#why think about finals when i can draw them instead

[traveler-at-heart]

A redhead a day (makes the doctor act gay)

Request by @natromilf - Surgeon!R, who is known for her precision, but acts all clumsy around Natasha.

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Everyone makes mistakes.

Though some people can’t afford them. Like  you, and your line of work. One wrong move can lead to a deadly result.

It almost mirrors the life of the agents you operate on. Bad intel, a wrong turn, an ambush and the whole world can go to shit.

Which is why you take your job so seriously.

If their mission goes wrong, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces and put them back together.

That’s what you trained your whole life for and you were proud to serve SHIELD and the Avengers

Too bad med school didn’t teach you how to keep from acting like a fool when a pair of beautiful green eyes set on you.

The first time you see Natasha, you barely have time to process it was her. The Black Widow, who seems to be visiting someone, instead of looking for medical attention.

Still, you are intrigued by her presence (it was known she���d rather deal with any injuries alone). So much so, that you keep looking at her until you crash against the elevator doors.

“Shit” you mutter, your face burning up with embarrassment.

One of the interns rushes to your side, but her movements only draw further attention to you, and you sigh.

“All good, Elena” you say, hoping the next elevator comes soon.

Still, when you finally get inside and press the button to the second floor, your eyes meet Natasha’s once again.

When she winks at you while sporting a teasing smile, you wonder if she can read your very flustered thoughts.

—

That first impression was bad. You were hoping that if you ever saw Agent Romanoff again, that could be corrected.

Unfortunately for you, that is not the case.

It’s another day, between urgent calls and an extraction mission gone wrong. Three injured SHIELD agents under your care are enough to make the first twelve hours of your shift fly.

By the time you have a minute to sit down and rest, it’s close to midnight, your eyes heavy with exhaustion and missed sleep. But you still have to review charts and follow up with post ops, so going to the cafeteria will have to do.

“What a fucking night” your friend Daphne says, standing next to you as you pour some coffee in a disposable cup. This and the vending machines are your only choices in the middle of the night.

“Tell me about it” you sigh, adding sugar. That won’t make the dark beverage any better, but you gotta try. As you look up, you see Captain America walking down the hallway, face full of soot and suit torn in some places.

Right behind him, Natasha walks with purpose, frowning and reviewing a file. She looks busy enough, so you think you’re free to admire her without the woman noticing. But of course, she’s a trained spy. As soon as she feels someone staring, she turns to look at you.

“Damn, the Avengers are here, this must have been real bad” Daphne says next to you. You don’t listen.

Not when those green eyes are fixed on you, frown softening and the corner of those full, enticing lips turning into a playful smirk.

“Oh, careful. The coffee is super hot…”

It’s obvious you miss that part too, taking a large gulp to hide your blush.

“Fuck” you spit it out. “Oh, God, I have third degree burns, Daphne, help” you say like an idiot, tongue hanging out.

“I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL” she barks, making some people stare.

Gosh, you just know Natasha was looking and must think you are a total idiot. Or maybe not, because when you finally recover from the burning sensation, she’s not standing next to Captain America.

Oh, maybe she didn’t see me.

“Hi, there”

You’ve never heard her voice before. And yet, you know it’s her.

You slowly turn to look at Natasha. She’s even more perfect than you imagined.

“Hot” you blurt out.

“Pardon?” she says, her voice dropping an octave.

“Coffe is hot. Uh, just keeping anyone from burning” you mumble, blushing madly.

“Oh, I’m not here for the coffee. I was told you were in charge of the injured agents. Could I get an update on them?”

“Right, of course. Come with me”

You walk next to Natasha, hiding your hands in the pockets of your labcoat.

“Agent Lusaque needed a liver resection. He’ll recover with no issues. Agents Palmer and Bryant, on the other hand…” you sigh, pulling out their charts from the nurse’s station. “Palmer is in the ICU, and Bryant will need a second surgery for that broken leg. But we need her BP to stabilize”

“Did you see anything significant in their injuries? Anything that stood out?”

“I’d say they are consistent with an IED, Agent”

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. Old man wanted to wait for intelligence but sometimes you just know” Natasha sighs. You resist the urge to reach out and squeeze her shoulder. Her expression shifts to something neutral, and you know the moment of vulnerability is gone. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your hot coffee”

“Of course. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know”

“Will do. Bye, Doctor Y/L/N”

And with that, she’s gone.

—

For once, it’s a slow day. You discharged the agents that were involved in last week’s mission and are about to take a break, when you hear some cursing in one of the examination rooms.

“Everything ok?”

You’re expecting to see an intern struggling with an IV, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of Natasha trying to stitch herself. She looks from the gash in her leg to you, smiling.

“Yeah, all good”

“No! You’re not even wearing gloves!” you protest, looking horrified at how badly she’s doing. Before she can open her mouth to answer, you push her down the hospital bed, glaring. “Do not move”

“It’s just a small cut. And I don’t need anesthesia”

“Hush, Romanoff. Or I will place you on medical leave” you say, glaring at her.

You expect Natasha to apologize or at the very least look ashamed. But instead, she’s still smiling.

This is a nice change for her. She’s only seen you flustered, being a complete mess when she’s around. Now, though, your movements are calculated as you prepare the sutures and glove up.

“How did you do this?” you ask, your tone even. This must be routine for you.

“That’s classified” Natasha jokes with a little smile. You clear your throat, adjusting the light to focus on the gash.

“Doesn’t stop other agents from telling me”

“Who?” Natasha says, and you can’t help but laugh at her tone. She seems ready to kick their asses for sharing classified information.

“I’m kidding. They tell me family stuff, small things, really. It’s to keep them talking, if only to distract them from the pain. Sometimes I get good gossip, too”

Natasha watches you work in silence for a few moments. Even if she tries to act though, the needle piercing her skin always sends a shiver down her spine.

“I have a cat” she blurts out. For the first time since you started working, you look up. It’s Natasha’s turn to feel like a blubbering mess, admiring your beautiful eyes.

“That sounds nice”

“Do you like cats?” she winces at how lame she sounds, but you mistake it with pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m almost done. Yes. My father is a veterinarian and we had a family farm, so there were all types of animals around” in spite of yourself, you smile.

