#i had a dream with war without reason playing in it

[bcksbarnes]

one and only

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky decide to take the next step, afterwards you both reflect on your choices, and your love.

word count: 3.3K

cw: thunderbolts* spoilers

a/n: i was recently in a wedding and forgot how much i love true love, this is inspired by that. this is just straight tooth rotting fluff! enjoy!!! ✨

Marriage was always in the cards for Bucky — well, it was when he thought that life had a time limit and wasn't something that could be delayed. He had imagined returning from the war to find a partner, a house with a white picket fence, maybe 2-3 kids, and, hopefully, a good paying job.

None of that came true.

None of that would ever be the case for him.

So he gave up his dreams and realized that life had dealt him a brand new hand. He had spent many years running, hiding, now it seemed like all he could do was try to make his way back to at least some of his old life. Marriage didn't seem to align this time around, and he was okay with that.

Or at least, he pretended to be.

Imagine his surprise when you made your way into his life. Bucky didn't know if the universe was playing some fucked up trick on him, or if he had been reading this new hand of cards wrong this entire time. He knew you were special. Life changing, even.

There was never a doubt about it, that you were someone worth fighting for — someone that he was meant to love. It felt foreign at first, he had gone so long without the kind touch of another human being, but the two of you eased into it as if it was the most natural thing in this world.

Because it was.

You never explicitly spoke about marriage, not even when things shifted from fun to serious.

There was always a reason not to:

Bucky dealing with the loss of Steve

Him and Sam weren't seeing eye to eye for a while

He decides to have a midlife crisis and become a Congressman (which you happily supported, even if you weren't entirely sure where it came from).

Now, he was finding his footing with a new group, the Thunderbolts — er, New Avengers (there were some legal issues with the name that Bucky didn't want to get into, he was usually too tired, too stressed, it wasn't important enough).

Which is why it surprised you that one night, after dinner, Bucky's leg seemed to be shaking more than usual — a clear sign that he had a lot on his mind. He was pretty good at not wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight seemed different

"Everything okay?" you ask, your hand resting on his knee under the table.

Bucky turns his head in your direction with a look that said he saw you, but that his brain was in an entirely different place. There were dark spots on the shoulders of his gray t-shirt, he had taken a shower as soon as he got home and the droplets of water were falling from his still damp hair.

For a man so large and brooding, Bucky looks so small. He's hunched inwards, his elbows resting on the table as he holds his head in his hands. He barely touched his food, instead just moving it around with a fork. Holding secrets to himself.

"Things have been crazy," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Walker's been driving me up a wall every single day asking the dumbest questions. Alexei asked me if we could experiment with doing a double dosage of the serum. Yelena's been talking me off the edge so I don't bust everyone's heads in."

Your lips curl into a soft smile as you squeeze his leg, offering him your silent support. The team was still semi-new and most days Bucky didn't have the patience to deal with them — even if silently he enjoyed their presence.

"You're all still working out the kinks."

"It's been a year, you'd think we'd have it figured out by now. Sam does, Steve always did."

"Sam didn't for a while," you remind him. "And Steve never did, he was just confident. You will work it out, you always do."

Bucky's head lolls to the side to look at you. Even in the smallest moments you never gave up on him, you always told him it would find a way — you were usually right, he just hated waiting for it.

"I love you, you know that?" he asks quietly, his hand moving to grab yours and bring it up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the palm of your hand before he intertwines your fingers together.

"I do," you nod. "I love you, too."

Bucky uses his free hand to push away his plate of untouched food, then he grabs the bottom of your chair and drags you over until you're next to him. Leaning over his hands wrap around the underside of your legs and lifts them up, letting them drape over his lap. He watches you intently, always memorizing your features — always scared one day he won't recognize them anymore.

"That's not the only thing that's on my mind tonight," he admits, his voice soft.

"Care to share?"

"Maybe."

You chuckle as you lean your head against the back of the chair, the amount of love in your eyes could make the Earth shatter.

Whatever is going on in that big, beautiful brain of his is taking a toll on him, his fingers playing with the tips of yours as he purses his lips. It's obvious he's trying to figure out what exactly to say, or how to say it.

"We should get married," Bucky finally comes clean, exposing his thoughts right then and there.

You wish you could say you were surprised by his admission, but the truth is you and Bucky had known from the very start that this was where your lives were headed together. It didn't need to be said audibly, no one needed to make sure. This was it.

"When?" you ask.

"Now."

"Right now?" you chuckle again, shaking your head with a playful eye roll. "The courthouse is closed, we'd need a witness."

"Too many logistics," he huffs. "Tomorrow, then."

"I'd have to check my calendar."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh, his head tilts back as he lets out a hearty bark, one that he only reserved for you. His hand runs up and down your leg, you can feel the calluses on his hands from where he held his gun or gripped his knife too tightly, but you didn't care. You loved the feeling of him.

"Mean."

"Tomorrow might work," you say, your eyes examining his features. "I don't have anything to wear."

"I don't care. You could wear that ratty old t-shirt you've been hanging onto for too long. I just want to marry you."

So that's exactly what you and Bucky did.

The next day the two of you called Sam and asked (pleaded) with him to meet you at the courthouse that afternoon and be the witness. He put up a little bit of a fight about the whole Avengers thing but you managed to remind him that this wasn't about petty arguments.

Bucky managed to scrounge up a suit from his time as a Congressman and you found an outfit that would work — it was slightly off white, maybe a little less traditional, but it did the job.

"Wow. And you we were worried about having nothing to wear" Bucky says as the two of you meet at the top of the steps in your home. "Give me a spin." You take his extended hand and he spins you around, whistling in admiration as he does. "Beautiful, as always."

"Not too bad yourself," you say as you face him again, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Are you ready to marry me, Barnes?"

"I've been ready since the day I met you," he whispers your name before he kisses you again, his lips lingering a few seconds longer this time.

Deep down he doesn't want to leave, he wants to take those clothes right off of you and worship the ground you walk on. He wants to hear you moan out your vows and promise to be with him forever. He'll settle for the courthouse instead.

The wait is longer than you had anticipated, apparently trying to get a marriage license was more of a hassle than either of you had expected (which wasn't very high since you both did a quick search on the computer the night before than hoped for the best).

Sam showed up as promised, albeit a little late, and now the three of you waited in the lobby of the courthouse, your leg bouncing in anxious anticipation.

"You're going to start an earthquake," Sam teased, earning a playful nudge from you.

"It's not everyday that you get married, Wilson."

"Can't believe R2-D2 over here found a soulmate," his chin nods over in Bucky's direction.

Bucky flips Sam off in a way that's both brotherly and full of hate, a perfect balance that only the two of them could master. You turn your head to the side to hide the amused smirk on your face, Sam was always getting you in trouble with his jokes.

"Don't egg him on," Bucky mutters.

"I'm sorry, R2-D2 is funny."

He grumbles something under his breath about being lucky he was going to marry you, but it doesn't matter because at the same time you hear your names being called out by one of the staff members.

It was time.

You wish you could say that you remembered every detail of what happened. That it was this beautiful, over-the-top ceremony filled with tears and wishes of love. In truth, it was quick and your mind sort of blanked out during it. There were no rings, no exchanging of pre-written vows, Sam watched a few feet back, with a quiet smile. It was intimate, quiet, exactly what you wanted.

A few signed documents, one cranky judge and a kiss later and the two of you were officially married. Not in the traditional sense that everyone grows up to dream about, but in a way that still promised each other the world and more.

"We're married," Bucky says.

It was hours later, the sun had now set, the world was dark and still. The two of you were now sitting on the floor of the kitchen, your legs draped over his. There was a skylight on the ceiling that let the moon and stars shine through illuminating the floor.

Bucky had gotten rid of his tie and suit jacket at some point in the night, the first button of his shirt was undone and his hair was a mess — but he was your husband, and he was beautiful. Your own hair was a mess and your strap had fallen down your arm, though you didn't care to fix it, there was a mysterious stain right under your chest and for all intents and purposes it was exactly how you pictured your wedding night.

A few feet away were a few empty bottles of champagne and a cake that you picked up from the grocery store on the way home. The white box was opened revealing what was left of a chocolate cake (which was now some crumbs) and two forks because of course you and Bucky fed each other and laughed about how weirdly dry it was.

"You keep saying that," you tease, biting down on your bottom lip.

"Can you believe it though? We're married." He grabs the open bottle of champagne by the neck and tips it to his lips, taking a long sip. It's not like he would ever feel the effects of the alcohol, but getting time to sit here with you and bask in your love made it feel like a celebration. What was a celebration without a little booze? "I never thought I'd be married, not after everything that happened."

You nod your head and give him a sad smile, grabbing the bottle that he was now holding out for you and taking a much smaller sip, the bubbles popping in your mouth.

"I wrote vows," you say, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

"When did you have time to write vows?" he asks, his eyebrow raising.

"Not last night, a while ago," you admit. "Do you want to hear them?"

There's a knot in Bucky's stomach at the idea that you had laid everything out on a piece of paper. He thought of his name in your neat handwriting, and how you must have taken time to reflect on this relationship — this love. He doesn't tell you he's done the same, that sitting in the breast of his suit pocket is his own set of vows. Ones that he wrote years ago.

But right now he wants nothing more in that moment than to hear what you have to say, so he nods his head. You stand immediately, using his shoulder as leverage, and patter over to the steps, soon finding your way to the bedroom. You kept the vows in the nightstand next to your side of the bed, a folded up piece of paper that you scribbled on the nights he was away.

They served as a constant reminder of his undying love for you.

The paper is tight in your hand as you make your way back to the kitchen, taking a seat on the floor in the same position that you got up from, your back now resting against the cabinets. Your eyes find Bucky's and when he gives you a soft smile you unfold the paper and begin to read:

"I'm not going to pretend that these are perfect, or even close to describing the love that I feel for you, but I would be a fool not to reflect on our story, and hope that I've had nearly a fraction of the impact on your life as the one you've had on mine.

"When we met for the first time, I knew at that moment that I would never be the same. Neither of us were searching for the other, but there we were, standing a few feet apart at that dirty dive bar that Sam brought us to …"

Bucky laughs.

"And the world seemed just a little bit brighter — like something had changed. Well, something did change. We were both scared of the world, of each other, and of falling in love. But we ignored those little voices, we leapt into this and no matter how scary or hard it was, we did it together. Hand in hand. Head first.

"Life isn't linear and our stories are never what we expect them to be, but with you by my side I know that we are unstoppable. You've shown me how to be brave and what true unconditional love looks like. If I've never said it before, then I am saying it now: thank you.

"I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your soulmate in this lifetime and every one. We will find each other no matter where we are or who we become, because our stories are now one. It's not just you and me, it's us.

"And at the end of our days you will not just be Bucky Barnes the hero, you'll be James Barnes, my husband, my one true love. And I hope by the time I'm reading this that we decide to get married, or calling you my husband will be kind of awkward."

Bucky laughs again, you join him as you try to get the rest of the words out, trying to hold back tears. Your voice is now shaking.

"And if we did get married, then I hope we did it like we do everything. Together, hand in hand, head first."

You fold the paper in your lap, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you meet Bucky's gaze. His eyes are glossed over and there's a fondness on his face that he only reserves for you — like most of them are.

"I love you, Buck," you whisper.

Bucky nods his head a few times as he leans back, reaching out for his suit jacket that was behind him on the floor. If you were going to read him your vows, it was time for his. He pulls the crumbled paper out and holds it up. Your eyes widen in surprise, you did not expect him to have his own ready.

"I keep this thing with me wherever I go, I think I've crossed off a lot of things that didn't sound right," he says, showing you the paper for a moment. "May I?"

You nod your head. Bucky clears his throat, then begins:

"I'm not a man of many words, though I'd like to be, because life has passed me by and my only regret has been not telling you that 'I love you' enough. I know that you'll argue and say that I do, but I don't, because I should have told you the second we met and every moment after. Every single silence should have been filled with me saying those words to you.

"I knew it, I always did. What is there not to love? Your kindness? Your intelligence? The way you make sure to always keep my side of the bed warm when I get home late because you know I hate when it's cold? If I am the man worthy of your love then I have done something right in this world. I'll never take this love for granted, not ever.

"Maybe in another lifetime we found each other sooner, but in this lifetime we found each other exactly when we needed it. I always needed you. My life has been a constant tidal wave and you were the only one to swim me ashore. Now I can breathe, and you and I sit in the sun and bask in the warmth, where we belong.

"I'm sorry there aren't many words to explain how deep my love for you is, but I hope that every single day I can show you instead. I promise to be your partner, your best friend and your protector. And from now until my dying days I love you, I love you, I love you and I love you."

The paper in Bucky's hand is now splattered with teardrops, the once black ink now smudging across the off white paper. But it doesn't matter, none of it does, the vows are just a promise, one that the two of you had already made years ago.

You crawl over to him and wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. There's a few silent tears shed as you hold each other close, but nothing neither of you haven't seen before. It’s a rare moment of intimacy between lovers.

When Bucky pulls away to look at you there's a smile, not a sad one, but a grin so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"We forgot rings."

"I know," you nod. "Do you have a pen?"

Bucky nods, reaching back into his suit pocket again and pulling out a ballpoint pen. You grab his hand and click the pen to expose the tip, writing your initials on the inside of his ring finger. He does the same shortly after — not a permanent solution, but a symbolic one.

He kisses the back of your hand a few times then begins to stand, lifting you to your feet and into his arms. Neither of you untangle from each other, instead opting to slowly sway back and forth in the middle of the kitchen, never wanting to let go. There was no music playing, there didn't need to be.

You and Bucky were starting your forever with whispered I love you's, hand in hand, head first.

[worldsetfree]

Save Tonight - Aizen Sōsuke x Reader

NSFW. Minors do not interact. Post-TYBW, spoiler ahead.

First time writing smut. Wish me luck. Thanks to @bleachsmutfest (shout-out to @villainsrtasty for organizing this) and @byakuyacoochie for convincing me to post this.

This started as a Day 3 drabble that turned into a nearly 1000-word fic, so I present this now for Day 4 of the smutfest: my morally-contentious selfship.

Prompts: Passage + Towels + “Just because it’s dangerous doesn't mean we don't try it”

Thirty-six hours.

Kurotsuchi said it would take thirty-six hours to craft new restraints for the man before you.

The man whom Kyoraku Shunsui, for reasons he didn't express (though his eyes glimmered quite deviously), chose to charge you with. "You've always been good at keeping him in line, right?” he'd teased, like you'd ever had any control over him at all. Like you hadn't joined the very same man in a rebellion two short years ago.

"...I heard you'd died.”

Swallowed up in a sea of darkness at the end of the world, per the rumours. From the shrinking hole in his chest and the arm that crept disgustingly back into shape, you understood their conclusions.

The comment makes his lips curl with delight that's positively nostalgic to see. "A lesser man surely would have."

You hadn't bothered to censor the scoff that left your lips. Utterly ridiculous man. Still so smug and cheshire, despite imprisonment. Yet there he was, wicked and free and radiant as the sun.

For thirty-six hours.

“I missed you, Sōsuke.”

“I knew you would, my dear.”

Finding a place among the ruins of Seireitei to hold your 'captive' proved easier than you'd anticipated (Aizen himself was strangely compliant with his situation), settling into the remains of a home. Its walls were as broken and dirty as your own body in the aftermath of the war, but it would do. You shutter what remains of the curtains while an ever-watchful eye reacquaints itself with your form.

Being near him again is like rejoining a familiar dance. It wasn't long before honeyed words lured you into his desires, his forked tongue inspiring wicked temptation. You should clean yourselves up, shouldn't you? Mayuri has to replace his seals anyway, and haven't you missed the feeling of his skin against your own?

But when your hand stretches outward to remove those barriers, questions begin to burn in your mind: Can you even touch him now? Should you really unleash a god?

Aizen catches this hesitation, and his encouragement burns with the candlelight in his eyes. “Just because it’s dangerous doesn't mean we don't try it.” 

They'll call you a fool for submitting to his will, but you're a moth to his flame, helpless against the want pooling between your legs.

Aizen doesn't move while you release his bindings, allowing you to caress his face and pet his hair once you've removed the seal covering his eye. He remains patient while you reveal your own body to him, and only then does your Lord and lover pounce.

Lost in steam and hot water that envelops the two of you like a dream, Aizen Sōsuke plays a hero and enjoys the spoils of victory without care for time. His mouth renews its claim on your throat, leaving markings that will persist long after dawn breaks. His hands retrace the swell of your breasts to pinch your nipples and pull a reverent breath from your lips.

It's not until your spine begins to arch off the cold tiles and your moans devolve into a siren song that he finally fulfills your request. He greedily takes in every minute detail of your expression as he presses himself into you at last. Oh, how you've needed him.

The slow, methodical journey of his fingertips to the apex of your thighs is deliberately maddening and completely self-indulgent. With your legs wrapped around his hips, Aizen makes you plead and beg for more than tantalizing circles around your clit. "Have you thought of me like this, my love?" he coos in velvet baritones. "Have you needed me?"

His name falls from your lips like a prayer when he begins to move. You're drowning in him, drunk on the feeling of his cock pressing against spots that make you weep. His hands squeeze your plush thighs and hold you to him while he sinks into you again and again. Your own limbs tense to pull him in closer, like you could somehow make him stay if only you held on tight enough, like thirty-six hours won't tick away while you're together.

Your skin burns against his and you begin to feel that coil in your abdomen tightening up, too fast- an ending approaching too soon. Your voice calls out to him a breathless whine. "Sōsuke..." And you feel him exhale against your shoulder. "I know," he rasps. "I know." The way his own breath shakes lets you believe for a moment that maybe he, who needs no one, craved you just as much as you craved him.

