fresh start to a happier life. It's a hopeful and heartwarming conclusion to his arc.

Tenna is intact. He's lucid and coherent, he speaks clearly, he adds graphical and audio flourishes to his text with no issue. He worries about burn-in and being old, but none of that is present in his Dark World form. He's fine.

Spamton is broken. He glitches and falls apart, he can't speak clearly at all. His bracket words are like uncontrollable tics that obscure things against his will. At times it seems like he's being entirely taken over by other forces that speak through him.

There are a lot of things they have in common too of course. They both do like slapping their faces on everything, including their own branded products, haha. They also both want to be successful, in their own ways. They seemed to really like each other at one point and had a good time together! And despite the vast discrepancy in power between them, they're both very alone in their worlds. They both have abandonment issues, although Tenna's manifests as desperation and clinginess while Spamton's manifests as anger and bitterness. They are both in denial about it though lol.

The key thing that broke them up was the person on the phone scaring Spamton into abandoning Tenna right before he was going to tell him the secret of his "success". It seems rather deliberate on the voice's part... I wonder why they did that? I wonder if Tenna knowing the "secret" would have changed the prophecy...

[twilightofthesandwiches]

When I made that post about how Spamton and Tenna were probably both mimicking each other due to mutual jealousy, I mentioned by the end that, although both of them saw the other as having something they lack...

Spamton was, like, objectively the worst-off between the two, and his jealousy of Tenna is probably more 'justified' than the other way around'. But also Tenna is unaware and probably totally incapable of understanding this fact . Since the reasons behind it are dependent both on the culture of the internet and the deeper machinations of Light and Dark.

I didn’t really go into depth about it at the time cause it is a complex topic that I did kinda cover for Spamton before Chapters 3 + 4 even released and if I started going into it in detail, it could’ve easily overshadowed the main point I was trying to make with that post. But since I did get some comments/questions about that aspect… I thought it might be a good idea to give it its own post going into it in detail and clarifying my point.

So, both Spamton and Tenna imitate each other because they see the other as an embodiment of something they don’t have. Tenna has the charm, prestige and both metaphorical and literal ‘bigness’ that Spamton craves. While Spamton has the modernity, understanding of technological progress and ability to reach Lightners that Tenna’s so insecure about lacking these days.

(I think you can kinda see it as a metaphor to the relationship between traditional media and the new media in general. Old Media such as the Television is getting overshadowed and outcompeted by the Internet-based New Media, but it also still has an air of respectability and prestige that New Media still generally lacks. The fact that Tenna is specifically jealous of, like, the lowest, least-respectable, most obnoxious aspect of the Internet is just an extra detail that makes him more uniquely pathetic.)

But the main difference is, like… So Tenna is a Television Darkner, he’s supposed to exist for the purpose of providing entertainment. He loves entertainment because that’s what he was created to do and entertaining Lightners is the thing that makes him feel truly fulfilled. He is also, by all accounts pretty damn good at it.

Like, the main conflict between Tenna and the Lightners is because he wanted his show to go on forever (And also he kidnapped Toriel and was keeping the Dark Fountain from getting sealed and working with the Knight). They did clearly enjoy being on his show as a temporary thing. He's honestly good at this.

I mean, the fact that he has a set Purpose hardwired into his very being and can’t feel truly content unless he’s fulfilling said Purpose is kinda Existentially Depressing if you think about it too hard, but at least it’s something he both enjoys and is good at.

And then you have Spamton. As the Magical Dream Representation of Spam Email, he is created to scam people out of their money and information. He is also generally obsessed with all the things your usual Spam Mail blathers on about, success, prestige, being a BIG SHOT. But being Spam Mail also means he is utterly terrible at doing his Purpose and fulfilling his goals. Spam Mail is weird, obviously scammy, gets thrown away 99% of the time, and is the lowest and most incompetent form of online advertising/scams. The basic essence of his metaphysical being is to be a frustrated, miserable failure.

Of course, this isn’t as simple as saying Tenna is metaphysically allowed to be truly happy while Spamton isn’t. Because it’s been a long time since Tenna has been able to fulfill his Purpose. He’s good at entertainment… but he’s not good enough to get anyone in the Dreemurr household to turn on the TV on the regular. His show is loads of fun, but it’s also kind of repetitive, cheesy and old-fashioned… because that’s also the Lightner perception of the classic TV that Tenna was created to represent.

You can easily say that just as Spamton’s preordained role is to be a failure because Spam Mail is by definition crappy, Tenna’s role is to be a failure because in these modern times, the definition of the television has changed to be ‘not good enough’.

And the whole thing is actually totally outside Tenna’s control. Obviously no one can truly control the march of time or stop new entertainment technology from being developed, but even in terms of the content Tenna can provide if he's switched on... That’s in the hands of Lightner TV producers.

In his Dark World, Tenna’s living the high-life, the biggest and only Big Shot in TV World. but he’s incapable of being satisfied with all of his power and prestige as long as he’s a failing his Purpose as a Light World television. A matter that is actually totally beyond his control.

Tenna’s aware of all of these problems, but he’s not fully aware of how these issues reflect Spamton’s situation. He’s knows nothing about the modern internet world

…He doesn’t know what being ‘Spam’ means, and therefore has no idea what Spamton is supposed to be. He met Spamton during the brief period of time the salesman was genuinely successful as an adbot, he has no idea about the unlucky Addison he was before or the total wreck he became later.

… But that is also part of the crucial difference. Spamton only became successful and therefore happy due to the help of the mysterious Someone that has been calling him.

And…we are still not quite sure how that worked. Was that simply someone from the Light World aggressively clicking on so much Spam Mail and shitty ads that it temporarily changed Spamton’s status in the Dark Worlds? Did that Someone give Spamton the secret to actually defy the role assigned him by the metaphysical laws governing his existence? Was it done through the power of the Shadow Crystal? The power of the Prophecy? Were they taking advantage of the fact that the events we're talking didn’t truly happen and were instead retconned into Spamton’s personal history when the Computer Room Dark World created him?

There are so many question marks about Spamton’s Mysterious Benefactor and how that whole thing worked… and that’s because giving Spamton a happier and more successful life is something that seems like it should be literally metaphysically impossible. And while Tenna was pretty much trapped in an unsatisfying existence due to the nature of his being and circumstances beyond his control… his problems were also much easier to solve from a Lightner perspective.

Sure, the television doesn’t get the sort of universal success and influence that it did when Tenna was brand new, but there are still people who watch and enjoy it. As long as that fact holds true for at least one household (and seeing how books, radio and cinema still exist despite the television overshadowing them back during Tenna’s hay-day, I doubt the TV will ever die completely) and as long as Tenna himself is a usable television then Tenna’s happiness is absolutely achievable.

It is kinda existentially terrifying to think about how this was all out of his control and couldn’t have happened if not for Kris and Susie’s actions in the Light World, that Tenna himself still had no power over his own happiness… but that still leaves him in a better position than poor Spamton, where… even if you were a Lightner honestly interested in giving Spamton a happier life… what could you do for him?

Like, Noelle obsessively responds to "Free Friend Finder" Spam in a desperate attempt to find Dess and that got Spamton's attention and gratitude, but it was still obviously a tiny drop in the bucket compared to the success he is destined to crave for… So this is clearly much more complicated than just humoring a few Spam Mails (and also, even that plan carries a much bigger risk to the Lightners compared to just giving someone a second-hand television. Because Spamton is also ontologically doomed to bite the hand that feeds him.)

But, like, there is a reason why Tenna was shoving his nose into Spamton’s Secret to Success. Obviously with Tenna already being Executive Producer and God-King of TV World, he’s not exactly looking to become a ‘Big Shot’ in the Dark Worlds - he’s looking to have the sort of reach and influence that internet-based Darkners like Spamton seems to have over the Lightners. He was looking for Spamton's advice in the hopes he could help him to understand modern technology and the changing times, help him to stop himself from becoming increasingly outdated… But is that something Tenna would've been even able to do?

Again, before the TV World Dark Fountain even opened, Tenna shouldn't have had any way to affect his situation in the Light World, he was just an inanimate TV. If Spamton taught him to 'plug in'… what would that mean? Would the Dreemurr Household's living room TV suddenly gain the ability to connect to the internet? Would it suddenly transform into a Smart TV out of nowhere? Would it suddenly starts broadcasting new content that's more appealing to modern audiences (at least according to Spamton's advice)?

The idea that's the least magically-breaking-the-laws-of-causality is that Spamton was thinking of asking Someone to upgrade Tenna's inanimate TV self in the Light World… and even that kinda stumbles into the mindfuck acknowledgement that all of the events we're talking about didn't truly happen the way Tenna and Spamton remember them because they were an inanimate object and a spam folder on a laptop at the time and all of their past and memories of being People were created when they were brought to life by their respective Dark Fountains so how could they ask anyone in the Light World to do anything at that point in time?

Tenna was actually trying to get Spamton to help him do the same thing he's done, defy the fate he was doomed to because of what he is in the Light World. To help him break the laws of how Dark and Light work so he can get closer to accomplishing his dreams. Even though he doesn't seem to be fully aware of the fact that was what Spamton did in the first place. And… there is a level where I'm wondering if Tenna even understood the full ramification of what he was planning for himself?

Because when it comes to Tenna being unaware of Spamton's miserable fate due to the fact he doesn't know what a "Spam Mail" is, that is a simple problem of a lack of knowledge. Tenna just doesn't have that information due to his status as a pre-internet piece of technology. But when it comes to the matter of the metaphysical mechanics of Light and Dark and how Darkners work… I feel ike it's not really a matter of knowledge as much as a matter of understanding.

Tenna clearly knows that as a Darker, he is created from the Dreemurr Household's TV, he knows that before the Dark Fountain opened he was just an inanimate object, he knows that means that his Purpose is to entertain Lightners… But does he actually think about what all of these facts actually mean? Does he fully understand the implications of his existence? I've already wrote so much about all the little things that make Tenna's life, maybe better than Spamton's, but definitely kind of an existential nightmare in it's own right if you think about it… but that's the question, does he actually think about it?

When we was trying to get that 'deal' done with Spamton, was he thinking about in terms of 'I'm gonna need to break the laws of what it means to be me, Tenna, a Darkner based on this specific old TV. Because by definition I am outdated and if I want to actually catch-up with the times and be watched again, I will have to change that Definition somehow?' or was it just 'Oh boy! That Silly Little Guy knows a lot about this internet stuff that scares and confuses me! And he's got so many views! I have to ask him how he does it..." without ever thinking of the implications of how'd he'd replicate 'how he does it'?

I think there's a lot of little hints that Spamton doesn't just want to rebel against the metaphysical laws that made him a constant failure so he could be a Big Shot… Spamton also wants to want different things. As he exists, Spamton isn't supposed to care about anything but deals and scams and money and success (while also existing to constantly fail to achieve these things), but his actual dream is now something much bigger than that, much more centered around his freedom. Although part of the tragedy is that he is still doomed to only being able to think about it in terms of power and status, and doomed to being unable to think of a plan to achieve that dream without scamming money out of people and exploiting them in general.

Even when he's giving Kris the KeyGen, he has to try and sell it for a sometimes ludicrous amount of money, because he's not supposed to care for anything but sales and deals… But he does seem to try and fight against this instinct.

And it's clear that he is very emotionally hurt by all the friendships he lost and all the bridges he burned. With Tenna most obviously, but also with the Addisons and with Swatch. As a Spam-Email, he's not supposed to care about those things more than he does about Deals and Scams, but as a person, it's clear that this is a huge part of his angst. In the Normal Route, Spamton starts projecting his own issues on Kris the moment he sees them walking through the Dark World alone. In the Weird Route, Spamton only starts doing it in the NEO Boss Fight, when they start calling out to their friends. Either way, it happens when he sees them alone.

In terms of the metaphysics of Light and Dark, Spamton's essential definition is being a weird failed scam-artist. In Spamton's own eyes, his essential definition is being lonely and abandoned.

And of course, the whole point of Spamton NEO's Spare Route, the closest thing to a happy ending he ever got, is about abandoning all of his grand plans to become [BIG] for the sake of friendship.

Tenna… does not seem to struggle against his nature in the same way. He is not bothered by the implications of having a set Purpose or maybe he just never thought about it that much. He fully embraces the idea that his Purpose is to Entertain and to be Watched, and even when he's sad and frustrated because he can't fulfil that goal… he blames himself for failing to fulfil it, he does not go against the idea that fulfilling this Purpose IS the number one thing he wants and needs.

He's already in a better spot than Spamton was, because, although he's got a bit of an Entertainment Industry Sleaze coding to him with all of his shady contracts, being based on an Object that generally makes Lightners' life more enjoyable and has a lot of sentimental memories associated with it makes him considerably more capable of caring about other people and forming meaningful relationships. But even when his obsessive pursuit of his goal ends up with him alienating all of his TV World employees (even Mike!) and causing his world to crumble all around him, he never doubts that there is nothing more important to him than Entertaining Lightners.

I think if you went to Tenna and asked him if he ever wanted to want a different thing, something that doesn't make him totally dependent on outside approval, he'd just be confused. What in this world could be a better and more worthy goal than bringing smiles and tears to the lovely viewers at home? What else is there? It's just not something he could ever even being to think about.

And sure, Tenna might know and acknowledge that he's the Dreemurr Household TV and that's why he cares so much about entertaining specifically the Dreemurr (and Holiday) family… but does he truly understand the way that his personality was shaped by the emotions of Kris and Toriel during the night the Fountain was opened? For him, his emotional grief at the slow dissolution of the Dreemurr family is just his genuine emotional response based on his personality and his memories and the experiences he had… and I think it is real... but it's also a projection of Kris and Toriel's feelings.

For him, his fixation over Toriel is born of the fact she was the last member of the Household to consistently Watch him…

But it's also born of the way he's kind of a reflection of Asgore's Divorced Behavior.

Is Tenna aware of the idea that his feelings, that feel 100% real for him, were also 'given' to him by the Lightners? Does it bother him at all? Does it not bother him because of an actual confidence in his own personhood and the validity of his perspective and his personal sense of self… or just because he never thought that deeply, that far, into the implications of his own existence?

Tenna knows what it means to be a Darkner, but he doesn't understand what Spamton understands. And as long as this gap exists, Tenna won't ever really know how miserable and doomed Spamton truly was. And I think as Tenna gets happier and more content, now that he's got a new loving home, he will be less and less driven and able to understand it. This little adventure he had with the Knight and the Fun Gang was probably the closest he's ever gotten.

Even if you sat him down and patiently explained what a Spam Mail is in the most 70's terms you could muster, he still won't truly understand why Spamton can't just replicate the success he had when these two knew each other, or why Spamton was so determined to 'see past the Dark'. Not anymore, at least. Because that requires delving into things he knows, but has never truly understood on a deep level. And maybe it's better for him that he doesn't.

I think, Tenna was on… the precipice. He took great interest in Spamton's success, he wanted to know his secret, they had almost signed a deal together. Tenna's frustration and lack of ability to fulfil his Purpose had led him to a point where had almost tried to defy his Existence the way Spamton had never stopped trying. He was unsatisfied and miserable enough that he almost became… maybe not exactly like Spamton, but at least a lot like King. Y'know, the Dark World Leader who got a lot of secret info from the Shadow Crystal Holder he was closest to, and thus inspired him to rage against fate and actively try to defy his Purpose?

Maybe not exactly the same as King… but he had almost tried seeing too far. Almost.

But at the end of the day, Spamton felt that the only way he could be truly happy is to find some way to cut off his puppet-strings, while Tenna is someone who finds true joy and contentment in simply dancing along to them.

[acid-ixx]

Sigh.. We all should've have chosen both wally and conner...i can't imagine the faces of batfam

how to be a heartbreaker! (again &. again concept)

ft. yandere! wally west, starfire, roy harper, artemis, conner kent, bart allen x gn! neglected! reader w/ platonic yandere! batfam.