Now, you live in an all white world of sterile hallways and OR lights. But your days were once spent in the middle of feeding chickens, walking around the muddy fields and checking horses and cows.

“So, why not be a veterinarian?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I remember this one time where a worker fell and hurt his head. It took a while for help to get to us and my father left me alone with him while they found a doctor. But I wasn’t scared. I knew I could keep my cool around blood, unlike my sisters”

“That’s definitely helpful”

“Yeah, except when my Dad figured out I was the only one who’d be able to help so I’d work during school break” you laugh, remembering everything with a new light. You used to hate it back then, because it was early mornings and lots of work. But now it’s a fond memory.

“The rumors are true. Your work is impeccable” Natasha comments when you remove your gloves. “Where were you when that bullet went through my side?”

“That’s classified” you say, and feel a small surge of pride when she actually laughs. You stand up and look around for antibiotics.

“Is that really necessary?” Natasha grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“An infection in the 21st centhury is the dumbest way to go. Take these for five days. And rest”

“Yes, Doctor”

“If you have any questions, page me” you say. Now that your hands and mind are not focused on the task of stitching her up, you’re aware of the fact you’re alone with Natasha in a room. If you stay here any longer, you’ll probably stab yourself with a needle or something even more idiotic.

“What if you’re not working?” Natasha calls when you walk to the door.

“Well, I’m sure someone else could…” you begin to say, completely oblivious about what she’s really asking.

“Or…”

“Yes?”

“I could get your phone number? For a consult, of course” she adds, smiling as you blush.

“Of course” you echo her words, pulling out a card and scribbling your number. “My personal number”

“Thanks, Doc” she says, lingering in the door for a second too long, and somehow getting out before you, who had been standing next to it for some time now.

Naturally, the second she’s out of sight, you pull the door to exit and it bounces against your foot, hitting your forehead.

“That’s more like it” you mumble, rubbing the spot.

At least she didn’t see it this time.

—

Your name is at the top of a list, but it doesn’t bring you any benefits, or enjoyment.

It means that when an Avenger gets hurt, you’re the first person they’ll page for surgery.

Two days ago, the code appeared suddenly in your pager and your heart dropped. You couldn’t help but think of Natasha, and guilt and shame invaded you in equal parts when you prayed it wasn’t her. The shame hit once you found out it was Barton, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved.

He had a bullet wound that went through and through, but you still decided to operate and clear your schedule to follow up every hour of his recovery. Clint had trusted you enough to introduce you to his family, to the point where you had been their doctor during the birth of Lila and Nathaniel.

Laura knew what happened, and was happy to hear you were overseeing his recovery. Barton was in good spirits, always welcoming any excuse to take leave and be at his farm.

So, as you both waited for his lab results, he began to throw cereal at you, saying he could aim exactly at your mouth even if you moved.

And he proves to be right, most of the time.

Because when Natasha walks in the room, you move your head to look at her and a piece of cereal hits you square in the eye.

“Barton!” you say, covering with one hand. “Oh, my God! I can’t go blind. I won’t operate again”

“You moved!” Clint protests.

“You said I could move!”

“Hey, it’s ok” Natasha says, kneeling in front of you. When you remove your hand and blink several times, you can tell she’s trying to hold back laughter. Glaring, you decide to swat her hand away, but then she’s craddling your face, smiling softly.

“I guess I’ll ask Fury for an eyepatch” you say after looking at her lips for a second too long.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and then turns to look at her friend.

“Maybe you should retire”

“I do more work at the farm than here, Tasha. I’m fine. Tell him, Doc?”

“Through and through, no shattered bones. But he still needs to rest” you say, standing up to take his results. You begin to go through everything, not paying attention to what Natasha and Clint are talking about.

Until…

“The mission can wait” he insists.

“You know I can’t”

“I’d feel better if you had someone with you. Take Steve, Wilson. Even Maximoff could be…”

“I’ll think about it” Natasha interrupts him. But her tone is clear; she’s not changing her mind.

Your stomach twists at the idea of Natasha being in a dangerous situation, which is stupid. For one, that’s her literal job and also, you’re just a doctor from SHIELD. She doesn’t care about you, and your own interest shouldn’t go beyond a professional capacity.

“You’re ready for discharge, Agent Barton” you say, trying to pretend you didn’t hear the exchange. “I’ll get the paperwork ready”

“Thank you, Doc”

You nod, leaving them to their conversation. You hope Clint can convince Natasha to postpone whatever mission she needs to go on, but you can’t say you’re optimistic about his chances.

While you review the paperwork, your mind goes back to the few text messages you’ve exchanged with Natasha ever since she asked for your number. Of course, it started out as a consultation over her stitches. You, checking up on her. Then, some random texts throughout the day. Still, nothing  that indicated she was thinking about asking you out.

Once you’re done with paperwork and run into her, you decide to take your chances.

“Hey, about what Clint said…”

“About working more when he’s home? He’s just being a baby, Laura…”

“No. The mission”

“That’s class…”

“Classified, I know. I just… promise to be careful. Please?” you fidget with your hands, looking at your feet.

“What? You don’t want to see me around?” she jokes.

“Not as a patient” you say, blushing at the way it comes across.

“So, maybe, when I’m back from that mission…” she says, smiling as she inches closer to you. Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down, or look away when her green eyes meet yours. “We can go out for dinner?”

“I’d like that”

Natasha nods, her hand reaching for yours as she leaves the hospital.

All you want is for her to come back, safe and sound.

—

We can’t always get what we want.

When you get paged, and see the code, you know it’s Natasha.

Daphne rushes right behind you, straight to the Medbay where Natasha’s getting evaluated.

Steve, Sam and Wanda are already there, but there’s another woman. She has blonde hair, and is wearing a suit you don’t recognise as something SHIELD agents use.

“Doctor…” Steve rushes to your side, but you shake your head.

“Tell me what happened. Now!”

Nurses and doctors step aside as you look at the X-rays, vitals and injuries. There’s a lot of blood, and Natasha is slipping in and out of consciousness.

“There was an explosion. Please, you have to help her” the blonde finally says. “Help my sister”

Those words make you falter for a second, but then BP’s crashing and you don’t have time to think about the fact that Natasha has a sister.