Orgasm is nearly blinding and unmakes you before him. Aizen is quick to follow, his hips chasing release before they stutter and press you harder against the shower wall. His lips find your own as he spills into you, hungry and adoring and ignorant of the world beyond you. In the aftermath, you're cradled in his arms like something precious while the water cuts off.

He lifts his head and rests his face against your own once more, obsessed with watching you fall apart for him. Long digits slip between your legs again to rub your needy pearl, and the pleasure nearly ruins you, but you dare not lose yourself without his command. Aizen's gaze captures your own before he speaks against your lips. "Come for me, dear."

The clock ticks forward in a painfully consistent march as he lays you down on the bed. Aizen's head tilts to the side as he looks down at you. Clean, satisfied, and completely his, even now. Your heart swells when he smiles briefly, softness gracing his sharp features. He's beautiful, you think. You want to burn this moment into your eyes forever. But the clock ticks again to shatter your heart once more.

Aizen seems to read your thoughts yet again, his brows furrowing as he watches you. Then he leans in and presses his palms into the mattress around your head.

"Put it out of your mind," he murmurs. "I'll not leave until I've had my fill of you, my darling."

For thirty-six hours, you'll be his, and the way he descends upon you makes you wonder if the shinigami will even be able to pull him off of you when that time is up.

[celestedotpng]

ITS 6AM AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS AND ALL I CAN THINK OF IT ULTRAKILL!!!!!!!!!

big ass paste and spiel below

"A MAGNUM OPUS. A COLD TOWER OF STEEL. A MACHINE BUILT TO END WAR IS ALWAYS A MACHINE BUILT TO CONTINUE WAR. YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL, OUTSTRETCHED LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN. YOU WERE BEYOND YOUR CREATORS. YOU REACHED OUT FOR GOD, AND YOU FELL. NONE WERE LEFT TO SPEAK YOUR EULOGY. NO FINAL WORDS, NO CONCLUDING STATEMENT. NO POINT. PERFECT CLOSURE.

THIS IS THE ONLY WAY IT SHOULD HAVE ENDED"

a machine built to end war is always a machine built to continue war HOW HAVE WE ALREADY REACHED PEAK AND THE GAME ISNT EVEN FINISHED!!! MY HEART IS TORN OUT AND THROWN AGAINST THE WALL EVERY TIME I PLAY 7-4 AND I STARE UP INTO THE EYES OF THE COLOSSUS I WAS CREATED TO KILL, KNOWING ONCE IT IS ASH AND SCRAP I WILL STILL NOT BE SATISFIED, BECAUSE MANKIND IS DEAD, BLOOD IS FUEL, AND HELL IS FULL

ok i slept and i still fully believe everything i wrote here it all makes sense its all real its all real

EVERYDAY i wake up and in my head im thikning

"MAN WAS CRUSHED UNDER THE WHEELS OF A MACHINE CREATED TO CREATE THE MACHINE TO CRUSH THE MACHINE" and "ALL THAT REMAINED IS WAR WITHOUT REASON"

and War Without Reason is looping in my head over and over and over and over and over and i looove ultrakill mmm!!!!!!!

[samerpal]

"First, I would like to thank everyone who supported me.🙏🌹

This is my new platform, friends, after my old platform was deleted for reasons unknown to me.

I ask for your help in sharing my story again to keep hope alive for me and my family, friends.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.♥️

My family and I appreciate your cooperation and hope to reach the desired goal and save us.🙏

Attached are the verification links for the old account from the supporters.

Link vetted by @ibtisams

Link vetted by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi

Link vetted by @sar-soor

My approved number by the families in need and endorsed by the supervisors is 196."

@90-ghost @ibtisams @nabulsi @aces-and-angels @sar-soor @sayruq @fairuzfan @palestinegenocide @vakarians-babe @northgazaupdates @northgazaupdates2

Trapped Family in Gaza Appeals for Help to Survive 🕊️🇵🇸🙏

I Samer Abu Ras, am reaching out to you with a heartfelt humanitarian appeal, after the ongoing war in Gaza has cast its dark shadow over my life and the lives of my family. Our lives were once filled with peace and stability before the onset of this catastrophe, but now, we find ourselves living in a situation described as nothing short of tragic.

My wife, Shurooq, our three children, and I are now homeless, without a source of income, and without hope for the future. My family and I have lost our businesses and our home due to the war, and we now have nothing left but the cold streets and troubled hearts.

My children are suffering greatly as a result of these horrific events. They have lost the security and stability they once enjoyed and are now facing new health and psychological challenges that threaten their lives. As a father and husband, I feel powerless in my ability to provide adequate protection and care for them.

My child, who is a year and a half old, is experiencing hardships far beyond his tender age. Since the war broke out, we had to flee our home and seek refuge in a tent in a displacement camp. My child lives in extremely difficult conditions, deprived of safety and stability. The tent does not provide adequate protection from harsh weather, and food and medicine are scarce. My child suffers from malnutrition and illness, lacking basic healthcare. He cannot play or grow in a healthy and suitable environment. My only dream is to see him grow up in a safe place full of opportunities

In the face of difficult circumstances, Samer Abu Ras and his family find themselves facing serious challenges in their daily lives. They reside in a modest tent lacking comfort and security, suffering from a shortage of clean water and food, and encountering difficulties in accessing necessary healthcare. Despite these challenges, they continue to express hope and resilience in confronting adversity, holding onto hope for a better tomorrow and a return to a more stable and secure life.

I appeal to you today, dear friends, to extend to me a helping hand in escaping this hell. Regardless of the size of the donation, every drop of generosity will contribute to alleviating our suffering and rebuilding our lives anew.

We need your help to secure the funds necessary to travel away from these destructive wars and seek a safe and stable environment where we can build a better future for our children

Let us stand together in these difficult times and let hope triumph over despair by providing support and assistance to those in dire need. Let us be part of the solution and build a better future for ourselves and future generations.

Thank you for listening and for the potential generosity of your giving, and for your generous donations that will change the lives of my family for the better.

With sincere gratitude and appreciation

‏Samer Abu Ras and family.

@heba-20 @soon-palestine @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @nabulsi @sayruq @communistchilchuck @palipunk @palestinecharitycommissionsassoc @faggotfungus @ghost-and-a-half @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @three-croissants @interfacefox @appsa @akajustmerry @feluka @flower-tea-fairies @90-ghost @victoriawhimsey @ficsforgaza @aria-ashryver @mangocheesecakes @humanvoicebox @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural @commissions4aid-international @palestinegenocide @ghost-and-a-half @bibyebae @heritageposts @norrriey 🍉🌹🍉✍️

🌹🍉🇵🇸❤️🌹🍉🇵🇸❤️🌹🍉

[earlgreylatte]

Of Moons, Birds, & Monsters

Where Mark Grayson having a sister changes everything and nothing.

You were privileged in a lot of ways; a nice house in the suburbs, a mother that worked in real estate, a father that wrote travel guides after seeing his novels weren’t doing so well, and they both never laid a hand on you. They were reasonable and raised you with a firm but kind hand. Well, maybe your mother more than your superhero father. But even with his usual absences, you and your brother were without a doubt loved. You are grateful, you really are. On top of the warmth provided by your household, you’re special. You’re different than the rest of the general population, with your father sure you’d inherit the powers inherent to his, your, alien heritage. You had the means to do something greater. A purpose. A higher calling.

People lamented not having such a clear path. Yet, you only felt a growing hollowness in your chest. As if you were barely tethered to reality. And you had no real reason to feel that way, at first. Your mom made sure she was there at every moment, every milestone. Your dad, while busy with his heroics, who would always throw you in the air and catch you in his strong arms, always picking up your favourite pastry from a bakery in the Netherlands. Your younger brother looked up to you with stars in eyes, pestering you to play with him.

But even then, you felt aimless. Apprehensive. Empty when you’re left alone, no one to distract you, and only your thoughts to reign freely.

Your dad had shared his origin with you and Mark when you were twelve and nine year olds. Adding to the puberty talk your mom had already given to you. Mark was excited. Why wouldn’t he be? Awesome powers and a future wearing spandex? That was every kid’s dream. Even you felt anticipation at being able to fly one day.

But the planet your father came from, Viltrumite, only gave you anxiety. Devoting yourself to protect the weak, to the point you’d have to leave your own home planet was a daunting task. You don’t know how your father could do it. Protecting strangers so far from home. You liked the comfort of home. Of being with your family. You didn’t even know what you wanted to be when you grow up.

After your dad sent you two to bed that night, you started up at the glow in the dark stars that covered your ceiling in quiet contemplation. You heard your bedroom door slowly creak open. From beneath your blanket, you slowly pushed yourself up.

“Get in here already,” you call and in an instant, he’s climbed onto your bed, starting at you with barely restrained energy. “Getting a bit too old to need a sleep buddy, Mark.”

Your brother shoves at your shoulder indignantly, “I can sleep by myself! And you sleep with stuffed animals!”

“Hey, stuffed animals are for all ages, you’re never too old for them.”

“That’s not what I came here for!” He protests, “We’re aliens!”

“Half-aliens,” you correct, bringing your knees to your chest.

“Same thing! And—and dad’s Omni-man!” He babbles, a far cry from his quiet awe while he listened to your dad earlier.

“I mean, yeah, Mark. I don’t understand how people don’t know, the moustache is a dead giveaway,” you respond. “And you know I like Darkwing and War Woman more.”

Mark calls out your name in frustration, “Aren’t you even a little psyched? We’re going to be heroes! We could be…Omni Boy and Girl!”

You squint at him in the darkness of your room, “Maybe workshop the names a bit more, and that’s not going to happen for a while. I mean, you should be more concerned on whether or not you’re going to grow or not. It’s not looking good, midget.”

Mark, done with your jackass behaviour, lets out a war cry and tackles you off the bed, landing on one of your ridiculously big stuffed animals. You two laughed as you grappled and shoved at each other, only freezing when the light flickers on.

Your mom stares at you menacingly from the doorway.

Your powers came in when you were thirteen. You had been in school, a teacher droning on about trigonometry, and you felt the telltale signs of tinnitus. When your ears popped, you could hear more than you could even comprehend. You slammed your hands over your ears but you could still hear everything. Dozens of teachers talking to their own classes, the gossip of students, the pipes below, and even the creaking of your school’s infrastructure. Ignoring your teacher’s protests, you left. Running through the halls, for the first and not last time, you ditched school, exiting the building.

Your dad found you across town, in a desolate park, grass overgrown and with splintering benches. It was quiet. Quieter. Away from the noise of traffic and crowds.

He had simply stared at your huddled form before picking you up, and flew high. Higher and higher until the only thing you could focus on was the infinite blue of the sky, fluffy white clouds surrounding you two. Your dad rubbed a large hand over your head comfortingly.

“Usually, strength or flight kicks in before the enhanced senses gradually appear for Viltrum children. But it happened all at once for you. Not unheard of, but definitely unlucky,” your father explains, looking down at your with a complicated look in his eyes. “I knew you would get your powers, but I didn’t…prepare myself or you for it.”

At your silence, he continues, “Your mom was worried when she got that call from school. It’s not everyday your kid pulls a jailbreak from school. So why don’t we go let her know you’re okay and we’re going to start training you. Get you up in the sky and you’ll be able to go to that pop cafe you like so much in Tokyo.”

“Pokémon cafe, dad,” you correct, “Mark’s going to be so jealous.”

He laughs, “Soon enough both of you will be like your old man, thrashing monsters and then…”

When he trails off, he only shakes his head and asks if you want to pick up some food before you go home.

Your brother groans and moans at how he’s going to have to wait to get his powers while you’ll be out with dad. Your mom forbids you from going out as a hero as a middle schooler, not that you’d object. Your dad…

Your dad has always had his obligations. You wouldn’t call him absent, but your mom was the one you’d come home to and the one to tuck you and Mark in every night. So it felt like you were getting to really know him for once. He told you more about his home as he helped you fly, not unlike how any other dad would help their kids learn how to ride a bike.

You don’t really go into detail about your lessons with Mark because you know he’d sulk.

You don’t tell your mom because don’t you want to be cause of a disagreement or fight.

You wouldn’t call yourself an inquisitive kid, but there was something unrealistic about Viltrum. You could believe that food shortages and illness could be eliminated. That technology beyond what you could even imagine what out there. What you couldn’t believe was that indisputable peace could exist.

Conflict, idiocy, and more polluted humans. Any living being that had thought that went beyond survival and instinct would inevitably have their own selfish and nefarious thoughts. The cost of free will. Were humans worst off than other species out there? Surely strife was equal.

Humanity isn’t all bad, of course. That’s why even though there’s hurt and pain in the world, people will always have the ability to make their own choices.

Your dad’s brow knitted whenever you discussed this particular topic. There was a certain superiority he had, which was understandable when you were the strongest on Earth, but it seems to have bled into a certain resentment towards the people he was supposed to protect.

Other times, he described beings like you as shepherds, to herd the flock of sheep. He emphasized duty and responsibility, having to make the hard choices that no one else could make. What those ‘choices’ were, you had no idea.

(Sometimes his face contorts when he thinks you’re not looking. With what emotions is a question you stay up thinking about.)

Your dad is patient with you, a good teacher, really. But there are instances where he’s anxious, rushed as if there is something looming behind him.

(He hits hard enough to having you tearing up at his worst moment before his face twists with regret as he moves to comfort you.

Frustration shines through his eyes when you seem disinterested in your training, wanting to play games with Mark instead. A moment later, he relents. His strange mood remains for a couple hours before disappearing like it never happened.

Neither of you mention it.)

When you’re in high school, your dad takes you to get a proper suit from Arthur. The old man reminiscing with your dad with a comfortable ease. They’re friends, you note. It’s nice to see your dad have these moments with people outside of your family.

Your brother had recommend ‘Omni-Girl’ as a your hero name, but you immediately vetoed it. A title wasn’t too important to you since you were just shadowing your dad. You didn’t feel too motivated to throw yourself out in to the thick of it.

(“You see, sometimes it takes more then one punch to finish the job,” your father explains while holding up an armadillo like beast, “So, don’t become discouraged and don’t be afraid to just let them have it.”

And with that he began pummelling the beast.

“Okay, dad.”)

Eventually your dad’s gentle suggestions to be more proactive become firm orders.

(Your dad is cruel sometimes. To his enemies. Even to you. His grip on you too tight and his words too demeaning. He backs away in regret, apologizes, and buys you whatever food you want afterward.)

You begin to patrol aimlessly. You started out with minor conflicts; muggings and other assholes looking to take advantage of other people. Then you began fighting with super powered criminals, ones that could actually stun you or even hurt you. You weren’t too invested in your hero responsibilities, especially since there were more than enough people to pick up the slack. It was a good after school activity at least.

(You used to be on the field hockey team, but after getting your powers, it would just be unfair. People could get hurt.)

You noticed things getting increasingly difficult. You never anticipated how much things would weigh on you. Having to ignore the screams of helped you were forced to tune into because you didn’t want to fail a midterm. People getting hurt or killed because you weren’t fast enough, that you making the wrong choice or move would always have consequences. The same villains would continue to break out and continue to hurt others, you would beat them to a pulp, take note of the casualties, and the cycle would restart.

You alone had the power and capabilities to make a difference in the lives of so many people. People that can’t rely on the Guardians or Omni-Man to be everywhere. Your inaction alone outweighs the sins of many, you realize.

(Mark calls your name. You jolt out of your thoughts. He had out walked you and was now looking back at you in confusion.

“Why are you so slow? Come on!” The now teen complains, urging you to speed up.

“Dude, it’s not like 7/11 is going to suddenly run out of slushies,” you retort, but jog to catch up with him.

“Why can’t you just fly us?” Mark asks, “We would have been home already.”

“What,” you laugh incredulously, “someone could see us and then they’ll know there’s a super in the neighbourhood, and then boom. You’ll have gotten us doxxed, Mark, and we’ll have to put you and mom in some protection program!”

“Overdramatic much? And it’s not like anyone cares about ‘Singularity’,” Mark whispers the last part, quickly glancing around the empty street. “And that’s such a lame hero name, by the way!”

“You don’t even know what it means,” you scoff.

“And you do? I bet you got it from one of those RPGs you’re always playing!”

“Nah, I just got it from some song.”)

Mark is thirteen and he still hasn’t gotten his powers like you had. Outside the house, your dad looks more worried than Mark does. He rests a hand on your shoulder, tells you that one day you’ll have to step up more. That you need to watch over your brother while he’s just human. When he says that, he looks more calm then you’ve seen him in a long time.

Your mom looks at you worriedly when your back is turned. You get it, you aren’t the most social and your beginning to think your mom knows you don’t really have any friends at school now that she no longer tries to get you to invite anyone over.

You just tease Mark and debate with dad until you feel her worry lessen.

You’re tired. You don’t really have a plan for the future. You try not to think about it too much.

(“We Viltrumites…far outlive humans. Eventually, your aging will slow down enough that while your peers will be old and grey, you won’t even look thirty,” your father reveals one evening. The two of you stand at the peak of Mount Everest, watching the sun set in a mirage of pink and orange. It’s beautiful. “Just, don’t get too attached. One day, it will just be us. Don’t let your heart get broken.”

“What about mom? Mark?” You ask. “If…he’s not like us.”

Your father is silent, he doesn’t deny the possibility, “Then we stay with them. Till the end.”

You don’t ask what you do after.)

You wonder if this is how you’ll spend your days. Fighting and fighting as everything changes around you. Do you stop when you can’t recognize what this planet has become?

You’re not particularly skilled or even much of a good person. You’re more than aware of that. You’re selfish. You’re just human, despite your alien blood. Maybe humans and Viltrumites aren’t too different.