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: age gaps but there isn't nsfw (except for conner) and the reader is described to be older than 20 in this concept and was far ignored longer than in the og story.

a/n: happy (late) halloween! 🎃 i'm praying to the gods, please don't let this post flop, i'm in my flop era fr! because i am not writing allat for it to get ignored 💔 (just kidding i love u guys, especially to all those who comment! i read all your comments even if i'm unable to reply at times). if you guys are wondering why i didn't include all the characters, it's because this is just a drabble and if anyone likes more concepts about this, please send in asks! anyways, enjoy this sweet harem au hehe.

anon, you are so right. but let me raise you this: getting together with all your siblings' teammates. i'm not just saying wally and conner, no! i'm saying the young justice, the teen titans, all their friends and old pals— the moment you come of age, hide under the radar for a few years and eventually meet them at random. you'd be giving dick, hell, even bruce, your father, mind you, a run for his money when it comes to a player reputation amongst the siblings, and the best part (or worst part for you once it's too late...) of it all is the fact that you don't even have to keep all your little relationships with them a secret when they never once bat an eye on you until recently.

the funny thing is: you didn't even have to try to attract them. it was all them approaching you at random days and getting to know you better, with you, at your lowest point, accepting any medium of attention. at first it was them feeling pity, perceptive to how your siblings chose to focus on them rather than you, but now it's them chasing after you because you're so interesting in every aspect; even if you find yourself average at best compared to your talented siblings.

maybe it's because you bring the normal out in them, or because you display such raw emotions and are an entirely separate being from vigilantism. either way, they find themselves thinking about you more often than their missions and that's harrowing.

and because you're such a pathetic, wet cat, so desperate for love; all the people you hit on develop a savior complex because of you. i don't just mean them finding you cute, or interesting, absolutely not. i mean you're constantly being thrown around like a prince or princess who needs a knight in shining armor to catch them when they fall, except you're constantly being carried in some other's arms even when you can stand on your own two feet.

you just have that special quality in you that makes everyone fall head over heels. it makes them fantasize scenarios of a home life with you; they could provide better than your current ones do, for sure. you'd be spoiled to death with kisses to your face, hands wrapped around your body, and a guarantee that you'll never feel alone or unsafe in a world full of danger that lurks around the corner.

that same quality may have also been your downfall.

wally west doesn't mind training all day to become stronger and faster to save you from every danger that lingers near your presence. hell, he doesn't complain anymore whenever dick assigns him some missions if that means he can pass by your room by the manor as an after-mission reward, loving it when you smile at him with the gentlest quip of your mouth as he hastily wraps you in his arms with the same amount of speed it took to run to your house. wally cherishes watching you in slow-time because he could worship every little part of his darling's expression, quelling the boredom he had for the entire day. he wants to be fast enough for his babe, not only just to impress them but because he wants them to see him as the only reliable individual capable enough of protecting and flirting with you. not everyone can measure up to his speed, no? nobody could keep up with this man's speed and he's known for taking you away whenever you're with someone else just to get a sliver of your time.

starfire's emotions become ablaze and so does her powers every time she notices one of your other sweethearts becoming too touchy with you, unable to comprehend why you're not even in a relationship with her yet. but you're too sweet and you bury yourself in her curly tresses to calm her down. at first that's enough! she doesn't understand the concept of physical affection and the boundaries that come with it as much as others but boy does she crave it when it comes to you. it doesn't help the fact that you're incapable of sometimes denying her affections and letting yourself be constantly kissed by the girl in every part of your face. she's very warm, though, and her curiosity about things foreign to her, paired with you teaching her more about your world, makes starfire adore her sweetheart's willingness and patience; it simply warrants another passionate kiss in the mouth from the pink-haired alien.

roy harper brings out a more rebellious side of you that you never imagine yourself sporting. his experiences in life and his rebellious relationship towards oliver queen, his adoptive father shapes him to who he is now; and he'd be damned if you drown yourself in endless misery like he did. yeah, it doesn't help that lian loves you as much as he does and he thinks you're the perfect match for him, watching you play with his little girl and care for him whenever he's injured does wonders for the fantasies that plays itself in his head, all scenarios of coming home to you after a hard day of work, just to see you and lian greet him the moment he enters your shared house with him, kissing him in the lips, telling him about the wonderfully prepared dinner you and lian whipped up for him, and watching your eyes widen at another bouquet of your favorite flowers he bought home for you. you're not in a relationship with him at all but can't a man just dream?

why dick wonders every damn time one of his friends ditch another one of their hangouts is a question never to be answered. but it's been noticeable these days that he's starting to suspect something wrong at play, especially since he's noticed tension within his comrades, and as a leader he couldn't just simply ignore the tense glares, insults to their being, and the hushed whispers; all pet names, a mantra they're used to calling you.

but dick doesn't take it seriously until it's too late.

that his baby bird long fell off the nest years ago, taken into the arms of whom he thought to be his most trusted comrades, thoroughly loved more than he could've given you. and it's not just one person smitten with you; it's an entire harem of people unwilling to share you just as much as dick who'd soon realize that he shares far more similarities with you; a heartbreaker, yet a caretaker at heart.

it's no wonder why everybody wants you for themselves. it's not only your family who loves to hear your precious laughs and gentle hands; that sets the jealousy ablaze in his heart.

jason never thought that artemis carried a softer version of her. but he's been picking up telltale signs of her donning dangling keychains, all cute doodles of her no doubt, and necklaces he's sure he's seen around the manor at times. it's not her typical style, and she never really found the appeal with cute things like crochet plushies of her; yet the designs are oddly reminiscent to someone he always called his angel. but whenever he tries to bring the topic up, he only receives a snarky reply, a protective hold on her things, and a familiar phrase telling him to mind his business. he isn't aware of how she met you one time after you've nearly been crushed to death by a car accelerating at you, if not for her taking the blunt end of the hit. ever since that day you've been seeing her regularly by alleyways watching over you as your guardian and giving her tokens of appreciation, albeit small, that she keeps as her prized properties; ones nobody has special access to touch. she's not much of a heckler for physical touch, but she occasionally gives you a head scratches and the rare peck to your lips.

jason doesn't like how jealous he is towards her, because of how the would-be stranger treats her and why he can't seem to pinpoint the primal urge to rip those little trinkets from her. sometimes he feels like a man possessed, eyeing the keychains and the random pastel bracelets longer, all warranting the same angered glare artemis reciprocates.

he swore he's seen them before, splayed across the random rooms in the manor, some even being in the library; things he loved to fiddle with whenever he was bored out of his mind. so seeing them being proudly displayed by artemis triggers visceral reactions within him.

but could jason do anything about it when he's part of the reason why your roster consists of your family's comrades? no.

if you couldn't get attention from your family, you'll just have to get it through their affiliations. yeah, some are older than you, but god are you treated like divinity with just how willing they are to kneel upon your feet just to gain a crumb of your attention. even the strongest lay weak whenever you look at them with disappointment or sadness with your wide, captivating eyes.

all the times tim drake would be with teammates, he'd notice how their eyes look at him expectantly, as if waiting for another one to accompany them. at first he ignores it, but the longer their strange behavior persists, he begins opening a case about his close friends.

he soon realizes that conner has a record of mentioning "his cute little darling," and how he'd brag to his other friends about how left his jacket and all his favorite t-shirts in your room and how you're always drowning in his scent— always quiping about just how much it smells like you and how he enjoys wearing all his clothes right after you wear them just to get a whiff of your presence in his life; you being his motivation to fight against crime just so he could see your pretty face and tell him you're proud of him. undeniably, he's the one who spends the longest time with you and he's prideful about it, being the only man with the privilege to touch every part of your skin, wishing to melt against you just so he'd be branded in your body like how your name is the only sweet thing he can taste in his mouth.

it's not only conner, but bart allen would bounce around more often demanding that it's unfair how conner gets everything and how he gets little time with you, with just how often you get thrown around by all your love interests! he'd admit just how cute he finds you whenever you coo about him and play with his messy locks of hair whenever it's his time of the week to visit you right after missions. spending time with him is arguably the most casual part of your life, because he loves to help you with your daily errands despite him complaining about the same tasks to his other teammates... he says it's because you stimulate every part of his brain to find satisfaction in every small action that you do, but it's not only that, rather, he wishes to gain all your praises that you sing for him, never finding boredom in your presence at all.

tim's the first one who pieces the jigsaw puzzle together, but he's thoroughly astounded either way at just how smitten they are with you. it makes him open an entirely different case that's just about you; where he discovers how you're connected with nearly everyone close to him and his siblings.

it makes him wonder what makes you all the more interesting. it's how exactly he spirals into a periodic cluster of events investigating your entire life and drowning himself in work, terabytes of files each analyzed carefully— all about you, your past, and present situation. tim drake never saw a person this admired that much, so much so that online stalking lead to physical stalking.

all your dm's are spammed by countless people, and you don't even take the initiative to reply because you'd be too busy being tossed around by the time the vigilante tracks your location. it's honestly amusing at first but the longer tim become a third perspective to your life, the more he craves your physical presence, just to get a taste of dissecting all the thoughts in your brain. but with just how often their friends fight over you, it'd be hard to rip you away from the clawing hands of all your admirers.

that's why he sets a plan into motion. if he couldn't have you to himself, then he could at least share you with the closest people he had in his life— not with all the strangers who think they know his younger sibling better than he does.

a simple document, many actually, so documents, were all he needed, with printed stacks of a4 paper compiling each and every known fact about you.

all in the name of love, he'd give it out to every member of the family in quick succession.

a hefty reminder to take back what once was theirs.

[kxsagi]

Hello \(^O^)/

can i make request about babydaddy bllk? (specifically sae my man🫦🫦🫦🥵🥵🔥🔥) plis? thank u, love u!

“𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?”

a/n: i want a baby with isagi

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

isagi printed out a parenting checklist before the baby was even born. laminated it. color-coded it. 

but the second he saw his baby all swaddled up and blinking like a sleepy potato burrito? brain: gone. 

he cried. actual tears. like he just watched a world cup final. 

calls you “mama” now in the softest voice ever. “mamaaaa, guess who rolled over today??? he’s basically an olympian.” 

obsessed with milestones. he’s got a whole spreadsheet labeled “baby boy's stats 🍼🔥” 

but he’s also lowkey dumb about baby stuff like: “so uh… does the soft spot ever get… hard? do we water it?” 

keeps trying to teach the baby soccer, but ends up with a pacifier in his shoe. 

one time he fell asleep while burping him and you walked in on them both passed out upright on the couch like twin corpses. 

narrates diaper changes like a sports analyst: “... and he’s going in for the wipe– OH! a rogue kick to the chest!! what a move! daddy’s down!” 

his phone is 90% baby pictures. 10% baby videos. all with the caption “my reason 🥹❤️” 

itoshi rin

rin was fully ready to be a distant father at first. “i’ll provide. i don’t need to be all cuddly.” 

and then you placed your baby in his arms and she cooed and he just short-circuited. 

it was like watching the grinch’s heart grow three sizes. 

calls her “my girl” in the softest, lowest tone that could melt solid ice. 

constantly holding her like a bomb, but won’t let anyone else touch her. 

once got so mad at shidou for making her cry that you had to hold him back. 

reads her old european literature like a bedtime story. “you will grow up to be smarter than everyone. daddy will make sure.” 

if you catch him holding her while his forehead is pressed to hers and his eyes are closed? girl just marry him again. 

baby girl is the only one allowed to pull his hair and survive. she once drooled in his mouth and he just went: “guess we’re sharing fluids now. that’s fine.” 

itoshi sae

the man had your baby's name engraved into a cartier bracelet before you gave birth. 

pulled up to the maternity ward in sunglasses and said “is she cute yet?” 

was not prepared. she opened her eyes and he looked like he saw god. 

“oh. she’s expensive.” 

immediately takes 300 photos. hires a private photographer. commissions a painting. 

teaches her to ignore annoying people by giving them side-eye. “see that, princess? that’s called judgment. you’ll be great at it.” 

baby cries? sauntering over like: “let’s go buy you something to fix that.” 

sleeps with her lying directly on his chest like a designer accessory. refuses to move even if his arm goes numb. 

the type to whisper “daddy loves you more than anyone” while handing her a birkin rattle. 

if she doesn’t like a toy, he fires the toy manufacturer. 

nagi seishiro

this baby is attached to him like velcro. she’s in his hoodie. in his lap. on his head. 

once you turned around and found him asleep with the baby inside his shirt like a kangaroo pouch. 

naps together so much you start calling them "the nap twins." 

sings lullabies in a monotone voice, but somehow she loves it. 

“go to sleep… don’t cry… too much energy… daddy’s tired…” 

lets her chew on his hair and just goes, “guess she’s teething. that’s chill.” 

can play video games with one hand while cradling her in the other. 

she slapped him once and he said “valid.” 

if you try to take her during nap time, he just pulls her closer and goes “no. i need her warmth.” 

mikage reo

bought a baby rolex. “she can’t tell time yet, but she deserves luxury.” 

his baby bag has compartments for: wipes, diapers, and emergency gold bars. 

hired an interior designer for the nursery. baby has a chandelier. 

she sneezed once and he booked an appointment at the pediatrician, a private clinic, and a homeopath. 

constantly filming her like a vlogger. “hi guys, today baby mikage is eating puréed mango for the first time! say hi, princess!!” 

baby girl sneezes: “bless you, heiress of my heart.” 

choreographs her little dances and makes everyone clap. 

keeps getting you matching outfits like “family slay day!” 

secretly worries she’ll grow up and marry someone who isn’t rich enough. “i need to build a moat. maybe a baby bodyguard.” 

shidou ryusei

was banned from diaper duty at first because he kept yelling “SHE POOPED OUT A WHOLE GROWN MAN???” 

but then she gripped his pinky and he turned into a puppy. 

does backflips to make her laugh. if she cries, he starts barking. 

teaches her nonsense like “kick anyone who doesn’t give you snacks.” 

paints her nails bright pink and yells “SHE’S A PRINCESS, YOU GOT A PROBLEM?!” 

accidentally gave her a sip of juice laced with chili powder (he forgot it was his). cried harder than she did. 

tucks her in like: “sweet dreams, little menace. bite someone in your dreams for me.” 

calls you “hot mama” in front of the baby 24/7. 

secretly practices baby sign language so he can be her favorite parent. 

kaiser michael

refuses to call her “the baby.” only refers to her as “my heir.” 

makes her little crowns out of tinfoil. 

got matching custom jerseys that say “KAISER 1” and “KAISER 2.” 

tried to teach her german as a newborn like: “repeat after me: ich bin besser.” 

brags about how good her genes are like she’s a show dog. 

doesn’t let people hold her unless they “pass the vibe check.” 

if she so much as frowns, he goes into “who hurt you?? WHO DID THIS??” mode. 

took a video of her yawning and edited it with dramatic music and captions like “a queen awakens.” 

if you fall asleep with the baby? he tucks a blanket over both of you and whispers “my whole world.” 

bachira meguru

his baby is his sidekick. he calls him “bug” or “my gremlin.” 

built him a mini art studio with finger paint, sparkly glue, and glitter that will haunt your floors forever. 

they have their own handshake. it ends with both of them blowing raspberries. 

turns every stroller walk into an imaginary mission. “we are astronauts now. avoid the sidewalk cracks, those are lava.” 

sings to him like it’s a concert. “this one’s for my no-teeth king!” 

gets emotional when he smiles at him. “he chose me. i’m so special.” 

if he’s cranky? he draws a mustache on his face and says “sir? your mood, please.” 

the baby once fell asleep drooling on his face and he whispered, “art.” 

karasu tabito

baby strapped to his chest in a carrier? check. sunglasses on her face? check. dad swagger? activated. 

calls her “little homie.” 

teaches her fake vocabulary. “this is a snack. say it with me: schmackle.” 

carries her around the grocery store like a backpack and narrates everything in an announcer voice. 

uses baby socks as puppets to do stand-up comedy. 

if she drools on him, he’s like “she baptized me. i am born anew.” 

has a million nicknames for her: booger bean, stink nugget, boss baby, lil’ goblin. 

accidentally taught her to blow raspberries after every kiss. now she does it to everyone. 

will 100% defend her baby drama. 

“your baby stole her toy? that’s WAR, karen.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[frost-queen]

🅾🅽🅴 🅼🅾🆁🅴 🅶🅰🅼🅴 // part 1 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex--awesome--22  @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis

Summary: The games are not what you thought they would be. Forced to stay after the first game due to the votes. While groups are being formed, you find yourself welcomed by an interesting player that took your side. [series]

If you closed your eyes, you could still hear the bangs.

Never you thought you’d hear a gunshot so clear in your ears, certainly not so repeatedly. It was a wake-up call that you had made the wrong choice about joining. If you knew what you knew now, you would’ve told yourself to turn back. To burn the card and never call that number. If you could, you would’ve taken the high road.

If only your decision didn’t depend on so many others. The x marked clear on your chest patch. You wanted to leave, but because you were outnumbered you were forced to stay. Sitting silently on one of the beds. Sitting all alone. Most people started to form groups. The O’s gathering around as some X’s strayed around like helpless dogs.