“We can’t wait. She has flail chest and her lung is collapsed. Page Lane, we’re moving to the OR now”

Everything becomes a blur, with people moving and prepping for surgery. The staff is trained for this and you have everything ready in under 5 minutes.

“Do you need anything else?” the head nurse says as you prepare to start.

“Silence. And focus. All of you. We’re gonna be here a long time”

7 hours, two units of blood and a lot of stitches later, Natasha is transferred to the ICU.

“I should have gone with her” Barton mumbles when you give the team an update. But he’s still wearing an armsling, and there’s no point in thinking about this now.

“Can I see her?” the woman who called Natasha her sister says, eyes red from crying.

“Later. Only staff can be at the ICU. I’ll stay with her, you go shower, eat something. Natasha needs to recover, she’ll be out of it for at least another day”

No one seems pleased with the idea of leaving the hospital, but Steve insists and they follow him, as usual. The blonde girl stays behind, and in that moment you realise she doesn’t even know Natasha’s friends.

To your surprise, she turns around and hugs you.

“Thank you. For saving her”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, because it sucks that her sister is hurt and you can’t do more for her right now.

—-

For over 22 hours, you’ve been by Natasha’s  side. As soon as she’s out of the ICU, you call Yelena.

You give her an update on her status and what to expect. She listens, only showing emotion when she sees Natasha connected to all those machines.

“Is she… does it hurt her? Is she going to be ok?”

“Her body needs time to recover. But she’ll be fine. Natasha’s strong” you say, pushing back a strand of that fiery hair from her forehead. It’s silly, how much you miss her cheeky smile when you’re doing something stupid because she looks your way.

“So, you must be the girl she likes” Yelena says, making you look up.

“What?”

“While we were hiding, I asked her if she was seeing anyone. She told me she had a date with this cute doctor so we’d better hurry”

“Oh” you say, blushing. “Yeah, we were… going to dinner. When she came back”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault”

“No, it isn’t. Natasha wouldn’t want you to think that. Come here, sit. You can stay for as long as you want” you lead her to the couch, sitting right next to her.

“I hadn’t seen her in so long” she whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“It’s ok, Yelena. You’ll have plenty of time with your sister. She’s gonna be out of missions for at least a month. But she’ll probably be grumpy about it” you joke, and the blonde laughs.

Exhaustion finally catches up with both of you, and without realising, Yelena ends up asleep on your shoulder. With a sigh, you close your eyes, convincing yourself it will only be for a couple of minutes.

By the time you open your eyes, a raspy chuckle makes you look up.

“I knew Yelena would like you”

“You’re up” you say, letting the blonde rest against the couch and standing up to check Natasha. You go over her blood pressure, the IV and pupils, but are interrupted by her hands holding on to your wrists.

“Hi” she says, smiling up at you.

“Hello, Agent. Can I please finish my examination?”

“What do I get in return?”

“Getting discharged”

“Trying to get rid of me?” she taunts and you have to roll your eyes. It’s been almost two days since she almost died and here she is, being a smartass.

“You’re the one who went through all the trouble just to get out of our date” you joke. Natasha doesn’t get to protest, because Yelena wakes up, rushing to her side.

“Sestra! Are you ok?”

Yelena switches to Russian, talking so fast even Natasha has trouble keeping up with her.

“Let’s just calm down, ok? I’ll give you guys a minute” you say, smiling at Natasha as Yelena drags a chair to sit next to her sister. You have a feeling that there are some things they have to talk about.

—

Time goes by quickly, and before you know it, it’s been three weeks since Natasha’s surgery. You’ve been texting more frequently, but you’re not expecting to see her anytime soon. Between reconnecting with Yelena and recovery, she has more than enough on her plate.

Work is distracting, but not enough. During small breaks you do end up thinking about her, and missing her.

You think nothing of it when you get paged to do a follow up, as it is a slow day and you’re short staffed.

But when you open the door, Natasha is smiling at you, in that way that makes you act like a fool. The shock lasts a second, and then you worry.

“Hey. Are you feeling ok? Why are you here? Are you hurt? I told you not to train for another week” you spiral, getting ready to order X-rays and a CT scan immediately.

Natasha calls your name, once and then louder, when you don’t look up from her file.

“I just wanted to see you” she says, making you blush. “But there’s this thing too. Thought I should get it checked”

“Ok, what is it?”

“Well, in spite of all the rumors, I do have a heart. And it has been beating faster, and I get this feeling in my stomach…” she begins to say. You nod, pulling out your stethoscope.

Natasha watches with a smile as you listen to her heartbeat, thinking how adorable you look when you’re all focused. Without realising, your other hand goes to rest on her knee, and she can’t help but let out a sigh, wishing you could be even closer.

“Ok, I hear it. It’s beating a little bit faster” you say, still oblivious. “Is there anything specific triggering this…?”

“I have an idea” she says, her hands resting on your waist. You finally look up, eyes lingering on her lips. Natasha sees realisation in your features, and takes it as a sign to inch closer, her lips brushing against yours.

It’s quick and tender, but it still makes your knees weak.

Well, this is going to be a problem. No way you can go back to work now that this happened. You’ll be so distracted that you’ll end up running over someone with a wheelchair or something.

“Let’s check again. Just wanna make sure your heart is ok” you say, leaning forward. You feel Natasha smile into the kiss, hands pulling you against her.

“What did the doctor say? Ah, gross!” Yelena walks in a moment later. “I didn’t think you meant this kind of physical exam, Natasha”

“Get out!” Natasha shouts, and you have to laugh.

“Gladly” Yelena huffs, slamming the door. She adds a second later. “And I’m telling everyone at the Compound!”

“So annoying” Natasha mumbles, but turns to look at you with a smile. “Is it anything serious? Will I be ok, Doc?”

“Yeah, you just need to kiss me more so your body gets used to the feeling” you say, meeting her lips in another kiss.

“I can definitely do that”

[omaano]

SW Hades AU MAY-JUNE Update

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - January - February - March-April - everything else in this AU

Would you look at that! I managed to put together an update post with more than just May the 4th Boba :D Happy Pride, happy last days of June, and please enjoy the fact that I finally added 2 more ladies to the Hades AU. Full renders will come.... eventually ^^; I feel like I'm really super overdue to one though...

