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sapphiresaphics · 4 hours ago

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Alright, let’s do this:

1. “Why is Vi an enforcer?”

Because Piltover was going to invade Zaun and thousands of people were going to die as a result. Vi initially refused to join the enforcers for all the same reasons you listed above. She wasn’t going to join up.

But then the memorial attack happened and Piltover is out for BLOOD. They were originally going to send in troops to enforce things, but after the memorial attack it was about to be an all-out WAR.

UNTIL Caitlyn and Vi agree to team up and do targeted stealth attacks instead of an all out war. VI’s goal for helping Zaun has always been to get rid of Silco and his henchmen, so doing these targeted attacks on JUST the chembarons fits right in line with her way to solve the problems of Zaun AND prevents an all out war from happening where innocent people will be caught in the crossfire. Caitlyn literally explains this to the council when she barges in at the end of episode 1, were you not paying attention?

And yeah, it sucks. And Vi doesn’t want to be in that uniform. She looks absolutely miserable. But she’s also practical. She knows if she doesn’t do this, so many lives are going to be lost. If there’s a way she can keep Zaun from being invaded, while taking out Silco’s goons AND potentially catching her sister… she’s gonna take it. If that means joining the enforcers then she’s gonna do it.

What part of her aligning with Cailtyn makes you think she AGREES with what the enforcers stand for? Vander aligned with Grayson and he clearly didn’t agree with them either. Alliances don’t mean endorsement. Vi is an enforcer because if she didn’t then it was going to be the bridge attack all over again.

2. This complaint that “we didn’t see everything” is really stupid, especially if you enjoyed Season 1 because Arcane is nothing if not efficient in its storytelling. Season 1 literally skips over 7 years of all the characters lives and you have to piece together information yourself to gather what happened using context clues. Season 2 is no different. How is the pit fighter montage any different than Season 1 skipping 7 years and watching Powder go from bumbling child to brilliant mechanic/gunslinger between episodes?

You can wish there was more, but the fact of the matter is that what we got is just the right amount of information we needed to piece things together. We didn’t need to see Vi getting beat up for 3 episodes to learn she’s miserable.

3. This idea that “vi is stagnating as a character” is grossly uncharitable and demeaning to her arc. Vi is constantly changing in Season 2, wtf are you on about!?? Vi is the metaphorical bridge between Piltover (Caitlyn) and Zaun (Jinx) for all of season 2. She tries DESPERATELY to fight for/unite both sides all through the season. Vi is constantly being torn left and right trying to please everyone and she takes no time to work on herself. That’s the opposite of stagnating.

You clearly have a lot of anger in you and I think you need to take a moment and step back and relax. You’ve skipped over big pieces of information to concoct these really extreme complaints and you need to chill out. Arcane is dense and filled with a lot of layers, just because you haven’t peeled them all back yet doesn’t mean it’s bad writing.

okay so to preface this 1. I am about to talk A LOT and probably ramble without editing because.. I kinda just want to word vomit and get my thoughts out into the air and 2. I AM ENCOURAGING COMMENTS and feedback and none of this is inherently negative or overly criticizing.. what I mean by this is, I’m not attacking anyone or saying that arcane is bad or these characters are bad, I’m looking at the story and the writing from a broader standpoint (at least I hope) and I’m not a hardass who’s gonna be a dick, this is genuinely just such an anomaly to me… I digress,

what dafurk is going on with season 2 of arcane???? like.. first and foremost I’m apologizing to any caitvi truthers out there but I really *really* hate caitvi in s2. (EDIT: this sounds overly harsh, their relationship is not what I hate full disclosure I thought they were super cute in s1 and was hoping for development in s2 but I thought it was handled oddly on both fronts!!) vi’s character is actually obliterated in.. listless ways, but first and foremost what I see lies at the root of everything I find wrong(??) with vi’s character is, unfortunately, cait, or revolves around her

1. vi became an enforcer.. what

I’m sure many, many people have addressed this before, but like.. what? there is little to no justification for her choosing to agree with vi and just join the police force !! yes ^_^ she so outright refuses and literally like.. throws the badge on the floor because she thinks it’s ridiculous— cait herself thinks it’s ridiculous— and then… turns around and teams up. I hardly even know how to formulate my own thoughts on this but like, initially, she was in Stillwater for 7 years.. put there BY ENFORCERS, and even expresses how privileged Piltovians and power are to just wave their hand and have people be dragged off without giving a shit what happens to them and how it completely alters their lives and character. enforcers are arguably the heart of what makes Piltover Piltover, at least in the show and to zaunites, and she should have no interest on that fact alone that it is their fault she spent a huge portion of her life locked up and basically matured in a prison.

aside from that one obvious plot point, another is vi’s parents were murdered by enforcers. I note this second because I *guess* it’s arguable that this can be put on the side because she was a child I GUESS?? And like, she didn’t have a solid concept of what enforcers stood for and looked at them more holistically but also.. THEY KILLED HER PARENTS?? IM DEAD AS HELL. uhm. Yeah that’s all I have to say there?? like yes let’s join the team that was responsible for my lack of parents for almost the entirety of my life and robbed my baby sister of the chance to even know them long enough for the little time I even did..!

also, why does vi give a single fuck about what enforcers stand for? the whole point of enforcers is, like law enforcement, to protect Piltover and its citizens and what it stands for blah blah blah, like.. girl not only were u were in prison for seven years and were severely disconnected from the world, but they’ve also spent ur entire life and years before u torturing the your people and are constantly contributing towards biased and prejudiced opinions/actions against. yeah, you can argue that she wants to protect caitlyn but is that really enough of a reason?? she doesn’t need to be on their team to assist her first of all, second of all, I think there’s a pretty clear line between protecting and helping caitlyn and.. yk, backing the fucking enforcers

and don’t even get me wrong, I love the fact that caitlyn shows vi a different side of enforcers and demonstrates that not all of them are the same and there is hope for progress because cait believes in change for the better— but cait in s2… erm.. engaging in chemical warfare.. committing war crimes.. willing to endanger literal children directly and indirectly… and innocents in general.. yeah I’m honestly just gonna leave that there, which leaves the basis of vi’s possible enforcer support completely spineless since cait just goes batshit

so, in my opinion at least, the idea alone of vi joining the enforcers is laughable— the act of her doing so is very unbelievable to me and felt inconsistent to her character

and sort of a branch off

2. vi’s character.. going nowhere (exaggeration)

maybe I’ve just been thinking about it too much but I really feel like we (arcane) kinda just gave up on vi which was actually so heartbreaking for me because I loved vi so much in the first season and I think that her story as a character was great but now she kind of just feels like she’s there to uh.. be caitlyn’s bitch idk don’t hate me sorry :3

like we really don’t see her grow and I think that the magnitude of the story they were trying to tell is to fault for this. so much of what I really wanted to see from the story (not just vi) was in a timeskip, and what we did see just wasn’t.. satisfying I guess? like the grey sequence and vi’s enforcer montage was a timeskip/music video thing which was mildly confusing and very unfulfilling. and honestly, I get it, season two was covering so much and you can’t do it all.. BUT ALSO WHY DID WE MAKE IT TWO SEASONS tears in my eyes, but we don’t really get to see how she reconciles and copes with being an enforcer since i doubt it was an easy choice (even though it highkey seemed like one…) and it had to be difficult carting people she once called her own off to prison to suffer a similar fate as herself and stomping around in a gas mask while erm gassing likely many innocent zaunites.. but we don’t get to see any of that, we just see the result of her on a united front with the same people who killed her parents and stand for everything she doesn’t as the ultimate betrayal of her sister.. and that’s really it, I mean, the most she does to act out against the enforcers or cait is not letting her harm a literal child! which is funny when you consider she was about to let caitlyn shoot her sister in the head but okay ..

I had more to say about this section but my head is moving a million miles a minute and I have short term memory loss atp.

other than that her emo arc was, yes, hot but also didn’t amount to anything? she proceeds to say she didn’t care that caitlyn was with anyone else when she was crashing out about it for like.. idk six months and we don’t see her really come to terms with the fact that she could lose caitlyn (essentially losing everyone) and process through her trauma so that she won’t rot in the same guilt if she does leave.. which basically implies if caitlyn does leave again we get pitfighter vi again.. yeah..?? it all just felt very anticlimactic and was a throwaway idea of how vi spent passing her time after her and caitlyn parted ways. I also really dislike the idea/implication that it’s caitlyn alone that sent her over the edge and that caitlyn alone is responsible for her breakdown, like I would’ve loved to see in the montage of her getting wasted hallucinations of like.. vander or jinx or any of her family to illustrate that caitlyn was more of a final straw that made her guilt insurmountable rather than just an average wlw situationship crash out (happy pride)

I don’t think we see enough of vi grieving the loss of powder either (again, I acknowledge the time crunch here but this is just from a holistic perspective) it feels like she moves on way too quickly and we see her suffering, like I said, more over caitlyn than the loss of her family, what she’d been fighting for all of s1 and what was her primary motivation and driving force for those years she spent in prison. this is about vi, I know, but both of the sisters reconciliation with each other was just.. not consistent to me and I didn’t understand how they were so chill with each other so quickly and we got that aggression when jinx first visits vi but I didn’t feel the emotion or real depth of.. everything their relationship and lives have amounted or come to

vi feels very stand still this season and I HATE to see it because there was so much and still IS so much to do with her character and I feel it really went to waste here and the only progression she showed was her being like.. ‘powder/my sister is gone,’ and even then it was only really heard and not felt the way I at least personally believe it should’ve been

I feel like I’ve rambled long enough and this became a vi-centric thing but there is plenty more I have to say about this season that isn’t here although I doubt anyone is reading allat… if u are and DO care about my other thoughts I’d love to make a continuation but thank u and kudos for making it this far if u did and I’d love to hear outside thoughts :33

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #vi arcane #vi and caitlyn #jinx arcane #caitlyn kiramman #arcane critical is a bad faith hashtag

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gifti3 · 4 months ago

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the goverment is definitely figuring out this alien situation asap right?? cause whats happening currently is not feasible in the long run is it not??

im sure they are trying to maybe figure it out...probably, but part of me feels like it is not being treated with the seriousness it should be by them, which ig is in character LOL

pretty much relying on one guy (who doesnt even wanna be doing this) is actually scary

and the mc still has to like 'encourage' him to do it, tho its much easier in the 'ray ending' for sure. that man just wants to live a regular life with mc (unfortunately for him that means continuing to be binary star and dealing with aliens)

and if i was a citizen and knew this id be panicking

like yea u have these other heroes helping and stuff which im sure looks comforting from an outside point of view! but like the actuality is that its ray keeping things afloat

AND ON THE TOPIC OF THE MC, i was definitely in my head like....wouldnt rays superiors (managers??) get like curious about them? like no way theyre not being nosy about it after a certain amount of time passes. it really feels like something that could be leveraged against him,,, (if there is fic about this pls send it to me lol)

honestly i feel like mc and rays relationship would have moments of high stress. like there will be good times but also the bad times will also be there and its sometimes gonna be because of outside factors they cant control