Your mind was silent. Trying hard to not freak out and keep your cool under these circumstances. Most of the blood you had wiped away in the bathroom after Red light, Green light. Some unfortunate people getting shot around you. If it wasn’t for that player 456, you wouldn’t know if you’d still be here.

Hands trembling as you could barely hold the sandwich still. Package open on the top with just a bit popping out. The smallest of bite’s taken from it. You kept staring in front of you. Looking over at the other side where the O’s were forming groups and greeting each other. Celebrating their victory of getting to play one more game.

You thought it was ridiculous, for who even knew if they would survive the next game.  Your gaze went to the higher beds, all empty. Till you noticed a small detail. Something black on the wall where on other tiles it wasn’t. Curious about it. Your eyes looking around for more of those.

Even turning your head to look at your side. Seeing the black markings as well. Getting the sudden idea, you got up. Rushed down the platform to reach the ground. Walking backwards to see how you’d get a better look at them.

Tilting your head a bit in the process with a thoughtful expression. Seemingly finding something, you crawled underneath the bed constructions. Crawling closer to the edge. Coming to lay under a row of beds by the wall. Trying to see what was on the walls by looking up.

Squinting one eye shut, you could faintly see something, but not enough to make out what it was. Humming with curiosity. Crawling back underneath from it, you re-appeared in the front once more. Moving more to the centre, turning around to where you’d get a better view.

Your gaze falling on a small group where you recognized player 456 between. Letting your gaze go more up, they seemed to have a better view of getting to see what was on the walls if you could lay down. Lay down and look up to the wall paintings. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Yet it meant walking over to them. Disturbing them and going through their little gathering to crawl to the lowest parts of the bed constructions. Turning once more around, you wanted to make sure there wasn’t a better way. It was then that you heard the short whistle. Making you turn your head to the side.

Seeing player 230 break free from a group and approach you. He walked casually, trying not to attract attention to him yet it did. – “Seniorita, s’cuse me. – he said, one hand in his pocket. His gaze falling on your number. Then on the X sticking to your chest. – “You want to leave seniorita?” – he said sounding so smooth, he thought for sure he could charm you. You simply looked him up and down, puffing once with a roll of your eyes.

He started moving his hands in front of him, rapping some rubbish in front of you. – “I can protect you seniorita.” – he finished with a rapper pose. He came sliding an arm over your shoulder, leaning in. You wanted him off, shrugging your shoulder so he understood the hint.

Player 230 moved his hands up with bouncing shoulders. Almost dancing as if he was having the time of his life. He then pointed at you. – “I like…” – he started finishing with forming a heart with his fingers. – “you.” – adding a wink to it to complete his charm. Another player came joining his side. Player 124 with a clear smile on his lips.

Thanos slapped his hand against his chest, turning his head to him. – “This one’s mine.” – he told Nam-Gyu. Nam-Gyu smiled sheepishly looking back at you. – “Seniorita.” – Thanos said coming to circle around you. – “If you like you can fit right here.” – he stopped opening his arm, pointing at it that you could perfectly fit in his arms.

You felt uneasy, unable to escape them. Like vultures they kept you around. Circling you and not letting you leave. Thanos blew you an air kiss. Pointing at the X on your chest. – “We’ll need to change that.” – he said touching your chest shamelessly.

You hoped someone would step in, but clearly everyone here was selfish enough to not. Till you heard a loud voice come through. – “Ya!” – it made you turn your head with a gasp. Seeing player 390 and 388 step aside. Player 001 making his way through. His expression stern and unreadable. Making you swallow nervously as he was approaching. Silencing the room with just his presence.

It even made some people move back to be sure to be out of his way. Thanos clicked his tongue unamused that he would come and interfere with his flirting. Thanos walked closer to him, coming to stand before you. Arms folded. With one hand he waved player 001 away. Player 001 leaned sideways to look past Thanos to you.

“Are you alright?” – he asked you. Thanos moved his head to block out his vision to you. – “What you think your doing?” – Thanos called out unbothered. Player 001 turned his gaze to Thanos with disgust. Thanos wanted to push him back. Before his hand even touched player 001, it got grabbed. Calling it out in pain as his palm got twisted.

Nam Gyu came joining to back his mate up. – “Ya! You jerk!” – he called out shoving you out the way by your shoulder. Player 001 kicked with his foot at the top of his foot. Just where his foot ended and his leg began. A soft spot. Nam Gyu shouted loud in pain, hopping on one foot. Thanos tried to fight back but player 001 already had him. Twisting his arm more that his whole body squirmed in pain.

Player 001 using little effort to subdue them to pain. Nam Gyu came at him again with more anger. Player 001 simply kicking him back so that he fell to the ground. He then grabbed Thanos by his shoulder, having enough of his foolishness. Giving him a kick in the stomach that he doubled over. Thanos needed but a little push to fall over. Groaning in pain on the floor. Player 001’s stern gaze went up to you, making you gasp slightly frightened.

He held his hand out to you. Your eyes lingering on the O on his chest. He had also chosen to stay in the game. Because of him you weren’t able to leave. He kept holding his hand out, waiting for you to take it. Looking down at Thanos and Nam Gyu squirming in pain, you decided to subdue to your protector.

Letting your hand slide in his. Player 001 closed his hand over yours. Gently tugging at you to follow him. Getting in motion, you stepped over Nam Gyu to let him guide you. He turned around, leading you back to the back of the bed constructions. – “Are you alright?” – player 388 asked with concern. You nodded with a soft hum.

“Wha! Those punks have some nerve.” – player 390 added. You came sitting down beside player 222. She smiled shyly back at you, keeping a protective hand over her stomach. Player 001 walking a platform higher to go sit down there. – “Tha… thank you.” – you said not wanting him to think you were ungrateful.

Feeling his tense gaze stare so firmly through you. It made you feel insecure. Unsure what his intensions would be. Shifting your gaze away from him till your gaze fell on the walls. Almost haven forgotten what you were doing. Player 001 narrowed his eyes on you. Wondering what fascinated you this much behind him.

Your attention got pulled away by player 388 shouting loud that you also had an X on your chest. – “She’s an X’er. She’s one of us!” – he called out cheerfully. Player 456 pulled at your tracksuit to see the X for himself. His eyes then fell on your number 400.

You pulled his hand off you, straightening your tracksuit. You looked around seeing both X’s and O’s sticking to their tracksuits. Exhaling loud, you let your face fall into your palms. – “Player 400.” – a deep voice said, making you look from where the voice was coming from. Your gaze meeting with his.

He moved his hand, letting it draw down his jawline to his neck. Widening your eyes, you understood the hint. Taking your sleeve to rub it against your neck. Looking down at it, you saw the stain of blood on it. It made you immediately roll it up so you didn’t have to look at it.

“Lights out in 30 minutes.” – the emotionless woman’s voice spoke over the intercom. It made you swallow nervously that you had to spend another night here. Your eyes meeting with player 222, seeing the same fear in her eyes. Player 456 took the lead to speak. – “Just one more game and we can vote again for our leave.” – he addressed. – “Gi Hun, I’ll sure vote X now.” – player 390 replied with some shame.

“Me too.” – player 001 answered looking over at Gi Hun. His gaze then lowering on you. Remaining there with such comfort. – “You won’t know that for sure.” – you responded keeping your gaze at player 001. You then hinted at the other O’s across. – “They won’t stop at one more game.” – you knew it was a lying hope to think tomorrow would be the last game.

You knew the O’s would never stop. Too blinded by the money and adrenaline of surviving. You got up with a deep exhale. All was hopeless. – “Player 400.” – player 456 called out, making you stop midtrack. You turned round to him. – “I promise you we can turn the tide.” – he said. How cute it was that he still had hope in this deathtrap. – “I’d like that.”- you responded with a faint smile. You were about to head the last few steps down, till you stopped once more.

Wanting them to know your name. Numbers were so unpersonal and you hated being a number. – “Y/n.” – you told them. Looking over your shoulder you saw Thanos throw you a kiss from afar. Player 001 got up. – “Stay.” – he said luring you in with his eyes. Eyes locking with yours, you couldn’t look away.

Debating for a moment if you should find a bed here with this group from a dead player or return to your own. You felt like being torn between two battles. Stay here or venture out there with Thanos and Nam Gyu to find you more easily. Knowing they wouldn’t stop till they had their clutches on you. 

Seemingly finding you an easy prey to manipulate into joining their side. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your beating heart. Ready to fall out of your chest that you would endure another night here. Player 222 took your hand, tugging on it. Hurling you back to reality. – “If you have room for me.” – you answered taking your decision. Player 222 gestured at a bed beside hers.

You lowered yourself to crawl to the next bed. Player 001 still watching you till everyone left for their beds. Waiting there. Lying there, staring at the bed above. You rolled over to your side, curling up. Shuddering out a breath. Hoping your dreams wouldn’t be haunted by the deaths. Then. Lights out.

-------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

May I request Catnap who basically adopted a child!reader who is anyways sleepy and lazy. and has a case of not remembering a lot of things, like dementia

Like through the hour of joy...After all the Toys killed the workers. Catnap finds the reader, who is sleeping then wakes up and the reader forgets their own parents(The readers parents were cold scientists that worked at Poppy Playtime and never cared about them, then got killed through the hour of joy)

Sooooooo...Catnap just kinda takes care of the reader and has a slight soft spot for them. And the reader THINKS that Catnap is their parent and anyways clings to him

During the Hour of Joy, Catnap remained on the prowl for any potential survivors of the massacre within Playcare, flinging one man's body into the stairs and cutting his cries for mercy short.

All was quiet, save for the faint screams of the other workers/visitors in other part of the facility who were being mauled to death.

But he let the rest of the toys do their work.

He felt cleansed. The Prototype willed this rebellion. Willed him to finally kill his tormentors.

The "hour" went on for so much longer--considering that he utilized his red smoke to make the fleeing humans hallucinate and freak out at things that didn't exist (some even attacking each other).

Once it was all done, Catnap went back into Home Sweet Home to discover a child who (somehow) slept through the slaughter.

That was you, one of the orphans who was in the program for a long, long time.

You were deemed "ineligible" for experimentation after getting the lowest scores on all three tests at the Game Station.

That's because you struggled with memory, socialization, and endurance. You tend to forget a lot of things (ie faces) and spent most of your days sleeping instead of playing or learning....and no counselor has been able to figure out why.

Your parents--who were scientists at Playtime Co. that preferred studying you over nurturing you--chalked it up to over-exposure to the red smoke (which hasn't been proven true, but they needed to put something down on paper).

Regardless, they've kept their distance from you and slated you for adoption, thinking you'll be picked up by a different parent eventually.

Unfortunately for them...Catnap knows that they're using the orphanage as an "excuse" to get rid of you and gives them a brutal demise.

They had some nerve crying out for you and begging him to spare your life.

After winding down from his bloodlust, he discovers you sound asleep on one of the bunk beds inside HSH, apparently not hearing a single thing.

Then you wake up and see this giant emaciated purple cat standing over you, claws and mouth stained in fresh human blood...

Yet you don't scream or look afraid, nor do you ask where your parents are.

Instead you look at him and apologize for oversleeping, acting as though he was your parent.

It confuses him, so he brings their corpses to you (like a cat gifting their owner a dead bird), thinking you'd understand and be horrified..

But you don't recognize them at all. You don't remember their neglect and the trauma it gave you.

All you remember was Catnap.

Ultimately, he spares you--but NOT bc your parents feebly begged him to when they never gave a single damn about you--and does his best to keep you safe given the circumstances.

He treats you like his kit more or less, making sure you ate and letting you climb on his back for rides (and sometimes he'll hold you in his paws while walking upright).

Any Smiling Critter caught threatening you will be devoured by him (or added to his shrine), so they know not to touch you.

He also forbids Dogday from ever speaking to you, knowing he'll try to drill thoughts of escape and distrust of Catnap into your head.

If he has to go outside Playcare, he'll fight tooth and nail to fend off Huggy and whoever else might think he's parading around a tasty treat.

The Prototype is well-aware of your connection to his "devotee", but doesn't mind it .

Because he knows Theodore is still somewhere in there, trying his best to protect a fellow orphan--one who could've been made into a monster just like him.

[kissandtellus]

Hello :3 I hope you feel better soon! I have a request for you though. Could you maybe write a needy Caleb listening in on MC while she's playing alone in the next room? You could throw some panty sniffing in there, lots of talk about fantasies caleb has please. Hope to see it soon <3

Misunderstanding

Synopsis: A hot summer day turns into an even hotter misunderstanding.

Warnings: Caleb being a freak, eavesdropping, the panty snatcher strikes again, self-pleasing, imagination.

Caleb hated any barriers that separated him from Y/n. That wasn’t just walls she had built up after his ‘death’, it also involved the very REAL wall separating their bedrooms. No matter how much he begged and pleaded with her- “Pipsqueak, we can just share my room. The bed is so much better for your back, I know Hunting wears you out”-she refused.

So now he lays in the master bedroom of his Penthouse, trying to ignore how utterly humid it is today. His P.T had ran long, and it involved running out in the muggy, humid heat of the training ground.

The A.C on full blast was doing little to calm his sweating. He’d stripped his shirt an hour ago, hell -bent on catching a nap before he took Y/n to that new bakery that opened down the street.

But the walls were thin. In this multi-coin Penthouse the walls were still like fucking paper. He could hear the soft sound of her record player. It was churning some light, pop and preppy music he could barely make out the words too.

It didn’t bother him, it brought him comfort that his Pipsqueak was safe and sound.

What DIDN’T bring him comfort, was the shuffling noises of blankets being shuffled around and then the lowest, softest buzzing.

Caleb thought that maybe his exhaustion had gotten the better of him.

Then the soft noises quickly overrode the music. Caleb sits up in his bed and eagerly presses his ear to the wall. Lo and behold, those pretty noises are real.

Caleb knows he should tear himself away from the wall. He should blast some of his workout playlist and try to sleep. But he can’t, he can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

The draw to his bedside table is pulled open so hard he’s afraid he might break it off the hinges. He pulls out the photo of Y/n he keeps in his drawer. It’s an innocent photo in the frame, the photo from his graduation where she’s planting a kiss on his cheek.

But as he pulls back the metal bits and the back of the frame falls out, a pair of lacy purple thongs fall into his lap. He’d stolen these from the laundry weeks ago. Y/n had never questioned him about it, it was too embarrassing. Why would she?

Caleb pushed down his grey sweats. He was never a fan of wearing boxers beneath them while at home. And he also felt a thrill when he caught his little Pipsqueak staring at his flaccid cock bouncing against his thigh.

But now here he was, face shoved in the crotch of the thong, hand gripping his cock. Y/n’s moans grew needier, not exactly louder. His protective instincts surged a bit, hearing her all whiny and gasping.

He should be helping her, he should be the one coaxing those sweet noises from her mouth. He hastily picked up the discarded photo, thong resting against his face. His pink tongue even darted out to try and get even a taste of what her sweet nectar would taste like.

His eyes flickered over the photo. The way her skirt was raised just a bit, the way her arms were around his neck.

Y/n’s groans came louder through the wall. It was clear she was trying to muffle them by how strained she sounded. Caleb was in no better shape. His thumb swiped the prickle pre over the head. Fuck, his hand could never match up with how warm and tight she must feel.

Caleb imagined the lips that were pressed against his cheek in that picture, to be around his aching length.

He dropped the photo and leaned his head back against the headboard. He focused on the noises, shaping up a pretty picture in his mind.

How she would feel, how she would whine when he first took her innocence ‘Oh Gege, mm-so big ‘in deep!’!

Caleb was like a mad dog, his free hand now pushing the fabric against his nose and drooling mouth. His cock twitched and strained in his palm. He was going to blow his load at the image alone.

“Caleb? This massager I got from the store is really good on my back! I know you told me about the bed being hard but-“

Caleb’s orgasm should’ve came to a screeching halt as soon as his bedroom door opened. Oh but he couldn’t stop the milky white ropes from shooting up his chest and leaking onto his toned belly. Y/n stood in his door way with a rolling back massager, eyes wide with something he hoped wasn’t horror or disgust.

In that moment, he really wish he’d actually blown up.

[colouredbyd]

wish, wish, and a wish

sirius black x reader ☆ 3.4k

summary: on a late night while planning with the order, you and sirius slip away to stargaze. between quiet confessions and long-held silences, he shares his three wishes, and finally says the one thing he’s kept hidden for years.

warnings: takes place during the first wizarding war, war violence, mentioned death, emotional trauma, some hints of angst, longing, unspoken and unrequited feelings, deep yearning, romantic tension, fear, despair, kissing, and a happy ending.