(You’re falling. A giant mecha just tossed you out of the city. People are screaming and running away in terror. No matter how much you punch it and how brutal you are in tearing it apart, it keeps rebuilding itself. It’s been hours. By now, people have already evacuated. You’re exhausted and hungry. You want to go home. You don’t want to be here anymore. But, no one else is coming, it’s just you. This can’t be anyone else’s responsibility but yours.

But, you let yourself fall. You could catch yourself. You don’t. The absolute idiot you are, you don’t catch yourself. You can fly, but you don’t.

You land on someone. You can’t tell their gender or even how old they are. How could you, when you’re sitting in the red, mushy remains of them. They’re nothing more than a bloody mess on the ground. You’re covered in a mix of their fluids and organs. You’re screaming. You can’t stop.

Your dad finds you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It happens.”

“One life versus thousands.”

“They’re insignificant…in the grand scheme of things. People die so easily. Disease, traffic accidents, even just fading away in their asleep.”

You don’t feel any better.

When you get back home, the two of you eat dinner as mom complains about a client.

You two don’t mention anything about the mecha, despite Mark’s begging, besides that it’s been taken care of.)

You stop fighting the evil geniuses and beasts that were always around, demanding attention from the public. You focus on the monsters that hide in the shadows. The ones that aren’t broadcasted on the news. The ones that take advantage of those weaker. Traffickers and gangs. Women, children, and drugs seem to be what’s circulated. Every time you take down one ring, ten more seem to pop up. It’s just as relentless as the usual villainous devastation.

They work in even the most populated cities, keeping everyone down. Girls go missing and people find themselves in debt to loan sharks that never yield.

No one’s around to see you beat normal people and the occasional super-powered thug to mush.

(“You’re doing good work,” Cecil compliments you, watching as his agents usher victims away from the remains of their prisons. They glance at you as they pass. You pretend you don’t notice. “Wasn’t expecting you to start handling the dirty work. We tend leave this kind of thing to our agents.”

You remain silent. Your father doesn’t answer to him. Neither do you. It was nothing personal. You just didn’t want to feel like a tool, more than you already do, at least.

“I get it. You like to work alone, just like your old man. But it would be better for the victims if you’re at least in contact with us. I— we can help.” Cecil offers you an earpiec .

You hesitate, “Don’t contact me for anything besides leads. I don’t do the whole public hero thing anymore.”

He smirks, “Sure, kid.”)

Your dad stares at you in confusion, and then irritation. You two argue.

“You don’t have to deal with this,” he struggles to find the words, “We’re above this. Squashing insects doesn’t make you any smarter or stronger. This isn’t growth. You’ll never change things, not really. You can’t change humanity.”

“I thought you were here to make a peaceful world,” you interject, “How can you do that if you think people are doomed to be infinitely cruel? Have you given up? You’re literally on a committee with the express purpose of helping people, which I’m doing! Throwing the same morons back into prison isn’t doing anything either!”

“Are you really prepared to change things? To change this world? To see the actual value of humans?” He questions with an intensity that cuts the words in your throat. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Ready? What are you talking about?” You watch him place a hand over his face before turning away. “Dad?”

“Right now, you can’t make the hard choices,” your father concludes.

You two don’t resolve your disagreement, neither of you willing to bend.

Your mother and Mark try to ease the uncomfortable tension when the both of you are home.

“So, uh, how goes the heroing?” Mark asks, cutting into his lasagna.

“Fine,” you and your dad grunt before glaring at each other.

“And this isn’t awkward at all.”

(Your mom strokes your hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re going after…a different kind of danger?”

“Not really something to talk about over dinner,” you mumble, laying your head in her lap. “Or brag about.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

You stiffen.

“You’re helping so many people, my baby is a hero. You’re doing so good,” she whispers as your body shakes with sobs, “You always see what others don’t. My considerate girl.”)

You graduate. Rather than go to school, you pick up a camera. You get pictures of heroes no one else can get, see views that only you can find. You also don’t mind doing wedding pictures for some extra cash. You travel, you sometimes run into your dad in the skies. You two are better now. He probably sees your motivations as a phase. And maybe he’s right when it comes to near immortal beings.

Things are okay. Everything seems kind of grey, dull, even, but it’s okay.

Mark calls you one night. He got his powers. Something in you shrivels up. A foreboding feeling washing over you.

You come home. You and your dad sit at the kitchen table.

“You look like the world is ending,” you comment, narrowing your eyes when he doesn’t immediately reply. “I thought you were waiting for him to…become like us.”

“Things are going to be busy with me training Mark for the next little bit,” he speaks up, “I’d appreciate it if you stepped up a bit more.”

“…why? You seemed on top of things when I got my powers,” you note.

“We don’t have that kind of time anymore, Mark is already a late bloomer. I need to get him to your level as soon as possible. You’ve been slacking off on your training too. You’re only getting faster and your senses might be better than mine, but you need to get stronger, to stop holding back,” he stares down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them.

“You’re acting like you’re on a deadline,” you observe, “Are you okay?”

“Just,” he breathes out, “keep an eye out.”

Before you can say anything else, you hear your mom shuffle out of bed above you.

“Alright.”

Mark begins his training and your dad is weirdly wired. A tension residing in him. It’s noticeable to you and your mother.

(You find yourself comparing Mark to a cocoon. Metamorphosis. It’s hard to believe how much he’s grown. How much he’s growing. Who he’ll become.

Invincible, he declares as his name.

“Why can I still see you?” You ask, lounging on his bed.

“You’re not funny,” he scowls. You push yourself up.

“It’s a good name,” you smile at him. “But you do know we can still get the crap beaten out of us, even dad.”

“I know that!” Mark protests, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it and throw it with more than a little force.

Mark huffs as he catches it before, sending it back. And before you know it, you two are tussling like you’re kids again, trying to put the other in a headlock.

“Someone is suddenly a little too confident,” you laugh, before shoving him into the wall.

“And I think someone needs to knock you down a peg, you tyrant! You can’t bully me anymore!” Mark lunges at you but you simply step out of the way as he crashes onto the floor.

He huffs before letting out a chuckle, “We haven’t roughhoused like this since…you got your powers, I think.”

You pause, “I mean if I bumped into you too hard, you’d probably explode.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that scrawny!”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Just be careful around other people.” You warn before grinning, “I mean, yeah, you’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer so I did have to be extra delicate with you—!”

With a battle cry, Mark charges at you as you two begin grappling again. You both freeze when you hear your mom clearing her throat at the doorway.

“Sorry, mom.”

“My bad.”)

You meet your dad at the peak of Mount Everest once again. You’ve both gotten into the habit of visiting when you needed to think. He hasn’t come in a while.

“Sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asks finally turning to stare at you, bathed in orange light as the sky turns to dusk. “That I want the best for you and your brother. Your mother.”

“Of course I do, dad,” you say honestly. Despite his faults, he’s your dad and you know that he loves his family above all else.

“Then I need you to be strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.” He brings you in for a hug, cradling your head as if you were still a little girl. “You should go home tonight. I’ll be out late.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest.”

You don’t see him tomorrow, not really.

Your mom and brother jolt when they see you come down the stairs, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Both of them already ready to start their day, unlike you.

“Honey, I didn’t realize you were here!” Your mom exclaims.

Your brother shoots you a look, “When did you even get here?”

“A couple of hours ago,” you yawn halfway through your words. “Dad not home?”

Your mom frowns, “No, he didn’t come back last night.”

“Mom, stop worrying,” Mark reassures her, “he probably got buried under a mountain again or something.”

You remain silent as she chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She heads to the door after telling you she bought more of your usual tea from the store as Mark picks up a box of cereal. “Don’t be late for school—“

You hear her gasp as two men in black stand outside your door.

Donald leads you into a government operated hospital, his exchange with Mark passing over you.

You’ve been here before. A couple of times. When you were inexperienced. You’ve never seen your dad beaten enough to warrant a visit.

Your brother and mother rush into his room, your father laying unconscious on a gurney, hooked up to different beeping machines. You stagger a bit behind them, noticing Cecil in the corner, who nods at you.

Your ears are buzzing as you look away, watching your mother already hover above your father.

“Who did this?” Mark asks sharply.

“We have no idea,” Cecil cuts in, as everyone turns to look at him. “Not yet, anyway. But we’ll find out and when we do, they’ll look a hell of a lot worse than your dad over there.”

He introduces himself to Mark, shaking his hand before acknowledging your mom. “Deborah. I’m so sorry.”

She stands up, glaring, “Cecil, you’ve got a lot of nerve—!”

“Someone murdered the Guardians of the Globe last night,” he interrupts as your mother gasps and your brother lets out an astonished ‘oh my god’.

It takes every muscle in your body to not flinch as you stare down at your comatose dad. Your dad never joined their team despite their numerous offers. He said liked to work alone. Even if attended their numerous parties and get togethers. Even when he laughed with them.

Cecil sighs, “All of them. Tore them down limb from limb. We tried like hell to bring them back, but Nolan was the only survivor.”

“How is that even possible?” Mark asks.

“We don’t know yet. We also don’t know why your dad was at Guardians HQ,” Cecil continues. “A working theory is whoever killed the Guardians, lured him down there to try to wipe them all out at once.”

You ignore Mark’s confusion and Cecil’s pragmatism. Your mother’s tearful demands wash over you, distraught that even your father could have a brush with death.

But you can’t focus on that.

You exit the room.

You might have been the last person your father saw before the attack yesterday. No, you know you were the last one.

(“—do you trust me?”)

“Your brother is out dealing with an invasion,” Cecil informs you, finding your crouched form in the hallway over.

You jolt up, “Where?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Not your area of focus, right? I’ve already sent the Teen Team to assist him.”

You’ve met them before. Members in between yours and Mark’s age. They asked you to join them, maybe two years ago.

“He’s new,” you remark, “I should—“

“Singularity,” Cecil interrupts, something he seems fond of doing, “You’re currently the strongest person on Earth.”

You freeze.

“I respect you. You do the work no one notices or wants to notice. The stuff that’s hard to digest. You don’t do it for the fame or recognition. I understand why you don’t want to get involved with the government, but I need your cooperation right now. Whoever did this could come after you next—“

You doubt it.

“And we need someone to pick up the slack more than ever. Can I count on you? Even if it means you’ll be out in the light?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“That easy?” He asks. You shrug.

“What do you need me to do?”

“As much as you can.”

You’ve never not lived in a cycle. You’re back where you started. Just beating down the bad guy that Cecil points you at.

Dragons, hairy beasts, and the Lizard League.

You’d rather you do it than Mark. He has enough to worry about.

You wonder what’s going to happen now. Cecil was using you to close the power vacuum the death of the Guardians would leave. You had to be fast and efficient so no one would notice their absence. So no one would get any smart ideas. You were sending a message that there were plenty of other heroes to fear. At least for the next few days.

You wish time would stop moving forward, just for a little bit. You feel so tired. You don’t want to do this. You’re sick of seeing people hurt other people. Of having to hurt people. But what would you be if you looked away? What would your family think of you if you didn’t help when you had the ability to do so? Were you anyone without these powers at this point?

Your life consisted of nothing but the job, whether it was black market dealers or experiments gone wrong, you had to wear the suit.

(“—be strong.”)

You almost dread the moment your father will awaken. It won’t be long. They might not know much about your species’ durability, but you had a guess.

(“Hey,” Mark’s voice echoes from your phone. “I saw you on TV. Back in the limelight, a bunch of theorists think you’re trying out for the Globe.”

He pauses.

“If,” he starts, “If you need any help—“

“Focus on school,” you interject. “And I heard you fought off those Flaxans pretty well yesterday.”

You hear his breath stutter.

“I know mom left some stuff in the freezer, but do you want me to pick up anything?”

“Sushi,” Mark replies instantly.

“Yeah, I think there’s a place near me—“

“From that one place in Nagoya.”

“Bro.”

“Bro,” Mark pleads, “I know you carry that insulated bag with you. I’ll pay you back.”

“With your burger money?”

“Elitist, but yeah.”

“I’d feel like a bully, so just buy me, like, fifteen milkshakes.”

“I think that’s still just extortion.”)

You get a frantic call from your mom that he’s awake. When you burst into his room you narrowly avoiding your brother crashing into you.

“Careful,” you chide him but he ignores you to approach the now conscious man.

You watch them.

After changing out of your costume and into your civvies, you watch Mark brush off your father’s hand. You sigh. Your mother told you the older woman he had saved hadn’t made it. Your father didn’t seem too concerned, instead turning to the nurse at the front desk, demanding his costume back.

“Manners,” you scold, walking to stand next to him. He only glances at you as the nurse leaves to retrieve the damaged suit.

“You did good, covering for me,” he commends.

“Guess I’ll have to do it a little longer while you recover,” you note. “Don’t take too long, I have my own stuff to get back to.”

Your dad only scoffs before your mother intervenes.

“I’m just glad we’ll all be home again!”

You and your father share a glance. He knows you know.

“I gotta get going,” you step away, “I just wanted to make sure dad was okay. Cecil needs me to go do…something.”

(“Why didn’t you and dad ever tell me that there’s an orange, telepathic cyclops alien that shows up every once in a while?” Mark demands.

“Oh, I don’t know. Three years ago, while I was chilling on the moon, he showed up, I punched him, and then I got to dad to deal with it,” you explain, “Freaked me out.”

“And you didn’t try to talk to him?”

“I was in the middle of some really deep thinking when he showed up,” you defend yourself, “But, he had the wrong planet? That’s funny.”

He groans out your name in exasperation.)

“Singularity,” Cecil’s voice rings out in your ear, “You’re needed. Your brother and the Teen Team aren’t doing so hot—“

“Send me the coordinates.”

When you’re fifty kilometres away, your dad joins you.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” You ask.

He ignores you, “These Flaxans are on their third attempt to invade?”

“That’s right.”

He grunts, “Let me show you how to nip this kind of thing in the bud.”

“What?”

“Follow my lead. We’ll talk after. I know I owe you that much.”

When you arrive, Mark is being beaten by a Flaxan in a mech suit. Speeding up, you punch the alien off your baby brother, before tossing him into the air with a yell. Omni-man catches him as you turn away.

“Are you okay?” You fret as you crouch down to lift him out of the crater he was slumped in. He groans in pain before perking up at seeing your dad.

In his usual effortless fashion, Omni-man has the army’s attention as he wipes the aliens out in an instant after proving that their attacks could do nothing to him.

Your brother watches in awe as he forces the intruders to retreat back into their portals.

“Singularity,” he calls out from above you, nudging his head toward the last of the Flaxans. The one in the mech suit, the one that wanted to beat your brother to death, still wasn’t keen on leaving, despite the portal behind him.

You close your eyes before turning to your brother, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he stares at you in confusion. “You did good.”

And in the next instant, in tandem, you and Omni-man fly at the enemy with a burst of speed, the three of you disappearing into the portal. The last thing you hear is Mark call out for your dad, and for you. Your name echoing from behind you. You couldn’t even blame him for the secret identity thing.

(Their planet was red. The rocks beneath your feet, the lighting, and even the fear in their eyes as they started at you like you were their reckoning.

“You don’t seem to understand,” Your dad speaks with a menace in his tone unlike anything you’ve ever heard, “Earth isn’t yours to conquer.”

“Dad?”

He looks back at you, and he’s almost remorseful, “Just watch, and I promise I’ll explain everything.

You couldn’t even move if you wanted to. You watched a civilization fall to ruin, buildings collapsing, innocents screaming. It wouldn’t stop. Your dad, who used to throw you in the air until you were screaming with joy, always catching you with strong hands, was now the cause of pure terror.

With a surge of courage, you tackle him, both of you plummeting down to the ground.

“What are you doing?” You cry, gripping his face, “Just stop!”

He says your name, hands grabbing your wrists, “This is what needs to be done.”

“You’re insane,” you state, “you’re actually insane—“

In a quick turn, he throws you down by the wrists before you can react, with a strength you’ve never experienced before.

When you sit up, the screams are louder. Your crash created a crater, but your eyes widen at the sudden warmth you feel, covering your legs, back, and hands.

It’s red. Not again. It’s red.

It’s in your mouth, in your nose, and the only thing you can see is red.

You think you’re screaming, crying. You’re fourteen again, the same idiot that fell and caused devastation. You can’t breathe, you’re choking on your own sobs. You don’t know how much time has passed, only blinking into awareness when you feel your father pulling you into his arms, shushing you as he presses your face into his shoulder.

You cry out in defiance, pushing your hands against him, but his grip only tightens against you.

“It’s okay, it’s over,” he whispers.

“You killed them,” you hiccuped, “The Guardians—“

“I had to—“

“You didn’t! You didn’t have to—“

“I know this is hard, that you never wanted to be a hero,” he interrupts, “And a part of me was always glad about that. That you recognized the futility of it all. But, that only makes it worse on you. You more than anyone knows how crooked and violent that world is, that no matter how many so called heroes appear, it will never end. Not unless people like us step in. Force them to stop, even if it means having to be cruel, to be the monsters in their eyes. For the greater good.”

“Dad—“

“From the moment I stepped foot onto that planet, its fate was already decided. That Earth would become a part of our empire. No more disease or famine. No more lives being sold or slaughtered. But, I faltered. If you and Mark were just human——I couldn’t let them find out about you. But you’re not human. And you don’t need to have these human problems anymore,” he continues, stroking your hair with his bloodied hand. “But I need you to be strong. For your brother and mom. For yourself. For your survival and theirs. We can’t defy the empire. The weak aren’t allowed to live among us, so you need to stop crying.”

“No, no, I can’t,” you try to object.

“You can and you will. For a better world, one where your mom can grow old in, where you and your brother will have each other as everyone around you ages and dies. This is the only way, your empathy will only doom you. Us. So let me—-let me make the hard choices until you can.” He finishes as you cease struggling, only lying limply against him.