#like this hero set up for the violent alien invasions....cannot continue forever no?#its like a common hero trope but i love overthinking stuff its my jam!#and this is not me even getting into the possibility of mc dying before him (natural causes or accident)...or him getting too old eventuall #ig they could make another human weapon or something but if that were the easiest solution #there would be more ppl like ray walking around already ig (also this is a messed up thing to do btw)#is there even a solution to this??#see im entering the next phase of my fixation which is #thinking about the world #its really interesting guys!#ray is an interesting character and all the shit hes been through...im surprised he can be even controlled ngl lol #like yea mc is his last link to humanity but also deep down ik he doesnt want to let go of it hence the obsession and love towards them #its tragic that that hope had to be pinned on one singular person tho #wishing the best for him tho #i think he should be allowed to retire rn ACTUALLY #unfortunately everyone will fuckin die so.#again....government do something!?#i dont believe in my heart that theyre trying to actually solve the problem...#ik its not an easy problem to solve either....there might not be a solution at all! but i still feel like theyre not trying hard enough??#but idk enough about what the gov is doing to know. this is literally me just going based off vibes #i hope i stop having th urge to yap about this in like a week cause ill go crazy just making thing up #binary star hero #bshvn #im so curious to actually see how mc and rays day to day official relationship would go #the ray ending one where theyre trying to be healthy about it lol #theyre super cute haha #also its always fun to see a yan type character trying to be 'normal' about their feelings #hes trying okay! he doesnt even read mcs mind anymore without permission #or at least he tries #pretty sure he slips up every once in awhile #god i just...i have a bunch of stuff going on in my head

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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

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Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

2K notes · View notes

chanifesto · 1 month ago

Text

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

“I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

“It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.”

He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

“Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

“Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

You’re silent for a few beats.

“Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

“I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

“Yeah, just five minutes more.”

There’s a pause. “Okay.”

A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

Of course.

Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

Not yet, at least.

His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

Much like you.

His unfinished integral mocks him.

Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

“Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

“It’s brownie mix!”

He peers at you again.

“Brownies?”

You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

“Brownies are cool.”

Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

All you needed to do was force start.

That’s all.

No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

“Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

“...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

“Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

You’d obliged. Quite happily.

And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window.

Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything?

In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

But, that was just a fantasy.

In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers.

God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

“Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

“I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

“Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

“It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

“You’re not incompetent.”

You blink.

“That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets.

“Now, get to bed.”

His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

You stare back at him.

“Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

But he was doing this to help you.

Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

Because you had looked so worried.

So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

“Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

You gape at his back.

“Sieun!”

Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

“I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

“No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

“Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

“Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

You decide they are.

“I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

Sieun chose to be.

“Why do you think?”

Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

You’d looked so worried, of course.

Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

Say something.

A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

“I knew to force start.”

Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

Had Sieun fallen asleep?

This has to be a dream.

But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

“You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

“This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

“I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

“Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

“Yes, Sieun.”

That was everything he needed to hear.

A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

“You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake.

He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

The ghost of you has vanished.

What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

“You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

“You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

And you had barely touched him.

Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

He kisses the inside of your knee.

Then your thigh.

Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

And stops breathing.

You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

He doesn't finish. He can't.

His hands twitch.

You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

But it does.

It does.

He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

“You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

You don’t have time to answer.

Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

His composure fractures there.

A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

His pace quickens.

He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

He wants it all.

You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

He’s hungry.

Possessed.

And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

“Sieun—” you whimper.

His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

“Come for me.”

Your breath catches.

“Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

“Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

His breath hitches.

Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

Sieun stills completely.

And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

“You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

He exhales shakily.

Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

You both gasp.

You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there.

“God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

“Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

“You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

“Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

He knows.

He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

And you do.

It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays.

Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here ⌯⌲ smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

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hecticelectron · 4 months ago

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Hi, this is a big post about my new TTRPG, Defy the Gods, which I’m Kickstarting right now! It’s a queer sword & sorcery adventure-romance set in fantasy ancient Mesopotamia. I was inspired by Conan, Clash of the Titans (1981!) and Princess Mononoke. (I've also got a BlueSky megathread going about it.)

Back the Kickstarter here!

Art by Thalie Shelen! @thalieshelen

(Btw hi I'm Chrys, a queer, trans game designer in Columbus, Ohio. This will be my second published game. The first was a furry pack of nonsense called Raccoon Sky Pirates.)

Defy the Gods is sword & sorcery as a story game. My favorite PbtA games emulate specific stories and lead you to resonant emotional moments like you find in those stories. Here, I used PbtA to emulate sword & sorcery, with an emphasis on the romantic moments—but also plenty of metal 🤘. You use the flirtation mechanics (taken from Thirsty Sword Lesbians) to tempt, support, or thwart others. But then, you can roll too high (taken from Apocalypse Keys), where you get more than you bargained for. Like Conan running out of the Tower of the Elephant while it crumbles around him.

Also like Conan, you have a glorious destiny, but in this case it ain’t good. Rising to your most powerful self makes you monstrous, heralding your character’s end as a hero and their beginning as an NPC antagonist.

It’s a queer game. You can fall in love with anyone, or make them fall in love with you. But because the game is also about power, the gods and tyrants wait to stomp on you if your enticement falls flat. Like if you flirt with someone in the wrong neighborhood. Every character has their own arc, and one of the things I had the most fun with was making those feel like queer problems as well as ancient-world sword & sorcery problems.

Play a fierce Sword, chaos-loving Sorcerer, fugitive Revenant, mischievous Sailor, immortal-sworn Vessel, or wild-raised Wolfling. (All character portraits by Thalie Shelen @thalieshelen)

The Sword is big-hearted and violent. You have a move that lets you kill any human-sized mortal NPC within arm’s reach, without rolling, if you’re not already in combat. This always causes more problems than it solves.

While most players roll just 2d6 & add their stat, the Sorcerer casts spells by rolling a lot of dice & looking for patterns in them. If you can’t find any patterns, your sorcery runs amok. This chaos is kind of lovely. For instance, you're always changing your body—sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. But always gorgeous.

The Revenant is like Inanna, or if Eurydice made it out. They escaped the land of the dead. They aren’t who they were in their past life, nor who they were as a shade. They're still figuring out who they are now. Demons pursue them to claw them back to the Underworld.

The Sailor can call on a cast of past friends and lovers for help. They always have a plan, and an eye for the exit. One of their moves lets you fill in the map of the otherwise unknown world.

The Vessel is in love with a minor god. They channel their patron’s power by wounding themself, but their patron can also soothe their pain.

The Wolfling was raised by animals in the Wilds and is curious about the humans, but they belong in neither world. They're definitely the part most directly inspired by Princess Mononoke.

The World Forces are the antagonist. You build them at the table, in quick rounds of pick lists. They are:

The Pantheon: gods, goddesses, and demons. They make the rules, but maybe you can break them.

The City: tyrants, the wealthy, and others with the gods' blessing. They push you to the margins, but you can fight to be seen.

The Wilds: gigantic creatures and their trackless wilderness home. It's place of danger and new rules, but you'll probably break them.

The Shadow of Atlantis: long-gone elders. They dared to scorn the gods, and the Pantheon destroyed them for it, but through you they may live again.

Death: a hungry, totalitarian force. Its underground domain is the end for all mortals and the mockery of hope. But maybe you can return.

Art by Shan Bennion! @anonbeadraws

This was an intensely personal project, but it was too big for me to do by myself. Here are all the people who helped make it a reality:

Avery Alder: Design advisor

Basheer Ghouse: @basheerghouse Cultural consultant

Cat Tobin: Horizons Mentor https://www.pelgranepress.com

Cris Viana: Graphic designer & layout artist

Ezra Rose: Interior art

Kanesha Bryant: Interior art

Katrin Dirim: Interior art

Jaqueline Florencio: Cover art

Lyla Fujiwara: Developmental editor https://www.jarofeyes.com

Mary Verhoeven: Interior art

Omar Ramadan-Santiago: Cultural consultant

Rae Nedjadi: Developmental editor https://temporalhiccup.itch.io

Rue Dickey: @ilananight Copy editor

Sean D’souza: World-builder & writer https://linktr.ee/seandsouzax

Shan Bennion: Interior art

Thalie Shelen: Interior art

(art by Shan again! @anonbeadraws)

Thanks for reading! See the Kickstarter here!

#defy the gods #ttrpg #indie ttrpgs #indie ttrpg #rpg #sword & sorcery #dark fantasy #crowdfunding #kickstarter #queer #queer disasters #yes the gods hate you but what if you could defeat them

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inkdrinkerworld · 9 months ago

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"Sirius don't you dare, we're not at home." your whines go completely ignored by your boyfriend because as soon as you lay down on James' sofa, Sirius is lifting your sleep shirt and burying his head under it.

"What is wrong with him?" Lily asks as she passes you a mug of tea- chamomile with a touch of honey- before going to sit besides James who looks equally puzzled.

"Every time I get out of the shower at night he does this. Says the lotion I use is the cause." You pat your boyfriend's head under your shirt, Sirius turns sideways with a tired grin on his face.

"You act like Jamesie there isn't the biggest baby too." James gawks, hazel eyes narrowing.

"I didn't even say anything, Pads. I think it's sweet."

Remus shakes his head, "Of course you do. It'd be sweeter in private."

Lily, you and Marlene hide a laugh.

Stirring a pot, Lily says, "You could at least let the girl breathe."

"She smells like sleep, cocoa butter and vanilla. What am I meant to do against that?" He sounds too lovesick, and with the grin on his face, James wishes he had his phone nearby.

Remus solves that problem for him almost immediately. Sirius doesn't even protest.

"Siri, don't you think it's a little pathetic to have to hide under your girlfriend's clothes at night to sleep?" Marlene asks and Sirius pops his head out again.

"Pathetic is you trying to imply you haven't snuggled up next to her on your sleepovers." Marlene throws a chocolate covered almond at him while he just looks at her all pleased and content.

Remus rolls his eyes, "You could at least save it for when you get into your room."

You hide a smile, knowing exactly what Sirius is going to say. You and your boyfriend have this conversation every night you join him back on the sofa instead of in bed.

Sirius doesn't dignify Remus with full view of his face- he moves your shirt just enough that his mouth and nose are visible.

"M'gonna be asleep in a bit anyways. In fact you're all just prolonging when I'll be able to sleep by carrying out an inquisition at near midnight."

You chuckle into your mug, taking a sip as Sirius shuffles up your body and settles again.

"You're a saint, Y/n." James compliments as he watches Sirius' hold on your waist tighten before he starts the movie.

Your boyfriend whines the second your hand falls on his back and you roll your eyes, slipping your hand down his shirt and scratching his back for him.

You can feel Sirius taking deep, lungful breaths of you before his heartbeat slows a bit and his breathing evens out- not even ten minutes into the movie he'd suggested.

"He's a big fucking baby." Marlene marvels at the way Sirius sleeps through the movie, hands around you and face hidden away under your shirt. "You wouldn't even guess he was clingier than Potter."