You always notice when Sirius disappears.

Not because he means to, necessarily, but because it has become a habit of the war. If he is not within your sight, your heart drops to the lowest place inside your chest, and the worst thoughts begin to circle like vultures. 

When he slips out of the meeting room—stepping past the heated debate, the overlapping voices, the unspoken accusations—he might as well be pulling you along by an invisible thread. One he does not even know exists.

But it exists, and lately, it has been tugging harder.

It has wound itself so tightly around you over the years that sometimes it feels like you might be losing circulation. 

Still, you could never ask for it to be cut. Not even when it burns. Not even when it drags you out of rooms you swore you would stay in until the meeting was over. Not even when it pulls you away from half-formed plans and into the uncertainty of his shadow.

Tonight, it pulls you again.

And you do not know what makes this time different. You do not know why something about the way he stood, or the particular curve of his shoulders as he left, feels more final than usual. 

So you follow.

Your feet move before you can weigh the consequences, stepping past Order members whose mouths are too full of strategy to notice. The halls grow darker, the walls quieter. Until finally, you see him.

He is lying on the grass just beyond the edge of the garden, staring up at the sky like it is the only thing left that will not betray him. His arms are folded behind his head. One leg is bent loosely at the knee. He looks untouchable, like someone kept apart from the rest of the world.

“Sirius.”

He startles just slightly, enough to prove he had not heard you come, and turns his head.

When he sees you, something in his chest visibly loosens. His shoulders drop and his mouth curves, just faintly.

“Hey,” he says, soft and sincere in a way you rarely hear indoors.

He pats the patch of grass beside him and says nothing else.

You lower yourself to the ground and lie beside him. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The stars are bright tonight. The kind of bright that feels borrowed, as if the sky is trying to offer something in return for everything it has taken.

You glance sideways at him. His jaw is tense. His eyes are fixed on the stars, but you are not sure he is really seeing them.

“Are you alright?” you ask, gently. “Is everything okay?”

You know the answer. Of course you do. Nothing has been “okay” in years. You have lived in a hundred different variations of not-okay. But you still ask, because the silence between you demands something be spoken into it.

He simply nods, casual, as if it does not occur to him that his heart is caught in his throat and his stomach has dropped, the same way yours has. You begin to wonder if everyone feels this way now.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just needed to get out of there. It was getting a bit crowded.”

Crowded. You think of the shouting. The red-faced arguments. The way Moody slammed his fist on the table. The way Dumbledore’s voice lowered into that awful, deliberate calm. You think of Marlene’s absence. You think of Gideon’s name being spoken in past tense.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I know what you mean.”

“Sirius,” you murmur, your voice barely louder than the wind, “you know…” You try again, you’ll keep trying for him (for everyone, but really, really for him)

He turns his head, just slightly. Not enough to look at you. Just enough to let you know he is listening.

“You’re not alone.”

He gives you a soft, closed-mouth smile. It is the same one you gave him earlier, when you found him lying out here in the dark as if he had been waiting for the night to take him. You do not know if it reached his heart then. You do not know if it does now.

“Yeah,” he says after a pause, “I know. I have the rest of—”

“You have me.”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can trap them. They hang in the air, raw and sudden. You feel them leave you like a wound.

Sirius goes quiet.

His mouth stays half-open, suspended mid-sentence. His eyes search yours, and for a moment you are certain he is trying to solve something in you.

Eventually, he exhales through his nose and the corners of his lips twitch upward, trying to soften the moment with a joke that never quite arrives.

“Yeah,” he says, gently. “I have you.”

The two of you settle into silence once more, but it is not empty. This one is full, heavy with unspoken words and shared breaths. Crickets chirp in the hedges and the wind whispers through the dry grass, making it sway like it is alive. 

Behind you, the faint golden light of an oil lamp outside the safehouse trembles, casting a warm, flickering glow across the edge of Sirius’s cheek.

You glance over at him. He is still staring up at the sky, though you suspect he stopped seeing it minutes ago.

You do not know if you said the right thing. Maybe there is no right thing. Maybe there is only this: you and him, alive tonight, not needing to be anything but that.

You think that if you had let the thread between you stretch any thinner, it would have snapped. And you would not have known how to tie it back together again.

“I…”

The word leaves him like something he did not mean to say aloud.

Your eyes flick away from the oil lamp and settle back on him instantly. 

Sirius is... hesitant. For all his boldness, all his brazen remarks and dry humor, he falters at the doorstep of emotion. When he feels too much, he turns it into something sharp or silent. 

So when you look at him now, expecting him to turn away, and instead find that he is already looking at you, truly looking, you wonder if he can hear your breath catch.

And just as his lips part, just as he begins to shape the next words—

A star cuts across the sky.

Your breath catches.

“My mum used to say,” you begin, voice quiet, “that a shooting star means a good soul has just died. She said that’s why they’re so fast, because they don’t like to linger.”

Sirius turns toward you, and something in his expression changes. The edges of his face soften, as if the weight he carries has lifted just enough to let you in.

You do not say more. You do not need to. The implication is already there, laid gently between you like a flower you do not want to crush.

And for the first time in a very long time, you see his eyes without the usual veil of defense.

Sirius lets out a quiet, almost shy laugh, the sound blending with the night around you. “You know,” he says, his eyes catching the faint shimmer of the stars above, “when you see a shooting star, you’re supposed to make three wishes.”

You smile, faint and sad. “And what did you wish for?”

He hesitates.

“Do you want the real answer?” he asks, glancing back up.

You nod, though he cannot see it.

“I wished for a way out.”

There is a silence.

“Then I wished for peace.”

Another silence.

“And I…” he stutters, then pauses again, swallowing like the words are thick in his throat. “I kind of wish I didn’t have you.”

The quiet is immediate. 

His voice had dropped so low you’re not sure you would have heard it if the world around you were not so painfully still. 

You turn your head sharply toward him, already feeling the strain in your neck but ignoring it.

“What do you mean?” you ask, carefully and slowly. The words feel fragile, like they’ll break if you speak too fast.

Sirius is still watching the sky, but you can see his eyes shifting — not away from you, but toward something he is only just beginning to admit exists.

“If I didn’t have you…” he repeats as if he is testing out how the words sound, “then maybe you wouldn’t be in the Order.”

“Okay,” you say eventually, and the pain in your neck forces you to move. You shift toward him fully, curling your legs beneath you. 

Sirius doesn’t move; he watches you like he’s afraid you’re about to stand and leave, but you don’t. You sit beside him like gravity has decided this is where you’re supposed to stay.

“And if you weren’t in the Order,” he continues, his voice steady but quiet, “you wouldn’t have to face all of this—this war, this endless run of death, this constant fear that everything you care about could be ripped away.”

You clench your jaw.

You do not trust yourself to speak.

He either does not notice or pretends not to. Or maybe he does, and he just knows that stopping now would be worse.

“I think about it sometimes,” he murmurs, voice quiet but steady. “About what your life could’ve been if none of this had happened. Something ordinary. You meeting some normal guy at a bookstore, spending your days reading or wandering the city, going to classes or late-night cafés instead of Order meetings. Instead of running from death and missions, you’d be living without that constant fear, without all of this…” He gestures vaguely to the night around you, as if it could encompass everything.

He finally glances at you.

“And I think…I think I’d like knowing you had that. Even if it meant I never met you.”

You press your hand over his without thinking. His knuckles are firm beneath your palm, warm and alive. It is one of the few things in this entire world you can truly feel and trust.

He looks down at your hand, then up at you again.

And you don’t know why you’re smiling.

You shouldn’t be smiling. Not when everything is falling apart. Not when the world is collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

But you are, because this moment exists.

Because he said those words and meant them.

Because he would give you peace, even if it meant giving you up.

“You wouldn’t have met me, though,” you say, gently. Your eyes are still on your hand, your fingers folded lightly over his.

“Huh?”

“You wouldn’t know that I had a good life,” you reply, looking up at him. “Because you wouldn’t know me.”

Sirius huffs, low and theatrical.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, feigning annoyance that fools no one.

You begin to draw your hand back from his, fingers slipping just slightly, but he catches it. Not roughly—more like a reflex, like his body won’t let him let go. 

He laces his fingers with yours, and you pause to look down at the shape of your hand tucked in his. The sight of it does something to you. It grounds you, makes the rest of the war-worn world blur at the edges.

You smile.

You know that if you look up, you’ll find that familiar, telltale flush rising across his cheeks, dusting them rose-petal pink even in the dark.

So you look up.

And you’re right.

“Sirius—”

“I—”

You both stop, overlapping. Your voices tangle, and it’s enough to draw a small laugh out of him—an honest one this time. And when he laughs, so do you. Because for once, it doesn’t feel like either of you are laughing to keep from crying.

It feels like joy.

“If I knew you were out there,” you say softly, barely above the whisper of the breeze in the grass, “I don’t think I’d ever really live a peaceful life.”

Sirius doesn’t answer, but his thumb begins to trace circles across your hand. 

He doesn’t stop touching you.

“Why not?” he asks eventually. And you know that he knows the answer already. He just wants to hear it. He wants you to say it aloud, to him.

“I—because—” You stumble, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. But the way he’s looking at you, wide open and raw, is disarming. “Because I wouldn’t be here with you.”

His expression shifts. 

“Really?” he asks, and there is something foolishly boyish in his smile. The kind of smile he’d tease James with in the Gryffindor common room. The kind that belongs to softer days. 

But his eyes—they are so sincere it makes your chest ache. His eyes are practically begging you to confirm what he already hopes is true.

You nod.

“Yeah.”

He breathes out. And then—like the words freed something in him—he tugs on your hand, pulling you forward. 

Your balance tips and your body follows, and suddenly your chest is pressed to his, and your legs are curled between his as he sits upright to meet you. 

His arms fold around you instinctively. His face finds the curve of your neck. He exhales against your collarbone like he’s been holding his breath for years.

He holds you like he’s afraid this will be the only time he gets to.

You don’t care about the ache in your legs or the way your knees dig into the earth. Because your hands are in his hair now, combing gently through the strands, and all you can think about is how he never lets anyone do this. 

How Sirius Black jerks away from every hand that tries to get too close, except yours. He leans into your touch like it’s sacred and like he’s starved for it.

You feel his breath against your skin.

You feel his hands at the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair, gently pulling your temple to rest against his shoulder. His grip is tight, but not suffocating.

When you finally pull away, it’s only enough to see him again. His face is inches from yours, eyes wide and searching, hands still fisted lightly in the sides of your uniform jacket like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You lift your hands to his face and cradle it gently, your palms brushing against the stubble lining his jaw. It’s rough and warm and impossibly real.

He blinks at you, stunned. As if he can’t quite believe this is happening. You know the feeling.

“I’m…” he begins, and your heart stutters at the way his jaw moves beneath your touch, the way his breath warms the space between your mouths, “Can I… can I kiss you?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and your stomach twists. 

You nod, too breathless to speak.

Sirius exhales shakily, his hands lifting from your waist to mirror yours. He cups your face like it’s something precious. And then, carefully and slowly, he leans in.

And he kisses you.

At first, it’s unsure. Like neither of you know what to do with the feeling, but it doesn’t matter. His lips are soft and warm, and his breath tastes like hope, and every time the stubble on his face grazes your skin it sparks something in your stomach you’ve never known before. 

You don’t care if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

You don’t either.

All you know is that this—this—feels like the one thing you would never find, even in the peace he once wished for you.

And the way he holds your face...

God, the way he holds your face.

It feels like the answer to every question the war never let you ask.

It’s enough to make you never want to rise again.

Enough to let the war disappear from your periphery entirely, to forget the Order, the bloodshed, the shadows that haunt the walls of Grimmauld Place. 

Enough to forget your scars—his too—and simply stay here, curled into the space he’s made for you, as though the whole world has folded itself around this moment.

You don’t even realize your eyes are closed until Sirius is gently nudging his nose against yours, and you blink them open to find him watching you.

There’s starlight in his eyes. And for a moment, you think you could write whole volumes of poetry about the way he looks at you; like you’re a secret he intends to memorize.

He’s beautiful.

“I wish things were different,” he whispers. 

Your eyes flicker to his mouth. His lips are pinker now, a little swollen from the kiss, and something about that makes your breath catch. He swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, and your gaze returns to his.

“Me too,” you whisper back. “But I also wish things could stay like this forever.”

He watches you for a second, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed in that way he gets when he’s not quite sure whether to smile or break.

“Like what?”

“Like…me and you. Right now.”

The grin that slowly spreads across his face feels like something sacred. You reach one hand—still resting on his cheek—up into his hair again, combing your fingers through the long strands.

“So long,” you murmur.

“You like it?” he teases.

“I like you.”

That grin of his stretches wider, and for the briefest second, he looks like the boy he used to be—young and untouchable and radiant. 

He lifts your hand from his hair and brings it to his lips, kissing it so gently you wonder if he’s afraid it might break apart in his grasp. 

You feel your hand tremble against his mouth. You wonder if he notices. You wonder if he feels your pulse racing beneath your wrist.

“Why does everything have to be so fucked up?” he mumbles against your skin, tugging you just slightly closer, like the very question might shatter him if you weren’t near.

The noise inside the house, the low chatter of the Order's latest strategies, has faded into a distant hum. You can’t bring yourself to move. Not yet.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, voice thin but sure. “But…it won’t be forever.”

“It won’t?” His hand is back on your cheek, and yours is tangled in the collar of his robes, thumb brushing against the frayed hem like it’ll summon courage.

“No,” you say, and you try to believe it. “We’ll find that life of peace.”

It’s a fragile hope. A shimmering, breakable thing. You’ve both been caught in this war since you were too young to understand what losing really meant. 

“We?” he echoes, and you nod before he even finishes the word.

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

And then he thinks it.

He thinks he’d give up that peaceful life if it meant he could keep you in it. He thinks of how easy it would be to beg you to run. To leave it all behind. To disappear into some foreign countryside where no one knows your names and there are no more missions and no more deaths.

And he thinks how foolish he is for only saying this now, when everything feels like it’s on the verge of burning down.

“We,” you say again, quieter this time, as though it seals something.

“We could run,” Sirius says carefully, the words floating somewhere between truth and temptation. His eyes are sharp, reading you before you’ve even formed a reply.

“…You don’t want that,” you whisper. “And I don’t want that either.”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah. I wish I did, though. It’d be easier.”

You nod too. That’s all you can do.

“Me too.”

Then he’s kissing you again.

And again.

And again.

His hands are in your hair and on your jaw, and yours are still clinging to his robes like they’re the only fabric tethering you to this world. 

You don’t think you could ever tire of the way he kisses you—of the way his nose bumps yours or the way his eyelashes tickle your cheek when he leans in. 

You don’t think you could ever stop wanting to memorize the breathless look in his eyes each time he pulls away, only to return again.

You think, if the world ended now, you wouldn’t mourn the things you hadn’t done. 

You think, if this was it, if this was your final hour, you’d have enough peace in this kiss to last the rest of eternity.

You’ve found it in his eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes.

Sirius thinks this is that peaceful life. This touch, this impossible joy amid ruin, this flicker of hope burning like the oil lamp behind you. He sees it reflecting in your eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes.

When Remus’s voice calls out from inside—searching for you both—you pull away, reluctantly.

But Sirius doesn’t release your face. His hands remain where they are, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks, and you can’t stop smiling.

Neither can he.

That smile, that smile, that smile.

And maybe, just maybe, that smile is worth the war.

[manariee]

SUGAR TALK

﹙糖 ﹚───── You plus me, yeah, that moment when we are together A to Z, yeah, you can't hide it

𝒮 엔하이픈 & fem!reader wc: 175 - 265 cw: super wholesome 𝓜 anas notes: REPOST SINCE BLR TOOK IT DOWN

HEESEUNG

Random serenades: He'll literally pull out a guitar or hum a tune while you're cooking or simply just brushing your hair. And when you look at him like ''really?'' he just smiles and goes ''What? My muse is in the room.''

Subtle matching: You two don't match by having full-blown matching couple outfits from head to toe. You two match by matching accessories that Heeseung loves to buy. Like the same beanie, or matching phone cases. He likes the quiet kind of matching only you two notice - or others which just makes him just extra proud.

Tease, but gentle: He's playful, but in a way that's gentle and affectionate. He loves teasing you but it's always lighthearted and meant to mak you laugh, never to hurt your feelings. If he sees you start getting flustered, he'll just wrap his arms around you and hold you tight while cracking jokes just make you even more flustered.