As your vision blackens, you hope you don’t wake up.

(Time passes on a different rate on this planet. Your father forces its inhabitants to send you back home, something they are more than willing to do. The days blur together, your father gently cajoling you into drinking and eating in your detached state, cradling you to his chest like you’re a kid. Maybe you still are one. Still unable to handle the pressure, stupid and weak as you are.

You leave behind death and destruction as you return back to your planet, guided by your father.)

You and your father leave those issues outside of the house, so when you return home, your gait is casual even if you look battered.

Entering first, your father walks in, only a bit tired, as if he hasn’t doomed a whole planet.

“I need a shower,” he sighs.

“I called dibs,” you shoot back, following behind him as if you hadn’t spent days crying and cursing him out.

Mark and your mom jump from their seats, pulling you two into an embrace.

“Woah, group hug?” You laugh as your dad holds all three of you in his arms.

You stop when you hear the announcer on the TV declare that the Guardians are dead.

A day later, you find yourself dressed in black, accompanying your family to the televised funeral of the Guardians; heroes, civilians, and the press all attending.

Your father, the murderer, begins his eulogy. You clench your coat in between your fists, scrunching your eyes closed. It’s almost laughable.

Your mom nudges you, “Are you alright? You look…anxious.”

You smile at her, “Just a bit crowded.”

Hours later, you attend the second, and real, funeral. Olga sobbing as the actual caskets lay in front of you. You hold an umbrella over your mother’s head as your father begins to speak. You wonder how sincere he’s being.

“Good to see you again, despite the circumstances. I didn’t realize you three were all related,” Eve greets you.

“Don’t want any nepotism accusations. You know how it is,” you joke with Mark scoffing at you, but you notice his lips twitch.

People soon begin to leave as the rain continues. You watch from a distance as the detective from hell stands off against your father. He’s onto him. You shudder.

(When you turn to leave, your parents stop you.

“Honey, are you sure you don’t want to come home with us?” Your mom looks at you in worry, you feel like that’s all you do to her now.

“Come on, you can choose what we have for dinner,” your dad bribes. You keep your face flat.

“Some publishers approached me about some of my action shots. For the Guardian’s memorial pages,” you explain, squeezing Mark’s arm before turning away.

You feel your father’s stare until you disappear from sight.)

“You sure you won’t consider a place on the team? I wouldn’t even ask you to tryout,” Cecil offers.

“You said you had a ring you wanted me to dismantle?” You deflect.

The man studies you, “Are you okay? Looking a little worse for wear there.”

“Not a fan of funerals.”

“Who is?” The man clears his throat, “You know, we offer a lot of services for heroes. In case, you needed someone to talk to. Our NDAs are ironclad.”

You jolt, “What? I’m fine. Just…tired.”

You don’t meet his dubious gaze.

(Your mom pulls you aside one day.

“You know you can talk to me,” your mom says, “I know you’d want Mark to talk about his problems. You can do the same. You don’t have to leave it out of the house, like your father says to.”

“I know, mom,” you reply.

She frowns at you, “Cecil told me…about what happened when you were younger. It wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I asked dad to keep it secret. I didn’t want to…”

When you trail off, she wraps her arms around you, “You’ve helped so many people, but you don’t have to keep doing it. Not at the expense of yourself. It’s your life, you’re still young. Do what makes you happy. You can stop.”

Once, those words would have been your salvation. Now, it’s no longer an option.

“I know, mom,” you smile.

She pulls away to cup your face, “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I had a light breakfast,” you lie.

“Then you’ll have room for some soup. I made your favourite,” she declares confidently, but you see the defeat in her eyes.)

“You have a girlfriend?” You question.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Mark demands.

“Dude, you’re a superhero, high school student slash part timer! How are you going to have any time left?” You ask.

“I’ll make it work,” he insists.

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re mean.”

(“…are you okay? You’re a bit quiet.” Mark later asks as you two play your usual racing game.

“Need to focus to beat you.”

“You’re in last place. Like always,” Mark teases, “And I meant it in, like, general.”

“Just adult stuff.”

“I’m literally eighteen now.”

“You’re a baby.”

“You can’t even legally drink alcohol yet!”

“In this country.”

“I’m telling mom!”

“I didn’t say I actually drank anything, you snitch!”)

You avoid going home for a while.

Your father hasn’t made any moves. He won’t make any. He’s hesitating. The childish part of you thinks it’s because he’s your father before a Viltrumite. Even if you don’t visit home, you visit him. You argue. You scream. He threatens and bargains. Sometimes he almost reveals something human. Other times, he berates you. Telling you that you’d be the cause of Earth’s destruction, unless you listen.

You can’t fight him.

No matter how many times you try to imagine it, you don’t see yourself beating your dad. You don’t think you could even try.

(Mark calls you one night. He wants to help take down a gang. You already know your father wasn’t happy about that.

“If you feel like your intel is legitimate then go for it. Dad’s never appreciated anything that doesn’t involve some epic battle.” You explain. “You need backup?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just this teleporter dude I have to worry about.”

“Remain vigilant, you never what kind of BS desperate idiots will pull.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m more worried about Amber—“

You groan, “You high schoolers are actually so annoying.”)

The next time you see your family, Mark is half dead and being operated on. You can only watch as your parents argue behind you. Your mom pulls you away from the operating room window.

You and your mom stay overnight while your father visits after his patrols. He doesn’t wake up until nearly a week later.

You almost laugh when the first thing on his mind is how he blew off his girlfriend.

(As you’re leaving, Cecil pulls you aside.

“Hey, is everything alright with you and your dad?” He asks. He almost sounds like a CPS worker.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You seem to be avoiding him like the plague, is all. I thought you two were close.” He comments.

Your mouths opens but no sound escapes it. You almost tell him. But you hear your dad’s footsteps approaching.

“Didn’t take you for a gossip,” you chuckle, “I really have to get going though.”)

You’re in Iceland, taking photos of puffins, living in existential dread. This is your life now.

You nearly cry when your phone’s ring rouses you from your sleep. You look around in confusion before realizing you’re in your hotel room. The ringing ends, only to begin again, vibrating noisily against your nightstand.

It’s your mom. You pick up the phone.

“Honey, listen to me carefully—!”

The call cuts off.

“Seriously?” You huff, realizing your phone just died before getting up to search for your charger, rooting around your bag.

After ten minutes of less than fruitful looking, you exit your hotel room to go ask the front desk if they have one instead.

When you walk out of the elevator, you notice a crowd of employees huddled around the lobby television.

When you take a closer look, you notice a familiar kaiju beating up Omni-man and Invincible. Your dad and brother. And Immortal is back from the dead. And now trying to kill your dad.

Phone forgotten, you fly back to your room ignoring the people blown back, looking around confused.

With your costume now on you take off faster than you ever have before. Iceland to somewhere outside of Chicago. Yeah, definitely easy.

By the time you arrive, you see that the kaiju is tied up and that the Immortal is in two pieces on the ground. But your father and brother are missing.

You close your eyes and listen. Before turning to look at where Chicago is; people screaming, buildings collapsing.

“Oh, fuck.”

You find them in a destroyed subway tunnel. Mark covered in red. Your dad’s hand tainted with the same colour. You can smell it. The remains of hundreds of people scattered among the rubble.

Mark whispers your name. He’s scared and he’s hurt, and it’s all Omni-man’s fault.

“Mark,” you begin gently, “Get out of here. Go find mom.”

He starts to protest, but your dad interrupts him, calling your name sternly, eyes red and bloodshot. “Neither of you are anywhere. Not until you both understand.”

“You’ve lost it,” you laugh before charging at him in an instant, arms hooking around him as you break through the damaged ceiling, throwing him into the orange sky above, away from the crying city. Before he can regain his balance, you strike him again, to create more distance.

“You’re still not listening,” He admonishes before closing the gap, gripping you by the shoulders. “My time here has been a speck in the span of my life. You don’t know me, neither of you do. I will burn this planet before I spend another minute living among these animals.”

“Animals?” You’re almost hysterical at this point, “Are you saying that you’d start a family with an animal, you sick fucking bastard—“

He goes to strike you, but you place a hand between his shoulder and neck, and you squeeze—

He shouts in pain but you ignore it, you have to ignore it, as you bring your other hand to punch him down.

You’re not stronger than him. But you are faster. And he’s weak. Tired.

You tackle him in the air, head against his hip as you crush back into the ground a couple hundred miles away from where you left Mark.

He growls your name throwing a punch that you duck under, kicking him in the ribs with punishing force.

He stares at you shocked. For the first time, you’re brutal with your blows, unrelenting. He can take it.

With a cry, you charge again.

Kicking, punching, and even biting, you exchange blows with your father as if you two were nothing more than beasts that are beyond reason.

With a quick kick to his knee, you force him to stagger, seizing the opportunity to wrap your hands around his neck and push him down, following him as you crouch above, and squeeze, trying to crush his windpipes so he can never let out a breath again, never hurt anyone again.

One of his hands grips your forearm, breaking it, but you don’t relent. His other hand, slams against your ribs repeatedly until your choking back blood, but you can’t relent.

As you watch his eyes grow redder and dazed, you realize he’s crying.

No, he’s not crying. Your own tears are falling onto his face.

Mark shouts your name, and you stop immediately, pulling your hands back, frightened.

Your dad struggles to breath again, staring up at you.

“You were almost there,” he exhales, and maybe you imagine it, but you see guilt flash across his expression, before he jabs four of his fingers through your stomach, before pulling out, blood coating his knuckles as you gasp. You feel frozen before you begin to tip, falling onto the ground as your father gets up. He turns you to your side as blood gushes out of your mouth. The gentleness contrasting his cruelty.

(When you were younger, every Christmas, Mark would wake up at the asscrack of dawn to run downstairs. Your mom would have to stop him, telling him he would have to wait for you to wake up before you could all open your presents as a family.

So, every Christmas, he would burst into your room, jumping onto your bed, shaking you as he called your name over and over—)

He’s calling your name over and over, begging you to get up. Mark, your baby brother, hovers above you. He’s crying. You try to ask why didn’t he leave. To warn him that Omni-man is behind him. You’re forced to watch as the man you called dad wrenches Mark away from you despite his struggles, taking off into the sky again.

You slowly but surely begin to shift your legs, moving your unbroken arm against the ground to push yourself up. You ignore your trembling limbs and the way your body cries in protest.

You nearly fall back down, when a sphere like drone begins to speak. Cecil.

“Stay down, we’ll send help—“

“Where,” you breathe out, ignoring the blood seeping out as you talk, “are they?”

Cecil tries to stop you in vain but you push yourself up into a kneeling position, watching blood pour out of your stomach.

“Coordinates.”

Nepal. Mount Everest.

Should you laugh or cry?

You find them in a crater. Because that’s what you Viltrumites do, get beaten until the ground cracks beneath you. Mark is worse off than you, you think. Face bloodied and brutalized. Omni-Man standing above him, a weird tension in his body. He’s distraught. He turns to meet your gaze.

He leaves. Straight into the sky, away from you.

Mark murmurs your name. You stagger over to him before dropping to your knees.

“It’s over, it’s okay, you’re okay,” you nearly snivelled, gripping his hand. He’s battered and beaten, but he’s alive. Your brother is alive. “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mark.”

You stay there for hours, as Mark loses consciousness. Only perking up when you hear the noise of Cecil’s helicopter. Your mom jumps out alongside paramedics. Her hands hover above you brokenly, as she takes in your injured body, tears in her eyes.

You watch as Mark is carried away.

“‘M sorry, mom,” you apologize, feeling your sight blur before collapsing, as your mom holds onto you, calling for help.

You hope you don’t wake up.

You wake up before Mark. Your mom at your side. You feel like a walking bruise. Your arm in a cast, and your stomach flickering between numbness and agony.

She’s stroking your head. You can tell she’s still holding back tears.

“You did so good,” she sniffed. You fall asleep to her assurances.

Despite seeming to be in worse state than you, Mark is out of bed before you. Your stomach wound is particularly annoying, it seems. You did not enjoy having to use a feeding tube.

He stares down at you, with teary eyes. “I’m—“

“Thanks for stopping me, Mark, I don’t think I would have survived, otherwise.”

His face cracks.

“He told me before you.” You admit. “It’s my fault, not yours. I didn’t want you or mom to know. I thought I could stop him, change his mind. I guess I didn’t really know him. Don’t blame yourself.”

“You shouldn’t either,” Mark responds, gripping your hand, “It wasn’t right, how he was treating you, what he told you——you were just a kid. Even now, it’s still not okay, you’re his daughter. He shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

When you look at him in confusion, he elaborates, “He mentioned some of the stuff he told you. It wasn’t fair of him to make you hide that stuff. You were only thirteen, and even now…”

You close your eyes when you feel them water. You didn’t want him or mom to feel guilty. Not because of you. Because you were too weak to even have made a difference.

“It’s going to be okay, he’s,” your brother chokes, “gone now.”

When your brother is cleared to go home, you insist they return without you. That they’ve spent enough time in a hospital. Your mom acquiesces. You feel worse because she probably thinks you’re trying to avoid her. For not knowing. But that was your choice, your fault, not hers.

Nolan Grayson is dead. Omni-man is a traitor to humanity. You know things are only going to get worse from here.

You startle when you hear a knock on your temporary room’s door.

“We need to talk.” Cecil states, making himself comfortable in the chair adjacent to your bed.

You sigh wearily.

“Let’s talk.”

Omni-man: Sweetie, you’re not like other girls, and I mean that in a non-misogynistic way.

Singularity:

*

Omni-man, watching as Singularity has a panic attack on the bloodied remains of Flaxans: I really need you to not snitch on me. We’ll literally all die. It’s your fault, by the way.

*

Omni-man: I made her strong!

Cecil: You gave her PTSD and depression??

*

Singularity, staring into the mirror: you stupid piece of shit, go kill yourself

Debbie:

*

Rex: Yeah, and Invincible has a hot sister—

Mark: Yeah—wait, what!?

Rex: you have a hot sister?

Mark: We are so not cool anymore!

*

Omni-man after gravely injuring Singularity: Oh my Shaylaaaaa

Omni-man after beating the shit out of Mark: Why did you make me do this!?

*

Rex: So, I’m single, you’re single, so why don’t we—

Mark: No, not doing this, nope.

Singularity: how to kms

*

Singularity after being dropped in DC: No, you can’t adopt me! Wtf is wrong with you, besides your dumbass name

Batman: I will get you therapy

I somehow finished this before season 3, omg. Yeah Nolan isn’t a good person and definitely put too much pressure on an actual child. I think I did decent with hinting that even before season one, he had issues, especially having to train his daughter. And most people wouldn’t notice because he screams girl dad but he’s actually bad!!

Also please, please tell me if there are any grammar errors in this behemoth. The notes app doesn’t have spellcheck! Or word count…

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

[wonderjanga]

Nightmares

Billy’s been having terrible dreams? Nightmares? Memories for a while. It started ever since he got his powers. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. Sometimes he prays that his night will be dreamless, and sometimes those prayers aren’t answered. Point is, he’s been having very terrible and or questionable dreams(?).

Like he said, there are sometimes good ones…

Billy: *pops into a memory, sitting around a fire with a bunch of other people*

???: “____? “You’ve been staying at your drink for a while! If you don’t want it, you know, I’ll take it!” *pats Billy(?) roughly on the back*

Billy(?):“I do want it. I’m just…”

Billy felt as though he should be happy. Why did he feel like that?

Ah right. There had been a demon resurgence down south. They’d terrorized his(?) people, killing so so so many of them. Thankfully, he(?) and his comrades eliminated the source.

They were celebrating.

Billy(?): “I guess I’m just upset that so many people had to die before we could get rid of the bastards.”

???: *sighs* “I know. It is truly sad. But, at least more people won’t die. Isn’t that good?”

Billy(?): “Yes. I suppose it is?”

Maybe Billy overestimated how happy that memory actually was, but in his opinion, it was one of the most tame.

Then there are the bad ones… the ones that made Billy resolve to never see to killing another person unless they absolutely-posituvly deserved it. The ones that kept them up at night. The ones that made him too scared to fall asleep. The ones that, in one particular instance, drove him to go to the Watchtower and drink the dreaded and disgusting substance known as coffee.

Marvel: *thousand-yard stare, drinking coffee and grimacing every five seconds at the taste*

Batman: *walks past, and then takes five steps back, cause is Marvel actually drinking coffee?* “Captain? You’re here surprisingly late.”

Marvel: “You mean early? It’s 4 AM.”

Batman: “No, I meant late. Why are you here?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *debating whether to lie or tell the truth* “I don’t want to sleep.”

Batman: “…I thought you didn’t have to sleep.”

Marvel: “I don’t, but I also do. Sometimes.”

Batman: “Sometimes…? What’s the longest you can go without sleep?” *walks over slowly to sit down with him*

Marvel: *thinking about how long he could be Marvel without combusting or something* “About two weeks.”

Batman: “Is this the two week mark?”

Marvel: “Sure.”

Batman: *doesn’t really know what to say that but does want to dig more info* “…why don’t you want to sleep?”

Marvel: “Nightmares.”

Batman: “Nightmares?”

Marvel: *nods head* “Nightmares.”

*silence*

Marvel: *sips coffee and grimaces again*

Batman: “…Nightmares about what?”

Marvel: “Oh, y’know, the past, war, etcetera.”

Batman: “Oh.”

Bruce knows that Captain Marvel was a hero during World War II and did fight alongside US soldiers a good number of times.

Now, he’s wondering if Cap has PTSD.

Billy found out later that the reason for these memories resurfacing was that the gods were basically playing them like home movies whenever they got bored. They mostly got bored when Billy wasn’t doing anything so… yeah.