"Hey!" James groans, but he can't protest, his head is in Lily's lap as he twists and coils strands of his hair. Sirius hasn't even shown them the half of it- James keeps that tidbit to himself.

#siriusblack #sirius black #sirius black one shot #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #sirius black x black reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x yn #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x fem!reader

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kxsagi · 14 days ago

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hiiii

can u make blue lock boys with a s/o who tries to be as quiet and never really expresses her opinion during an argument, but starts crashing out when she's at home/alone 😛😛

LOVE YOUR WORKS BY THE WAYYYY

"𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐦𝐨 🥀"

a/n: reader is me i fear

AND THANK YOUUUUUU!!!

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

itoshi rin

you and him are both quiet in public, so he thinks you’re twinsies in social apathy.

“don’t say anything, it’s not worth it,” he mutters. and you nod all calm like “yeah.”

but when you’re home? OH.

you throw your bag down like it's a dead body and start barking: “OH MY GOSH IF I HEAR ‘IT’S JUST MY OPINION’ ONE MORE TIME I’M GONNA LAUNCH MYSELF INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC.”

rin freezes mid sip of water like you just spoke in tongues. “wait. who is this demon i brought into my house.”

you slam your phone on the bed: “I WISH I COULD FIGHT PEOPLE THROUGH TEXT.”

rin’s like “you need to go outside.”

after the third time this happens, he stops letting arguments slide. he just starts solving them ON THE SPOT because he knows if you bottle it up again, he’ll have to survive another 30-minute monologue about some guy who “walked with too much confidence for someone with that haircut.”

nagi seishiro

does not notice your inner rage until he walks in on you kicking a stuffed animal while whisper-screaming “DIEEEE YOU EGOISTIC PUNK.”

stands there scratching his head like, “uhhh. you good?”

you start unloading a rant about a barista who said “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome,” and he’s just watching you like a confused cat.

“so like… do you want me to fight them? or just listen?”

you start acting out the entire scene with voice impressions like, “‘next!’ no ma’am, how about NEXT time you respect basic customer service etiquette–”

nagi goes “damn. that’s kinda fire.”

starts encouraging it. “yeah babe, get mad. do the voice again. the evil barista one. that’s my favorite.”

fully believes your rants are better than any anime. once got mad when you didn’t go off. “what do you mean you’re calm today? but i made popcorn.”

mikage reo

LOVES the duality.

when you’re being all polite in public, he’s whispering in your ear like “do it. DESTROY THEM. go for the jugular.”

and you just smile and say, “it’s okay! mistakes happen :)”

cut to 9:13 PM and you’re in his penthouse pacing like a man possessed. “OH REALLY?? MISTAKES HAPPEN?? THEN LET ME MISTAKE-FULLY THROW A CHAIR AT YOU.”

reo is wheezing. he’s filming you. adding background music. making edits.

he even starts giving you imaginary awards like, “ladies and gentlemen… BEST DRAMATIC RANT OF THE YEAR GOES TO–”

you once threatened to fight a man for wearing flip-flops indoors and reo started crying from laughter.

wants to get you on reality TV. he thinks your angry alter ego could win a whole season without leaving camp.

karasu tabito

absolutely lives for your inner beast.

in public, you’re all quiet and sweet and he’s like, “she’s such a lil angel 🥰”

but then later he hears you go “I WILL DIG HIS FUTURE, PRESENT, AND PAST SELF OUT OF EXISTENCE,” and he’s like “NEVERMIND. SHE’S A DEMON.”

laughs his ass off while you’re slamming cabinet doors.

you’re like “this is why his hairline is running away from his eyebrows. IDIOT.”

karasu: “BAAAAABEEE PLEASEEEE 😭😭”

starts intentionally causing mild public inconveniences just so he can watch the rant later. “oops, i accidentally knocked over her coffee. oops, someone cut in line.”

this man is sick. he’s got a NOTES APP of your most iconic lines.

ness alexis

absolutely terrified the first time he sees it.

you’re sweet and reserved in public, but then later you’re storming around your bedroom like: “NOOOO BECAUSE I HELD BACK SO MUCH– IF I HAD A SHOVEL AND DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY I WOULD HAVE–”

ness pokes his head in like “h-hey baby, you okay–”

“SHHHH I’M MID RANT.”

man shuts the door like he just walked in on a crime scene.

now he just peeks in with snacks and goes “you want emotional support chocolate? ice cream? maybe a hug and a punching bag?”

scared you might start roasting HIM one day, so he starts keeping receipts just in case you snap and go “REMEMBER WHEN YOU ATE MY FRIES THAT ONE HUMID NIGHT.”

but also? kinda proud.

“she may be quiet… but she’s a warrior. just needs a private arena to unleash the fury. maybe a rage room is better.”

isagi yoichi

during arguments, you're standing there looking like the human version of an unsalted cracker.

"it’s fine. no big deal,” you whisper, while isagi is next to you mentally going, “she’s soooo cool under pressure omg she’s my strong silent queen 😩”

WRONG.

10 minutes after y’all get home, you’re in the kitchen like: “NO BECAUSE IF HE BREATHED ANY LOUDER I WAS GONNA STUFF A SOCK DOWN HIS THROAT–”

you're mimicking the whole conversation, hands on your hips, pacing like a mom yelling about bad report cards.

isagi is watching from the couch like it’s a documentary. “so this is what she’s like when the polite filter turns off…”

you throw a fork across the sink and go “AND ANOTHER THING!!”

he flinches. “another thing??? there’s MORE???”

now he straight up brings popcorn to your post-argument breakdowns. even got a playlist for it: ‘angry girlfriend showtime vol.3’

kaiser michael

he thinks you're classy. elegant. above it all.

like, “oh wow, my girlfriend doesn’t even need to raise her voice, she wins arguments with a look.”

yeah well. wait until he hears you alone in the kitchen popping off like it’s an unscripted drama.

“THEY WANNA PLAY STUPID GAMES? THEN THEY BETTER BE READY FOR STUPID PRIZES–”

kaiser peeks around the corner like 👁️👄👁️ “who… the hell… are you???”

you’re out here holding a hairbrush like a mic, screaming at the air. “AND ANOTHER THING: WHAT TYPE OF NAME IS THAT ANYWAY. SOUNDS LIKE A YOGURT FLAVOR.”

he deadass chokes on his mineral water.

he’s torn between fear and admiration.

“i’m dating someone who bottles rage like champagne and explodes behind closed doors. incredible. terrifying.”

but don’t get it twisted, he starts triggering it for sport.

he’ll say some dumb shit like, “maybe they were right, you were being a little sensitive,” and then stand back like he just lit a firecracker.

kaiser 10 minutes later, filming you storming around the room with full captions and a laugh filter: “and this, my friends, is why i never cheat. she’d destroy me in 7 dimensions.”

shidou ryusei

he’s the exact opposite of you.

like, in the moment of confrontation, he's already taking off his shirt and saying “let's settle this in the PARKING LOT.”

and you’re just there holding his sleeve like, “let’s not… it’s okay…”

“no, it’s not okay, babe. i saw the micro-expression on your face. you wanted blood. i could feel it.”

“nah ryu, i’m chill.”

cut to 12 minutes later when you two get home and you’re doing WWE monologues in the mirror like: “IF I WAS BUILT DIFFERENT, HE WOULDN’T HAVE TEETH RIGHT NOW.”

shidou walks in halfway through and SCREAMS.

“OH MY GOSH YOU DO WANT VIOLENCE. BITCH I’M SO TURNED ON.”

now he purposely instigates people in public just to see if it’ll get you to crack.

“watch this babe, i’m gonna push his buttons.”

you remain silent.

later that night though: “he was chewing with his mouth open, and i swear to the heavens, ryu, i almost inhaled a fork just to end it all–”

“I KNEW IT. I KNEW YOU WERE A FERAL LITTLE BEAST.”

itoshi sae

this man is ICE COLD. he barely talks in arguments and honestly, he thought your silence was just... normal.

“hm. she’s like me. emotionally done with everyone.”

but BOY was he mistaken.

the first time he catches you mid-breakdown, it’s because he walks in early from practice and hears something like: “NO BECAUSE IF SHE BREATHES NEAR ME AGAIN I’M GONNA CALL THE IRS ON HER.”

sae freezes in the hallway like you just summoned a demon.

you’re pacing in socks and a hoodie, dragging a blanket around like a cape, arms flailing as you imitate every dumb sentence said during the earlier argument.

“‘i didn’t mean it that way’ THEN IN WHAT WAY DID YOU MEAN IT?? TELEPATHICALLY???”

sae just turns around and leaves the room. comes back three minutes later with a drink.

“so we’re doing this now? okay. continue.”

literally just sits there while you explode, nodding like it’s a business meeting.

“mhm. right. yeah she was dumb.”

but later in bed when you’re calm, he’ll whisper: “you know you scared me a little back there. but… kinda hot.”

you look at him. “i blacked out. what did i say?”

“something about mailing someone’s eyebrows to the moon.”

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asterafroditis · 2 months ago

Note

heeeeeyyy! <3

if it's ok with you i wanted to request a scenario where the reader magically gets turned into a baby or a kid (it's temporary) and we get to see how each dorm would take care of them or babysit in their own way

i recently read a fic (Spring of Canathus (AKA: They’re Babies) by cheapshrimpysheep) where the housewardens were the ones turned into babies and the reader had to take care of them so now i’m curious to see the roles reversed and how you write it!

𐔌 . ⋮ tiny trouble .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Platonic TWST Dorms x gn! reader

𓏵 2225 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, they/them pronouns used, fluff

idk if you wanted this to be everyone in the dorms taking care of the reader or just the housewardens so I just did the dorms, hope you don't mind (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Due to a magical mishap during a potions class, you—an ordinary Night Raven College student—get accidentally hit by an experimental brew that reverts you to a toddler for a week. Crowley, being the usual "problem-solving" headmaster that he is, decides to put you under the other dorms' care for the time being.

─────────────────────────

The moment Heartslabyul find a tiny version of yourself—no taller than a stack of textbooks—at their doorstep, Riddle is on high alert. He is not used to this sort of chaos, but he's the type who takes responsibility very seriously. As housewarden of Heartslabyul, he refuses to let the situation spiral into madness. You are scooped up and brought into the dorm with all the care of a noble cradling royalty.

“You are still a student of Night Raven College,” he says sternly, but with a touch of red in his cheeks, “and until the potion wears off, you’ll be treated with the utmost propriety.”

Riddle enforces structure even in babysitting: strict bedtime (8 p.m. sharp), healthy snacks (apple slices and tea, no tarts), and scheduled learning time. He reads to you with perfect diction, often from spell theory books he assumes you’ll enjoy. You fall asleep halfway through more often than not.

Trey is the one who bakes soft, kid-friendly pastries and distracts you with silly flour shapes. He’s the gentle uncle-type, letting you sit on the counter while he bakes. Cater takes the most pictures, snapping selfies with you in sparkly filters. You don't know what a 'Magicam story' is in this state, but he assures you that you're going viral. Ace tries to teach you card tricks and gets pouty when you don’t get them right; Deuce is surprisingly gentle, kneeling down and listening to your babbles like they’re sacred law.