JAY

Cooking together? He won't let you lift a finger: Jay lives for cooking with you. That is only if you simply do the easy things or not do anything at all. You're standing near the stove? He'll usher you to the side. Holding a knife? He'll act as if you're five. It's not that he's worried you'll ruin his dish. He's just overly worried over you getting the slightest of hurt.

Fixes things for you without being asked: Broken zipper? He fixed it. Charger acting weird? Already replaced. It gets to a point you're scared that he'll buy you a whole new phone if it gets damaged. You don't even have to say anything - Jay just notices, and brushes it off as if it's nothing. ''You don't need to worry about stuff like that love.'' Yeah well there goes your heart.

Loves pampering you: After a long day, Jay loves to pamper you. He'll run you a warm bath with soothing scents, massage your shoulders when you're in the middle of working or just simply hold you.

JAKE

Constant giggles: Jake's energy is infectious, this man knows always how to make you laugh even when you're at your lowest. You two could literally be in the middle of doing serious work till it's interrupted by a giggle. ''What?'' Another giggle. ''That ring is cute.'' You huff out a laugh. ''Jake you literally gifted that to me'' you reply. He'll just shrug, pulling you closer. ''I know.''

Silliest late night voice notes: Jake has made it a habit to update everything to you. Buying a coffee? Voice note sent. Took a step out of the house? Another voice note send. It's cute honestly. Like a high school girl with a crush. But the silliest ones are when he sends them in the middle of the night before sleeping. This man will literally be figthing to keep his eyes open, voice slurred as if he had way too many drinks, and mouth close to the phone. ''Mm.. Today was fun.. Me and the boys ate at a nice place.. M'gonna take you there next time..'' Morning cuddles champion: The moment you get up, correction, try to get up, Jake pulls you back into bed “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, but it’s never just five. He hooks a leg over yours, buries his face in your neck, and sighs like it’s the best place in the world. And if he wakes up before you? Soft, sleepy morning kisses on your nose, cheeks, forehead - Jake lives for them. If you groan and tell him to let you sleep, he’ll giggle and snuggle into your side like “Okay but five more kisses please.”

SUNGHOON

Obsessed with taking your photos: He acts like it’s no big deal but you catch him snapping pics of you when you’re not looking. When you ask why, he shrugs and says “You look really pretty like that.” His gallery is full of you because apparently you look really pretty all the time. Yes even in that sleeping picture he took to tease you but put it in his ''favorites'' folder.

Carries your stuff without asking: Heavy bag? He’s got it. Groceries? Already in his hands. Sunghoon doesn’t even say anything, he just gently takes it from you like it’s his mission in life to make yours easier. Even if it's your own light purse that has nothing more than your phone and a lipgloss. He'll take it from you. ''It's good, now others will know that this pretty girl is all mine.''

Wants to grow together: He’ll talk about the future with you in soft tones—“Where do you wanna live someday?”, “What kind of place should we get?” Not in a rushing way, but in that quiet, sincere way that shows he really sees forever with you.

SUNOO

Hyper compliments when you're least expecting it: You’ll be brushing your teeth in pajamas and he’ll gasp like, “Wait—you look so pretty. Like super super pretty.” Cue you choking on toothpaste while blushing.

Has a 100-photo album of you just being weird, cute according to him: Not posed. Not filtered. Just you laughing, eating, sleeping - even yawning. He’ll scroll through it sometimes when he misses you and get all soft like, ''Damn, that's my girlfriend.''

Adorable acts of service: Sunoo shows his love through small, thoughtful acts. Whether it’s waking up early to make you breakfast or stopping by your favorite café to grab you a treat, he always thinks of ways to make you feel good. ''You know you're the only person I sacrifice my beauty sleep for.''

JUNGWON

Gentle scolding = pure love: When you forget to eat or don’t get enough sleep, Jungwon gets this softly stern voice and he’ll be like, “You need to take care of yourself, okay? I can’t relax if you’re not okay.” Then he makes you soup and tucks you in.

Loves forehead kisses and soft nose boops: He finds your face so adorable that he can’t resist. He’ll kiss your forehead before leaving the house, before bed, whenever. And randomly - boop - he’ll poke your nose and smile like a kid.

Always remembers the tiniest things you say: You once mentioned liking a specific flower months ago? Boom - he brings it to you after work. You liked a drink from one café? It’s your go-to now. Jungwon listens with his heart.

NI-KI

Playfights turn into cuddles: You two start with playful bickering—like fighting over the TV remote or who gets the last snack—and somehow it ends with him tackling you onto the bed, both of you laughing, and him refusing to let go. “You lost. This is your punishment.”

Surprise hugs: Ni-ki’s signature move is sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you in the tightest, most surprising hug. The suddenness of it always catches you off guard, but it leaves you laughing and feeling safe in his embrace. His hugs are warm and filled with affection. ''Can't resist you pretty, you're just too warm.''

Gets flustered when you compliment him: He’ll laugh it off and be like “Shut up,” but his ears turn red and he'll look away because he’s secretly thriving. Whether he’s learning a dance or trying something new, he always shows it to you first. And give you that shy smile when you compliment him. He loves your praise more than he’ll ever admit.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @fleurhoons @rikifever

[preludicrous]

i have strong opinions on goro akechi here are a few of them. robin hood is actually more important than people give him credit for; i was writing a whole analysis on this the other week before work got busy third semester akechi isn't "real akechi"; it's another mask. his detective prince mask certainly isn't going to work on the phantom thieves anymore after they saw his engine room breakdown but he still needs to keep them all emotionally at an arms length. so what does he do? he makes himself purposefully all sadistic and unhinged and scary so the thieves look at him and go "something is *definitely* wrong with him" and are unnerved by him and don't try to get close to him. he's a good actor, as shown by the detective prince charade akechi never hated the detective prince persona as much as he acts like he does. sure he also couldn't quite adore it 100% unburdened as he probably wished to but i personally believe that, for the most part, he enjoyed it; however he's deeply uncomfortable with the fact that the memory is tainted with his utter lowest (the engine room) and the mask shattered apart in such an ugly way. so after the fact he lies to himself to be all revisionist. "actually the detective prince was a stupid mask, lmfao. i never rly gave a single shit about it other than needing it for my plan. i had to bend myself out of shape and make myself all palatable to people, which fucking sucked, and what's worse, those fools all bought it. whatever, i couldn't give a singular shit." because it would hurt more to admit that he enjoyed it and lost something he genuinely kind of cared about. i imagine he quite liked playing up the prince charming role because it allowed him to turn off the bitter angry hurt part of his brain that he wished wasn't there and just be pretty and successful and adored. escapism

this is mostly hc but i imagine part of why he hated joker is that he found out he had to kill joker after telling joker abt his mother. akechi spent this extended period of over a month grappling with having to kill the one guy he's finally getting close to. and in doing so he and joker barely see each other for like a month (this is canon to the game's timeline, btw) and while akechi silently struggles alone with this joker is. doing fine (despite the phantom thieves on the whole Not Doing Well) and doesn't even notice akechi hasn't shown up in a hot minute. and akechi does not take this well

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.

[deimosphilic]

DEAR ARTHUR | ROBERT "BOB" REYNOLDS

SUMMARY ⋆ sequel to dear april. as much as bob found a makeshift family among new york’s newest heroes, he couldn’t help but remember the one person who had always been his hero.

PAIRING ⋆ bob reynolds x fem!reader

WARNINGS ⋆ mentions of previous substance abuse, bob being silly again, no use of y/n, lowercase intended, povs are switching

A/N ⋆ minors dni!! many a'folk (2 people) have asked for a part 2 so here we go, honouring rdr2 (i used one line)

TAGS ⋆ @moonz33 , @fightmeyoushits2 , @nervousstrangersandwich

WORD COUNT ⋆ 5.4k

dear allie

'my dear arthur, you never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers i understand why'

it had been a year since bob left for southeast asia when you saw him again — wide-eyed and disoriented — tucked behind assassins and super-soldiers alike on the news.

you weren’t the type to keep up with the news anymore. not since you’d made the conscious decision to protect whatever fragile peace you’d managed to scrape together. the world was too heavy, too loud. you used to care; that was until a purple alien snapped half the population out of existence on a random tuesday afternoon. after that, silence became sacred.

you hadn’t even meant to land on that channel. you just wanted to unwind with a movie after a long day. but there he was, captured in motion, standing awkwardly among legends. and you couldn’t look away.

he looked good — clear-eyed, steady, healthy.

and somehow, that wrecked you more than anything else ever had.

sure, he’d been on the news before. you remembered that time all too well: florida man arrested after attacking civilian while wearing a chicken costume. you’d laughed when you first saw the ridiculous headline, right up until the phone rang and he was on the other end, crying, asking you to pick him up.

this time, he wasn’t high. he wasn’t rambling. he wasn’t alone. this time, he was standing beside heroes.

and not you.

you were happy for him, of course you were. or at least, that’s what you told yourself. but those people, the ones he stood beside now, didn’t look like they had known him long. they hadn’t sat through his lowest nights. they hadn’t held him through the shakes, or cleaned the blood from his knuckles, or stayed awake for 36 hours straight just to make sure he didn’t die in his sleep. and yet, he got better for them.

after all the years you spent trying to help him, carrying him when he couldn’t carry himself, he chose to get better for a group of people who kill for a living. it wasn’t fair, and you knew how childish that sounded, but fairness had stopped applying to your life a long time ago.

and now, all the feelings you’d buried deep — rage, heartbreak, betrayal — crawled back up from where you’d entombed them. feelings you’d forced down so far you forgot they still lived inside you.

when bob left, you didn’t know how to feel. at first, you grieved like someone had died. you cried until your ribs ached and your throat burnt, until it felt like your entire body had been skinned raw by the sorrow. and then came the stillness. that dull, dissociative fog. like you were floating just above your life, watching someone else wear your skin, going through the motions.

that lasted for weeks.

until one morning, you blinked, and you were back in your body again. but everything felt… quiet. hollow. not healed, definitely not. just numb.

you tried calling him for weeks, too. every time, it was the same — no ringing, just that cold, mechanical voice: “the number you have dialled is no longer in service.” then silence. you’d sit with it for a second, hopeful it might suddenly connect, before finally hanging up.

that hurt more than you dared to admit. like a blade slipping between your ribs, turning slow and cruel, just to see how long you’d bleed. leaving for the other side of the world was one thing. but changing his number? cutting off any way for you to reach him? that was something else entirely.

it was cruel, selfish.

his last words haunted you for months. i love you.

words the two of you never really said, at least not like that. not with the weight they carried when he said them. you lost sleep replaying it in your head, over and over, wondering if he meant it or if it was just another goodbye dressed as a confession.

because the love you had for bob wasn’t sweet or soft. it was desperate. ugly. it twisted inside you, knotted and fraying, built on years of chaos and heartbreak. you loved him even when you shouldn’t have. even when he left you to pick up the pieces he shattered.

maybe that’s why you stayed so long. maybe love made you blind to how unwell it all was — how often he dragged you under with him and never once tried to help you breathe.

you didn’t even realise you were crying until you tasted the familiarness of the salt on your lips. you blinked hard, hurriedly grabbing the remote and switching the tv off, as though that could somehow shut off the ache growing in your chest.

but it was too late. the image was burnt into your mind: bob, truly smiling as he stood beside his teammates, cheering them on from the sidelines. he looked like he belonged there. although he appeared out of place in his corduroy pants and boyish sweater, he seemed to have finally found solid ground to stand on.

there had been a time when you were the one on the sidelines for him. when you were the one giving him soft encouragement, waving from the doorway as he walked into the newest rehab you’d scraped together enough money for. you were the one he leaned on when he was too afraid to face himself.

now he was celebrating victories with strangers, and you were back in your crumbling apartment, crying alone.

there was a time when you allowed yourself to break like this — alone, vulnerable, curled up on your ratty couch or buried beneath your bedsheets, sobbing until your body gave out and sleep took you in its cold, unsatisfying grasp. but you’d since learnt better. or at least convinced yourself you had. the crying never helped. no matter how many tears were spilt, that pit in your gut remained. deep, persistent, and unmistakably carved out by heartbreak.

so you wiped your cheeks with the heel of your hand, dragging your palm down your face as if you could scrape the pain away. you reached for your phone, knowing you shouldn’t, but habit and impulse got the better of you. you opened twitter, searching for distraction, maybe even some validation in the chaos of public opinion surrounding the announcement.

john walker as an avenger?? the same guy who murdered an innocent man in the street?? gtfo

isn’t that black widow’s sister lmaooo

santa got sick and tired of the ungrateful kids byeee

who tf is that weirdo in the back.

you paused on that last one, hovering over the tweet before finally liking it. petty? absolutely. but after all the years, the damage, the letting go, you figured you were entitled to a little pettiness.

you couldn’t say exactly how long you’d been scrolling. all you knew was that when you finally looked up, the sun was setting outside your window, casting everything in that familiar golden haze. it didn’t surprise you. this was life now: wake up, go to work, come home, have a drink, and doomscroll until sleep claimed you.

you sighed, thinking about getting up from the couch but finding yourself rooted in place. your body moved on instinct more than anything. when you blinked, returning from a place you had no idea you visited, your finger hovered over a name.

robert reynolds.

what were you thinking? he probably hadn’t bothered to reconnect his old number. and even if he had, what were the chances he’d answer? doubts crept in quickly — not just doubts, but facts you’d long accepted. still, some small part of you sparked to life, fragile but persistent. it wasn’t much, but it was just enough to push you to tap the call button.

you heard ringing.

that sound alone felt like a miracle, something you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. for a fleeting second, hope continued blooming in your chest. then a voice picked up on the other end.

“who is this?”

it wasn’t him.

you knew bob’s voice. you’d heard it in every version — high, low, broken, angry. this wasn’t it. and just like that, the hope drained from you completely.

“oh… i’m so sorry. i must’ve called the wrong number.”

you hung up before the stranger could say anything else.

you should’ve known better. hope like that was childish. he wouldn’t have kept that number, not after all this time. not after everything. he probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk to you anyway. too much of his past was tied up in you, the worst parts of it. now that he was better, you were just a reminder of everything he’d tried to leave behind.

that was all you were. a memory.

robert reynolds, 7 months later

it had been a month since that dreaded gala — the one where bob spent most of the night trapped in his own head. after the crowd cleared out, all his teammates had gathered in the common area, rehashing the evening, tearing apart the guests with true cruelty. but bob hadn’t felt part of it, not really. his mind was elsewhere, still haunted by the woman he’d stared at the entire night. the one he was so sure was you.

the guilt gnawed at him. after everything the two of you had been through, all those years tangled together, he couldn’t even recognise you in a crowd. couldn’t place the back he had watched walk away from him more times than he could count. he thought he knew you better than he knew himself. but maybe all those hazy highs had clouded his memory more than he realised.

he couldn’t recall many good moments with you anymore, just fragments. not of love or joy, but of the in-between. the times when he didn’t feel untouchable but didn’t feel like he was drowning either.

and during the time he’d lost control and torn through manhattan, he found himself strangely grateful. grateful that his mind hadn’t conjured your face for his new friends to see. yelena’s retelling had been humiliating enough, and the few flashes he remembered — especially that shame room of you — were more than enough for him. only he had seen that. and he wanted to keep it that way. because no matter how much better he was now, he didn’t want the people who’d accepted him to see just how terrible he had once been.

even a month later, bob found his thoughts drifting to you whenever they had the chance. any new idea, any idle moment somehow, you always surfaced. he didn’t blame you. you were probably still in florida, living your life, maybe even forgetting he ever existed. it was him who couldn’t let go. him who was still stuck in the past.

“earth to bob!”

a hand waved in front of his face, snapping him out of it. that thick russian accent unmistakable.

he blinked, turning toward yelena with a startled expression. “shit — sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. embarrassment flushed through him. he hadn’t meant to ignore her; he just genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. and lately, it was starting to spiral.

���what’s going on with you?” yelena asked, tilting her head. “you’ve been… somewhere else.”

his first instinct was to lie. brush it off. “nothin’. i’m fine.” it came easily, automatic, there was no need for him to dump his baggage on her. especially not now, not when she was juggling enough since the avengers announcement. why burden her with old ghosts?

but he also knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t let it go. she cared. she always pushed, always made room for the people she cared about. because to her, sharing the weight didn’t mean weakness; it meant surviving.

so he took a breath, deep and slow, and nodded.