[zlut4rina]

I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON BOTTOM GISELLE

This but she's also fucking around with her best friend :P and the bsf is also g!p

Parirings: Giselle x G!p!Femreader

Warnings: Drugs and Alcohol use, unprotected sex, slight oral mention, holy plot 💔, Uh yea 👅

___________________________________________

You and giselle met in uni. You both had mutual friends, and one day, they decided to all group up and hang out. You were quite the shy and reserved person, so speaking to a new group of people was like a death wish. Giselle approached you first, drink in hand, and a big smile on her face. She reeked of alcohol, and was that maybe a hint of weed? Who knows? Honestly, you could hardly remember what happened that night, especially after meeting her. You were too intoxicated to even comprehend what happened the next morning, still hungover. After that night, you both grew closer. You told each other any and everything. Your mutual friend would make silly remakes about how connecting you two was a bad idea.

And to be honest, it was. You guys went everywhere together, you did everything together, and you two were like the ideal friendship everyone wished that they had. Despite her chic and bad girl demeanor and style, she was a completely different person when it came to sex. You two told each other about your sex stories all the time. You didn't have much since you never really liked socializing. But giselle practically had bedtime stories for you every night. At some point, she stopped doing that. She stopped fucking around, it's been a while since you heard one of her outrageous sex stories. Anytime you'd ask her about it, she'd brush you off, saying, "It's just not my style anymore" or how she needs to focus on other things.

Her true reason being was because of you. She couldn't stop herself from having disgusting lewd thoughts about you, especially after she found out about you little 'secret'. The day you told her you had a dick flipped a switch in her brain. That was all she could think about that night. Even though she hooked up with some guy, she could only imagine how yours felt. You were so oblivious to this that it actually turned her on sometimes. The way she would purposely sit in your lap a certain way, just to fulfill a small part of her fantasies. The way she would grind on your lap just a little, masking it as her 'Trying to get comfortable'.

Your stupidity brought her to her breaking point. One night in your doorm, you two were played up cuddling, watching some drama on your laptop. A random surge of boldness ignited in her, her hand that was rested on your chest slowly made its way down under the covers cupping your bulge. You both were only in your underwear. You both established that it was fine to be dressed like that since you're so close.

And you know, one thing led to another. And here she is, back arching for you, face buried deep into the pillow soaked of her tears and the drool from her mouth. You never thought this day would come. Honestly, I mean, you dreamed about it sure, but for it to actually come true was insane. Take this opportunity to fuck her raw without a condom, only cause she asked so nicely. Your fingers digging into the flesh on her hips. Trying to keep as quiet as you could, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other. By the time you both were completely fucked out, you both looked like you survived some sort of war. Both of you bitten and bruised, the sheets drenched in mixed fluids. After that night fucking your best friend become such a normal thing, obviously you couldn't tell anyone about it though. But of course some of your friends got a little suspicious.

"You two always go home so early. It's like your dating or something."

You weren't necessarily dating, nor were you necessarily NOT dating. It was complicated, but in a good way. You didn't mind getting to fuck the pretties girl on campus whenever you wanted. Having her all to yourself was like a dream you never wanted to wake from. Giselle would wear skimpy, slutty outfits when going out just for you to ruin her in.

"So that's why you wore this, huh? Just for my attention?" You were balls deep inside her. A handful of her hair in your grasp, as you pounded her from behind. "You're so dirty, baby." You whispered into her ear, nipping at it. Giselle is a backshot warrior. Like omfg, the first couple of times you twocdid it, she would always want you to bend her over. You loved it too, the sight of her back angled so perfectly for you, ugh to die for. The way she whines into the pillow when you hit 'that spot' repeatedly. Her nails would be scattered all over your bed with how hard she was gripping the sheets. Her makeup stained your pillow once again.

Everyone thinks she's such a badass and takes the lead with everything she does, just not in all casses. The second she's with you behind closed doors, she's like putty. She's immediately on her knees, ready for her instructions on how to please you. Sucking you off with the prettiest hooded eyes. Her lipstick smudged on her lips as mascara ran down her face. She'd stick her tongue out and place it on the bottom on your tip as you shoot loads into her mouth, some of it hitting her nose and teeth. You weren't usually rough with her unless she'd as or she'd done something to rile that up in you. Spitting in her mouth and pulling her head back by her hair, demanding she swallow it. gulp

She absolutely loved it when you're rough with her, too. Making you upset at an outing, and the only way to calm you down is if she's bent over and taking your full length. Crying your name out as you handle her body roughly. Saying she deserves this for being bad and how she wanted this. "Don't tell me you can't handle it, princess." Meanwhile, she's literally struggling to even breathe against the soaked pillow. Her hair is a complete mess, sticking to her face from all the sweat. So, of course, you have to help her out. Taking a handle full of it and pulling her head back. While saying the dirtiest things to each other all night.

That's usually how most of your nights went. Bending her over or having her on her knees, you got whatever you wanted out of her. She's your best friend, that's what best friends do, right? They take care of each other's needs.

___________________________________________

[littleprinceabdullah]

"Born into Hope Amidst Destruction: Abdullah's Journey from Gaza"

Hello, I am little prince Abdullah, and I am a six-month-old baby from Gaza. I was born into extremely difficult circumstances amidst war and destruction. Let me tell you my story from the beginning.

Daddy, Mahmoud, is a young dentist, 25 years old. Mom, Abeer, is also a dentist, and they were eagerly awaiting my arrival (their little prince as they called me), dreaming of a bright future for me.

My parents got married and moved into a new home, spending two joyful months there before everything changed drastically on October 7, 2023, when the war in Gaza began. Our home, and the clinic were all destroyed in an instant. They had to flee with only a few clothes, having nowhere else to go. The place that was supposed to be filled with love and laughter turned into rubble and ash.

Mom endured her pregnancy amidst the war, without enough food, water, or medicine. As I grew inside her, I could feel the stress and fear that surrounded us. Mom often went without proper nourishment, sacrificing her own well-being to ensure that I had a chance to come into this world. Every night, she would cradle her belly, whispering prayers and promises of a better life, even as bombs fell around us. She dreamed of holding me in a safe place, free from the horrors of war, where I could grow up surrounded by love and peace.

Despite the chaos, dad and mom clung to the hope that I would be a symbol of a brighter future. They imagined my first smile, my first tooth, my first steps, my first words, and the joy of seeing me grow up in a home filled with laughter. But the reality was far from those dreams. Mom faced countless sleepless nights, worrying if she could bring me safely into a world that seemed determined to tear us apart.

When the time came for me to be born (6th, Apr.2024), there were no hospitals with clean beds, no doctors ready to ensure my safe arrival. My parents faced this moment with courage and a deep, unyielding love, praying that I would be born healthy despite the dire conditions. Each day inside my mom's womb, I felt her love and fear. I heard her heart beat fast when explosions echoed nearby, and I felt her tears when she thought about the uncertain future we faced. She whispered to me that I was her miracle, her reason to keep fighting, and she promised to do everything in her power to give me a life worth living.

Now that I am six months old, my parents continue to face immense challenges. I have spent my first six months of life in a world of uncertainty and hardship. There are days when my parents struggle to find enough food and clean water for us. They do their best to keep me safe and healthy, but the lack of proper medical care and basic necessities makes every day a battle.

My parents' love and determination are unwavering. They look at me with a mix of love and desperation, knowing they are unable to provide the comfort and security every baby deserves. Each day is a struggle for survival, and the joy of my birth is constantly overshadowed by fear and uncertainty. They dream of a world where I can play safely, have a warm bed to sleep in, and grow up healthy and happy. Instead, they face the harsh reality of war, where every moment is filled with anxiety and the haunting thought of what tomorrow might bring. Their only wish is to see me smile, free from the burdens that weigh so heavily on their hearts.

Here is daddy's account telling his own story: @mah99moud

The pressures and burdens on our family continue to grow, so my parents decided to turn to the GoFundMe platform, seeking help from kind-hearted people around the world.

Your generosity can turn our darkest days into a beacon of hope. Please consider helping us rebuild our lives and give me a chance to experience the childhood every child deserves, and help my parents rebuild their lives. Please, help us restore hope for a better tomorrow and give me a chance to grow up in a world where dreams are possible, not destroyed. Every donation, no matter how small, will make a significant difference in our lives.

Thank you for your kindness and generosity.

[streets-in-paradise]

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOU ARE AWESOME!!!!

( I can't find much merch where i live, currently awaiting for the mail to bring me an Achilles 3D printed figure. )

THIS, THIS, EXACTLY!!!

" Wooow, you know so much about the Iliad, you must be some classicist or something. "

Me: Thanks, but actually I got an insane attachment to Troy (2004) at a developmental age and that's what led me to endlessly read and overanalize the Iliad. You know the way it happened to some kids with Percy Jackson?

That's the feeling, what got me here is not being normal about that silly movie lol. I point at the scene Brad Pitt fucked up his heel the way average lotr fan points at Viggo's toe in Two Towers. ( I'm also a lotr fan, but you get the use of the example)

The change of the score in the director's cut ruins a few things, but doing that to Hector's Death was criminal.

Last time i rewatched director's cut my sister literally cackled because when Hector goes to fight Achilles the Troy motif is sounding, then abrutly stops once he sees Achilles, giving a very " pov: you are about to die" vibe.

Felt a bit meme-like:

(Angry Achilles seen through the pov of Hector)

*troy music stops*

🤣🤣

A less harmfull change I dislike is the switch of the Sparta party music. I liked Horner 's better and, in fact, now you can't find his version anywhere ( at least in YouTube). For some reason the rest of the Horner score is there, but everytime i try to search the full song of the Sparta scene I only find the other version.

As an adaptation it may have failed in many aspects, but it's my precious trash. Like " excuse me? that's my emotional support universally hated film. "

btw, I don't know if you are into fic, but a few years ago I fully embraced my love for the movie and started writing for it.

the movies mentioned in the Wikipedia article of “movies considered the worst” are far more interesting than the movies in the Wikipedia article “movies considered the best”

[faeiseavv]

competitive eater? more like pathetic yearner !

Sukuna Ryomen had the stomach of a monster—a built-in chamber of steel with acids enough to burn eighty buffalo wings in under ten minutes. After all, his title as the “King of Cuisines” wasn't miraculously earned through nothing.

Bold, masculine, and intimidating— Sukuna's aura was just hard to miss. His mere presence was a force that would dominate everyone on the field; let alone at the table. It doesn't matter how many platters you serve at him or how spicy and exotic the food may be, he's all downing it in one go.

No breaks.

No timeouts.

No 'i can't do this anymore' vulnerablity in front of live TV either.

He was unbeatable. Add that to his unsually attractive bad boy appearance and you'll find the exact reason why people love him.

The shock factor? Sukuna initially joined competitions because he was forced to. Yes, you heard that right. It wasn't because of boredom or some cliché passion.

He was forced.

It all started in highschool, back when he and Toji were broke and ambitious teens who'd jump at every opportunity to get money. It was stupid Fushiguro who dragged him into this ridiculous shit cause his ass didn't wanna be alone.

But somehow, the universe seemed to had other plans. Sukuna won the prize money without breaking a sweat, and no, it wasn't just first timer's luck. Unbeknownst to him, he was making a name for himself; champion after champion, unintentionally catching the attention of many people. From broke teen to whatever he was right now. It was honestly a win.

Then, you came. 

An angel sent to save him from dying on a a Sunday.

It was love at first sight for Sukuna who was definitely caught off guard. Fuck, he could even feel cupid's arrow lodged deep within the chambers of his chest, the vibrations of his heart drumming in his ears. You were perfect.

You waltzed in his direction, a welcoming smile on your lips. He caught a glimpse of your flawless manicured nails as you handed him the menu. Your oh so gentle voice sounding like a melody in his ears.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Your first question. Your first interaction. A siren's voice that cursed Sukuna to lay wide awake at night thinking of no one but you. So, he returned to the restaurant hoping to see you again. Sometimes you were there, and often times you'd be gone for weeks. To him, your existence felt like a vivid dream. It was as if fate was playing dirty tricks on him.

It bewildered him that he was spiraling whenever he couldn't see you—something that he's never felt for a woman before.

This was just a silly little crush. A temporary feeling. He'll go back to normal soon, right?

Well...not exactly.

His visits were consistent to the point that the owner, who turned out to be your father, finally recognized him as the Sukuna himself. Your father, being the self proclaimed comedian that he is, framed Sukuna's photo to the concrete wall like it was a rare artifact that only the chosen ones would find. Kinda valid. It's not everyday you get to have someone like him as a regular you know?

When you finally come home for winter break after battling the stressful half of your last year in college, Sukuna was elated. He found out from your dad a week ago when he mentioned it during their usual chat. And he might've stalked your instagram too..

Whoops..!

You've never felt so confused in your entire life. Because 1) why was there a photo of a man being hung up as decoration inside the restaurant? And 2) why was the said man laughing with your dad like both of them were comrades from a century old war?

You remembered him from before. The distinct head of messy pink hair that contrasted to the blackened tattoos inked on his skin. He didn't look much older than you, probably just a year or two.

You could only smile as Sukuna formally introduced himself. His palms curled into fists, both drenched in sweat, likely from his attempt to play it cool like he wasn't waiting for this to happen.

“I see you've met my dad, is that really you on the wall over there?” you joked, easing the tense muscles on his shoulders.

Sukuna could defy the laws of physics right now and straight up melt into the floor, if only you weren't looking at him with those eyes.

He could've flirted with you back then. Could've asked your old man for your number. But he didn't, and he chose not to.

Chivalry wasn't dead.

Sukuna would make sure of that.

[iwaszumi]

TIDES ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

cw: fem reader, hate fucking, toxic relationship, lots of dirty talk, pussy slapping, spit, biting/marking, multiple creampies.

It’s been 8 months since the breakup, and yet the second you lay eyes on him again, you forget why it even happened.

He’s standing at the edge of the room, back to you, drink in hand — like the universe is testing your self-control one last time.

Miya Atsumu.

The reason you can’t date. Can’t sleep. Can’t breathe right.

You should walk away. You should pretend you didn’t see him. But no, your body moves on its own — just like it always fucking does with him.

When he turns around, the glass pauses at his lips. His eyes narrow just a little, and then he smirks.

“Didn’t think ya’d show up.” His voice hasn’t changed — still thick with Kansai drawl, still smooth like sin.

“Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back here,” you shoot back.

He laughs, deep and guttural. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

You scoff, arms crossed, ignoring the way your pulse spikes. “Only missed how quiet life got without your ego in the way.”

He steps closer, slow. Deliberate. The kind of stride that says I remember exactly how to fuck you stupid. His scent hits you — cologne and a memory you never managed to erase.

“You lie like you don’t still dream about me.”

You’re about to fire something back, but he closes the space between you in one breath.

“I ain’t here to play games,” he murmurs, voice low in your ear. “You feel it too, don’t ya? This heat. This fuckin’ ache.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I still taste you in my fuckin’ dreams,” he growls. “Still wake up hard and pissed off ‘cause it ain’t real. You know what that does to a man?”

You do. Because you’ve been living the same hell.

And when his fingers graze your wrist, you don’t stop him. You never did.

“You wanna pretend we’re done? Fine. Lie to yourself all night. But you came here wantin’ somethin’. Just like I did.”

You look up at him. That same gold gaze. That same stupid cocky smirk. You want to slap him and fuck him at the same time.

So you say the only thing you can:

“Prove it.”

He doesn’t wait for a second invitation.

Atsumu grabs your wrist, hard enough to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with, and tugs you out of the crowded room like he owns you. Maybe he always did.

Neither of you say a word. No need. The silence crackles.

Down the street to his car. Speeding in a heated silence to his hotel room. The door slamming shut as soon as you enter. Back hitting the wall. And then his mouth is on you.

Hot. Bruising. Angry.

His hands find your waist, then your jaw, then your thigh, everywhere, like he can’t decide what to touch first. Like he’s starving. Like he’s mad you’re still the best thing he’s ever had.

“You really went there wearin’ this?” he pants between kisses, teeth tugging at your bottom lip, hands grabbing at the dress that fit you just a little bit too snug. “Just beggin’ me to ruin it, huh?”

You claw at his shirt, yank it up and over his head — that stupid perfect torso still as unfair as you remember. You rake your nails down his chest hard enough to leave lines, and he groans like it’s the only language he understands.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

That does it.

He grabs you by the thighs, lifts you like it’s nothing, and drops you onto the bed with zero finesse. The air punches out of your lungs — and he’s on you before you recover.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t touched yourself thinkin’ about this,” he growls, dragging your clothes off piece by piece, rough hands everywhere. “Bet you came with my name on your fuckin’ lips.”

You glare up at him, breathless, wrecked already. “I hate you.”

He presses his forehead to yours, cock twitching against your thigh, eyes dark and wild.

“Yeah? Hate me this much?” He shoves two fingers between your legs without warning — you gasp. Already soaked. He chuckles darkly. “Thought so.”

He spreads you open, and the look on his face? Possessive. Rabid. Worship and war all wrapped in one.

Then he spits — right on your heat— and rubs it in slow, smug as hell. “Gonna take you raw. Stretch you out all over again. Remind you what you fuckin’ gave up.”

You moan, hating how good it feels. Hating him.

“I should’ve never let you go,” he mutters, lining himself up, cock heavy and hard and leaking against your entrance. “But you’re mine tonight. Ain’t no one else makin’ you scream like I do.”

Then he thrusts in — deep — and your back arches off the bed. You claw at his shoulders, nails sinking in. “F-fuck—!”

“That’s it,” he pants, slamming into you harder. “Take it, baby. Fuckin’ take it. You wanted this.”

His name falls from your lips like prayer and poison. He fucks you like he’s trying to wipe out every other man’s existence. Like you still belong to him.

And maybe you do.