We're making this a girls thing >:3

I've drawn a younger, cockier Boba in the style of Hades 2 (instead of the usual Hades (1)) for May the 4th, because I am very much obsessed with the game and I desperately wanted to draw Boba again.

It's been deeply unfair to him that I had drawn him way back in 2022 (Jesus Christ! am I taking my sweet time) and never again ever since in this style. But when he wears it so well!

I also have a surprise Leia! And Satine as well!

If you recall I'd had the hardest of time for months to come up with anything for Leia, which I can only partially blame on whatever shape of artblock/burnout/exhaustion I had been feeling recently. Then one night - BAM! I was just messing around, looking at pose references on my pinterest boards and sketching and all, and suddenly I had a "businesswoman in a rush between meetings not having enough time for your shit" pose and look for her that I was very happy with. Might have been shortly after I watched (and had a great time while doing it) The Phantom Menace. Or the end of Andor. One of these two.

Originally I wanted her to appear as if she was on a holo call with Din, projected by R2, because she is busy and in a rush (like Hermes), but I'm undecided if I will want to go through with that in the end. Mainly because I'm not very thrilled by the idea of having to draw a portrait for R2 as well for that.

I also had a surprisingly great time coming up with a getup for her!

I believe that I finally started slipping along the double edged sword of how it's both a hindrance and liberation that I don't have to come up with character designs of my own for this AU to most characters. It takes a lot of pressure off me that I can treat this as a style and coloring exercise, but at the same time it's very limiting. I think I have already bemoaned how Star Wars character designs can be so grey and same-y at times (especially in the Outer Rim, and seriously, why is everyone so blue? Or black and grey) whereas Hades is so beautifully and colorfully designed!

I did a tiny bit of research on Wookiepedia - nothing major, as this was still just a past-midnight-waste-some-time sketch - and set out to merge some design and wardrobe elements from Breha, Bail and General Organa. If you can make out my handwritten notes, you might see some of these design elements, and to whom they shall refer to (like the bracers and belt to Bail, the braids and bun for Breha and Leia's own future). Ultimately more of the "Bail" elements won out if you wanted to weigh them against each other. I feel like that would fit Leia, her fierceness, and pragmatic strictness and determination best.

I'm a little regretful about the veil, but I worried that it would be too much flowy fabric next to her sleeves/cape. Very sad.

So it really was a relief to get into some designing with Leia, and to add some more colors and intricate details to Satine.

I don't have that much more to say about Boba and Satine tbh. Mostly because Boba is still a bit of a miracle I'm still unsure how he happened and how he looks so good (although not shiny enough compared to the latest update of Hades2 where all the gods, and really all the characters, are suuuuuper shiny. like. seriously). While with Satine my only goal was to make her look less willow-y (because it drives me insane how everyone in TCW is so damn thin), and might have fallen off on the other side of the horse (I'm pretty sure that's not the actual English idiom, please excuse me), and she's got some real massive shoulders and sleeves XD also how does she keep her head up with all that on her head? ^^;

Anyways, I love her with all her faults, and I just really wanted her to look beautiful and sad, and Mandalorian, and let her wear beskar heart elements in her design.

-

.

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint @hastalavistabyebye

@ribbonkandy @nalase @schrodingers-cosmic-abomination

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[islesnap]

YESSS omg i literally wrote something about the parallels between baku and sieun – specifically the guilt part – earlier when i was finishing up the series and just watching baku go through the same process of guilt and grief after the accident that happened in s2 hurt me so bad.

watching sieun finally remember what suho taught him and in his words remembering that having friends is a good thing was amazing to set up for what came in the days surrounding the rumble.

just to touch on baekjin because there was a very small piece of symbolism that a lot of people could have missed: right after his “boss” visited and he had his hair down: i think that was a way to show just the weakness that baekjin actually had throughout the whole second season. throughout the entire season before and thereafter, you see this tough, sleek, well-put-together character – but in the few minutes right after the boss shows up to the bowling alley, you see him with his hair not done and he’s standing in a very dark setting. as a matter of fact, both times he interacts with that character, you see that style on him. it’s the only time you really see the fear from baekjin. i feel like that’s very symbolic to the kind of character baekjin actually was. much like the rest of the characters in the show, he was just an afraid teenager who just wanted to get by. however instead of playing into the fear the way you see sieun and friends do, he uses it to cause harm and turmoil, and he causes kind of that same fear for others. if that makes sense at all.

also YES i saw the same comparison between suho and gotak in a video a few days ago and i just think they did such a good job at showing the similarities and differences of each character. i love that, in a way, they ultimately gave sieun a chance to make different decisions and protect them more than what he was able to in season one with beomseok, suho, and yeongyi. they gave him a chance to kind of redeem himself and finally realize that beomseok just needed to be let go and that the guilt needed to be let go as well. which draws me to the scene at the airport when juntae calls sieun before his flight and tells him that suho being in that coma wasn’t his fault. watching the scene right before sieun wakes up from his slumber after the accident, you can kind of see that a part of him wanted to hold on to that guilt because that’s all he really knew, but ultimately he chose to let go and give himself the chance to forge these new friendships that were beginning. i think that juntae telling him it wasn’t his fault may have been the reason that he was finally able to let go of beomseok and ultimately, the guilt that came with what beomseok did to suho.

the whole “season one really provides backdrop for season two” is such a good way of putting it, because if we didn’t have season one, then we wouldn’t know much about the characters that are introduced in season two. like we discussed before, a lot of these characters are similar to each other, and some are exact foils of each other in their own ways. if you just went into season two on its own, then like you said, it would fall completely flat. viewers wouldn’t know much about the characters because they wouldn’t really have much of an idea of the ones from season one other than what is given to them in season two — which in yeongyi’s case is literally nothing. you’re able to draw the conclusions of why season two’s characters are the way they are by watching season one and seeing the connections between the characters in both seasons.

the whole series is just so profound to me and i really really enjoyed it. i could go on about this all day, truly. the actors did a really great job. brava to them.

i’m seeing a lot of “suho haunts the narrative” talk from the whc enjoyers, but i think beomseok haunts the narrative more than suho. “haunting the narrative” is specifically about the resounding effects of a character’s action without their presence in the narrative.