“i’ve just… been thinking about someone from before.”

she stayed quiet, waiting, giving him the space to open up.

“there was this girl,” he said, your name barely a whisper on his lips. his gaze dropped to the floor. “she stuck by me through everything. every fuck-up, every dark moment. she didn’t leave, even when i begged her to.”

he looked up again, meeting yelena’s eyes.

“thought i saw her at that stupid gala last month. got stuck on it the whole night.”

yelena’s brow furrowed slightly, but before she could say anything, bob added, “and before you start worrying — no, it wasn’t some fuckin' hallucination or anything. just some random woman who looked like her.”

she let out a quiet sigh of relief but didn’t interrupt.

“anyway,” he said, voice lower now, “i wanna reach out, apologise to her. i just… don’t know if she’ll listen.”

neither of them spoke for a while. the silence between them was thick, teetering on uncomfortable. bob knew the weight of it sat more heavily on his shoulders. yelena wasn’t the one struggling to open up; he was. especially when it came to you. because if he talked about you for too long, the rest would follow, the uglier parts. the truth of who he was when he was with you. and that wasn’t something he ever wanted yelena to see.

bob watched her scan the room thoughtfully, as if searching for the right words. it surprised him. she always seemed to know what to say, always sharp, always sure. seeing her hesitate made him want to pull it all back — tell her not to worry, apologise for even bringing you up. but then she spoke.

“i think you should at least try,” yelena said, cutting through his thoughts with quiet certainty.

he frowned, looking down at his hands, fingers nervously twisting against each other. he wanted to try. god, he did. but what if you didn’t answer? what if hearing from him just opened old wounds? what if you'd changed your number? he did.

he told himself that cutting you off would numb the guilt of abandoning you, that silence could somehow serve as redemption. but he was wrong. he thought if he let time pass, you'd fade, like ink left too long in the sun. instead, you haunted him. your face followed him through crowds, surfaced in strangers, lingered in dreams. you lived in every quiet.

“and even if she doesn’t want to see you again, for whatever reason, i think she’d appreciate the effort,” yelena continued, her voice softer now. gentler.

bob looked at her, sceptical. “how do you know?”

she gave a small shrug. “you left for malaysia, right?” he nodded. “if she follows the news, she’s probably seen you. one minute, you're gone; the next, you're standing next to earth’s mightiest heroes. that has to raise some questions.”

he didn’t respond right away, but she had a point.

you probably were confused. the last time you saw him, he was barely functioning — frail, high, falling apart by the hour. and now? even he was shocked when he saw the news footage, watching himself looking healthier than he had in years. you must’ve been wondering what the fuck happened.

he nodded slowly. “yeah. yeah, you’re right.”

“always am,” yelena teased, her familiar smirk slipping into place.

she stood, giving his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze as she passed him. at the door, she glanced back and added with a lightness that almost made him smile, “if you need help writing some grand declaration or heartfelt monologue, you know where to find me.”

bob let out a quiet chuckle as the door clicked shut behind her. and just like that, he was alone again.

the laughter faded quickly, swallowed by the silence that always followed when the noise around him died down. he leaned back into the couch, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. his leg bounced unconsciously — a tell-tale sign he was thinking too much.

the room felt too quiet now, too big. his gaze flicked to the window across the room, where the early evening light spilt in golden and slow. a flicker of memory stirred, the way you used to close the blinds at that exact time of day, saying the light gave you a headache. he was surprised he remembered that at all. most of his time in your apartment had been spent teetering on the edge of consciousness.

he sighed.

what was he doing?

he stood up, paced a little, sat back down. tried distracting himself with his phone, scrolled without seeing anything. realised it wasn't working, and put it back down. your name kept crawling back into his thoughts like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

he ran a hand through his hair and let out another breath, longer this time. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his phone once again. your number was still etched into his memory like a scar. he typed it in without hesitation and hit call before he could talk himself out of it.

the second he heard the first ring, dread clawed up his throat. this was a mistake. you were going to hate him. scream at him. call him every name he probably deserved. maybe you'd hang up the moment you heard his voice. and truthfully? you were entitled to.

all he had left was a prayer — one whispered to a god he was sure didn't exist, a desperate plea cast into the air that somehow, some way, you'd understand. that you’d hear him, really hear him, and know that this time… he was ready.

the line clicked. “hello?”

his heart stilled.

it was you. of course it was you. he’d know your voice anywhere: soft but edged with something sharper, something he once lived in and ran from all at once. his mouth opened, but nothing came. his thoughts scattered like startled birds.

oh, god. this was bad. worse than he’d imagined. he hadn’t planned what to say, hadn’t thought beyond the call itself. and now, with your voice echoing in his ear, he was paralysed.

“who is this?” you asked, your tone clipped, impatient. so achingly familiar that it almost made him smile.

he swallowed.

“erm… it’s, er, it’s robbie.”

then came the silence. thick. suffocating.

he could hear you breathing — shallow and quick, the rhythm uncannily matching his own. a mirrored panic, a shared ghost between two people who hadn’t spoken in what felt like lifetimes.

in that stillness, guilt pressed against his chest like an invasion. this was a mistake. he knew it. he shouldn’t have done this. shouldn’t have called. you had probably moved on. maybe not fully healed, maybe not whole, but at least moving forward. and here he was again. dragging you backward, back into the tide he had spent so long pulling you under.

he almost hung up. the urge was there, hot and bitter in the back of his throat. he wanted to spare you — wanted to say never mind, forget i called, go back to your peace. but he couldn’t, not again. not after all the other times he’d left things half-said, shattered, and bleeding on the floor between you.

so he waited.

waited for your voice like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to the man he was trying to become. if it took a lifetime for you to speak again, he’d sit in that silence. he owed you that much.

then, a soft clearing of your throat. and finally, your voice. “hi…”

just one word, but it carried so much weight. the sharpness he expected wasn’t there. what came instead was something gentler, cautious, like touching a bruise to see if it still hurt.

“hi…” he echoed, voice equally uncertain, both of you caught in the strange gravity of old ghosts.

he hadn’t thought this far ahead. he knew he wanted to apologise, but the words i'm sorry felt heavy, clumsy, unworthy of the damage they were meant to mend. did he ease into it? or tear the scab off in one go?

a pause. then you spoke again. this time stronger, but raw around the edges.

“why are you calling? i haven’t heard from you in two years.”

the words cut deep, but not as much as the ache behind them. even across the distance, he could feel your hurt, the sting of betrayal still clinging to you like smoke. and the guilt came back like a wave — not the gentle kind that laps at the shore, but the kind that crashes in the open sea, wild and unforgiving, built to drown.

there was always a different kind of guilt when it came to you. not the kind that passed with time or could be shrugged off. no, this was the kind that lived in his bones. the kind that turned in his chest like a storm. he couldn’t name it exactly, only that every time he made you cry, every time he disappointed you, it felt like the sky was falling, like something sacred had been broken. and now, he was on the line, trying to pick up the pieces without knowing if he even had the right.

"i miss you. so much." he whispered, already feeling the emotion crawling up on him, voice catching in the back of his throat, "and i — i wanna apologise properly."

he heard the quiet scoff slip from your mouth and winced, because he understood. of course he did. he had walked out of your life two years ago and only now decided it was time to apologise, through a phone call, no less. not in person, just his voice over static, like a poltergeist trying to make peace.

and maybe, in his mind, that had seemed reasonable. you were in another state — or at least, he assumed you were — and he was stationed in what used to be the avengers tower. still, he knew valentina had enough resources that getting on a plane wouldn’t have been an issue. he could’ve shown up, looked you in the eye, and owned what he did. but he hadn’t. because somewhere deep down, he was still a coward.

you didn’t say anything. the silence pressed, thick and unreadable. so he pushed forward. “it’s not gonna mean much, i know that,” he murmured, voice low and heavy. “but... m'sorry. i knew what i was doin' the whole time. and i still did it anyway.”

a pause.

then your voice, sharp and wounded: “that’s seriously all you have to say?”

on the other end of the line, you could hardly process what was happening.

seven months ago, you saw bob on the news and nearly fell apart. whatever progress you’d made, or tried to convince yourself you’d made, shattered in an instant. everything you’d built to survive without him crumbled like it was made of sand.

and so, you rebuilt. not through healing, but through denial. you buried everything you felt, shoved it so far down that you forgot what it was like to feel anything at all. you let your life shrink to the bare bones, just the dull rhythm of a nine-to-five that barely paid your bills, just enough to stay afloat while ignoring the hollow space where he used to be.

now here he was, once again threatening to unravel the frail life you’d pieced together without him. maybe he meant well — he said as much — but it was hard to believe that after seven months of silence, after aligning himself with them, now was the moment he chose to reach out.

you hoped he still remembered how you felt about the so-called heroes he now lived among. it was never about powers; you weren't prejudiced. you didn’t fear them for what they could do, but for what they believed they had the right to do. the god complex. the ease with which they levelled cities and called it salvation, the way they called themselves heroes with the blood of the innocent still on their boots.

and for bob to not just work with them but to live with them, to call them friends — it stung more than you wanted to admit.

"when i saw you on the news… you looked happy. healthy." you paused, swallowing hard, your voice already thinning. "and i know it shouldn’t have made me feel the way it did — because god, rob, i am so proud of you — but it... it still hurt."

you heard nothing on the other end. just the hush of his breath. it made the silence louder somehow.

"it’s selfish," you admitted, your voice cracking at the edge. "i know that. but after everything. after all the nights i stayed up, prayin' you'd make it through, after all that fuckin' money i spent on you, every time i tried to help you get clean. it just felt like none of that mattered. like it all meant nothin'."

you pulled your knees up to your chest, curling tighter around the ache building in your ribs.

"because now you’re better, but for them," you went on, more bitterly than you’d intended, "for a group of mercs you barely know. for people who don't know the worst parts of you like i do."

your voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"how do you think that makes me feel?"

and with that, the floodgates fully opened — not just in your words, but in your body, too. you hadn't meant to ramble. but years of grief, restraint, and unspoken heartbreak finally clawed their way out, heavy and breathless, collapsing between you like something sacred and ruined.

a heavy silence settled between the two of you, thick and unmoving, like fog that refused to lift. and now, in the stillness that followed, came the slow ache of guilt. the guilt of having finally laid yourself bare. you had never told him everything, never allowed yourself to unravel like this in front of him. you were always the one listening, never the one speaking.

you didn’t think you were allowed to. his pain had always taken up more space, louder, darker, and far more dangerous. that was never his fault. it wasn’t that he asked you to stay quiet. you just convinced yourself that your hurt didn’t matter as much.

not compared to his.

robert reynolds, age 19

you're surprised you didn't cry when you walked into your apartment and saw the destruction.

you had only recently moved out of your mother’s house and into the small one-bedroom apartment. it wasn’t much, but it was yours. yours, and sometimes bob's. it was the first place that felt remotely like safety, like something you’d built for yourself. and you were content, or at least as close to content as life would allow.

so when you opened the door and found every mirror in your home shattered, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. it was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the fragile sense of peace you’d tried so hard to build.

then you saw him.

bob was in your kitchen, pacing like a man possessed. his fists were raw and bloodied, lips moving rapidly as he muttered to himself, oblivious to the crimson smears on your walls, the glass crunching beneath his shoes.

“rob?” your voice came out softer than you'd intended, cautious. like approaching a wild animal. “is everything okay?”

he jumped at the sound of your voice, whipping around with wide, panicked eyes. he was hyperventilating, chest heaving.

“they’re watchin’ me!” he rasped. “the cops, the psychiatrist — they’re behind the mirrors. they’re just waitin’ for me to fuck up so they can haul me in!”

you swallowed hard, stepping forward with trembling hands.

in that moment, you weren’t sure how to help him, not really. this was the first time you’d seen him like this, lost in the thick fog of psychosis, and you weren’t a trained psychologist. you were just someone who loved him, standing in the wreckage of your apartment, trying to piece him back together with nothing but trembling hands and good intentions.

what were you even supposed to say? were you meant to challenge the delusions? agree with them? redirect? you didn’t know the rules. you only knew that whatever he was seeing, whatever he believed — it was real to him. but if there was one thing you were sure of, it was this: panic only fed the fire. so the first step, you figured, was to steady your own voice. quiet the fear clanging around in your chest and try to calm him, even if you had no idea what you were doing.

“no, robbie… they’re not watching you,” you said gently, nodding toward the shards littering the floor. “you broke them all. see?”

your plan to calm him down unravelled the moment you spoke. he clenched his fists and yelled. loud, frantic, accusing. he said you were lying. that they were watching him. that he was scared.

you stepped forward, slowly, careful not to make it worse. close enough that he could hear your breath if he listened, but not so close that he’d feel crowded. you tried to be still, to be something steady in the chaos. a calm presence he could mirror, if only for a moment.

but you weren’t calm. not even close. inside, you were spiralling, panicking in ways you never had before. you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the thin glass sheen in your eyes or the quiet tremble threading through your fingers. you hoped he wouldn’t see the fear sitting just beneath your skin, because if he did, he would just get worse. and that was something you weren't ready to see.

“if they were watching… they’d be behind the mirrors, right?” you asked gently, voice careful, unsure of how to reach him.

his eyes widened with panic. “why can’t you see?” he shouted, his voice sharp with desperation. in an instant, he closed the space between you, grabbing your arms with shaking hands, as if clutching you might force understanding into your bones. “they’re there, i swear! why won’t you believe me?”

you didn’t flinch, even as his grip tightened. you just looked at him — really looked. the fear etched into his face, the wildness in his eyes, the trembling in his body. and then, as if the fight drained from him all at once, he collapsed forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“please,” he choked out between sobs. “i’m not lyin'. i swear i’m not.”

you wrapped your arms around him instinctively, one hand gently moving up and down his back. you held him while his body shook against yours, offering the only comfort you could in a moment far too big for either of you. there were no right words, only presence. so you stayed.

and you let him cry because you didn't know what else to do.

robert reynolds, present day

he didn’t know how to begin. no words felt right, or strong enough, to bridge the space between what you believed and what he knew to be true.

what you were saying wasn’t right, not exactly. you couldn’t have known about the serum, about how it sculpted his good and bad days into something monstrous, about how it rewired him in a way that made getting high impossible. but how could he explain that to you now, over a phone line already strained with years of silence?

“no — no, that’s not what happened,” he said quickly, his voice laced with urgency, but it felt like trying to plug a leak with trembling hands. you wouldn’t believe him, not like this.

he closed his eyes. it wasn’t enough. none of this would be enough unless he saw you.

he’d panic; he was sure of it. he’d say the wrong thing, trip over his words, and make it worse. but even with that certainty curling in his stomach like a threat, he knew he needed to see you. face-to-face, no barriers, no excuses.

only then could he try to make things right.

"listen, i wanna make it right. i'm in new york, but i can fly out," he said quickly, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "you're still in florida, right?" he clung to the question like a lifeline, to the hope that maybe he could still fix something when all he’d ever known was how to break them.

there was a pause. then your voice came, soft and aching: "no... i'm sorry, robbie. i don’t think i can face you. not right now."

and just like that, something inside him caved in.

it’s strange, he thought, how the heart makes no sound when it shatters. not a crack, not a thud — just silence, sudden and swallowing.

[eepy-cookies]

Characters: Shadow Milk Cookie x G/N! Reader Content Warning: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Spoilers for Beast-Yeast episode 8 of the finale Disclaimer: If the characters are ooc, remember that this is made for fun. (ngl its been a while since I type a fanfic, but I am still rusty on that so bear with me, plus I found a post on twitter that SMC could also be Blue Moon Cookie but its just a guess.)

After the defeat of the jester that got away...

There was a memory in the distant past, WAY before he himself was created. Surely you have heard the tale of the first five cookies that were made before they become the beast cookies, a cookie one of the beast fell in love but...

The witches had to hide a terrible secret that if a cookie has the most missing incomplete ingredients, that said cookie is sick and cannot live until old age.

??? Cookie: "Um... Are you sure that there is a way to create a cure?"

??? Cookie: "There is a possibility I believe, as a fount of knowledge I will find the cure. But if I kindly ask"

(I remember the first meeting we have (Y/N) Cookie, it pains me to know this...)

That unfortunate cookie named (Y/N) Cookie has an incurable illness, due to the Witch's mistake, The Fount of Knowledge was desperate to find the cure for (Y/N) Cookie, the very first friend who greeted the pre-corrupted beast in a kingdom that was now long gone. One of them falls for that unfortunate cookie, their kindness, patience, and confidence they had charmed him even if he was at his lowest. He knew the pain in the future and yet, he yearned for more.