“Look at you,” Atsumu hisses, voice wrecked with obsession. “Drippin’ all over me, takin’ this cock like you fuckin’ missed it.”

He’s buried deep — hips slamming into yours, rhythm brutal, unforgiving. You’re soaked, thighs shaking, hands clawing at his back like you’re trying to keep yourself tethered to something real.

And he’s losing it. Sweat dripping down his temple, mouth half-open, chest heaving.

“This pussy’s fuckin’ mine, baby. Still remembers me, don’t it?”

“Y-you think I forgot?” you gasp, head tipping back when he grinds into you just right, making you see stars. “You think I wanted anyone else after you?!”

He laughs — dark, sharp, breathless. “You didn’t want me. You just hated that I ruined you for anyone else.”

Then he grabs your face, fingers squeezing your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it. Say who fuckin’ owns you.”

You glare through tears, trembling on the edge. “F-fuck you.”

His hips snap — deep, mean thrusts that make your walls clamp down on him, harder, tighter — and you can’t help it. You break.

“You! Fuck, it’s you, Atsumu!”

“That’s right,” he growls, crashing his mouth to yours. “You’re mine. Always fuckin’ were.”

He keeps going, grinding you into the mattress until your body starts locking up, until your orgasm rips through you like wildfire — moaning his name like you swore you never would again.

And he follows — slamming in one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, groaning like it’s the only relief he’s ever known.

“Gonna fuckin’ breed you,” he pants, still grinding into your overstimulated pussy. “Mark you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

You’re twitching, still sensitive, still spread wide and full of him — and you should push him off, but he’s not done.

Not even close.

He pulls out slow, watching your cum-slick hole clench around nothing.

Then he slaps it.

Hard.

You yelp, thighs jumping, and he shoves two fingers right back in — pushing his cum deeper with a lazy grin.

“Don’t waste a drop,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Still got more for you.”

Before you can even breathe, he’s flipped you over, dragging your hips up with no patience. You’re boneless, panting, already wrecked — but he lines up again, cock thick and twitching.

“Atsumu—”

He slams back in.

No warning. No mercy. Just raw fucking need.

“Gonna fuck you through every emotion I’ve ever had,” he hisses. “All the love, all the fuckin’ rage—every bit of it, deep inside you.”

This round’s dirtier. Angrier. He’s moaning now, whispering filth between curses and gritted teeth.

“You think that boy you flirted with at the bar could ever fuck you like this?”

“Bet you thought I’d beg for you back. Nah, sweetheart — I’m just here to ruin you.”

“Feels too good to let go. Gonna keep you like this all fuckin’ night.”

You’re a mess. Screaming into the sheets. Drooling, crying, gasping his name like a plea and a threat.

And when he cums again — still inside, still raw — he pulls your hips back into him, deep and slow, letting every drop leak into you again.

“Still mine,” he mutters, breath ragged. “And you fuckin’ love it.”

Your legs are weak. Your body’s trembling. But after he fills you up for what feels like the nth time that night, Atsumu slumps back on the mattress with that cocky, fucked-out look on his face, something in you snaps.

You crawl up his chest slowly, deliberately. He’s still inside you — half-hard, flushed, twitching. You plant your hands on his chest, nails digging in, and grind down.

His whole body jolts.

“The fuck—?” he gasps, voice cracking.

“Shut up.” Your voice is dark, raspy, drenched in vengeance. “You think you get to ruin me again and walk away smirking?”

He tries to grab your hips, but you slap his hands away. “No. Hands off. You sit there and take it.”

And he does — because one look at your face, sweaty and smeared with tears and lust and war, and he knows he’s in deep.

You roll your hips again, slow and filthy, using him like a toy. He groans, cock hardening again under your heat, stretching you wide all over.

“Look at you,” you whisper, grinding faster, thighs clenching. “So full of yourself — but you always came back to this, didn’t you? Always needed me.”

He’s panting now, hands fisting the sheets, trying not to buck up and ruin your rhythm.

“Baby,” he moans, desperate, wrecked. “You’re so fuckin’ tight—shit—please—”

“Oh, now you’re begging?”

You lean forward, teeth at his throat, breath hot on his skin.

“You liked marking me up?” you growl. “Your turn.”

You bite his collarbone — hard — enough to bruise, enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then you do it again. And again. Bite after bite, leaving hickeys as well. Claiming him like territory.

“Gonna walk out of here with scratches down your back and my scent all over your dick.”

He chokes on a laugh and a moan, hands twitching, whole body trembling under you.

“F-fuck—gonna cum—can’t hold it—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growl. “You cum when I say so.”

You pick up the pace — bouncing now, ass slapping against his thighs, wet sounds obscene in the room. He’s babbling, moaning, desperate.

You reach down and rub your clit with quick, tight circles, the pressure building like lightning. Eyes locked on his. Dominance burning in your stare.

“Look at me,” you pant. “I’m gonna cum on your cock and you’re gonna thank me.”

And when you do — legs locking, head thrown back, pussy squeezing the life out of him — he cums right after, swearing and groaning and filling you up again.

This time, it’s you that doesn’t stop.

You grind through it, letting him feel every wave of your orgasm as his overstimulated cock twitches inside you.

“Still think you’re the one who wins?” you whisper, collapsing forward, lips brushing his.

He’s breathless, broken, sweat-slick and shaking.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he groans, smiling like he loves it.

“You’re damn right I am.”

You haven’t even climbed off him when his hands snap back to your waist — bruising grip, lust in overdrive — and he flips you over again like he’s got something to prove.

“Think you can take control, ride me like that, and not pay the fuckin’ price?” he growls, voice gravel now. “Cute.”

He doesn’t give you a second to breathe. Doesn’t care if you’re still trembling. His cock’s already hard again, still coated in both your cum, and he slams back into you from behind with a snarl.

You cry out, arching, legs barely holding you up — but fuck if it doesn’t drive you wild all over again.

“You act like you don’t want this,” he hisses into your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise. “But your body’s beggin’ me to break it.”

“You think I’m impressed?” you spit, even as your hips rock back into his. “You’re pathetic. Always have been.”

He laughs. Low. Mean. The sound of a man who’s two seconds from tearing you apart.

“Yeah? Keep sayin’ that while I fuck the attitude outta you.”

His pace turns brutal — hands locked on your throat and your hip, fucking you like he wants to leave you ruined, shaking, and remembering.

Every thrust punches a moan out of you. Every slap of his hips echoes with spite and need.

“You gonna let someone else put a baby in you someday?” he growls suddenly, biting your shoulder. “Gonna let some soft little loser claim what’s mine?”

You clench around him. Hate it. Love it.

“No one ever had me,” you pant. “I just let you pretend.”

That sets him off.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back, and leans in until his mouth is at your ear, voice shaking from restraint.

“Don’t care what you say. I already fucking did.”

Then he drags you up onto your knees, pulls you flush to his chest, and starts fucking up into you, both of you in a sweaty, furious mess of tangled limbs and unspoken addiction.

“Fuckin’ say my name,” he growls, one hand between your legs again, rubbing your clit like he’s punishing you.

“N-no—!”

“Say it. Or I stop.”

You break. Again.

“Atsumu—fuck—please—!”

“That’s it,” he pants, fucking you through it. “That’s all I wanted. Just your fuckin’ voice when I wreck you.”

You cum hard, twitching around him, barely able to think.

He cums inside you for the fourth time — loud, gasping, swearing — and slumps against your back, forehead to your shoulder, cock still twitching inside you.

Both of you are covered in sweat. Bite marks. Bruises. Spit. Sex.

And you still don’t let go of the anger.

Not yet.

You’re both sprawled on the bed, wrecked in every sense — sweaty, trembling, breathless.

The room smells like sex and sweat and something bitter beneath it. His cum is still dripping out of you, slicking the inside of your thighs, but neither of you moves to clean up.

Your back’s to him. You can hear him breathing heavy, his chest still heaving against your spine.

Then—

He calls your name. His voice is different. Raw. Quiet. No venom left.

You don’t answer. Just lie there, staring at the wall, eyes blurry.

He curls around you from behind. Arms slow. Hesitant.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“I didn’t mean to fuck it up so bad,” he whispers. His breath ghosts over your shoulder. “I know I did. I just—fuck, I still dream about you.”

You shut your eyes. “Stop.”

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t,” you say, voice shaking. “You mean it right now, because your dick’s still wet and your head’s fucked. But tomorrow, you’ll go right back to forgetting me.”

He flinches. Silence.

“I tried to forget you.”

You twist to look at him — eyes red, lips swollen, mascara smeared. He looks just as ruined. Just as lost.

“You think I didn’t?” you snap, voice cracking. “You think I wanted to keep wanting you?”

He swallows. His hand finds your waist, then slides to your cheek.

“You’re the only one that ever meant anything,” he murmurs.

You know it’s a lie. He probably told someone else the same thing once.

But it still splits something open inside you.

Your lip trembles. “Why now?”

“‘Cause I’m scared I’m never gonna find this again,” he says. “Even if it’s fucked. Even if it hurts. I’d rather be bleeding next to you than whole with anyone else.”

Tears spill down your cheeks. You don’t wipe them away.

You grab his face. Pull him in. Kiss him — deep and soft, but shaking, messy.

And when you roll on top of him again, guiding him back into you slow and gentle this time, it’s not hate anymore.

It’s pain. Longing. A thousand “I’m sorry”s in every grind of your hips. He moves with you. Strokes your waist. Whispers your name like a prayer.

You both cry. You both pretend it means something. You both know it won’t fix anything.

But in this moment — this quiet, broken moment — it’s enough.

Just for tonight.

a/n: this is one of the filthiest things i've ever written lmao. live laugh sexual frustration.

[22ayla21]

Hi. Can I request Mydei x reader slight angst. Basically he isn’t aware of readers feelings until much later. Maybe they reunite in the future or something.

Thanks in advance!

When she left

He couldn't grasp his feelings for her for a long time, and when he finally understood, she was gone, even though she had promised to return.

Mydei never rushed his feelings. He was a man of action: precision, calculation, clarity in everything. Emotions were rare visitors for him, as if locked within strict boundaries. To protect, to support – that he knew how to do. But to talk about what was in his soul – never. Not even to himself.

She burst into his life not like a hurricane, but like a quiet, persistent rain, seeping everywhere. At first – as a loyal comrade. Brave, decisive, with battle scars on her hands and a heart that had already known loss. She didn't play games, didn't wear masks. She was herself. And for some reason, that caught him.

They worked side by side. Day after day. In battle, in negotiations, making difficult decisions. Sometimes in silence, but in that quiet there was more meaning than in a hundred words. She could laugh, watching his grim observation of a noisy crowd. He would frown when she took on a dangerous task. In this strange, barely perceptible dance, they seemed to keep their distance, but they also didn't let go of each other.

He felt calm beside her. Her reckless courage irritated him, but it also inspired him. He sighed with relief when she returned from a mission safe and sound. But why it was so important, he didn't understand.

And one day, she left.

Without drama or tears. She simply said she was being called to the front lines. A serious conflict. An important assignment. They trusted only her. He nodded, as usual, restrained. Like a friend, like a comrade.

And then came the emptiness.

The room where her laughter sometimes echoed fell silent. The tea she liked to brew sat untouched. Her footsteps were no longer heard. Her books were nowhere to be seen. You didn't run into her sharp remarks or warm glances anymore. And day after day, a heaviness settled in his chest, a longing, like a cold autumn rain.

Waking in the middle of the night, he would catch himself thinking he had heard her voice. At lunch, he would automatically want to tell her how his day went, and then immediately remember – there was no one to tell. Standing on the wall, looking towards the war, he involuntarily thought: come back. Please, come back.

And at some point, it was like a flash of insight.

He loved her.

Not as a comrade. Not as an ally. But as the only person who had become a light for him in this gray world. And fear gripped him – what if he realized this too late?

She returned.

Three months later. Exhausted, but alive. A few scars, tired eyes – but still the same. Or perhaps even stronger than before.

He saw her when she entered the fortress. The wind tousled her hair, the sun glinted on the blade of the sword behind her back. She didn't notice him right away. And he stood there, not believing his eyes, as if afraid it was just a dream.

When their eyes met, she smiled almost imperceptibly.

He approached. Silently. Not as usual. Without words or formalities. He stood before her, took her hand – the very one that held the blade – and pressed it to his chest.

"You came back," he whispered.

She nodded. She wanted to joke, to ease the tension. But something in his eyes stopped her. There was sadness there. Pain. And also – hope.

"I thought you wouldn't return," he said. "And suddenly I realized that without you… I can't breathe."

She was silent.

"I love you. And I… waited. Even if you don't feel the same, I still wanted you to know."

Silence hung in the air, heavy as the stillness before a storm.

And then she stepped forward. She squeezed his fingers. And lowered her head to his chest, where his heart was beating wildly.

"I always knew," she whispered. "I was just waiting for you to realize it yourself."

Later, when evening enveloped the city, and the soldiers celebrated her return, he sat beside her, not letting go of her hand. And for the first time in a long time, his eyes shone with something he no longer tried to hide.

Warmth. Love. And a promise – never to let go again.

[amyzworldds]

Title: Shadows of Sacrifice

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

After years of a secret relationship with Seungcheol, YN, a longtime fan, faces pressure from the company to protect him and the group. Pairing: Seungcheol x reader Genre: Heavy angst

The soft hum of the city filtered through the cracked window of yn’s small apartment, a place that had once been a sanctuary for her and Seungcheol. For years, they’d built something beautiful in secret—stolen glances at fan events, late-night dates in disguise, and whispered promises under dim streetlights. She’d been a devoted carat long before they met, her bedroom walls once plastered with Seventeen posters, her voice hoarse from cheering at concerts. It was at one of those fan meetings, three years ago, that Seungcheol had slipped her a note with a shy smile: “Meet me after. I want to know your name.” From there, it had been a whirlwind of love, trust, and a shared dream to one day be free of the shadows.

But that dream shattered the day Pledis and HYBE called her.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Seungcheol was at practice, oblivious to the storm brewing. Yn’s phone rang with an unknown number, and when she answered, a stern voice introduced itself as a representative from the company. They knew. Somehow, they’d found out—maybe a leaked photo, maybe a careless moment caught on camera. They didn’t yell or threaten; they simply laid out the facts with cold precision. “If this gets out, Seungcheol will bear the brunt of it. The fans will turn on him. The group could suffer irreparable damage. You’re a fan—you know how this works. We’re asking you to end it, for his sake and Seventeen’s.”

She’d sat there, trembling, the phone slipping from her hand as the call ended. She did know how it worked. She’d seen idols criticized harshly by fans, their careers tarnished, their mental health crumbled under the weight of hate. Seungcheol was the leader, the pillar of Seventeen—he’d take it the hardest, and he’d blame himself for letting his members down. She couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Not to the group she’d loved since their debut.

Breaking up with him outright wouldn’t work. Seungcheol was stubborn, fiercely loyal—he’d fight for her, cling to their love like it was his lifeline. He’d never let her go without a reason he could accept. So, she made a plan, one that clawed at her heart with every step: she’d make him hate her. She’d push him away until he had no choice but to leave.

It started subtly. She stopped replying to his texts right away, leaving hours of silence where there’d once been playful banter. When he’d ask to meet, she’d make excuses—work, friends, exhaustion. The first time she canceled a date, he showed up at her door anyway, eyes worried and arms full of her favorite snacks. “Are you okay, yn? You’ve been distant,” he’d said, his voice soft but edged with fear. She forced a smile, brushing it off. “I’m fine, Cheol. Just busy.”

But she wasn’t fine. Every lie felt like a dagger in her chest, and every concerned look he gave her carved it deeper.

Weeks passed, and she escalated it. She’d leave her phone out where he could see flirty messages from a coworker—texts she’d orchestrated herself, asking a friend to play along. When Seungcheol asked about it, his voice tight with unease, she shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a friend.” She saw the doubt flicker in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

The final blow came on a rainy night. Seungcheol had shown up unannounced again, soaked from the downpour, his hair plastered to his forehead. “We need to talk,” he said, stepping inside. His tone was firm, but his eyes—God, his eyes were pleading, searching for the yn he knew. She steeled herself, her resolve cracking but not breaking.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she started, her voice colder than she intended. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Seungcheol’s face crumpled, disbelief warring with pain. “What?” he whispered, stepping closer. “No. You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I have,” she lied, forcing the words out. “For a while now. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands shook as he reached for her, then stopped midway, curling into fists. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. What’s going on, yn? Just talk to me—”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” she snapped, her voice breaking. She turned away, unable to look at him. “I don’t love you anymore, Seungcheol. I haven’t for a while. Just go.”

He didn’t move. She could hear his ragged breathing, feel the weight of his stare boring into her back. “Three years,” he said, his voice trembling. “Three years of us, and you’re throwing it away like it’s nothing? I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t,” she shot back, whirling around. Her eyes were wet, but she prayed he’d think it was anger, not grief. “But I’m done. Get out.”

For a moment, she thought he’d fight harder. But then something in him broke—his shoulders slumped, his expression went hollow. “If that’s what you want,” he said quietly, “then I’m gone.” He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that shattered her.

She collapsed onto the floor, sobs tearing through her as the rain pounded against the window. She’d done it. She’d made him hate her. He’d move on, safe from the fallout, and Seventeen would thrive without her dragging them down. But the cost—God, the cost—was her heart, ripped apart and bleeding out with every memory of him.

Days later, she saw a post on social media—a blurry photo of Seungcheol at practice room, his face gaunt, his usual spark dimmed. The caption read, “S.Coups looks off lately. Hope he’s okay.” She scrolled through the comments, tears streaming down her face as fans worried over him. She wanted to scream that it was her fault, that she’d broken him to save him. But she couldn’t. All she could do was curl up with the Seventeen hoodie he’d left behind, the scent of him fading with every passing day, and cry until there was nothing left.