Riddle might scold them all for not following proper babysitting etiquette, but there’s no mistaking the way his gaze softens when he sees you giggling in the lounge with your makeshift 'older brothers.' He insists on walking you to and from classes himself, even if it's just down the hallway, muttering something about how the potion should’ve never spilled onto you. When the effect wears off and you’re back to normal, Riddle clears his throat, adjusts his collar, and says:

“Ahem. See that you don't get into such trouble again. But... if it were to happen once more—I suppose Heartslabyul would be prepared.”

─────────────────────────

The moment you’re put into Savannaclaw's care, Leona sighs like the universe itself has conspired to ruin his nap schedule. Still, he doesn’t pawn you off. In fact, he picks you up with surprising ease, balancing you on one hip like he’s done it before.

“Don’t expect me to run around after you,” he grumbles, settling back on his bed with you nestled beside him. “If you’ve got energy, go climb Ruggie or something.”

He’s far from what you'd call the nurturing type, but Leona’s brand of babysitting is more subtle. He keeps you close, even if it’s under the guise of using you as a ‘weighted blanket.’ He lets you nap with his tail draped over you and flicks it just to make you giggle. There’s a protective tilt to his ears whenever someone gets too loud nearby.

Ruggie is the one who takes over most of the hands-on work. He’s a natural babysitter—playful, clever, and good at keeping you entertained. He sneakily sneaks snacks your way and even lets you wear his oversized hoodie. Jack, while flustered, tries to keep things orderly, gently offering you his hand when crossing rooms and awkwardly patting your head.

Leona doesn’t miss any of it. He watches from the sidelines, pretending he’s annoyed by your antics, but every so often, you catch him smirking when you try to roar like a lion cub. He teaches you how to lounge properly (“Pillows, sunshine, and silence; it’s an art.”) and, surprisingly, hums a lullaby when you can't sleep.

When the potion wears off, he barely reacts, just flicks your forehead and mutters, “About time.” But later that day, Ruggie approaches you and is eager to tell you all about how soft their housewarden got for the small price of a snack.

─────────────────────────

The moment you were turned into a child and put into Octavinelle's care, Azul was both horrified and intrigued. Horrified because this sort of mishap could potentially cause trouble towards the dorm, and intrigued because, well, he knows all about the marketing genius of getting cute kids to advertise your brand.

Despite his usual composed demeanor, Azul would be extremely careful with you. He wouldn't leave you alone in the lounge, and he'd adjust his tone to be more soothing, almost like how he talks to nervous clients. At one point, you ask if he's your dad now (to the amusement of the twins), and Azul nearly chokes on his tea. "N-No! Absolutely not! I'm merely acting in the best interest of your safety!"

Jade, ever the picture of eerie calm, takes on the role of silent guardian. He's the one making sure you eat, giving you nutritious meals (even if they taste suspiciously like mushrooms), and walking you around the halls with the smooth cadence of a butler. When you start tugging on his sleeve and babbling his name out loud, he only smiles and corrects your posture.

Floyd, on the other hand, thinks this is the best thing that has ever happened. He calls you "Shrimpy Jr." (since you're much smaller than before) and swings you around like a plush toy. He’ll let you sit on his shoulders, give you snacks Azul told him not to, and constantly whines when you get sleepy: “Nooo, Shrimpy Jr.’s nap time again? Boring~! Lemme keep ‘em!”

Between Azul’s careful supervision, Jade’s quiet attentiveness, and Floyd’s chaotic affection, you’re constantly watched—and probably a little spoiled.

─────────────────────────

"A baby?!" Kalim shouts, holding you up like you're the rarest treasure in all of the Scalding Sands, having picked you up from Scarabia's doorstep. "Jamil, look! They're so tiny! Can we keep them?!"

Jamil, ever the voice of reason (and sarcasm), groans. "Kalim, they’re not a pet. They're a student who unfortunately fell victim to a cauldron spilling in potions class. We have to take care of them until they turn back."

But for the time being, you're taken under Scarabia's warm, chaotic wing. Kalim is constantly making sure you’re entertained—building pillow forts, teaching you how to ride the magic carpet (at a very slow speed, much to Jamil’s relief), and throwing spontaneous parties. He even tries to share his jewelry with you, which ends with you trying to eat a ruby ring. Jamil intervenes just in time.

Jamil, while grumbling the whole time, is incredibly attentive. He brushes your hair, makes sure you’re not being overwhelmed, and slips in educational games between Kalim’s circus acts. His stern exterior doesn’t last long when you tug at his sleeve and ask him to read to you. He rolls his eyes, sighs heavily, and pulls out a book—though a small smile betrays him halfway through the first story.

The rest of Scarabia treats you like a tiny sibling. Some of the dorm members even start playing around with you or gently chasing you around the courtyard for laughs. The atmosphere is vibrant, warm, and full of cushiony comfort.

Scarabia doesn’t just babysit you—they adore you.

─────────────────────────

Pomefiore, known for its emphasis on beauty, grace, and discipline, was not exactly designed for childcare. Yet, as soon as Vil caught wind of your condition, he took it upon himself to ensure you were cared for to Pomefiore standards—which, of course, meant you would be the most well-dressed and well-behaved child in all of NRC.

“You may be a child for now, but that’s no excuse to run wild,” Vil said sternly as he adjusted the tiny, custom-made outfit he had designed for you—embroidered with subtle violets and perfectly tailored to your smaller frame. “A lapse in age is no excuse for a lapse in dignity.”

He was surprisingly good with you. Not overly doting, but attentive. Every meal was nutritious and artfully plated. Every nap was scheduled between soothing herbal tea and classical music in the background. Vil kept you engaged with picture books that had tasteful color palettes, and he always insisted on wiping your face after every snack with a soft handkerchief.

Sometimes, he’d sigh when you clung to him, resting your small head against his shoulder. But he never pushed you away. He’d simply hold you with a gentle firmness, murmuring, “You’re lucky you’re cute. Though I suppose that’s to be expected in Pomefiore.”

Epel, on the other hand, was… not as thrilled. He wasn’t bad with kids—he just wasn’t sure how to handle you. His country upbringing kicked in once he got past the shock, and he’d sometimes sneak you extra sweets or entertain you with silly faces and gestures Vil would scold him for.

“They're just a kid,” Epel muttered once as Vil reprimanded him for letting you run barefoot around the halls. “Shouldn’t they be allowed to have a little fun?” But even as he grumbled, Epel made sure you were never too far from his sight.

Rook treated the whole ordeal like some rare opportunity granted by fate. “Ah, our dear trickster has become even more precious in this petite form,” he’d say dramatically, crouching beside you to speak in soft tones. He was the most patient of the trio—amused by your curiosity, thrilled by your giggles, and more than happy to carry you around when you grew tired.

He’d hum old ballads to you, completely serious, as if serenading a noble in disguise.

There was a calm rhythm to your days in Pomefiore. The dorm members made sure you were safe, clean, and gently cared for. And even when Vil insisted on posture drills and hand-washing rituals, he still tucked you in at night with the quiet pride of someone who didn’t know how to express affection except through precision.

─────────────────────────

The moment Crowley settled your toddler self in Ignihyde, Idia, of course, panicked. Not because he didn’t care, but because this was way outside his comfort zone. "A kid? Here? In my dorm? What if they touch my figurines?! What if they drool on the keyboard?!"

Eventually, after some encouragement from Ortho, he awkwardly ventures out of his room to see you—standing in the middle of the Ignihyde hallway in an oversized hoodie, blinking up at him.

You wave. He freezes.

"...They're kinda cute."

Despite his anxiety, Idia takes good care of you in his own way. He sets up a comfy corner in his room filled with plushies, distracts you with a kid-friendly video game with Ortho, and even gives you a tablet to run drawing apps and cartoons. He talks to you like any game character would to a baby NPC, interacting with you as if you have preset responses and reactions.

Ortho, of course, becomes your babysitter #1. He reads you stories, checks your vitals, and even plays hide-and-seek at slow speeds so you can win. The rest of Ignihyde? Mostly confused. They're not used to visitors—especially tiny ones—but they adapt quickly, always offering you something to distract yourself with whenever you approach them, so they could go back to doing whatever they wanted to.

─────────────────────────

No one in Diasomnia was particularly shocked when you got turned into a baby; strange magical occurrences were practically the norm around this school. What did surprise everyone was how quickly the entire dorm fell into sync taking care of you.

Malleus was delighted. “Child of man, you’re even smaller than usual,” he’d say, beaming. He would speak to you in an oddly formal but gentle tone, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you through misty halls. His stories about Briar Valley fairy tales might be a bit long-winded for a child, but his soothing voice made you drowsy all the same.

Lilia took over your care like it was second nature. He hummed lullabies from ancient times, cooked suspicious meals that Malleus forbade you from eating, and jokingly encouraged you to ‘practice your dagger form’ using butter knives (which was quickly vetoed by Sebek).

Sebek, torn between duty and panic, kept trying to salute you like you were a visiting dignitary. “You, tiny human, must not—! I mean—you should not toddle into Malleus-sama's room with muddy shoes! Respect the Young Master’s halls!” He kept insisting on reading you Briar Valley etiquette books. You fell asleep halfway through page one.

Silver, dependable as ever, carried you around when you got tired. You fell asleep on his shoulder more than once, his calm aura a comforting presence. He read you animal tales with a soft smile, occasionally nodding off beside you.

Other Diasomnia members kept a respectful distance but left you with trinkets you could play around with.

Under their collective care, you felt like royalty—cradled in a dorm where ancient power met tender affection.

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meenaxskz · 16 days ago

Text

you lost the handcuffs keys (bf!bangchan x reader)

drabble | bf!bangchan x reader au genre: light smut (just in case…but mostly crack) | crack warnings: mature suggestive content | language Summary: chan finally lets you take control in bed. you bring out the fluffy pink handcuffs and have the night of your life until it ends and you realize… you lost the keys. a/n : omg i know i vanished again i'm so sorry life’s been lifing but i promise i’m alive!! and actually working on a long hyunjin series 👀 you’ll see what i mean soon hehe. in the meantime, here’s a little chan x reader so you know i haven’t evaporated lol

tonight was your moment.

your villain arc. your dom debut.

chan looked up at you all smug and shirtless and said “i’ll let you be in charge tonight” and you said bet. you meant it with your whole chest.

you straddled him, whispered filthy things, and whipped out your secret weapon:

fluffy pink handcuffs.

he blinked.

you said “just trust me”

he said “okay babe”

you cuffed him to the headboard, kissed down his chest, and ruined him for like an hour straight. he moaned. whined. begged. called you “ma’am” at one point (he denies it now).

and now it’s over…

you flop next to him, smug, breathless, glowing. he smiles at you, wrists still cuffed, all blissed out and ruined.

“okay” he’s panting “you can uncuff me now”

you reach for the keys. and pause. then check again.