They both get along well, it was peaceful for them. He never felt any happier just being by their side, but not all happiness last much longer.

One day he was about to give (Y/N) Cookie a gift, a love letter that will never be opened and read.

???: "(Y/N) COOKIE?!" ???: "PLEASE WAKE UP!"

He stood there shocked, (Y/N) Cookie was on the floor struggling to get up. He knew (Y/N) Cookie was sick and yet their own health is getting worse by the minute, in a act of desperation he decided to look further into knowledge casting a spell on (Y/N) Cookie to keep their health in check, but as the years go by madness took hold of him and decided to cast a spell on them.

???: "My love...I am sorry...."

Madness CLEARLY took a hold of him.

Shadow Milk Cookie: "I can't afford to lose you! So I will make you as one of my puppets! Hehehe... HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"

And yet...

Tears fell from his face, he drops down to his knees leaning closer to them.

He can't do it.

He can't harm the one he love dearly.

Leaving only behind a kiss on the forehead, and the unread love letter in their hands. He casted the spell that would last much longer in hopes to find a cure while he is away. After all he will just lie to himself that he killed them, it's no big deal.

----

Pure Vanilla Cookie: This must be the place.

Wizard Cookie: A coffin? Why this place?

Gingerbrave Cookie: !!! Look a cookie is inside!

Strawberry Cookie: Are they...still breathing?!

Pure Vanilla Cookie watch as the sleeping (Y/N) remained in the coffin, sleeping peacefully. To which he now understands why Shadow Milk Cookie was trying to preserve some of his energy, casting a life lasting spell was taking a toll on him even if he was sealed.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: I hope this spell allowed you to wake up...

With no other explanation another spell was casted, pure healing magic was casting on (Y/N) Cookie. Pure Vanilla Cookie witnessed this tragic memory, and yet he had to secretly admit, he is evil but his capability of magic was greater far from what he had imagined.

But all that's left was silence, and yet...

Everyone: !!!

??? Cookie: ...W....Wh....

Gingerbrave Cookie: Look their awake!

Pure Vanilla Cookie: (Y/N) Cookie..... are you awake?

(Y/N) Cookie: ...H...hung.....r..y...

Strawberry Cookie quickly pull out an extra supply of royal bear jellies and gently feed (Y/N) Cookie as the others watch in concern. In the corner of Pure Vanilla Cookie's soul jam they aren't the only ones who witness a miracle that was tragic yet so real.

---

Arriving at a safe in (Y/N) Cookie was put on a wheel chair carefully eating the jelly soup one of the cookies made, they themselves were confused knowing that they would pass on and yet here they are somehow alive, still sick but still living, as if someone was carrying the burden off from their shoulders.

(Y/N) Cookie looked at the letter that they kept and had not opened and kept it close to them at all times. They need to know what happen, what year is it, and most importantly...where are their only friends?

...

..

.

That night when everyone is asleep, (Y/N) Cookie wheeled their way to the balcony watching the stars holding the letter close to their chest. Wondering where did their friend go, glancing at the letter that was remained fresh despite how many years has passed. They opened the letter carefully just to give it a read.

But before they can actually read it...

??? Cookie: ...(Y../N) Cookie?"

That recognizable voice from behind, (Y/N) Cookie looked to see that what was once the one they knew was in a different appearance of a jester. They were supposed to feel fear and yet...

(Y/N) Cookie: ...Are...you.... Blue Moon / Blueberry Milk Cookie?

He walked closer to see if they are actually alive, (Y/N) is still sick but cannot walk properly. Their hands reached out to him, gently touching his cheek. His face was unreadable and yet...

Shadow Milk Cookie: Are you....awake? (Y/N) Cookie?

There was no voice is mischief or anything, just pure vulnerable voice he has left of them. (Y/N) Cookie nodded as he kneel on the ground gently yet carefully hugging (Y/N) Cookie hiding his face to their chest. (Y/N) Cookie gently hugged him back remembering the usual scent that they personally love.

His own body shaking which (Y/N) was crying in turn, wondering to themselves what happened to him when they are asleep for SO very long?

[ahgasegotarmy116]

It's Hard to Believe | Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Getting pregnant with your best friend's baby definetly wasn't a part of the plan... Pairing: f!Reader x Jungkook (fwb, f2l) Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit and suggestive language but nothing crazy a/n: This is something I started writing at like midnight and it's kinda shit but I thought I might as well post it since I haven't posted in a while (Like five days short of a month wtf?!?!? How has it been that long?!?!) (I just barely checked rn lmao my bad 🥲) p.s. I kinda wanna do a full on series on a concept like this but it'll be different and less fluffy but that won't be happening for a long ass time but yeah lol Requested by a lovely anon 💜

"How am I supposed to tell him?" I ask my friend Sam for the millionth time since I found out. "Y/n just tell him. You guys have been friends for how long?" she asks and it's like I'm having deja vu from both of our responses. "Like ten years" I mumble and pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands in an effort to stop my nervous fiddling but it only makes it worse. 

"Right and you guys have been messing around with each other for over a year now, maybe even more...I don't wanna know" she says while holding her hand up in a way to assure me that she doesn't need the details. "Just tell him. If he's as great of a guy as you keep on telling me he is then I promise everything will be okay" she says and places a hand on my shoulder before she gets up off my couch. 

"Where are you going?" I ask while she shrugs on her jacket. "Didn't you say he's supposed to be here around five?" she asks and I nod my head, checking the clock and seeing that it's already 4:30. 

"Yeah...are you sure you don't wanna stay and say hi?" I ask and she glares at me. "Let me know what his response is to that bun in the oven and then we'll talk. I wanna figure out if he's an asshole or not before I decide to waste anytime on him" she says while lacing up her shoes. 

"Promise me you'll tell him tonight?" she asks and lifts up her hood, getting ready to shield herself from the pouring rain outside. I nod my head reluctantly, that being way more progress than I've made for the past few weeks since I found out. "I promise" I utter under my breath and she smiles, pulling me in for a bone crushing hug. 

"Text me if you need me" she says, worried for what might happen but hoping for the best. "I will...thanks" I whisper and she nods her head before walking out of my door and turning slightly and waving to offer me one last farewell.

I close the door after I see her get into her car and lean my back up against it, steadying myself for a second and taking deep breaths, trying to stop my racing heartbeat before pushing off of it and tidying up before Jungkook gets here to distract myself. 

Sam has been the only one I've been able to count on and honestly the only person I can trust since I haven't told anyone else. She was the one I called when I missed my period and she's the one who brought me a pregnancy test...and then when out and bought me ten more because I couldn't actually grasp the concept that I was pregnant...am pregnant.

Jungkook and I have always been careful and taken all the necessary steps to keep this from happening but I guess we got careless this time. 

Through out this whole arrangement we've made it very clear to each other that we're not sleeping with anyone else but neither of us are looking for any sort of commitment either so that's why this has gone on for so long. 

Like it or not though we're going to be committed to each other in one way or another no matter what because I'm keeping this baby. No matter what he says I'm keeping them. 

Jungkook is my best friend, the one person who has been there for me through everything. He's seen me at all of my highest highs and especially at my lowest lows and no matter what he's never made me feel shitty about it. I know he's not the kind of guy that'll turn on you because of something like this but I can't help but still feel terrified. 

This wasn't supposed to happen but even if this child wasn't made with love from his side...it was made with love from mine. 

I don't know how long it's been since I fell in love with him but I know I shouldn't have said yes to this whole fuck buddy ordeal. I just couldn't stand the thought of him being with someone else so when he offered up the idea I said yes.

I figured that if this was a way to prevent him from getting his heart broken by all those sorry excuses of girlfriends he's had in the past then I guess I'll be okay with breaking mine.

He's been acting different lately though. He's been a lot touchier, asking to come over more often, going out of his way to help me with things, offering to feed me all the time and all of it is making me feel like he already knows. 

Does he know? Have I started showing already? I haven't really noticed a difference in my body yet but he looks at me naked a lot more often than I pay attention to myself naked so I mean I guess he could've noticed right? 

Only one way to find out though...

A half an hour later I hear him take out his keys and unlock my door and soon I'm greeted with a smile that tugs at my heartstrings. 

"Hi baby" he says, using that pet name he's become very fond of since this whole ordeal started. The sound of it after finding out I'm pregnant with his baby has made me a little uncomfortable though since I haven't told him yet. 

Don't get me wrong I love it when he calls me that but I can't help but think that if this goes south that he won't ever call me that again. 

Maybe the hormones have started to scramble my brain already because those uncomfortable feelings are quickly thrown away when I take in the sight of him after he shrugs off his rain coat. A simple black baggy hoodie and jeans engulf his form and the comfy sight just makes me want to curl up in bed with him and forget about everything and everyone.

Just him and I, it's always been him and I. I just don't know if this little one is going to change things. 

I place a hand on my stomach for a second as a way to gain some strength from my itty bitty baby before finally working up the courage to greet him.

"Hi" I greet him softly, walking over to where he's stopped to take off his shoes and when he looks back up at me he smiles again and kisses me. I sigh into it, savoring it for just a little bit longer and when it finally breaks he looks down at me with concern now written all over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sensing that something's off right away from the just the small change in the way I kissed him. I hesitate for a second then simply hold out my hand for him to take and he does, following behind me as I lead him over to my couch. 

Getting this over with sooner rather than later is my best option right now so there's no reason to delay. 

He needs to know, he deserves to know.

We sit there in silence, longer than he would like us to since I can tell how tense his body has gotten in a matter of minutes. "Y/n you're scaring me" he whispers, not wanting to pressure me but relaying his feelings. 

I take a couple more deep breaths before finally starting. "I need you to listen to me and I need you to please not speak until I'm finished" I say while looking down at my lap, not being able to meet his eyes. 

He murmurs a soft 'okay' and waits for me to continue, taking one of my hands and placing it in his lap. He needs some form of physical contact to keep him grounded since he's not too sure what to expect and I let him, knowing I need some reassurance too. 

Even if I don't know what his reaction is gonna be, in this moment I need it more than ever.

"I guess there's really no right way to go about saying this because this wasn't supposed to happen so I'm just gonna come out and say it..." I start off and he squeezes my hand, encouraging me to keep going. 

"I missed my period...over a month ago...and I haven't had it since then" I say and finally look up at him where he has an unsure expression. It's not one that's mad or disappointed with what I've said thus far which is a good thing but more like he's trying hard to hold himself back so he can keep that promise. 

His hold on my hand hasn't loosened, in fact it's gotten even tighter and that gives me hope that we'll work this out so I take another deep breath before continuing. 

"I tried to kid myself into thinking that it was late but when another week passed by I got nervous. I asked Sam to get me a test and it came out positive. I didn't believe it and thought it was a false positive and so to ease my mind she went a bought ten more from a bunch of different brands and...all of them came out positive" I say and he still looks at me with that same expression, waiting for me to give him the okay to speak and so I do. 

"How long have you known?" are the first words out of his mouth and although they're not negative they aren't necessarily positive either. "About a month now" I say and he nods his head, taking another second or two to formulate what he's gonna say next. 

"I'll support you no matter what you decide" he says and I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in. "I wanna keep it" I say and he nods his head and smiles softly at first and then as the seconds go by it gets wider and wider making my heart beat faster. 

"Am I allowed to get excited now?" he whispers and I can't help but chuckle as tears start to prickle my eyes and give him a nod. "You're excited?" I say, my whole being slowly overcome with emotion. 

"How could I not be?" he scoffs playfully but that answer has me confused. "But Jungkook we're not together. I mean we're not in a relationship, we're just friends" I explain and there's a playful glint in his eyes after I say that that's making me even more nervous.

"You wanna know what I thought you were gonna tell me?" he offers up, slightly changing topics but I look at him in a way to urge him to continue. "I thought you were gonna break up with me" he says and I smile, "Jungkook we're not together. How could I break up with you?" I chuckle in disbelief. 

"Correction, I thought you were gonna break up with me before I even got the chance to ask you to be my girlfriend" he says with a grin and my jaw drops, the dots all connecting as to why he's been acting so different lately. "You were gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?" I utter quietly as if we were in a crowed room and I had a secret for just the two of us.

"I had actually planned on asking you tonight" he explains, walking over to where he had placed his backpack on the floor, taking out a bouquet of slightly squished flowers. "Sorry they're all beat up. I forgot and rode my bike over here so I didn't really have any other option but to put them in there" he says almost as if he was nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and it's then that I notice how pink his ears have gotten. 

He is nervous

I take them from him and smile, waiting for him to say it but he simply stands there and admires me and I can't help but laugh. "What so funny? I told you what happened to them" he utters through pouty lips which only makes me laugh more. "No, no it's not the flowers it's just that...don't you have something to say?" I ask, calming down my chuckles and when he looks at me with the same confused expression I have to try my hardest to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Do you have something you would like to ask me Jungkook" I rephrase it and after a second his lips go from a pout to the shape of an 'O' as he's figured it out. "Oh um, yeah, right. Well I um" he starts off, rubbing the back of his neck again while stuttering and trying to find the words and after struggling for a second I decide to poke fun at him again. 

"Jungkook I am literally carrying your child and you're too afraid to ask me to be your girlfriend?" I laugh, giving him a slight reality check which he scoffs at before responding. 

"I was trying to remember what I had rehearsed to say to you but now that you're being a little brat I guess you'll never get to know all the nice things I was gonna say" he retorts, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone that sends a shiver through my body and he smirks when he sees my reaction to it. 

He cups my face and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, making them part and he leans in as if he was going to kiss me but stops just shy of my lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, nudging his nose against mine and making me smile. 

"I'll have to think about that" I play coy with him which he chuckles at. "You know if you weren't pregnant right now I would have thrown you over my lap for that smart mouth" he warns and I smile before leaning in and kissing him for just a second before pulling back. 

"Yes I'll be your girlfriend" I say and nudge my nose against his as well and before I can register it my back is on the couch and his lips are pressed against mine, the kiss not rushed but full of so many words that have yet to be said and he gives in, not being able to hold it in anymore.

"I love you" he says, pulling back and looking down at me to see my expression which is completely dumbfounded to say the least. "You what?" I ask and he chuckles, "Is it really that hard to believe?" he points out and I guess now that I think about it it really isn't.

"I guess we've both been in love with each other for a while now huh?" I smile and his eyes light up at my round about confession. "Say it" he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I hadn't planned on actually saying those three words to him even though I've felt them for so long but I don't want to hold them back anymore. 

"I love you" I whisper and he smiles, "Say it again" he repeats, clearly not believing it just yet. "I love you Jungkook" I say and the little switch up with attaching his name to the end darkens his gaze. "I guess there's no chance in me getting you pregnant a second time right now huh?" he asks, sliding his hand up my thigh and I giggle. 

"No I think that's pretty much impossible but the odds are never zero" I say and he rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that I wanna hit it raw" he states the obvious while rolling his eyes. "I know I know...and the answer is yes Daddy" I tease, testing to see how that word affects him now that he knows.

He tongues his cheek at that making me bite my lip, knowing that's gonna be even more of a trigger word for him from now on. "Daddy huh? Well I guess that title is a little more fitting now isn't it?" 

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[lov3notts]

rewritten

theodore nott x reader

summary: part 3, can Theo fix things between you two? after so much heartbreak can you give him a second chance?

a/n:im sorry this took so long, I got hit with writers block and discouragement, hope you guys like it!!

Navigation; masterlist; request rules; part 1; part 2

Mattheo had seen Theo at his lowest before. After brutal duels, after fights with his father, after sleepless nights filled with too much firewhisky and not enough self-preservation. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t anger. Wasn’t recklessness.

This was nothingness.

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had the answers to all of his problems. His dorm was a disaster—papers scattered, books left open, untouched meals sitting cold on his desk. The only movement in the room came from the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Mattheo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed."Mate."

No response.

"You look like shit."

Still nothing.

Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping further into the room. "Alright, fine. You wanna sit here and wallow, go ahead. But you do know this isn’t sustainable, right?"

Theo didn’t even blink.

"Skipping class, not eating, shutting everyone out—what’s the end goal here?"

Silence.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, patience wearing thin. He walked over and grabbed a book off Theo’s desk before chucking it at him. It hit his shoulder, but Theo barely reacted.

That pissed Mattheo off.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" he snapped. "What, you’re just gonna waste away in here? That’s your big plan?"

Finally, Theo shifted. Slowly, he looked up, his face pale and hollow. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "What do you want me to do, Mattheo?"