although suho’s relationship and care for sieun in more profound than beomseok’s relationship to sieun (because it’s sieun’s first true friendship), the way beomseok’s inferiority complex manifested in the breakdown of their friendship poisoned the way sieun views friendship and himself permanently.

even though beomseok’s arc ends in season 1, sieun seeing beomseok’s actions and insecurities in everything he interacts with at eunjang. suho’s coma is the most potent and physical reminder of the fallout of the trio’s friendship; specifically how both beomseok’s insecurity complex and sieun’s inability to act mix to form sieun’s eventual fighting philosophy.

at eunjang, sieun sees the trio and beomseok in everything, including the new group of friends he meets, more specifically in juntae. juntae is beomseok’s narrative foil, who presents himself shy, weak, and often cowardly, but doesn’t have an inferiority complex. sieun’s reluctance to engage with the new group springs directly from beomseok’s actions, and the thought that every group will end the same as the trio did. sieun’s involvement and subsequent aggressive fighting style in season two is because of the mental cage beomseok’s actions formed in him.

i’ve seen many people mention that they should have shown suho’s body laying in the ring during the “flashback” / dream sequence. however, i think his absence makes the scene more potent and cuts down to the idea that beomseok’s actions are permanently weighing on sieun’s mind, at every turn. sieun is trapped in the ring, frozen and looking towards where suho’s body was, with beomseok representing what keeps seiun trapped and reliving in that moment. beomseok’s actions physically impacted suho in the form of a coma, forever frozen in that moment. but for sieun, beomseok emotionally stunted him. the ring acts as a mental cage for sieun, keeping him from creating emotional ties with the people around him.

ultimately, for sieun to break free, he has to leave that ring, and beomseok in the past.

[wrenhts]

Kisses for the golden boy!! <3

Found a cute ref and knew what I needed to do (ref below hehe)

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆˖𐙚 Perfect Little Doll.

Short Summary: Tom Riddle is quite laid-back when it comes to you—but under the effect of a Lust Potion, he just takes what he wants—however he wants.

Warnings: 18+ only! consensual non consent. somno, sex under the effect of a lust potion, rough sex, choking, unprotected p in v, sex with little to no prep, creampie

A/N: I got the highest grade possible for my thesis, you get filthy smut! Win-win.

wordcount: 1,2k

“No, stay— stay like this.”

It’s the first thing you hear when you stir awake in the middle of the night. You try to move—but something, or rather someone, is making sure you have no choice but to stay trapped beneath them.

“Please, no—“ panic rises in your chest as you struggle under their weight—but it’s no use.

“Shh. It’s me. Be good and stay still.”

This time, you recognize the voice, and you exhale a shuddering breath, relaxing just slightly.

It’s Tom.

Lying on your front, you don’t get to meet his expression, hell, you don’t even get to fucking ask what he’s doing—

Because you already feel him pressing against your entrance, tip hot and flushed, leaking with need—and with a single, measured thrust, he pushes inside. Deep.

“Fuck—“ you shriek at the sudden, stinging stretch. “Tom, that hurts!”

As you reach behind you, trying to push him away, give you time to adjust, he instantly pins your wrists to your back.

“I know— fuck, I know.” He grumbles, yet shows no intent to stop. Instead, he pulls out, pushing back inside immediately—drawing another sharp gasp from you. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

You don’t know exactly what’s gotten into him. Yes, you both agreed upon this, that he could use you when you were asleep—and that you could tell him to stop whenever you actually wanted to—but never had he been this eager.

“Tom, please—“ you try again, whimpering at the burning, unrelenting stretch. His hand finds its way into your hair, lifting your head slightly just to push you into the pillow beneath you—muffling your whines.

His hips rock forward once more, testing, trying how much you can take.

“You will be quiet and take it, alright? Be a good girl for me?” He mumbles, voice coming out raspy, laced with need. He withdraws then, only halfway this time—

Just to snap his hips forward again, tip harshly ramming against your sensitive cervix—a feeling that has you biting your lips so hard, you taste blood.

“God, Tom!” You yelp, hips involuntarily bucking against his in an attempt to free yourself—but it only results in him slipping deeper, drawing a low groan from the brunette.

Slowly, he starts rolling his hips against yours, still buried deep, brows furrowed, breathing heavily through his slightly parted lips at just how tight you feel around him.

Finally, his hand leaves your hair, allowing you to inhale a deep breath—lungs burning from the lack of oxygen as you do. Just a mere second later, it’s wrapped around your neck instead, pushing you down once more.

He’s got you exactly how he likes you—one leg angled to your side, his body trapping yours between him and the bed, fingers pressing into your pulse point, enough to make you feel light-headed. Hips flush with yours, ass pressed against his pelvis—it makes his head spin. He needs to have you, take you—now.

“Slipped me this potion— told me it was for sobering up— fuck, sweetheart, you’re tight.” He groans, a deep, low sound somewhere from the back of his throat, feeling him twitch inside you.

It all comes crashing down onto you. Why he is like this.

They made him drink a Lust Potion.

Judging by the fact that he didn’t even second-guess before downing it—must mean he’s had a decent amount of drinks as well.

All of that, combined with the effects of the potion—turned him into this.

You don’t get to think about the situation for much longer and what you could do to ease the effects—the slow drag of his cock against your walls as he starts thrusting into you efficiently short-circuiting your brain.

He doesn’t ease you into it. After one or two thrusts, he picks up his pace, hips snapping against yours as though it’s the last time he gets to have you.

Tom usually isn’t the most vocal. Yes, he enjoys it—loves it, even—when he can pin you down and fuck you into the mattress until you are begging for him to let you come. But, just like outside of your sacred four walls, he likes to keep his composure—even during the most intimate acts.

In short: he hates losing control.

But now—he’s moaning, whimpering even at how sensitive he is—at how good and warm you feel, wrapped tightly around him.

It’s making your brain fuzzy. Everything about it. How you are slowly loosening up for him, allowing him to increase his pace, how your own arousal makes it even easier for him to thrust deep.

“Taking me so well, sweetheart.” Tom praises, breathless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the otherwise quiet bedroom. “Like this pussy was fucking made for me, fitting me like a damn glove—“

And at this point you are praying you would survive this.