“uhh…”

he raises an eyebrow “...what.”

“don’t panic” you say immediately. too fast. too suspicious.

“WHY WOULD I PANIC”

you sit up. open the drawer. then the other drawer. then under the bed. you pull the blanket off the bed. check under his thigh.

nothing.

“babe?” he watches you flip over a pillow aggressively “WHERE ARE THE KEYS”

“I DON’T KNOW”

“WHAT”

“I DON’T KNOWWWWWW” you scream fully flailing now “I HAD THEM AND THEN I DIDN’T AND I THINK I KICKED THEM INTO THE VOID”

he stares at you. full blown handsome disappointment.

“y/n” his voice calm but deeply scary “if you don’t uncuff me in the next five minutes i’m going to sue.”

you fake a laugh “for what??”

“improper horny procedure”

“okay no. no no no. we can fix this”

20 minutes later:

he’s still cuffed. still sweaty.

you’ve now tried:

a bobby pin

a paperclip

googling “how to pick handcuffs”

threatening the handcuffs verbally

blaming him for looking too hot and “distracting you”

“i’m gonna start crying” chan mutters “i can’t feel my left shoulder”

“shhh” you say, digging through the drawer again “i found something that might work”

“...what is that”

“...strawberry lube.”

he goes silent.

“i’ve watched macgyver. i got this.” he’s sweating.

“why do we have strawberry lube”

“...it smells good?”

“that is not…” he starts then exhales “FINE. FINE JUST GET ME OUT”

you lube the inside of the cuffs like a crazy person. he’s watching you. deadpan.

arms still cuffed. thighs still spread. dick still out.

it slides off. you shriek: “OH MY GOD I’M A GENIUS”

he sits up. rubs his wrists. squints at you.

“…don’t be mad” you whisper.

he leans forward slowly. grabs your waist. throws you onto the bed. you scream

“you’re not allowed to be in charge for at least six months”

“but babe. i freed you.!”

“...with lube��

you smile “i problem solved”

he groans “you’re banned”

“...but i already ordered a leash?”

“NO”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

1K notes · View notes

pedgito · 2 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 | Jesse (TLOU) x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

summary | Anger finds you both in a moment of weakness.

author's note | Young Mazino's portrayal of Jesse needs to be studied. They plucked that man straight out of the game. Anyways, the girlies and I had a visceral reaction to his outburst last night and I had to fulfill my duties.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, angry!jesse, dom/sub elements, public sex, brief mention of injury and an attack, angst and tense arguments, vague backstory this is mostly pwp, taunting, unprotected piv, spit as lube, i know this man fucks nasty, that is all <3

word count — 3.3k

The way silence consumed him was terrifying.

Your patrol had gone awry. A simple check in with base and a quick sweep had swiftly turned into a fight for your life, neither of you at fault but an unwillingness to admit both of you could have avoided the situation altogether.

The night was all-consuming, swarming around him in the dark and shaded protection of the stables.

He had been off his game admittedly, running on a few hours of sleep the past few days and may have missed a checkpoint or two on the way to the patrol area, but you couldn’t be angry with him – the area was always quiet, never gave anyone issues, it was safe.

Until it wasn’t.

You fell asleep during watch, something both of you were guilty of from time to time, but you never slipped too far into deep sleep, constantly on edge. But, with Jesse’s head leaning against your left hip while you had nestled up in the small alcove of the window, it was inevitable.

“We don’t talk about it,” you coax him into secrecy, watching as he slowly bandages the gash on your hand, his jaw set as he remains quiet, eyes flickering up to look at you briefly.

“Tommy should know,” Jesse says eventually, a stickler for rules and the distinct line of command that was unofficially set for the people running patrol—Jesse had become one of Tommy’s most-trusted leaders outside of him and his brother Joel.

It went against everything Jesse stood for—lies, he hated lying.

“They’re dead,” you remind him, “crisis averted, problem solved.”

“You think they’ll take you off patrol, don’t you?” Jesse pries, tying up the bandage so tight it makes you wince, but you know it was all in an effort to control the bleeding.

“The last kid I was with got bit and they took me off patrol for two months,” you retort back with a tinge of anger, “I’ve spent eight months building trust with them, proving I could lead just like you, but I can’t control some eighteen year old kid because he thinks he fuckin’ knows everything?” Jesse knew vaguely of the situation, knowing himself that the kid would be a problem, but less likely to disobey under Jesse’s command.

“It was a test,” you tell him, “I failed—I finally get a chance to do something I feel comfortable with again and we get ambushed, I’m injured—and they—he…he almost,”

“Hey,” Jesse lowers his voice, softer.

You hated it. You hated the pity.

You and Jesse had an unspoken understanding, even if you weren’t really friends.

You didn’t hang out with him outside of patrol, didn’t seek him out in the crowd during town parties and dinners, whatever connection you had with him remained outside the boundaries of Jackson.

You didn’t know how he ended up in Jackson, you’ve never spoken to his family or friends. You were reclusive, preferred being on your own. Joel had found you stealing from the kitchen, a stray with nowhere to go, a fearful look in your eyes as Joel had rangled you up and hauled you to his brother, presenting him with the problem.

You. You were the problem.

You’ve been proving yourself ever since, trying to match up to Jesse.

“I don’t need you to coddle me,” you snapped at him, his fingers still lingering on the back of your palm as he examined his work, watching the tinge of blood seep through the bandage.

Being vulnerable in front of anyone, let alone Jesse, was completely off the table.

The raiders had forced it out of you and now—well, you had nowhere to hide.

“I’m not keeping your fuckin’ secrets,” Jesse barks, though his voice is low.

“Fine, go tell Tommy how you were being careless,” you challenge him, “skip a couple checkpoints—no biggie, it doesn’t matter,” you shake your head in annoyance as he turns his head and looks away from you, “you were nodding off the entire ride there, you know?”

“Does anyone ever tell you how irritating you can be?” Jesse asks, head snapping back to look at you and you smile in amusement, letting out a bitter laugh.

“Come on, let me hear it,” you taunt him, “tell me how Tommy did me a favor by taking me in, how I’m surviving on borrowed time, how much you can’t fucking stand me—oh, but you sure do love to mope about Dina when you’re fighting because really, who am I gonna tell? Am I only safe to be around whenever we’re outside of Jackson? Is it because everyone still looks at me like I’m an outsider?”

You couldn’t explain how long this had been building between you and Jesse, the inevitable outburst, thankful for an empty stable and sleeping horses, all of Jackson tucked safely in their beds while you wanted nothing more than to run.

Especially with the way Jesse was looking at you now.

“I think your refuse to trust anyone,” Jesse counters and your heart sinks in an instant, “I think all that matters to you is trying to prove people that you’re impenetrable, like you don’t have a weakness—”

You scoff, sliding off of the workbench Jesse had initially crowded you against, his pack still laying unzipped and strung open but he wasn’t letting you off that easy, his hand curling tight around your bicep to yank you back, your hand coming up quickly to counter his grab.

But, Jesse was skilled in hand to hand combat, so his counter comes just as quick, squeezing and twisting your arms up so tight that you’re immobile, stuck under his heavy gaze as you both breath into each other’s space.

“I never would have let him go that far,” Jesse admits, “and I know you were scared, but—”

“I wouldn’t have let him,” you challenge him, a stark reminder of your strength—Jesse could admit that, as unwilling as you were to appear human or show any tangible emotion, you could handle yourself in a life or death situation, you had a survival instinct that was vital in the current state of the world, “I let him touch me because it gave me an opening, not because I was scared,”

It was a lie, even Jesse could see through it.

–

Jesse had overpowered one of the two men that had attempted to ambush you on patrol while the other man had you held down, preparing to indulge in a lot more than just murder.

This man was so much stronger and the fight with the other assailant had led Jesse outside, his grunts echoing in your ear alongside the stiff and deafening crack of his fist against skin and bone.

You’re growling behind gritted teeth as his knee digs into your back, the deft sound of a belt unbuckling before a hand is diving under your jeans, giving you an opening as the attacker’s head bows and you rip off his ear with your teeth, an echo of a blood-curdling scream lets out before your hearing goes quiet and then rings as a bullet strikes him dead center, right through his skull.

Your eyes were wide with fear for only a brief second and the look of instant pity that Jesse had on his face was something you never wanted to witness again—but, there it was again.

–

Your lips pull into a thin line as you attempt to shrug him off, but he isn’t letting you go.

“What if I hadn’t shot him?” Jesse asks, eyes half-lidded as he stares you down.

Your eyes search his own for a moment, finding that his grip loosens as he tries to decipher whatever emotion you were currently feeling, but he is far too late when he finds that it was only anger, your hand rearing back to strike him, a slap that sounds inside the stables with a heavy crack, pulling back from him in an instant as his face refuses to change.

“Yeah, get angry,” Jesse encourages, “you wanna do it again?”

Part of you wants too, but you understand what he’s trying to do.

You needed an outlet, you didn’t have one, and he was willing to be that for you.

Your bottom lip temples slightly and Jesse nods, almost taunting.

When you finally do, feeling the rage in your chest swell as he goads you on, raising your hand back to slap him again, his hand is already there, stopping you in an instant.

There’s a split second, fearing whatever words were about to spill from his mouth before you decide to act, begging for any escape from this conversation, you silence him with your own mouth.

Your hand twists into his hair as you pull him to you, against you, his weight guiding you against the wall behind you as your bodies thump against hit, breathing hot and heavy into his mouth as split his lips with your tongue, hearing him groaning softly as his grip on your wrist loosens before trading for your waist, holding you tight against the wall as you were pinned between him and the hard surface of wood.

It was inevitable.

This—you and him.

It had been building, creeping in the shadows whenever you two would share a look or a touch.

You didn’t like complicated—and Jesse had that in droves.

Still, the silent gasps that escape him as your other hand shifts into his hair and tugs alongside the other, tethers you to him.

You want it to hurt. Deeply.

Not him necessarily—but the connection, this moment.

Because that would make it easier to hate yourself for wanting him so badly, even if it was nothing but a distraction or a means of avoidance.

He was apprehensive for a moment, almost pushing you away from him, but something in him relaxes as you moan softly into his mouth, less defensive as he presses the hard, solidness of his chest against your own and reciprocates the kiss with a sudden enthusiasm.

Jesse kissed like someone holding something back—he always has, even in arguments.

It wasn’t to be secretive or manipulated, it was because he was controlled.

Everything he did was a calculation.

You press him harder, push him further, feeling his tongue drift over your split lip from the earlier attack, faintly aware of the sting as he lapped at the small drop of blood that had collected there.

He groans low in his chest as you break the kiss, resting your forehead to his as your eyes peer into his own, wordless but aching to speak—you do that for him, “Dina?”

“Off,” he says simply, knowing full-well what that meant—he was just as eager for distraction.

Jesse focuses on you quietly, hand rising until his thumb could brush across your cheek.

You flinch—not from the touch, but from the tenderness.

You preferred the violence—his instinct for softness with you wasn’t welcomed.

“Don’t be sweet to me,” you whisper, shaking your head with the weight of your words.