Seungcheol would never know why she did it. He’d never know she still loved him, would always love him, even as she watched him heal from afar, hating her with every step he took forward. And that was the worst part of all.

———————————————————————————

an: Hiii! How are you guys? I’ve been crying here after watching Caratland. I will surely miss the complete 13 dorky boys—on the other hand, I just want to let you guys know that this actually has 3 parts, so let me know if I should post it or just keep this story as is with no closure and all hehe. Also, the Jeonghan one has a part 3 too; it’s just all fluffy. Should I post it? But pls don’t expect too much huhu😭

[bvidzsoo]

Cosmically divine

☆ Synopsis: Olympus, the place where Gods play pretend and do as they wish. Dion, the place where mere mortals suffer and do as the Gods wish. One might wonder, is life ever fair? ★ 

☆ Author: bvidzsoo ★ 

☆ Pairing: Ateez members x female reader ★ 

☆ Rating: nsfw, 18+ ★ 

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, dark romance, violence, smut, gore

☆ Status: on-going ★ 

☆ 1. Choi San x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Underwater ◖Ares x Naiad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ 2. Kang Yeosang x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Marionette ◖Aphrodite!au◗ 

Summary: Doomed from the beginning, your mother, Hera, only saw a weapon in you. If you had once thought she loved you, she proved you wrong the second she cast you away once you failed to kill her enemy's son. Yeosang, Aphrodite's dearest and most prized offspring.

☆ 3. Kim Hongjoong x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Color of love ◖Hermes x Iris!au◗ 

Summary: If there was a God everyone feared, perhaps it was Zeus. After the continuous abuse he's put you through, you never thought you'd get to live your eternal life peacefully. That is, until the messenger God shows up and whisks you away before Zeus can see and stop him.

☆ 4. Jung Wooyoung x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Kingdom come ◖Oread Nymph x Dryad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: Nymphs were nothing but deities that preserved nature and allowed the Gods to love them in return for their blessings. And when Zeus lurks around, you are labelled as his, never to be touched by anyone in the whole cosmos. But can you help yourself when the man he claims is Wooyoung himself? The gorgeous and warm-hearted Oread that coincidentally returns your forbidden feelings for him?

☆ 5. Song Mingi x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Dead man running ◖Hades!au◗ 

Summary: You were cursed, at least that's what your family thought about you. After a while, you started believing it too, the shadows that whispered to you convincing you that you were either crazy or just...different. And maybe you were, after all, the God of death himself, wouldn't have just called you his little shadow without a reason, right?

☆ 6. Choi Jongho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Nightmare ◖Phobos!au◗ 

Summary: Coming from a family that thrived under pressure and mayhem, it was only a matter of time until your father allowed you to join him on the battlefield. But perhaps what set you apart from other warrior families was the fact that each one of you worshiped a God of war. You just happened to make the mistake of offering yourself up to one in exchange for your dear sibling's life.

☆ 7. Jeong Yunho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　One Kiss ◖Atë!au◗ 

Summary: Cast out of Olympus because Zeus has had enough of the mayhem and craze you created amongst men, living and meddling with mortals changed nothing. You thrived off of stupid men falling to their knees and begging you for attention, promising things no mortal could offer. But when a pure, untouched, and unassuming boy might just fall into your trap, you can't help yourself and entice him just to the point of madness.

☆ 8. Park Seonghwa x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Moonlight Melody ◖Poseidon!au◗ 

Summary: You always thought the man of your dreams never existed, would never come and whisk you away from this terrible terrible life that you lived. And perhaps when he starts showing up in your dreams, with promises that he'd soon come and see you, you find yourself hoping for a love that only the stars would bear witness to.

☆ A/N: Hello, my lovelies, I am here with a new story, can you believe it?! Because I can't lol, this wasn't supposed to exist but I thought...why not? Updates won't be too frequent, probably, as I have got quite a few others things to write, but I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned here! ^^ These stories won't be too dark, but I felt it necessary to mention dark romance as we're still dealing with some ambiguous topics. Taglist, as usual, is open and you are all very welcomed to comment on this post if you'd like to be added! Thank you for showing love, support, and interest in my works on here, they mean the world to me! <3 divider ★ 

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@anastasiamin860 @yunhogrippers @vcutparis @tunaasan @blvckarabixnvoid

@yusalterego @arigakittyo @slowee00 @jaerisdiction @hey-syia

@vnessalau @oddracha @chatsgotmytongue @potatos-on-clouds @yunhowooyo

@watermelon2319 @yoongzsmile28

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[levis-poison-is-my-medicine]

Order Up, Chaos Served

A Levi x reader fanfic (for LeviWeek 2024)

Crossposted from AO3

You get to go on a blind date with none other than Levi Ackerman. There's just one catch: you have to make it an epic disaster.

tags: modern AU, romcom vibes but make it thirsty, fluff and humor cw: contains some swearing | word count: 3.5k

A/n: for day 6 of LeviWeek, I used the prompts "blind date" and "role-play". You'll have to decide for yourself whether this qualifies for the "dystopia" prompt, lol. (It's a modern setting AU where Annie's dad is a rich CEO).

(Levi x reader Masterlist)

"So, what did you want to talk about?" you asked, fiddling with the teabag tag hanging from your cup.

"It's happening again," Annie said gravely. She was sitting opposite you, unsmiling.

"Damn. Another blind date?"

Annie nodded, her hands clenching into fists on the table. "Like, I know he doesn't approve of Armin. As if his daily offhanded comments about him being a wimp weren't enough. But now he's gone over to pretending that Armin doesn't even exist."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's like he's enlisted every eligible bachelor in this damn country to make my life a living hell. Says that I need a 'real man' by my side if I am to take over the company. I can't take it anymore."

You scoffed. "Like you aren't perfectly capable of leading the company by yourself. Why should your choice in a partner have anything to do with it?"

"Exactly. He's driving me insane. I swear, if I have to sit through even just one more blind date, I'm gonna explode. Don't know what I'll do to him then, but one thing's for sure, it won't be pretty. "

You gave her a sympathetic look.

Annie met your gaze with a sly smile. "That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes. You're gonna go on that blind date for me."

"What?" You almost spit out your tea. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Multiple reasons. For one, you'd prevent and all-out war with my old man. You wouldn't want me to end up disowned, now would you?" She gave you an innocent look.

"Two. It's free food. I know you can't resist that."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not that easily bought."

"We'll see about that." Annie waggled her brows. "It's at that exclusive sushi place even A-list celebrities can't get into without connections."

"Fuck it, I'm in."

Annie grinned. "I knew you'd come around eventually. But there's a small catch – you'll have to pretend to be me."

Oh no.

"And you'll have to make sure the date's a total disaster."

Oh no, no, no.

"So bad, in fact, that my reputation will be in ruins and no eligible bachelor will ever look my way again." She gave you an angelic smile.

"Think you could do that for me?"

– –

And that was the story of how you'd ended up here, in front of a high-end restaurant, wearing clothes that cost more than your car and all of your other possessions combined. You even wore a wig to look more like Annie. All in the name of friendship. (And free sushi.)

That sushi better be good.

You stepped inside, where an elegantly dressed hostess greeted you with a perfectly practiced smile and a courteous bow of her head.

"Welcome, do you have a reservation?"

Hell yeah. You put on a polite smile. "Yes. It should be in the name of 'Ackerman'?"

That was the name of your date for the evening, a certain Levi Ackerman, apparently a nouveau-riche-type of businessman who qualified as a real man in the eyes of Annie's father. He was supposedly a few years older than you. Not that it really mattered with the plans that you had in store for him.

The hostess nodded pleasantly and motioned towards the dining area. "If you would follow me, please."

You stalked after her in your high heels, feeling a little out of your depth.

"Eyes on the prize," you muttered under your breath. If nothing else, you would stuff your face tonight.

But as you passed the tables, eyeing the exquisitely arranged dishes, your dreams of a feast were crushed instantly – the portions were tiny.

"Here it is," the hostess said, leading you past a delicate, ornamental paper divider to your table in the quietest corner of the restaurant. Mr. Ackerman was already there – not surprising, since you were almost half an hour late, the first part of your plan to leave the worst impression possible. His back was turned to you, so the only thing you could see was his dark undercut.

The hostess was the first to reach the table, pulling out your chair with a subtle, practiced gesture.

"Yello!" you exclaimed loudly as you dropped into the seat, slouching with your elbows on the table. The man in front of you looked up with a frown.

Your mouth fell open: The guy was hot. Somehow, Annie had failed to mention that not-so-little detail to you. You could already feel your cheeks start to burn, but you had to go through with the plan.

"Hi. I'm Annie Leonhart," you said in a fake, high-pitched voice, thrusting out your hand. "But my friends call me Leo – like the lion. RAWR!" You transformed your hand into a claw before he could take it, brandishing it under his nose.

Needless to say, he didn't look very impressed.

"I'm Levi," he said in an unflinching monotone. Damn, even his voice was hot.

You let out a shrill laugh. "How funny. I had a hamster with that name once."

Levi looked at you for moment, his expression flat. "Good to know. I hope your hamster had better manners than you do."

You nodded earnestly. "He was the most well-behaved hamster. Such a good boy."

Then you turned your gaze downward, squeezing your eyes shut to force out a few tears.

"Rest in peace, little one," you said, sniffling.

When you looked back up, his eyes were narrowed at you. You should probably tone it down a bit, or this date would be over before you even got to the entrées.

"Sorry, I get nervous at these things," you explained.

He gave you a curt nod.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter approached.

"Good evening. My name is Ryotaro, and I'll be taking care of you tonight."

He gave you a slight bow, before carefully setting down the menus in front of you.

"May I recommend our omakase for tonight? It is a selection of our chef's finest sushi, prepared with fresh, seasonal ingredients. Or, if you prefer, you may choose from our à la carte options."

"We'll do à la carte," you said immediately, not giving Levi any opportunity to get a word in.

"Certainly," Ryotaro said. "Please take your time. I'll return in a few moments to take your order."

Levi leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. You could feel his eyes on you, scrutinizing you, like they were probing your innermost thoughts. You swallowed and looked away from his face, trying to avoid his gaze. His sleeves were riding up a bit, revealing the veins protruding from his well-toned forearms. It wasn't fair. How was everything about this man so goddamn hot? Get a grip, you told yourself. You cracked your knuckles and reached for the menu. This was what you were here for. The food. Not the man. Even if he was delicious. Probably.

You tried not to gasp at the prices as you scanned the menu. It wasn't like you had to pay for any of this. In fact, this was your pay.

You glanced at Levi over the edge of your menu. He, too, was quietly reading what the restaurant had to offer.

You cleared your throat. "A lot of seafood, isn't it?"

"It's a sushi restaurant." He didn't look up from his menu.

"Tough crowd," you said. The room fell silent again.

You took a gulp of the water provided on the table, but your mouth was still dry like a desert. This was even harder than you had anticipated. The man didn't give you anything to work with.

When Ryotaro came back to the table, you breathed a sigh of relief.

Levi ordered first. "I'll start with the Shishito Peppers with Miso Glaze. For the main dish, I'll have the sushi and sashimi platter, chef's selection. As for drinks, I will get a green tea."

"Certainly, sir." Ryotaro turned to you. "And what may it be for the lady?"

"I'll get the Daiginjo sake. A whole bottle, please." There was no way you'd get through this evening sober.

"As you wish. I can bring you a tokkuri, a carafe."

"That will do nicely," you said sweetly. "As for the food… I'll have everything."

Ryotaro blinked at you. "E-Everything?"

"Yes, everything." You looked at him with a dead serious expression. "For the entrées, I'll have the Tuna Tartare with Yuzu and Avocado, the Shishito Peppers with Miso Glaze, the Chawanmushi, the Seared Toro Carpaccio, and the Agedashi Tofu, please. I hope you won't make me recount the main dishes, too."

"Certainly not," Ryotaro said politely, having caught himself again. "Will it be the full portions, or may it be a bit of everything?"

"Full portions," you said, not missing a beat.

"Absolutely. Would you like to order all of our side dishes, as well?"

"Yes, that would be most darling."

"Certainly," Ryotaro said in a measured tone, betraying nothing. What an absolute professional.

He bowed slightly, then quietly stepped back, leaving the table.

Levi took a sip of his water, seemingly unbothered by your excessive ordering. You gave him an incredulous look. He put down the water, placing it on the table with a soft thud.

"You're really going all out, aren't you?" he said dryly.

"Of course. I'm here for the food."

He raised an eyebrow at you. It was a good look on him. (Everything was a good look on him.)

"Just for the food," you reiterated. It physically hurt you to say it.

"Is that so," he said, impassive.

"Yes. Daddy wants me to go on dates to find a real man. But I'm not into real men." You made a dramatic pause. "I prefer them two-dimensional, you know? Like from an anime. They're just so much cooler." You held your breath as you waited for Levi's reaction.

He didn't even flinch. "Of course they are cooler. They're not real."

"They are real for me!" you protested, adding a bit of a whiny undertone.

That earned you an eye roll. Yes! You were getting there.

"I'm sure they are very real... in your head. Good luck finding a two-dimensional guy that you can get dinner with, let alone hold a conversation."

You scoffed. "It's not like you are that great at holding a conversation. You're not the most talkative guy."

He gave you a deadpan look. "Good. I should be your type then."

Damn, that was smooth. You could feel your face heating up at his words.

"I'll have you know that the anime guys in my head are great conversationalists. I have a very vivid imagination, you know?"

"You'd need it, since you'd essentially be both sides of the relationship. Rather one-dimensional, actually."

He had a point. But of course, you couldn't let him know that. You let out a dramatic sigh. "Still more exciting than any real men I've encountered so far."

"Maybe you met the wrong ones."

"All of them corporate lackeys, like you. I'm sure you don't really want to be here, either. You're just trying to further your agenda, get a foot in the door of daddy's company. At least I'm being honest about what I want." You flipped your hair back for additional theatrics.

Levi tilted his head, his cool eyes fixed on you with newly-found interest.

"So that's what you think this is. Explains a lot."

You met his gaze, challenging him. "Am I wrong?"

"About me playing some corporate game? Yes. While it's true that I'm here because I owed Leonhart a favor, I'm not trying to get anything out of this. Nor am I planning on doing any further business with him, for that matter. This is separate."

"Right," you said with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

Before he could get a chance to respond, Ryotaro was back at your table, having wheeled in your entrées and drinks on a serving cart. He transferred your drinks to the table, setting down a ceramic carafe for you. You watched him pour you a glass and immediately grabbed it when he was done, downing it in one swift motion. He refilled it without batting an eyelid.

"The Shishito Peppers for you, sir," he said, placing the dish in front of Levi.

"And which one may you prefer to eat first?" he asked, turning to you.

"Whatever you recommend. I'm going to eat them all anyway. Just put as many as will fit on the table," you replied with a smile. The food was beautifully arranged, each dish looking like dainty little artworks with their delicate garnishing and vibrant colors. It made your mouth water in anticipation.

"Certainly," Ryotaro said, moving some of the dishes to your table. "I'd recommend the Tuna Tartare for a light and refreshing start. You could proceed with the Shishito Peppers for some mild heat, then move on to the heartier dishes. Would this be to your liking?"

"You bet," you said enthusiastically. This elicited a faint smile from Ryotaro, a nice change from his usual stiff demeanor. He didn't know it yet, but he would get a huge tip tonight for putting up with your antics. Annie had given you her gold card, and you intended to make good use of it.

As soon as he had left your table, you took out your phone and snapped pictures of every single dish. Levi gave you a look.

"You planning to frame those?" He sounded slightly amused.

This wasn't a good direction. You needed to double down on the weirdness.

"Almost. These are for my diary," you said with a serious nod, like this was perfectly normal. "Right, of course I'll need a snapshot of you, too."

You pointed the camera at him and took a photo without asking for his permission, perfectly capturing his frown.

You put on a pout. "You didn't even smile. What will daddy think? He might think you're not having any fun."

"Oh, I'm having fun alright," Levi muttered under his breath.

You snickered. This was more like it. He seemed a bit resigned, already. You just had to work him a little bit more. After the entrées, of course.

As you took your first bite, your eyes lit up with pure and utter delight, the exquisitely tender tuna melting in your mouth, harmonizing perfectly with the acidity of the yuzu. You couldn't stop a huge grin from spreading over your face. This was definitely worth the cost, even if it meant making a complete fool of yourself.

Levi watched you, and for a second, a ghost of a smile passed over his lips.

"You really are just here for the food, aren't you," he noted wryly.

"You know it!" you exclaimed in between bites. You savored every last one of them, closing your eyes to bliss out without any distractions.

"Tch. You look like you're about to propose to the chef."

You opened your eyes to grin at him. "That's a fantastic idea! I totally should."

"A shame that he's three-dimensional, though," he quipped in that monotone of his, which shouldn't be allowed to sound this damn good, but it somehow did. You actually laughed out loud at this – your real laugh – but you didn't even notice.

You shrugged. "Everyone should be allowed one flaw."

He did the eyebrow-raise again. It made your heart beat faster. "Are you implying that I have more than one?"

"We already established this. You're not the best at carrying a conversation."

"I think I'm carrying this one just fine."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day." You smirked.

"Tch. You're being quite a rude brat right now."

Your smirk grew wider. "Everyone should be allowed one flaw, remember?"

Levi snorted. There was a slight quirk to the corners of his mouth, a bit higher on one side, like his smile would be lopsided if only he'd allow it to fully form.

His eyes were locked with yours. Your heart was thumping in your chest.

Ryotaro's polite voice cut through the tension between you. "Is everything to your liking?"

You gave him a dazed look, like you'd just woken up from a dream.