His thrusts grow rougher, punishing almost, brushing against your cervix with every single snap of his hips. His hand wraps around your throat, cutting off your airflow once more as he feels himself getting close.

“Fuck, darling— going to let me fill you up, hm? Make you nice and full of me?” He grits out, staying pressed flush against you for a second, making you feel all of him—every vein, every ridge—every. single. inch.

You nod as best as you can, clenching down tight around him.

“Please Tom, please fill me up— need it, fuck—“

He groans at that, cursing under his breath.

“Good girl. Such a perfect little doll, all nice and pliant for me—“

It’s not long until his pace falters, hips stuttering against your own—and he groans lowly as he starts spilling deep inside of you, coating your walls with his warm release.

He collapses on top of you—breathing heavily against your neck, chest heaving—and although your mind is still hazy with your own pleasure, your thoughts drift back to what happened before he returned to your home.

Knowing them, you guess it’s Rosier and Mulciber who did it. Probably thought it was hilarious, too.

You aren’t sure if you should feel bad for the fact that you don’t know what Tom would come up with as punishment.

Because hell—they are not the ones who have to put up with him like this.

Meanwhile, Tom is still buried deep, keeping his release right where it belongs—but then, when his breathing returns to normal, he gives you the slightest roll of his hips—

“Said it would take three hours to wear off—“

And you already feel him growing hard again.

Fuck, you are screwed.

“Tom, please—“

He shushes you with a kiss on top of your head.

“No. Stay— need you— need you again.” He rasps, back to thrusting into you, fucking his cum even deeper as he’s back chasing his next climax. And you? You are right there with him, on the precipice of your own orgasm.

Merlin fucking help you.

If he won’t kill them for this, you might just do it yourself.

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[tanadrin]

@grimogretricks

For people saying that airport security is wholly theatre and that it doesn't do any good- certainly it seems they've gone overboard on certain things, but what is your explanation as to why hijackings and terrorist attacks involving planes are MUCH less common than they used to be?

Sorry that this is mostly off the dome, and has less references than I would like. We argued this stuff to death in the aughts, though ultimately the political incentives in favor of security theater were just too great. Everyone is terrified of the potential backlash of not being seen to do enough in advance of the next big terrorist attack, I guess. And to be clear, we are talking mostly about post-9/11 airport security measures as being security theater. Some degree of airport security has been necessary since people started getting on airplanes with guns and informing the pilot that, hey, guess what, we're going to Cuba instead of Miami today.

But the big reduction in airplane hijackings came with the institution of metal detectors to keep guns off airplanes after a couple high-profile hijackings in the 1970s. But remember that these incidents were of a very different character than what we now think of as the risk to airplanes: they were certainly a problem, but the modus operandi of hijackers in this era was to force the plane to fly to a non-extradition country and land safely. 9/11-style hijackings, that used the plane as a bomb and killed everyone aboard, were on nobody's radar--when the goal was blowing up the plane and killing passengers, bombers generally used bombs planted in checked baggage, which requires different security measures from passenger screening.

Two security changes occurred after 9/11 that made future such hijackings basically impossible: one, probably most importantly, was that passengers understood they no longer could count on hijackers having an interest in surviving the hijacking. This change in passenger behavior was immediate: later that same year when a guy tried to bomb an airplane (using a really ineffective device hidden in his shoe) passengers immediately acted to restrain him. The second important change was reinforcing cockpit doors and keeping them locked: this makes hijacking airplanes with knives (the only major modality left to most would-be hijackers) functionally impossible.

All the other intense passenger screening and security measures implemented after 9/11 has been repeatedly shown by security researchers to be pretty ineffective, not even very reliable at stuff like keeping knives off airplanes. For years after 9/11 there were endless news stories about law enforcement running drills at airports and weapons making their way through security. A lot of later security measures, like liquid limits in carry-on baggage, came from terrorist plots that didn't even make it off the drawing board (and are unlikely to have ever worked anyway), and seem mostly to be overzealous ass-covering by transportation security officials.

And, finally, we should note that the real security threats to airplanes in the post-9/11 era seem to have come come from two sources that are basically impossible to protect against using traditional security methods, and for which passenger-based security screening is useless: anti-aircraft missiles and suicidal pilots (plus an honorable mention to aircraft companies trying to skirt certain regulatory requirements).

Despite what decades of American media would have you believe, elaborate plots targeting transportation infrastructure and involving like a dozen people are actually not at the top of the list of terrorist methodologies--why time and money training members of your organization to fly planes into buildings, when you can just use social media to convince a guy to drive a car into a crowd of bystanders, or stab somebody on the street? It's much cheaper, and much, much harder to guard against. Random lone-wolf terrorism is, unlike the kind of elaborate plots portrayed on TV, and one-off real-life examples like 9/11, basically impossible for security services to guard against in advance. But in order to justify the war on terror, and large budgets for security services on anti-terrorism grounds, it was necessary to play up the threat of such plots, even if by its very nature 9/11 was impossible to repeat. For similar reasons, the post-9/11 era also played up the threat of Islamic extremism and large overseas terrorist networks, even though far-right extremists acting in small groups also have managed to kill huge numbers of people in spectacular ways.

So for all these reasons, and those noted at the top, the political incentives around transportation security means that passenger screening measures in airports are almost guaranteed to be a one-way ratchet, even if they don't work. It's a bit like the fabled anti-tiger amulet--it's easy to say the lack of tigers is proof it's working! Even if the real reason there are no tigers about is that you live in Ohio. The media environment post-War on Terror helped create a public appetite for and approval of such anti-tiger amulets, too, of course. This was not by any means a purely top-down phenomenon.

[urmum-lovesme]

how would toxic! rafe react to trying to leave him?

So first I thought he'd probably chain y/n up lowkey but then I thought he's such a manipulater so. . . 😼

The light coming in through the large white windows casted long shadows across the walls, and Rafe sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes like he’s trying to physically wipe away the conversation.

"Y/N, I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this."

His voice is low, tired- like she’s the one exhausting him, like she’s the problem. Y/N stands a few feet away, arms crossed so tightly over her chest it almost looks painful. She wants to scream, to shake him, to force him to understand- but she already knows how this is going to go.