His jaw tightens and his nostrils flare slightly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek once more before curling under your chin, lifting your face so you have no choice but to look at him, your eyes frantically searching his face.

“I’m not,” he says, like a growl—and you can feel the heat in his tone, strangled by his own instinct to control himself.

You kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Words complicate things.

Words make things real.

But this?

It was instinct.

His mouth crashes into yours with a similar fervor, teeth knocking briefly. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp and enough blood to match your own, hearing him groan into your mouth, gripping your hips impossibly tighter as a hand spreads out over your ass, curling under your thigh as he hoists it up against his hip, his knees pressing into the wall to entrap you further, a fist landing a blow against the wall beside your head.

You grind down against the thigh slotted between your legs, chasing a desperate friction that seemed unattainable. Your hand threads around the collar of his jacket, yanking hard as you angle your hips against his and he grunts—short, rough—a sound that makes your stomach somersault.

"Soft? With you?" he mutters, breath hot as he drags his lips down the side of your throat. “Fucking impossible,”

Your jacket's shoved halfway down your arms, mirroring his own before your hands find his belt, tugging with impatient and shaky fingers. Jesse curses softly against your neck as his mouth trails until he can feel your pulse against his tongue, blindly tugging your jacket the rest of the way down before his hands move underneath your shirt, his palms curling against your sides as he squeezes the soft flesh under his grip.

You rip his belt from the loops and toss it aside, quickly shuffling his jeans down enough that he stops his movements against your neck to do the same, consuming your mouth to avoid the inevitable longing gaze, unbutton your jeans and slipping his hands under the fabric of your underwear, shoving the fabric down in one swift movement.

"Turn around," he demands in a low tone, voice sounding raw, frayed.

Jesse doesn’t offer much time to answer before he’s spinning you himself, your hands reaching behind you blindly to slip under the waistband of his underwear and push them down, hearing him grunt softly as your hand grazes his cock—hard and heavy in your hand but soft, his hand snaking around your neck to tilt your head back, catching a glimpse of the way his lips part at your touch, eyes closed.

His breath is heavy, labored. It matched your own.

Jesse pointedly catches your gaze as you let out a high pitched and breathy gasp as his finger squeezes around your neck, licking at the fingers of his empty hand before he spreads the makeshift lubrication from his saliva over your cunt, only partially surprised by how wet you already were.

When he enters you, it’s with no hesitation, no slowness, no apologies.

He was giving you exactly what you wanted.

You arch back against him, a harsh breath ripping from your throat as he sets a bruising rhythm, hands now gripping your wrists so tightly it borders on painful.

Perfect, you think.

He positions your hands above your head, forcing them to grab onto a hook nailed into the wall before he returns the pressure to your throat and silently forces your jeans further down until they’re pooling around your dirtied boots, snaking his hand around the inside of your thigh as he palmed at the flesh, greedy.

But you want it that way.

Angry and desperate, driven by pleasure and need.

“Fuck,” you gasp softly, a devastating slip-up.

“Shut up,” he seethes, “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word from you, got it?”

You nod quickly, eyes fluttering shut as you could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves, through his touches, the quick and sharp thrust of his hips as he fucked you into an inevitable submission against the wall of the stables, blearily aware that anyone could come in and catch you like this.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter.

Nothing mattered, really.

Jesse's thrusts grew more erratic, punctuated by the low growls that escaped his throat.

He was wrestling with something internally, almost animalistic.

The grip on your throat tightened slightly, your pulse thrumming under his touch. You pushed back against him harder, desperately and silently asking for more, go further, go harder.

“You were scared, I saw it,” he grunted, his breath hot against your ear, and you could only manage a fragmented whimper in response, “I still see it,”

You didn’t need words—your body spoke for you.

Each thrust drove him deeper into you, struggling to keep yourself quiet as you bit down on your bottom lip, already swollen from the earlier attack, but the pain was welcomed.

Your breath quickened, the sharp edge of your pleasure driven deeper with every merciless thrust. “I’m not scared,” you managed to breathe, defying his earlier order. Jesse's grip tightened in warning, a growl rumbling up from his chest.

“Fuckin’ liar,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.

The stables around you faded into nothing, a dark abyss, the only sound that mattered was the heavy thud of his body against yours and the way he filled you completely, stretched you out and kept you anchored to him.

He leaned closer, mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I see right through you,” he reminds you, “always tryin’ to prove somethin’—tough girl, unforgiving world, right?”

You growl in frustration, the heat of his words igniting something primal in you, “You don’t know me,” you hiss, but it only fuels him further as he drives into you harder, “no one does.”

“I know enough,” he taunts back, voice low and laced with a deep, dark pleasure.

Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, eventually divulging into a mess of limbs as Jesse leaned against you, pushing you up against the wall as he thrust into you, free hand slipping under your shirt to roam over your chest, squeezing harshly over the fabric holding your breasts in, feeling your nipples pebble underneath the fabric with a sick satisfaction that he barely even had to touch you to get you like this—breathless and needy.

The world around you faded to a dull thrum in your ears as Jesse continued his relentless pace, the friction between your bodies becoming the only thing that mattered until his thrusts faltered, feeling your orgasm creep in before quickly slipping away as his pace slows, but as if he heard your silent plea, his hand slips between your legs without a thought.

“That kid was never your fault,” Jesse tells you, feeling your chest lock up in fear, “it could have been any of us—and today, we’re alive, right?”

You nod, mouth hanging open as a broken sigh slips out, his fingers moving expertly over your swollen clit, “I won’t tell Tommy,” Jesse agrees, “but, you will.”

You both slip into a silence as your orgasms crest—a mingling of breaths, cheek against cheek as your cunt spasms and squeezes around him so tight he nearly chokes, slipping out of you hurriedly as his comes spills over his fist and against the back of your thigh as you heave in a charged breath, releasing it shakily.

After a moment, Jesse clears his throat, ripping off a fabric hidden inside his back before he approaches you, cleaning you up without a word as you examine him carefully, pulling up the layers of fabric with caution as his are hoisted up but hanging low on his hips, a remnant of what had just happened.

“I won’t lie to him,” Jesse explains, “but, you seem pretty good at that.”

He silently adjusts his jeans, re-looping his belt before he’s reaching for his jacket and backpack.

“This didn’t happen,” Jesse tells you, “tell him or not—but if he asks me, I’m not lying.”

Integrity was everything to Jesse, but this blip between you both seemed to be his exception.

You had a choice—but you weren’t sure if making the right one was even worth it.

“Jesse,” you called softly, the sound barely escaping your lips as he turned back, eyes sharp and calculating. He was such a puzzle—difficult, infuriating. You don’t know why the words slip out so easily or why you feel them so strongly, “thank you,” you tell him, his face softening slightly.

The charged essence of what had just transpired seemed to bind you to him even tighter now, even if unintentional. It was an unbreakable thread forged in desperation.

Unspoken, you were tethered whether you liked it or not.

“Let me know when you figure out what you’re thanking me for.”

Maybe it was for your life, maybe it wasn’t.

You weren’t sure if you even meant it.

#the last of us #tlou fic #the last of us fic #jesse tlou #jesse tlou x reader #jesse tlou x you #young mazino #x reader #reader #jesse tlou smut #my writing #fic: lie to me #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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kbwrites · 9 months ago

Text

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four?

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead.

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life?

“It’s me, (Y/N).” he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room.

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

“And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

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prlssprfctn · 3 months ago

Note

A fun little headcannon is that everyone believes Jason to prefer paperback and physical paper but he honestly doesn't care. Maybe it stems from his Robin days reading for hours in the manor library. Or how'd he always tell Bruce to write down the details of the case to solve it faster. Or even that they needed to have physical copies of each file in case the Batcomputer got hacked. It just stuck with Bruce and by extension everyone believes it.

But like he would totally love an eReader with how many books you can fit on it. Audio books are even better because he can listen to them anywhere. The man likes the stories people have to tell. How he consumes it isn't a concern. But of course he has a flare for dramatics so he plays into this misconception.

Steph: Jason, I know you'd prefer a physical book but I got a Kindle that you could use more than me.

Jason who already owns the newest model takes it and chucks it at the floor: Disgusting.

Tim at the Batcomputer: Why do we need to write up a report for Condiment King of all people. Its the third one this month!

Jason: Back in my day we would hand write each and every report.

Dick: No we didn't???

Jason magically pulling out a file cabinet with said case files.

Jason: Honestly we should start doing that again let me go ask Bruce.

Bruce: Honestly if you'd wait five more minutes someone would have come in as backup. You don't need to do everything on your own Hood.

Jason completely ignoring him because he's got books downloaded on his helmet.

Damian next to him knowing what Jason is up to because he did the exact same thing with Ra's.

YES, YES!

i think Jason loves paperback when it is his already favourite books, the ones he knows he loves and wants to annotate and explore — otherwise, he prefers to try books in e-version first. or borrow books from the library if he is in the mood. he strikes me as someone who loves supporting local libraries! plus, listens audio-books on missions and during work-outs, yep, yep.

do other family members have a wrong opinion in that in their minds because Bruce is the "heard my kid mentioning something once, now i think their whole personality evolves around this thing" type of parent sometimes? oh, fucking absolutely. does Jason love to play on the stereotype of "boomer" sibling? yeah— lol.

also, he is a type of kid who would remind the teacher about homework (i think he genuinely cared about this as a kid and didn't understand why everyone got mad, but now he knows WHY, and he will do it EVERYONE'S problem) and combined with him, writing reports on papers, i raise you this:

Bruce, tired by the end of the patrol: Had we discussed everything? Hadn't I forgotten something?

literally everyone but Jason, quickly: no, no, we are fine. ha-ha.

Jason, appearing behind them: well. actually. we all now should write our reports.

Bruce: oh, right.

Jason, smirking: here is mine, by the way. i wrote it while you are all was bickering.

Bruce: so competent! thank you, lad.

Other kids, fuming: -_-

also, the image of Jason blasting audio-books through his helmet is frying me. so, get this:

Dick: Jason is so suspiciously calm for the last few days! like, seriously. proud of him.

Tim: right? it is actually hilarious. Bruce was screaming at him yesterday, and Jason was just staring at him silently, no word, no remark... he was so quiet that Bruce instantly felt bad and apologised. like. master-tecnique. lol.

Jason, who was listening to audio-book all this time, and didn't even hear what Bruce said, just nodded when he started randomly hugging him and murmuring "my baby": whatever.

#— lie answering #jason todd #red hood #batman #dcu #dcu comics #dc universe #batfamily #bruce wayne #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake

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javierpena-inatacvest · 11 months ago

Text

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life.

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together.

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry.

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background.

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala.

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?”

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad.

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue.

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles.

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor.

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested.

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.”

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.”

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours.

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning.

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks.

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers.

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest.

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want.

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation.

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan.

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!”

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.”

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play.

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence.

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response.

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes.

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him.

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.”

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles.

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need.

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for.

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.”

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended.

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect?

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours.