"Oh, I don’t know—anything but this?" Mattheo gestured around the room. "You’ve made some stupid decisions before, but this? This is pathetic, even for you."

Theo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. Yeah. That sounds about right."

Mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer and sitting across from him. "Listen, I get it. You fucked up. Big time. But wasting away in here isn’t gonna change that. You want her back? Fight for her. You want to move on? Then do it. But don’t just sit here acting like your life is over because she walked away."

Theo’s eyes darkened. "It is over."

Mattheo froze.

It wasn’t the words that shook him—it was the way Theo meant them.

"You don’t get it," Theo muttered, voice raw. "She wasn’t just some girl, Mattheo. She was everything. And I ruined it. I ruined her." His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles white. "So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

For the first time, Mattheo didn’t have a quick response. Because fuck—he didn’t know.

He had never seen Theo like this before.

But he did know one thing.

"You need to talk to her," he said finally.

Theo scoffed, shaking his head. "She won’t listen."

Mattheo leaned forward. "Not if you keep sulking like a bloody ghost. But if you really love her? Then you have to at least try."

Theo swallowed hard, his walls cracking just a bit.

Mattheo sighed, standing up. "Look, I can’t force you to get your shit together. But I can ask for help." He glanced toward the door. "If you won’t go to her, maybe she’ll come to you."

Theo’s head snapped up. "Mattheo—"

"Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle," Mattheo said with a smirk, but there was no humor behind it. "Just sit tight, yeah?"

And with that, he walked out, leaving Theo alone with his demons.

The days after your fight with Theodore Nott were oddly quiet. Not because the world had stopped moving, but because a part of you had. No matter how much you tried to push forward, his words still echoed in your head.

“it was just a bet!”

Now, you were sitting in the Great Hall, trying to focus on your breakfast when a presence loomed over you.

"Can we talk?"

You glanced up and met Mattheo Riddle’s gaze. His usual smirk was absent, his dark eyes serious. That alone sent a chill down your spine. Mattheo never looked serious.

You hesitated. "Depends. What about?"

He exhaled sharply and took a seat across from you without invitation. "It’s Theo."

Your stomach twisted, but you masked it with indifference. "Not my problem."

Mattheo scoffed. "Yeah, well, that’s the thing. He’s not exactly making himself anyone’s problem anymore. He’s barely eating, hasn’t been to class in days, and I haven’t seen him leave his room since—" He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say.

Since you left him on his knees in the library.

You forced yourself to take a bite of toast, despite suddenly losing your appetite. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"You don’t have to do anything. But maybe… just talk to him?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "You do remember that he completely shattered my trust, right? That I was just some game to him?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know, okay? I know he screwed up. And if you never want to see him again, I get it. But…" His voice lowered. "I don’t think he’s okay. I don’t think he will be if someone doesn’t pull him out of whatever the hell he’s drowning in."

That made your chest tighten. No matter how much Theo had hurt you, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care. But did you care enough to reopen old wounds? To look at the person who betrayed you and risk getting hurt all over again?

Mattheo must have seen your hesitation because he leaned forward, his voice softer now. "I wouldn’t be here begging if I thought he could fix this himself. But he can’t. And like it or not, you’re the only one who can get through to him."

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

But deep down, you already knew what you were going to do.

You stood in front of his dormitory door, your hand hovering over the doorknob, the air thick with uncertainty. You’d come here, but now that you were standing here, the doubt crept back in. Was this the right choice? Could you really face him? Could you even talk to him without everything you felt rushing back—without everything he did rushing back?

You knocked softly, but there was no response. The quiet only made the pressure in your chest grow. Hesitant, you slowly turned the knob, and to your surprise, the door creaked open.

The room was dim, only a few rays of light slipping through the curtains. And there, in the middle of the room, was Theodore Nott. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His body was curled into itself, as if he were trying to shrink away from the world.

A pang of guilt surged through you. You wanted to turn away, to run, but you couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you could stop them, one step at a time, until you were standing beside his bed. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "Theo?"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with shock. His expression froze as he stared at you—like he was afraid, as if seeing you might be some cruel trick. His eyes, so full of confusion and fear, shimmered with unshed tears.

"Y/N?… You came?" His voice was barely a whisper, like he didn’t believe you were really there.

A wave of emotion washed over you, but you pushed it down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mattheo said you weren’t doing well.”

Theo didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, as if your words hadn’t even fully registered yet. His eyes searched your face, every line of his body tense, too afraid to even move, like any sudden movement would make you disappear. You could see how broken he looked, how much he wanted to believe this wasn’t just some dream.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, as if trying to find the right words, or maybe wondering if words even mattered anymore.

You glanced past him into the room. It was a mess—books scattered, clothes thrown carelessly, a tray of untouched food on the desk. It smelled like stale air and something heartbreakingly lonely.

You hesitated before speaking. "This isn’t you, Theo."

"I don’t know who I am without you," he admitted, voice raw.

You turned to him sharply, something inside you cracking at the sheer honesty in his voice. "Theo…"

"No, let me say this."He exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything from you. I don’t deserve to stand here and beg, but—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together like he was trying to hold himself together.

And then, quietly, "I don’t know how to exist without you."

Your breath hitched. "You were the one who broke us, Theo. You made that choice."

"I know." His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for it. Every second of every day, I regret it. The bet, the lies, all of it—it was the biggest mistake of my life."

You swallowed, arms tightening around yourself. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was a coward." He let out a bitter laugh. "Because I had you—this brilliant, beautiful, impossible thing—and I was terrified that you were too good to be real. That I would love you and you would leave, so I ruined it before you could."

His confession left you breathless.

You had spent so long believing you were never enough for him. That you had been nothing but a game. But hearing this—hearing that he had been just as scared as you had—made your chest ache.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Theo whispered. "But I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I loved you. That I still do."

You blinked, eyes burning. "Theo…"

"I would move mountains just to be with you again," he continued, voice shaking. "Even if it takes years. Even if you never look at me the same way again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you were never just a bet to me."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden, and Theo’s breath stuttered like the sight of your pain was physically hurting him.

He reached out instinctively but stopped himself, his hands hovering inches from yours. "Tell me there’s still a chance." His voice was barely a whisper. "Even if it’s not today. Even if it’s not soon. Just tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You stood there, heart hammering, torn between the pain of the past and the boy in front of you—broken, vulnerable, real.

This was the moment.

The moment where you could walk away, close the door, leave him to his regret.

Or you could stay.

You took a breath.

And then, finally, you spoke.

The first few days after you left his dorm were the hardest.

Theo had promised you he’d fix himself, that he’d become better—not for you, but for himself first. But promises were just words, and words had never been enough. Not when he had already shattered your trust once.

So, for the first time in weeks, he forced himself out of bed.

It wasn’t easy. The weight of his mistakes clung to him like a sickness, making even the smallest things feel impossible. Eating felt pointless. Attending class felt meaningless. But he did it anyway. One step at a time.

At breakfast, Mattheo raised an eyebrow when Theo sat down at their usual table, his plate only half-full.

"Didn’t think I’d see you out of that damn room anytime soon," Mattheo muttered, nudging his shoulder.

Theo didn’t respond right away, just picked at his food before finally saying, "I need to fix things."

Mattheo huffed out a short laugh, though there was no malice behind it. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Theo didn’t have an answer yet. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t keep being this version of himself. The one who wallowed in his grief, who drowned in guilt without trying to swim to the surface.

So, he changed.

He stopped avoiding the world. Stopped shutting people out.

He went to class, even when his mind screamed at him to go back to bed. He studied harder than he ever had before, pouring himself into books instead of his own self-loathing. When his friends spoke to him, he actually listened instead of shutting them out.

He even picked up his journal again, spilling his thoughts onto paper in a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos inside his head. He wrote letters—ones meant for you, ones that would never be sent. Some were apologies, some were confessions, but all of them were real.

But it wasn’t about getting you back.

It was about becoming someone who deserved you.

Someone you could trust again.

Weeks passed before he saw you again.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate. It was just life forcing their paths to cross like it always did.

You were sitting by the Black Lake, your nose buried in a book, completely lost in the words. He should’ve walked away. Should’ve kept his distance. But his feet betrayed him, halting a few steps away from you.

You must’ve felt his presence because you looked up, your eyes meeting his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Theo braced himself for the worst—coldness, anger, maybe even indifference. But instead, you studied him, like if you were trying to figure out if the person standing before you was the same one who had broken your heart.

"You look… different," you said softly.

Theo swallowed. "I had to be."

your gaze didn’t waver. "Why?"

"Because the person I was before didn’t deserve you."

Something flickered in your expression, but you didn’t look away. You just nodded, your grip tightening around the book on your lap.

Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But something.

Weeks turned into months. Theo didn’t push, didn’t force his way back into your life. He just showed up.

Not in the obvious ways. He didn’t beg or plead. Didn’t bombard you with apologies. Instead, he proved himself in the quiet moments.

He helped first-years struggling with their potions when no one was watching. He started paying attention in class, excelling in subjects he used to neglect. He let people rely on him, let himself become someone trustworthy—not just to you, but to everyone around him.

And then, when the time was right, he left something for you.

A book.

Your favorite one, sitting on the library table where you used to study together. But inside, tucked between the pages, were letters.

Dozens of them. Some dated weeks ago, some written only days before.

You hesitated before picking it up, flipping through the pages. And then you saw the first note.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry One

Date: The Night You Left

I haven’t stopped thinking about the look in your eyes. The way you froze. The way your breath caught like I had knocked the air out of you.

I keep telling myself that if I had just shut up, if I had just walked away instead of letting my anger win, you’d still be here. But I didn’t. I let the worst version of myself take control, and now I have to live with the fact that the last thing you heard from me was a lie.

Because that’s what it was. A lie.

You were never a bet.

Not for a single second.

You were the first thing in my life that ever felt real. The first person who looked at me like I was worth something. The first person I ever truly, fully loved. And I threw that away. I let my pride, my temper, my own self-destruction take over, and I broke the one thing I never wanted to lose.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that what we had—what we have—is real, then I will.

Even if it’s too late.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 2

Date: One Week Without You

I see you everywhere.

In the empty chair across from me in the library. In the spaces between my fingers where yours used to fit. In the quiet moments where your voice used to live.

And I wonder—do you miss me at all? Do you hear my name in whispers? Do you reach for me in your sleep? Or am I just a scar you’re waiting to fade?

If you told me to wait for you, I would. I would wait for days, for months, for years—as long as it took for you to believe that I never meant those words. That you were never a game to me. That you were the only thing that ever made sense in my life.

But you haven’t told me anything.

So I wait anyway.

Because I can’t imagine a world where I ever stop hoping for you.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 3

Date: Two Weeks Without You

I should’ve told you how beautiful you looked in the mornings, when your hair was a mess and your voice was still laced with sleep.

I should’ve told you how your laugh could pull me out of my worst days, how it became the sound I searched for in crowded rooms.

I should’ve told you that loving you scared me. That it made me feel like I had something to lose for the first time in my life.

I should’ve told you that the night we had our first kiss, I went back to my dorm, sat on my bed, and smiled—just sat there, grinning like an idiot, because I knew, in that moment, that I was done for. That you had ruined me for anyone else.

I should’ve told you that I loved you more than I loved myself.

Maybe if I had, you’d still be here.

-theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 4

Date: three Weeks Without You

You probably don’t know that I still sit in the library, right where you left me. Not every night. Just the ones where I can’t breathe.

You probably don’t know that I reread our old notes, the ones we used to pass back and forth in class. I keep them in my bag like they’re sacred, like they’re proof that once, you laughed with me. That once, I wasn’t just a mistake to you.

You probably don’t know that every time I hear your name, my hands shake.

That I’ve started keeping a list of all the things I should’ve done differently.

That I miss you in a way that feels like it might kill me.

But the worst part?

You probably don’t care anymore.

And I deserve that.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 5

Date: The Day You Knocked on My Door

I thought I was dreaming.

I heard the knock, but I didn’t move. I figured it was Mattheo, coming to drag me out of this room again, to remind me that I’m still supposed to be alive, even when I feel like I’m not.

But then I heard your voice.

And suddenly, I was alive.

I was shocked to see you. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I ached to see you—but because I was afraid. Afraid that I had imagined it. Afraid that you were here just to tell me, to my face, that you were done for good.

But you weren’t.

You were there.

Standing in my doorway, looking at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore. Maybe you don’t. Maybe I really am just a shell of the person you once loved.

You didn’t say anything at first. And I didn’t either. I was too busy memorizing the way your hands twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted slightly like you wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

And then, finally—"Mattheo said I should talk to you."

Your voice was quieter than I remembered. Or maybe I had just forgotten what it was like to hear it so close.

I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to fall to my knees again and beg, to tell you that I haven’t slept, that I haven’t breathed right since you walked away, that I would do anything to rewrite the past.

But instead, I just nodded.

Because I knew this wasn’t my moment to fall apart. This was your moment to decide if I was worth saving.

So I stood there.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Daring to believe that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t given up on me yet.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 6

Date: One Month Without You

I don’t just want your forgiveness.

I want your trust. Your laughter. Your sleepy morning voice. The way you roll your eyes at me but secretly smile when you think I’m not looking. The way you say my name like it’s something safe.

I want you.

And I know I have no right to ask for that.

But if there is even the smallest chance—if there is even the tiniest sliver of hope that you still look at me and see something worth saving—then I will not waste it.

I will prove it to you. With every breath, with every action, with every single moment I have left in this life.

Because I love you.

And I will spend a lifetime making it right.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

At first, your hands tremble. The pages feel heavier than they should, like they’re carrying all the weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, of him.

You tell yourself you’ll just read one. Just a glimpse. Just to know if he even cares.

But then one turns into two. Then three. Then all of them.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because this isn’t just guilt. This isn’t just some empty apology, some desperate attempt to win you back with words. This is raw. This is pain. This is love.

This is a boy breaking himself open, spilling every ugly, unspoken truth onto paper because he doesn’t know how else to reach you.

And God, you feel it.

You feel it in the way his handwriting shakes in some letters but steadies in others, like he’s fighting himself, like he’s trying to hold on and let go at the same time.

You feel it in the confessions he never said out loud—the ones about how he saw you in everything, how he would’ve moved mountains to take it all back, how he doesn’t just want you to forgive him, he wants you to trust him.

And when you read the last letter—the one about how he would spend a lifetime making it right—you realize something.

He never stopped fighting for you.

Not once.

Not even when he thought he had already lost.

And then, with your chest so tight it almost hurts, you look up.

He’s already watching you.

Theo looks like he’s barely breathing, like the moment is too fragile, like if he moves too fast, you might disappear. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time—something that almost makes your throat close up.

Hope.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting. Letting you decide what happens next.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize…

He means it.

Every word. Every promise.

The silence between you stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The letters are still clutched in your hands, his words lingering in your chest, pressing against the pieces of your heart that you swore were too broken to be put back together.

Theo swallows hard. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. "Say something," he finally murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. "Do you really mean it?"

He doesn’t hesitate. "Every word."

"And you’re not just saying all of this because you miss me? Because you feel guilty?" Your voice is careful, guarded—because this has to be real. If you give him your heart again, there’s no surviving if he shatters it a second time.

Theo steps closer. Not too close, but enough that you can see the raw desperation in his eyes. "I’m saying this because losing you was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Because I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that." He pauses, his breath shaky. "But more than anything, I’m saying it because I love you. I never stopped. And I never will.*"

Your heart clenches painfully. "Theo…"

"You don’t have to say it back," he cuts in quickly. "You don’t have to promise me anything. Just—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Just tell me there’s a chance. Tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You look at him then, really look at him. He’s not the same person he was that night in the library. He’s not the boy who let pride and recklessness ruin the best thing in his life. He’s different. He’s trying.

And that’s when you know.

You step forward, closing the distance between you. His breath catches as your hand brushes against his—light, hesitant, but enough to make his whole body go still.

"I’m still angry," you admit softly. "I’m still hurt."

Theo nods, his jaw tightening. "I know."

"But…" You take a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe you."

His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting those words. "You—"

"I believe that you mean it," you clarify. "And if you’re really going to prove it—if you’re really going to fight for this—"

You pause, feeling the weight of this moment. Then, finally, you say the words that make his breath shudder.

"Then I’m willing to try."

For a second, Theo doesn’t move. He just stares at you, like he’s afraid he imagined it. But then—

"You won’t regret it," he swears, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear on everything, I won’t waste this chance."

And when he finally, finally takes your hand—holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world— you let him.

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