"No, Rafe, I—" She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. Her voice is steadier when she speaks again.

"I put up with a lot of your shit, but—"

"-excuse me my shit-"

"-but I won’t let you cheat on me!"

For a change, she doesn't back down which causes his head to snap up, brows raised in disbelief. His voice carries that familiar, dangerous edge- the kind that tells her she’s treading on thin ice. The words are barely out of her mouth before he’s scoffing, shaking his head as he leans back on his hands.

"I’ve not fucking cheated on you. You’re deluded."

"Right. So I just imagined hearing Topper and Kelce talking about you with some girl at that party I just didn’t happen to go to?"

She lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes and Rafe rolls his eyes in response,

"Jesus that’s what this is about? You’re really losing your shit over a conversation you weren’t even part of?"

"I know what I heard Rafe!"

Her voice cracks, but it’s not from sadness- well maybe slightly- but it’s mainly from rage. From frustration.

"They said you were all over some girl and that you left with her—"

"-That’s bullshit, Y/N. They’re just trying to fuck with you—”

"No, Rafe. They weren’t." Her voice cracks, but she steadies herself.

"because they didn't even know I was listening.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. His hands go to his hips, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he looks away like he’s trying to keep his temper in check.

"You’re really gonna listen to them over me?”

She doesn’t say anything, instead averting her eyes from him And that? That sets him off.

"Oh, so what- you don’t trust me now?"

He steps closer, his voice rising. She straightens her spine, blinking back the tears in her eyes as she looks to the boy.

"I don’t know, Rafe. Should I?"

And it’s so genuine, so soft, that for a moment and it makes his anger falter. But Rafe hates feeling guilty. So instead of answering, he shakes his head, laughing humourlessly as he turns his back to her, pacing slightly. His hands run through his hair before resting on the back of his neck.

"This is so fucking stupid."

His voice is quieter now, almost—like if he says it softly enough, she’ll feel bad for bringing it up. But she doesn’t, instead her brows draw into a deeper frown as she speaks again.

"It’s not stupid to me."

And that’s what kills her. That he thinks he can do whatever he wants and she’s just supposed to sit there and take it. There’s a thick silence between them and it's broken when Rafe exhales through his nose, his hands dropping to his sides before he turns back to her.

"So what now, huh?" His voice is almost tired now.

"You gonna break up with me over some dumb fucking rumour?”

She blinks at him.

"If it’s a dumb rumour, why do you sound so guilty?"

And for the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. She looks at him, her eyes filled with resolve, shaking her head slowly as she breathes out a shaky sigh.

“I’m not doing this anymore Rafe.”

The words escape her lips with finality, and without another glance, she turns toward the door. Her fingers curl around the handle, but before she can reach for it fully, she feels his grip on her wrist, yanking her back with surprising force.

"Hey, hey, wait-" 

His voice is frantic now, his hand tightening around her wrist as if he’s afraid she’ll slip away. He pulls her toward him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his grip falters just slightly.

“C’mon baby. . . it’s just a misunderstanding don’t leave.”

She shudders in his grip, the irritation growing her chest. She twists her wrist free, the movement sharp, and she stumbles back a step, glaring at him.

“Stop it, Rafe- We’re done.”

His breath hitches, a flicker of something close to fear crossing his face. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like her rejecting him, walking away from him. The very thought of losing her sets something off inside of him- something ugly and primal.

"No we’re not, stop it."

His voice cracks with an edge of desperation now, and his words come faster and more urgent. He steps forward, closing the space between them, his expression morphing into something less controlled. But she’s had enough. With shaking hands, she grips the door handle again and this time, she yanks it open. Before she can step through, he slams his hand down onto the door, the noise sharp and violent as it echoes through the room.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her body tenses, but she stands her ground. Her voice is stronger now, though still shaking with raw emotion.

“Yes, I am, you’re a fucking cheat.”

The words are out before she can stop them, and it’s like a slap in the face for him. His face twists in anger, his nostrils flaring. His voice is low and dangerous, the fury in it palpable. He takes a step closer, his chest nearly pressing against hers as he glares down at her.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I can’t believe you would do this, Rafe- I can’t fucking believe you.”

She can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling in the air. Her words are barely a whisper, but they hit him like a freight train. The weight of them, the hurt, the betrayal- they sting more than she wants to admit. Her hands are trembling now, but she refuses to look away from him. He watches her with a mix of fury and confusion, a fight brewing in his chest. It’s a twisted battle- part of him knows he’s wrong, knows he’s been pushing her too far. But another part of him, a darker, possessive part, refuses to let her go. He’s never had control slip from his hands like this before, and it’s making him feel something he doesn’t know how to handle. Rafe exhales sharply, hands tightening into fists by his sides as he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re overreacting-"

“No!” Y/N fires back, her voice loud and defiant. “No, I’m not!”

He takes a step toward her, his hand outstretched again, but she pulls away from him quickly, moving further from the door, clearly uncomfortable with how close he’s standing. Rafe asks, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to touch you right now”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with her Y/N! What is your problem?”

“You fucking kissed her, Rafe-”

"I was high okay?!"

“That is not an excuse!”

Y/N’s eyes flash with fury as she stares at him, her hands balling into fists by her sides. Rafe’s face twists with frustration, as if he’s still trying to grasp what she’s so upset about.

“Jesus, it was a mistake, okay? I know it was stupid, but it wasn’t like I wanted to be with her.”

Y/N’s expression hardens as she looks at him causing him to pipe up again,

"What you want me to apologise? I'll apologise- I'm sorry alright? It was a mistake."

“You seriously think saying ‘sorry’ is enough?”

She asks, voice dangerously calm, but underneath she was shattering, small pieces of her heart crumbling. She shakes her head, disappointment dripping from her every word.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a fucking prude and didn’t want to go out with me.”

Rafe looks at her, irritated, as he crosses his arms. Y/N stands frozen for a moment, completely dumbfounded. She asks, the words so sharp they could cut through the tension in the room.

“Are you seriously blaming me right now?”

“You’re always so fucking difficult, Y/N,”

His eyes narrow as he steps closer to her and he speaks through clenched teeth. She stands still in the middle of the room, seething with frustration. Rafe watches her carefully, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at her words.