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm.

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.”

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him.

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?”

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.”

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer.

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this.

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it.

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension.

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin.

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration.

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.”

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries.

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry.

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat.

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs.

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.”

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.”

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes.

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done.

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.”

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder.

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted.

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.”

“Call your dad? Why?”

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

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kaechu1 · 3 months ago

Note

Hear me out- Telemachus × Daughter of Polites reader, where they were best friends growing up and even partners later on, yet when Odysseus returns and not her dad, like many other kids/wives/families of Odysseus's crew she is very upset about it. And as a result she stops hanging around areas she knows Telemachus is due to the assumption all he'll talk about his dad, but add a fluff ending. I don't have a fluff ending planned so fell free to do whatever for it

Telemachus x polites's daughter! reader

note: i LOVE the idea of polites having a daughter please need more requests for this hc(or canon idk)

warning: mentioned of death, daddy issues? harassing, antinous (yes he gets his own warning), this takes place 'in hold them down' so be prepared, suitors being assholes, and I'm trying new style so tell me if you like it or not.

ENJOY!!

────────────🥞────────────

growing up without a father wasn't easy, especially if you know nothing about him and all you're stuck with is stories from other people.

people said he was a kind soul and he could make any one cheer up just by looking at them with his soft and caring smile, he didn't like solving the problem with his fits, but rather with his heart.

you always wished if you could meet your father, or at least seeing him for once, it really hurt you. but you didn't need to face that pain alone. not when you had your best friend by your side.

Telemachus.

you and Telemachus spend your whole life together. you were together at every moment, always talking and helping each other so it wasn't a shock when you too get together.

you mainly met each other when you were only 14, you were walking around in the forest, nothing just walking to clear your mind and that when bumped into him, you apologized for bumping into him and he did the same which ended with you both apologizing to each other for 10 minutes.

then you guys just sit down and start talking since both of you never really had any friends and that when you find out your fathers were friends before going to the war.

it was... refreshing. you finally found someone who suffers the same pain as you. no you definitely do not wish for anyone to go through what you had but it was refreshing finding someone who could understand what you're going through.

and ever since then you guys became best friends. you would always be together, no matter what. you promise each other that.

you're upset about something? Telemachus would be there to comfort you.

Telemachus upset about the suiters? you'd be there to be by his side to help him.

you two only had each other and you appreciate it, he even made you meet his mom which absolutely adores you. she always treats you like a daughter and you appreciate it.

so was it really shocking when you and Telemachus got together? even the queen herself saw it coming and was very happy that her son got to be with someone like you, someone caring and loving and will make sure to love him for the rest of their lives.

he proposes to you when you both reach nineteen, you were hanging as always in the garden watching the sunset like you always used to do, nothing unusual except the fact that Telemachus seems extra nervous today.

"Telemachus, you seem extra nervous today. is there something bothering you?" you said softly trying to ease his nervousness as you rest your hand on his shoulder, but that only triggers him more as she flinches and turns red when you touch him.

"n-no! I'm completely fine, i don't know what you're talking about.." no matter what he tries he can never hide his emotion and nervousness, especially around you. you know each other way too long for you to read him like an open book.

"is it the suitor again? let me guess, antinous? this man never seems to know his place-" you said with anger in your voice, you hated that 'antinous'. he's way too prideful, and never miss a chance to mess with Telemachus which you hate so much. but your words were cut off short.

"no no it's not him! well, he's still as annoying as ever but he's not the reason why I am nervous.." you can hear a little panic in his voice at the first of his sentences but he quickly takes a deep breath as he starts talking softer now.

"then what is it Telemachus? you can tell me anything you know? I'm here for you." you smiled softly trying to ease his nervousness which seemed to work as he sighed deeply and looked straight into your eyes

"t-there's something I've been meaning to tell you... but promise me you won't panic.." he said as he looked away again scratching his neck nervously, you can tell he's blushing by the way his ears turn red.

you chuckled quietly at his words. he was way too cute for his own good "okay i promise, no panicking just tell me already" you said as you pat on his back trying to smooth his mood.

Telemachus sighs as his gaze returns to your face again, then he takes your hands as he stands up and helps you stand on your feet. he looks into your hands for a few seconds before his gaze turns to your face again.

"for the longest time i had no one besides me but you, you always light up my days no matter how shitty they are, you were always there for me when i needed you never once left my side, and for that i appreciate you. to be honest, i don't think i was able to make it this far without you, and i don't think i ever want you to leave my side" he said as hold your hand more tightly.

"Telemachus..." your voice was more like a whisper as you said his name, words cannot describe what you're feeling right now, he always tells you about how he's happy you're here with him, but something about his tone tells you it isn't like any friendly remake he had ever said.

his words were deeper.

he then kneels down before you, still holding your hands in his as he looks deeply into your eyes with the biggest grin you have ever seen on his face.

"so would you do me the Honor and stay beside me forever, but not like a friend. like a queen. my queen."

you were struck by his words. did he just propose to you? you were still shocked as you heard his words. you? as his queen? it felt like a dream comes true. you would be terribly lying if you said you didn't feel for him. how couldn't you? he was sweet, caring, brave and everything any woman would ever ask for.

Telemachus starts getting a little nervous noticing your silence, but he quickly notices tears starting to gather in your eyes.

"yes! i would love to be your queen Telemachus!"

you said with tears in your eyes as you smile at him. he quickly stands on his feet again as he cups your face as he wipes your tears away as you both laugh softly.

"don't cry my love, this is not a view fitting for a queen" he said between laughing as you chuckles at his remake. he quickly holds you in his arms as he sweep you off your feet and starts spinning you around. the garden was filling with but your laugh and happiness

you wish you could stay like this forever, with you in his arms and nothing but happiness.

but everything was about to crash out.

"do you really have to go..." you said quietly as you stare at your spouse.

it was about time Telemachus decided to go on search for his father, and you very much didn't like it. what if he didn't return like his father? or worse what if he died?

"my love we've talked about this.. i need to do this" he said as he holds her hand tightly, he too didn't wanna leave and leave you and his mom alone. but this was necessary.

"what if you didn't come back?" you were trying to change his mind these past few days with no luck, and now you stood at the shore as his crew prepared for the trip.

"i will come back, i promise. even if i had to fight monsters or gods , I'll get back to you. i promise" he said softly as he kissed your cheek before resting his forehead on yours.

"I'll be back, wait for me. okay?"

"i will" you said as finally goodbye before his crew called for him. he gave you one final peak on the lips before he started running to his crew.

you just stared at him as he ran and boarded his ship.

his gaze quickly returned to where you were standing as he waved at you, you smiled as you waved back seeing as his ship start moving deeper into the sea as you stood there and saw him drifting away.

as you return to the palace you start walking around, trying to clear your mind for your thoughts, but ohh boy...

"well, well, well, if it isn't the princess herself, here all alone without your prince i see? what did he leave you like his father did to his mother? like father like son i see" you heard a voice coming from behind you.

you don't need to turn to know who owns that voice. of course it was antinous.

"what do you want now antinous? I'm not in the mood for your nonsense." you said firmly as you heard his footsteps getting closer to you.

"what's wrong princess? i was just trying to cheer you up, where's that kind and precious princess that is always so sweet to the point where everyone is sicking with your sweetness." he said mockingly as he stands in front of you as if he is blocking your way.

"I'm only kind to those who deserve it, and you are really good at making it hard to be nice with you." said eliana firmly as she looked at him with fury in her eyes, this man never missed a chance to mess with her and Telemachus. he never knew his place..

"oh come on princess, is that how you're talking to your guests? i guess you're not a fitting princess" he said mockingly, he knows what to say and what to do to get under your skin but you refuse to give the pleasure of it.

"is that all you wanted to say? cuz i don't have time for you, so if you don't mind moving, not all of us spend their day sitting here and doing nothing" you said firmly as you see the grin on his face slowly disappear and replace with pissed face. you can barely stoo yourself from smirking knowing that you ended under his skin instead.

"listen here princess-" antinous said as his shit eating grin found it way back to his face as he got even closer to you now but you refuse to move or showing him that he scared you. but before he can do anything else he gets cut off short.

"leave her alone antinous!"

as you look behind antinous you could see the queen standing there looking at him with the same look she gave to every suitor here. hatred.

Antinous scoff as he looks behind him at the queen standing there with a demanding look. he sighs before looking at you again. "we're not done here yet princess." he said before he walked past you and to the other side of the palace .

"are you alright my dear?" you can hear the queen's softer voice as she starts walking towards you checking if antinous hurt you in any way.

you turn your gaze back to her as you see her soft smile and gentle eyes, you couldn't help but smile back. "yea yea, im fine thank you mother, i don't think he'd have stopped if you didn't show up"

you can hear the queen chuckle a little at your words. she was a mother like you and always made sure to get away from those suitors and take care of you when Telemachus wasn't around, and you appreciate her so much.

"don't mind him my dear, he can never do anything to you, I'll make sure of that" she said gentle as she put her hand on your back comfortably as she guild you to the other side of the palace away from all the suitors.

(tbh idk how long his mission takes and i tried to search but got nothing so i made this up)

it's been a month since Telemachus went on his mission, and since then you always sit or stand close to his mother door guarding it. mostly the nights when you couldn't sleep, you would always take your lyre and try to entertain yourself while making sure no one of the suitors come close.

of course you couldn't fight or do anything but whenever they see you there they just scoff before returning to where they come from. you might not know how to fight, but you're not afraid to try. even if you believe that violence was never the answer and you prefer talking rather than fighting.

you know these men don't have the heart to even understand your words so you never bother trying with them.

after Penelope arranges the challenge about that however can string the king old bow and shoot the arrow through twelve axes will be the new king you knew something was about to happened.

these men can barely do anything themselves let alone stringing a bow, not any bow. the king Odysseus bow.

after the Penelope returns to her room, you decide to take a walk to the garden. clearing your mind, after all there's no need to worry anymore. because he's coming back.

your lover is finally back from his long mission and will be back in your arms soon. You couldn't wait anymore, after finally waiting and enduring the suitors attempt to harass you and the queen, he's finally back.

After a few seconds in the garden you decide maybe it's time for you to go back to your room and get prepared to meet your spouse after a month of not seeing him.

as you start walking down the aisle you hear the suitors talking but you didn't pay them any attention until you heard antinous talking loudly.

"haven't you noticed who's missin'? don't you know the prince is not around?" as you hear antinous words you stop in your track, you know every time this man mentioned Telemachus it's either to insult him or to hurt him.

you hide behind one of the pillars as you continue to listen to him, trying to find out what he's planning to do this time.

"i heard he's on a diplomatic mission, and i heard today he comes back to town so," he continues saying as he stands at one of the tables to get everyone attention as if wasn't on him in the first place.