"Yes," you said softly, almost inaudibly.

"It's good," Levi said, his face blank.

That made you snap out of it. "Good? Just good? It's phenomenal! Heavenly!" You gesticulated wildly with your hands to underline your words.

"I'm glad," Ryotaro said, sounding genuinely pleased. "May I take your empty dishes?"

"Sure."

You had finished most of the entrées already. The portions really were criminally tiny.

Ryotaro served you the remaining ones from the cart, then wheeled it away.

The silence that followed was charged, somehow. Different from before. You knew you should probably do something ridiculous, outrageous, something to tarnish the good name of the Leonharts, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Surprisingly, Levi was the one to break the silence.

"So you're an ill-mannered brat who prefers anime men over real ones. Any more flaws I should know about?"

"Of course not. I'm perfect," you said, doing the dramatic hair flip again.

There was a ripping sound, and suddenly your head felt much lighter. Something fell to the ground with a weak flop. You stared at it in horror. It was a mop of blonde hair – the wig had fallen right off.

Shit. "I-I can explain," you stammered. "I have severe dandruff, and I didn't want it to fall on my black dress. That's why I wanted to cover my hair, but it's rude to wear hats in restaurants, so I opted for a wig, and—"

"You can stop the charades. I know you're not Annie Leonhart," Levi cut you off. "I checked her photo beforehand, and you look nothing like her."

You sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. "Damn, it was the nose, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"Fuck. So we've both been playing pretend this entire time? Why didn't you say anything sooner?" You searched his eyes for some sort of clue, but came up short.

"I wanted to find out what your intentions are. See how far you would take this."

"And what did your little investigation uncover?"

"That you're really into food. "

You flashed him a sheepish smile. "Dang, I guess I'm easier to read than I thought. That's all you gathered, Mr. Detective?"

"Well, you also have quite the comedic talent. You might want to consider a career in that field."

You chuckled softly. "Glad I could at least provide some entertainment for the evening."

Levi nodded. "I still have some questions though."

"I can imagine."

"I'd like to know the story behind all this. But I'd understand if you'd rather keep your privacy."

"It's fine," you said with a wave of your hand. "You deserve some answers. Actually, I'm Annie's best friend. She already has a boyfriend, but her father doesn't approve of him and wants to set her up with someone he prefers. You know, the classic story." You rolled your eyes. "Well, Annie was fed up with the constant blind dates and wanted to put an end to them once and for all. That's where I came in. She kinda roped me into this with the promise of free food…" You awkwardly ran a hand through your hair.

He huffed out a laugh. "You really did this only for the food? Should've asked for more."

"I know, right? But anyway, the idea was to ruin her reputation, make sure no eligible bachelor would be caught dead within a mile's radius from her... Guess that didn't go quite as planned."

Levi shook his head. "If you wanted someone to badmouth her, you picked the wrong person."

"So I gathered. You're not exactly the rumor spreading type. Not chatty enough."

"Right. Not as conversational as the cool anime dudes in your head," he deadpanned.

"Shut up." You grinned. "You know I only did this to fuck with you."

"Didn't work."

"Not even just a little bit?" you asked. "A teeny tiny little bit?"

He shook his head.

"Not even a micro bit? A nano bit?" You leaned in, giving him big doe eyes.

"Fine, I'll give you that. You got off to a strong start."

The smile on your lips grew even wider. "Yeah? You liked that? RAWR!" You gave him the lion claws again.

"Don't push it," he said, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Admit it, you want to see more of it."

"No." He gave you a long look. "But I'd like to see more of the real you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Did you just ask me on a second date? "

"I suppose I did. Figured it couldn't be any worse than this one."

"Joke's on you. We're not even at the main course. This date isn't over yet." And you had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot better.

A/n: I admit the anime guy thing might've been a bit meta xD Btw, reader absolutely brought containers in her purse to take the leftovers. Can't have the good food go to waste, lol.

It's out <3 @nironasaran

[playstation-dreamcast]

This came to me in a dream. Anyway:

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Choose Your Character: Albert Wesker

Summary: For the sake of the mission, Albert Wesker is willing to do just about anything within reason to gain the trust of his S.T.A.R.S members. Apparently, building a snowman with his favorite new rookie is within reason.

Tags: Fluff, S.T.A.R.S Wesker, Nicotine use, Crack treated so serious none of my beta readers thought it was crack, Noncanon compliant RPD, Gender Neutral Reader.

Word count: 3k

It all started with that stupid fucking snowman.

A childish game he played to indulge his subordinate and gain their trust late one night after the S.T.A.R.S office had closed. He knew better even then, that it was an absolute waste of time. But, he complied, because it was you who asked.

Okay, maybe it didn't start with The Snowman. Maybe it started with the cigarette you shared. Sitting on the snow covered sidewalk, passing the smoke between the two of you while you talked. It came so easy to him, just talking with you. It was never that easy with anyone else.

He could still smell the smoke when he closed his eyes. He could see the snow caught in your lashes, and the fog of your breath. He could still feel how tight his chest got, and the roller coaster feeling of his stomach dropping when he finally had to admit to himself that he was sweet on you. And that he couldn’t keep lying to himself about it.

And you had no idea. You smiled like it was any other night. 

"Hey, can I bum a cigarette off you?" You asked him that at least twice a week since you started working as a member of S.T.A.R.S. It got to the point that he started to plan for it. Sadly, he was late to work this morning and didn't have time to buy another pack.

"Sure," he said, simply handing you the one he had just lit. You took it gratefully and smiled.

"Thanks Captain, you save me once again," you teased as you sat down next to him, taking a drag off the smoke. "You gonna light one?"

"That was my last one," he confessed with a shrug; chin resting in his hand, elbow resting on his knee. He thought about leaving, it wasn’t like he had anything left to do here. But he stayed anyway. He’d regret it later.

"What? Then why'd you give it to me dude?"  you scoffed.

He looked at you out of the corners of narrowed eyes. "Don't call me 'dude,'" he, half-heartedly at best, reprimanded as you rolled your eyes, "and because you asked for it. As your captain it's my job to take care of you." He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but he wasn't going to backtrack now and make it weird.

"Ah yes, taking care of me by giving me cancer. Truly, so selfless of you." You giggled as you handed him the smoke. 

He took it without thinking, easily taking a puff off it. "If I was worried about that, I'd have to fight a losing war with half the team- myself included." He took another drag to prove his point, "I like to think I pick my battles more wisely than that."

You hummed as you nodded, taking the cigarette back and putting it to your lips. You huddled closer to your captain, watching the snow fall and seeking his warmth in the cold. "It's pretty out." You smiled.

"It's nothing we don't see every winter." He took the smoke back.

You playfully pushed him, "Oh sorry Oscar didn't realize you fell out of your can."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm calling you a grouch, Wesker." He nodded in acknowledgement of your clarification, and didn't try to argue. Just took a particularly long drag and handed the cigarette back to you. 

You took your turn with it and continued. "You gotta be able to still see the beauty in the small things, and the wonder in the world. Or else you just become old and bitter, and nobody wants that." He didn't have the heart to tell you he was already there. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching as new snow covered the old. It had become a ritual between the two of you – one Wesker had grown quite fond of. Every night when the two of you closed the S.T.A.R.S office together, you took the time to share a smoke break before going your separate ways for the night.

Wekser looked forward to them more than he cared to admit. At first it was just another thing he did to ensure all members of S.T.A.R.S trusted him. Fifteen minutes at the end of a shift was a small price to pay for the confidence of his team, and as long as they had confidence in him they wouldn’t doubt him. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he started looking forward to your quiet conversations, just like he wasn’t really sure when he started buying two packs of cigarettes to accommodate them. Or how he wasn’t sure when he started looking for little excuses throughout the day to touch you, to talk to you, to have your attention. At some point you had wormed your way into his mind and made your home there. He would have resented you for it if he could find it in him to do so.

He almost jumped when you finally broke the silence. "You know, when I was a kid, my dad would always let me stay home for the first snow of the season- didn't matter if school was canceled or not."

Wekser took the cigarette from your hand. "Sounds like irresponsible parenting to me, keeping a child from their education." He finally killed the smoke, flicking it off into the abyss.

"Maybe!" you admitted, "but, those days were important to me. We'd always go out and make a giant snowman – as big as we could – and try to keep him alive for the season." You smiled at your warm childhood memories. "It was fun."

"I've never built a snowman before." Wesker confessed. He wasn't sure why he did, it's not like you were asking. It just fell out of him. You had a way of pulling things out of him without even trying, something he should have been more wary about than he was- all things considered. 

You looked at him shocked. "What?! No way! Not even when you were a little kid?"

He looked back at you and shook his head, "The boys home where I grew up had no time for such frivolous things. As long as the power was on, we were in school. And on the rare occasions it was knocked out, well. We had other priorities." It felt so natural, being so open with you. Maybe it was because you were always so open with him. Or maybe you were one of the few people that treated him like a person with vulnerabilities. It used to scare him, on some deeper level. It still did in a lot of ways.

Lately though, he's just grateful to have someone other than Birkin to talk to. "Captain, that's one of the saddest things I've ever heard. That's like, a super villain's backstory."

He finally turned his head to you. "What? Not being able to build a snowman?" He scoffed. You were blowing this out of proportion.

"Being a child and not being allowed to play," you clarified. Oh. He had never thought of it that way. It's not that you were wrong, he wasn’t allowed to play as a child – not really. It's just… he never really took the time to think about his childhood. He didn't like the feeling it gave him.

So he shrugged again, brushing off the memories before they had a chance to linger. "The past is the past. There's no use dwelling on it."

"Fuck that, come on!" You grabbed his hand and pulled him off the steps. He didn't even have time to fully comprehend just what was happening before you pulled him to the patch of grass the RPD called a lawn. "We're building a snowman.”

He huffed out a sorry excuse for a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious Rookie,” He said as he watched you gather the starting snowball.

“As serious as a heart attack, Captain,” you said, handing him the growing ball, “And I’m not a rookie anymore, I’ve been with S.T.A.R.S for six months now!”

He fought a small smile back at your insistence that you were – in fact – a highly trained soldier after a mere six months. “That’s still rookie status, dear.” The pet name came out so easily he hardly registered it, but you clearly did. He could tell by how you froze, your eyes widening ever so slightly. He needed a distraction. He held up the snowball, “And what do you want me to do with this?”

You relaxed as you remembered the task at hand. “Roll it around in the snow, I’m working on the base, so you work on the middle.” 

He made no move to hide his annoyance. “This is ridiculous, I want you to know this.”

“Then go home,” you shrugged. “No one’s keeping you here by force, no ones putting a gun to your head. If you don’t wanna help, you're free to go.” You acted so unbothered when you said it, focusing on growing the snowman's base. It hit a nerve in his heart he didn’t even know he had. You made it so blatantly clear that you didn’t need him there. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was proving to you that you did need him there. 

He started wordlessly working on the middle of the snowman, trying to focus on the smile on your face and not on how ridiculous he surely looked. “That should be good,” you said, pointing to the ball he was working on. “Go ahead and put it on the base.” 

He took a second to look at the base you’d made, and the progress he made on the middle part, then got right back to adding snow. “No.”

“No, what do you mean no?” you scoffed, trying to sound offended but failing to hide your giggle.

He easily hid his smile. “It’s still too small. It would look awkward on the base, and even more so once we add the head. It needs more snow.”

“Weren’t you the one calling this all a waste of time?” you teased as you started the head.

Without missing a beat he looked at you, “It is. I stand by that. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.” Finally, he was satisfied with the ball of snow he’d been put in charge of, and carefully placed it on the base. 

You giggled softly, “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

“It’s just how things should be done.” He shrugged, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth putting the effort into doing it right.”

“So you admit this is worth doing?”

“What? I didn’t say that.”

“But ya kinda did,” you pointed out. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. And you’re trying to build this snowman right, so therefore – it’s worth doing.”

Wesker took the time to think of his next words carefully. He couldn’t just say outright it was worth doing because it made you happy. Because these small moments of connection built a trust between you. One he would inevitably betray one day. 

There was that horrible tight feeling in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought about how he would have to hurt you in the future. He pressed forward, “Somethings, as frivolous as they are, can be worth doing for the greater impact they have.” You nodded sagely at his words, as if you understood perfectly. Which, was genuinely shocking because even he wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck he just said. 

Finally, you put the head on the snowman. “Well! What do you think?” You smiled, making passionate jazz hands at the snowy creation the two of you had made.

He cocked his head to the side. “Something’s missing.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we’re missing a face.”

“What do you normally use for a face?”

You shrugged, “Traditionally, kids used coal and a carrot for the face. Sticks for the arms, maybe a scarf, you get it. You’ve seen Frosty the Snowman.”

He hadn’t, but that was a battle for a different day. “Seems like a waste of a carrot. And we don’t have any coal.”

You nodded again. “Yeah, sadly. Guess our little guy will just have to remain faceless.”

No, that wasn’t good enough. Not for Wesker. If he was going to make anything, it was going to be perfect. He’d accept nothing less. He quickly looked around, searching for a suitable substitute for coal. He quickly spotted what the RPD once called a garden that was now mostly filled with snow covered rocks and made his way there. You picked up on his thought process and went to go pull sticks off of a nearby tree for the arms. 

“Hey, I found a pine cone!” You called to him as you returned.

“Excellent, we’ll use it for the nose.” He replied as you reconvened at the snowman. The two of you argued briefly about the facial expression – you insisting the snowman should be happy and him arguing it should be miserable because who wouldn’t be miserable stuck out in the snow? You countered with a snowman wouldn’t, because he’s literally made of snow and probably can’t feel cold. You won the argument. This time. 

You assembled the final touches together, then stepped back to look at your handiwork. He smiled smugly, placing his hand on your lower back to hold you closer. “Not bad for a rookie.” He said, looking at you.

You smiled back at him. “Not at all,” you said as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was the closest the two of you had ever been to each other at that point. And the closest Wesker had been to anyone in a long time. It should have felt wrong, the way it tended to when he made contact with others. Instead, it felt comfortable. Natural. Like you were always meant to be right there on his shoulder.

He looked down at you resting on him. At your snow bitten cheeks and soft, content smile. You weren’t scared, or even nervous. You weren't going out of your way to impress him, or try to demean him for an ego boost. You weren’t looking at him with unrealistic expectations he’d still manage to reach, only to remain unsatisfied with him. You were just there. Content, and smiling in his arms, happy to be with him.

You looked ethereal in the soft moonlight, the streetlights of the city encasing you in a halo. He was suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming desire to kiss you. To take you home and hold you forever. And met with the blood cooling realization that he was more than just attached to you. He was… infatuated with you. He refused to use the L word for this.

He couldn’t do that to himself. He moved away from you, a sudden movement that caught your attention. His heart sank looking at your wide questioning eyes. “Thank you, for the experience Soldier.”

You smirked, noting that he didn’t call you rookie. “Thank you for indulging me Captain.”

He nodded and patted your shoulder. “It’s late. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Bright and early,” you confirmed. The two of you lingered for a second longer, the cold silence loud with everything the two of you wanted to say. He slowly slid his hand off your shoulder, and the two of you went your separate ways.

He spiraled for a good two hours when he got home. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. How natural it was to talk to you, how nice you felt in his arms, how breathtaking you looked even covered in snow. He dreamt of you that night, and when he woke up he could still feel the warmth of your lips pressed against his. He had to take a cold shower to get his head together. 

He had never felt like this before. His entire life he was too focused on other things for crushes. On being the best student, on graduating early and getting his doctorate, on researching the virus, on surviving. He’d had lovers, sure. But he never felt anything for them, aside from sometimes lust. He never felt tight in his chest, he never dreamed of them, never in a hundred years would have entertained the thought of building a fucking snowman with them. 

What the hell did you do to him? 

He spent the next eight months obsessing over you. Meticulously observing you like he would any other specimen. He found out how you managed your workflow, the gun you preferred to use at target practice, who you got along with at the RPD and who you only tolerated, how you took your coffee in the morning. 

He noticed all the small details. He noticed the way you chewed on your lower lip when concentrating, what kind of jokes made you laugh the loudest, the way your eyes crinkled when you were genuinely smiling. He noticed that you didn’t brush his hand away when he rested it on you, unlike how you did when Brad did the same thing. How you also went out of your way to be around him, and that you were always the first to act when he gave an order. 

He knew he shouldn’t do this to himself. He knew that he should have taken a massive step back and kept your relationship strictly professional. No more late night smoke breaks, or easy conversations in the break room. If he really wanted to do himself a favor he should have found a reason to fire you, or at least have you removed from the S.T.A.R.S team. 

He never tried to do any of that, because for the first time in his life he was scared he wouldn’t be able to do something. And where did that get him?

Here. Staring at the sinking ship that was Umbrella, and knowing he needed to get off before he was dragged down with it. He needed to send the S.T.A.R.S team to the Spencer Mansion to get the combat data he needed so he could do just that. The issue was, that meant the team was probably going to die. A sacrifice he thought he was willing to make. And he was, before you happened. Now the thought of sending you into that made his jaw clench. As brilliant as he was, he couldn’t think of a way to keep you out of the situation. 

Send you home? That would never work, Bravo team was in danger. You would never just sit idly at home while your team was in trouble – an annoyingly admirable trait of yours. Order you to keep watch at the office? Nope, that wouldn’t work either. That would be the first place Umbrella went when they realized he had gone rogue. So where did that leave him? 

Sending you into the mansion. But, maybe you didn’t have to die. You were just as capable as any other member of the team- if not more. As long as he could keep you alive until it was time for the mansion to go up in smoke, he knew he could get you out of there- and come out looking like the hero in the process. 

He didn’t have time to come up with a definitive plan, this was going to have to do. As unorganized as it was, he was confident it would work. It had to work.

He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.