"i say we gather near the beaches. i say we wait till he arrives. then, when he ducks his ship, we can breach it. let us leave now today we can strike him and hold them down" he said with the same evil grin on his face.

you were struck by his words. they're planning on killing Telemachus? you know antinous was crazy, hell even stupid. but you never thought he'd go as far as to kill the prince..

then you start hearing him telling them about how they are going to kill him. hold him down. slit his throat. break his bones. turn him into pieces as they throw his body in the ocean.

you try to cover your mouth so stop your gasps, this can't be real. you need to go to Telemachus before they can reach the beaches and tell him, but what about the queen-

your thoughts were cut off as you heard antinous talking again.

"and when the deed is done, the queen will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door, stop us from taking her love and more"

you almost let out loud gasp revealing your hiding spot as you heard antinous talking about how he wanted to break the queen door and assaulting her, making her choose a king against her well.

"and who knows, if we're lucky enough we'll get the princess too" antinous says with the same loud tone as if he had no fear of who could hear him.

your heart almost stopped when you heard him mentioning you, not only he wanted to kill your spouse and assaulting the queen. now he wants you too. what a sick dog.

Before your thoughts could go any further suddenly the sound of antinous voice was cut off, and as you look again to check what's happening there when you stood shocked.

an arrow was in antinous throat as he's body fell dead on the ground. as your eyes quickly gaze around the room you saw an old man wearing a cloak holding the king Odysseus bow. but how did he string this??

before you can get a clear answer the chaos started, as the screams of the suitors and dead bodies dropping everywhere, you know you needed to get away as soon as possible.

but before you could even make a run out of the room you felt someone yanking you back by your hair as you felt a blade to your throat.

"look what do we have here, what the little princess is doing here." one of the suitors said close to your ears as he pressed the knife harder into your neck.

"maybe we could make use of that, with the princess with us, i think the king would surrender" he smirks as he speaks in your ears, but his words shock your core.

the king? so the person who shot antinous and string the bow was Odysseus all along? but how? does that mean...

before you could think any further you felt the suitor dragging you by your hair to somewhere and before you know it he dragged you to a room filled with suitors and weapons.

"brothers look at who i got here, she'll help us make the king surrender, unless he wants the future princess of ithaca turning into pieces" he said as he throws you harshly into the ground, making her hiss in pain as she hit her face hard to the ground.

"do worry princess, we won't hurt you much, well unless the king didn't listen to us." said another suitor as he took a fist of her hair making her look at them again.

"you're nothing but a bunch of pigs, you think you'll get away with this? the king will paint the whole palace with your filthy bloods, just you wait.." you hiss at them with hatred and fury in your eyes and voice.

they laughed at your words but you know soon the only noises they would be making is screaming and pleading for mercy.

"ohh you're really naive princess, let's see what the king is going to do when-"

"BEHIND YOU!!"

before the other suitor yell you see a spare going through the man that was as he draws his final breath before he drops dead besides you, and as you look at the person who did this your eyes feels with hope. Telemachus.

"leave. her. alone."

he said in a dangerous tone as he pointed his spear at the other suitors. but they didn't seem to care about his threat one of them grab you and puts a sword to your neck.

"be careful young prince, we don't play fair." he said as he smirked as he pressed the sword to your neck. before he looked at the other suitors.

"STOP!" scream Telemachus at them as he saw the suitor holding his spouse with a sword that started to slowly cut the skin in her neck drawing a little bit of blood.

"brothers, we got company and he made a grave mistake, left the weapons room unlocked and now they're ours to take. brothers come and arm yourselves! there's a chance for us to win! we can still defend the king if we all attack the prince!!"

"NO!!" you scream as you see the men attacking your spouse as he tries to fight them but fails since they're more and he was alone against them. you saw them as they held him down to the ground.

"let the king obey our commands! cause if he won't I'll break the kid's hands" said the suitor as he stood before Telemachus looking down at him with a wild smirk on his face.

"got him!" said the suitor but before he could have his sweet victory a sword stab him through his chest. the other suitors stood shocked as they saw the sense before them, and saw the suitor trying to mumble something but was cut off by the person who stab him.

"mercy? mercy!?" you heard as the suitor dropped dead as you saw Odysseus standing behind him holding a bow now, he's the same man who shot antinous and he's holding the same bow, that's definitely Odysseus.

he then started shoting the suitors one by one as he started with the one holding you, he shot an arrow that was so near to your face but instead it stabbed the man behind you right in the eye which made him drop his sword as he lay on the ground dead.

you fail to the ground as you step away from the dead body. Telemachus takes his chance as he quickly runs to you as he kneels beside you. "my love, are you alright? did they hurt you?" you can hear the worries and fear in his voice as he starts checking on you.

as you saw him you quickly threw yourself at him clinging into his tunic, he didn't waste anytime as he held you closer sitting you on your feet. "we need to get you out of here now!" he said as he holds your hand before taking his spear as he starts taking you away from all the chaos as he takes you to an empty room away from everything.

"you stay here and don't come out at any cost, until i come back you'll lock yourself here okay?" he said as he held your face in his hands as he tried to wipe away the blood on your face.

"but Telemachus what about you? you were about to die right there!" you said as you were still clinging to his clothes as if he would disappear if you let go. you didn't wanna risk him going out and getting killed, what if the suitors got him again? what if the king shot him not knowing it's his son?

"I'll be fine, just promise me you'll stay here, please" he said with pleading in his eyes, you know he can't risk losing you and you should trust him but you couldn't help but worry.

"okay.. just please do die.." you said as you slowly let go of his tunic looking at him with teary eyes. "i won't, i promise" he said as he kissed your forehead before letting go of your hand as he left the room allowing you to close it behind him.

after a while of locking yourself in the room, everything gets quiet, no more screaming, no sounds of arrows crashing into the bodies and walls, that when you become sure that everything ends.

you slowly open the door as you start looking around. no one, only blood and dead bodies. then you remember your spouse and get worried.

you start running around the palace trying to look for Telemachus but as you get into the throne room you found him.

but you didn't move. he wasn't alone.

he was there, hugging with Odysseus, his father. they were hugging and crying and that twisted something inside you.

Odysseus is the only one who shows up, but that couldn't be right? 600 men and only one to come back? you try to lie to yourself, not to believe what you didn't wanna believe, but in the end it was clear.

he was the only one to come back.

you stand away staring at them more than you'd like to admit, you didn't even notice that they broke the hug as Odysseus gaze turned to you.

Telemachus followed his father's gaze as it landed on you, he smiled as he saw you. but his smile slowly faded as he saw your expression. then he realized what she must be thinking.

Telemachus was about to open his mouth but before any words could come out, you turn around and start running away from the senses before you.

Telemachus tried to scream your name but you didn't listen as you were focusing on getting as far away from here.

Odysseus just looked at his son and then to where this woman was standing, he knows that this woman meant something to his sons and he noticed their matching rings.

"oh gods.. i need to go after her" said Telemachus as he let go of his father as he was about to chase after his spouse before Odysseus stops him.

"what's happening here?"

you were crying your eyes dry as you sat behind a large tree, you couldn't face that fact that the person you've been waiting for your entire life was just a lie..

you were sitting under a tree in the forest near the palace, the same place you and Telemachus first met. but you didn't wanna see him, the last thing you wanted was seeing him now.

you lived your whole life hoping and praying, waiting 20 years on someone you never and would never know, he'll always be the person you always but never meant to see.

your father.

see Telemachus with his father crash you even more, why are you jealous? you have no right to be jealous. just because your hopes were false doesn't mean Telemachus doesn't deserve it. you were being selfish.

why? why would the gods make you hope and wait on someone, making you pray every day for his return, wasting your years hoping and pleading only for him to not come?

you understand life was never fair and it doesn't always give you what you wanted, but why? and why's she crying for something she never even had in the first place?

as you continue crying you start hearing a voice calling, you know who that voice belongs to but refused to answer. no you want to be alone.

Telemachus continues calling your name but there's no use. he knows how hard it must has been for her, after all he was the only thing she has, or at least the thought of him.

as he continues walking he suddenly starts hearing soft sobs coming from behind a tree as he gets close to it. and when he finally gets there he sees her. he sees his love, his light, his soul and the only thing that ever matters to him. his queen, he sees her sitting on the ground crying and sobbing softly looking fergal and weak..

"my love?" said Telemachus as he started walking closer to her as he kneels beside her. she was digging her face in her knees cover her whole face as her grip around herself looked almost hurtful.

"my love.. it's me, Telemachus.." he said as he touched her shoulder gently trying to ease her tension but she didn't even move, he was getting more worried now.

"listen love i know it's hard for you, you've been waiting for a long time only for it to.." Telemachus cut himself mid sentence, he knows that this is the last thing she wanted to hear right now. as he opens his mouth to talk again she speaks first.

"i have no right to be upset.. i didn't have him in the first place to lose him, i didn't have a family so I don't have a right to complain when it's gone." you said with the same broken and weak voice, you hated it, you didn't want anyone to ever see you like this, specially Telemachus.

"that's not right." said Telemachus softly as she put his hand on yours trying to make you feel his presence. "you always had a family, me! I was and I'll always be here for you and my mom too, you always had a family and home, yes it might hurt that you never get to mean your father but that doesn't mean you don't have a family, I'll be your family, and so is my mom and everyone in the palace. it's your home [y/n]"

he said as he started taking your hand away from your face, you didn't try to stop him. he held your face in his hands as he looked at you with the same adoration he always looked at you with.

"I'm here my love, always and forever. do you hear me? I'm never going to leave no matter what." he said as he starts wiping your tears away with his gentle hands. you couldn't help but throw yourself at him hugging him tightly as you hide your face in his chest. he didn't waste any time holding you tighter as if you'd run again if he let you go.

you stayed like this for a moment before he spoke again breaking the silence. " i told my father about your dad.. he said he died a hero and he'll always remember him, and also want me to give you something" he said as you guys pulled away a little, you were a little calm now.

he then held your hands before he takes something out of his pocket as he puts it in your hands.

it was a red ribbon, it looked damaged and even old. but it looked as if someone was taking care of it even with how damaged it looked.

"my father said that it was your father's he used to wear it and now you deserve to have it" you felt tears building up in your eyes again but you smiled.

"it's beautiful.. I'll make sure to take care of it." you said before you wiping your tears away as you held the only thing left of your father in your hands.

Telemachus then takes it from you as he takes your hand and starts wrapping it around your hand.

"also my father wants to meet you, he said he didn't wanna miss anything about his son and he wanted to mean the future queen of ithaca" said Telemachus as he wink at you making you chuckles at his remakes as he wrapped the whole ribbon around your arm.

"then i guess we should be going, it's not a good idea to keep the king of ithaca waiting for any longer" you said as you try to stand up but Telemachus pulled you down again making you fall into his arms.

"nah, he's with my mom right now.i guess they need their time, so how about we stay here for a while my queen?" he said as he grins at you making you laugh softly.

"as you wish, my king" you said before cupping his face softly kissing every corner of his face.

even if you never knew your real family, it doesn't matter. you have Telemachus and that's all that matters to you.

note: the end is kinda rushed sorry... but this takes me so long and i needed to finish it, i may make another version because i had two ideas for this scenario soooo maybe who knows . anyway i hope y'all like it!!!

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