“I’m difficult? I’m dif—okay you know what, fine,”

She says, voice tight with rage as she turns on her heel and strides toward the his wardrobe. She opens it and begins pulling her things out- clothes she kept at his place for the nights she stayed over. A soft rustle fills the silence between them as she stuffs them into her bag. Rafe’s confusion shifts to anger, but he can’t seem to control the rising panic in his chest. He’s high, and everything feels more intense than it should. His thoughts race with the fear that she’s really going to leave.

“What are you doing?”

He demands, his voice growing sharp. She doesn’t answer. She just keeps packing her clothes into the bag as if he isn’t even standing there. He presses, his words harsher now, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Hey, c’mon,”

Still, she doesn’t respond. Rafe’s eyes flick to the door and back to her, his mind spiralling. The paranoia sets in, his voice cracks a little, the crack of vulnerability that betrays the fear gnawing at him.

“Y/N, I’m fucking talking to you!”

Y/N keeps her jaw clenched, trying to hold it together, the pain of everything simmering beneath the surface. But she stays silent. Rafe steps closer, standing on the other side of the bed, his hand pressed to his forehead.

“Baby... I know I fucked up, yeah? I know I did but I won’t do it again- Y/N, look at me. I’m fucking talking to you.”

Her eye's never look up him as she finishes packing her clothes. He watches her, breath shallow, the weight of his actions heavy in the air. She doesn’t react. She doesn’t give him anything. It’s breaking him.

“Shit, c’mon, Y/N- don’t do this”

Rafe mutters under his breath, his voice breaking. He’s panicking now, biting his nail and staring at her helplessly as if that will stop the situation from spinning out of control.

“I’ll buy you anything you want,” he says, desperation coating his words.

“I’ll get you that bracelet you wanted... what was it? Shit... Cartier?”

His eyes dart around as if searching for some answer to fix this, to stop her from walking out. Y/N strides over to the drawer where her perfume sits beside his cologne, each bottle a reminder of all the nights spent here. Her fingers brush the delicate glass, and she pulls it off the shelf, intent on adding it to her bag. Rafe's heart races as he watches her, the panic growing heavier with each passing second.

“No, no, wait, wait-”

He says quickly, his voice rough with anxiety. He steps forward, reaching out to grab the perfume from her hands, his fingers wrap around it, and for a brief moment, she lets go of it, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Her silence is more unbearable than any words she could speak. She simply turns back to her bag, her movements calculated and controlled as she zips it up. Rafe stands there, frozen for a moment, watching her every move with disbelief. Y/N picks up the bag, holding it tightly in her hands as she turns to face him. The tension between them is suffocating, and she doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her teeth are clenched, her expression rigid as if she's fighting the urge to cry.

He can’t take it.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto her, his expression shifting from panic to something more calculated as he steps forward, reaching out to grip her arms. His hands slide up and down her forearms in a feigned tenderness, but there's an underlying desperation in the way he holds her.

“Y/N…” His voice falters, but he catches it before it gives way entirely.

“I love you.”

His hands tighten on her arms, the grip harder now, like he's trying to hold onto her, as if she might slip away at any moment.

"You’re really just gonna leave me? Just like everyone else- just like… everyone always does?"

There’s a hurt in his voice now, something wounded, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s trying to guilt her, twisting his emotions into something that might keep her here. His chest tightens with the weight of his own manipulation, and he leans closer to her, eyes desperate, pleading.

“Don't you love me?” he whispers, and his eyes glisten with tears that he can't fully control now, though they don’t fall.

“You- you don’t care about me.”

He’s staring at her, holding her with more force now, his fingers digging into her arms, and though she tries to pull back, his grip only tightens.

“Please,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly.

“I... I would do anything for you hear me?”

His hand moves shakily to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to feel some kind of connection. His tear-rimmed eyes lock onto hers, and his breath is uneven as he speaks again, his voice shaking.

“I love you. You’re all I have… please don’t leave me.”

Y/N stands there, frozen in place, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy fog. She can feel his panic in the way he holds her, in the way his fingers tremble against her skin. It’s hard to tell where the guilt ends and the genuine emotion begins, but the desperation in his eyes is undeniable. Rafe’s grip on her tightens even more, and then, suddenly, his whole demeanour shifts. His breathing becomes erratic, his face contorting with raw emotion that she wasn’t expecting. He drops to his knees in front of her, his hands slipping from her arms to clutch at her waist, pulling her closer.

“No,” he chokes out, his voice breaking with a desperation that she hasn’t heard from him before.

“You can’t… you can’t leave me, baby please you can’t…”

She stands there, frozen, her mind scrambling to make sense of the overwhelming rush of emotions and the way he’s unraveling in front of her. His face presses into her stomach, and he sobs into her, the sound raw and painful.

“You promised,” he whispers against her, his breath hitching.

“You said you’d never leave me. You can’t do this. I… I can’t do this without you.”

He holds onto her tightly now, his arms wrapped around her waist, fingers digging into her sides as though he’s trying to hold her in place, trying to keep her from slipping through his fingers. She can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin, the weight of his pain crashing against her, and it leaves her standing there in shock, unable to move or speak. She wasn’t expecting this.

This… vulnerability.

This breakdown.

The intensity of it almost paralyses her. Rafe's breath comes in short, harsh bursts as he continues, his voice breaking apart with each word.

“Please don’t leave me baby. . .”

He whispers again, barely audible, as if she might not hear him if he doesn’t say it enough. His body trembles slightly, his hands shaking around her as if he's holding on to the last piece of reality he can. All Y/N can do is stand there, her mind a blur, her heart pounding, unsure of how to handle the intensity of his breakdown. Rafe’s grip tightens around her, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. He looks up at her with those tear-filled eyes, pleading, his voice barely holding together.

“No- no- I love you,” he says again, his voice cracking.

“I fucking love you don’t you get it?”

Her heart aches at the sight of him like this- so desperate. But she feels the weight of everything he puts her under, pain, lies, betrayal, and the suffocating pressure in the pit of her stomach expands at the thought. She shakes her head, her voice trembling as she tries to make him hear her.

“Rafe, this isn’t normal. . .”

She says, her words weak, almost too soft to be heard over the storm of emotions he’s throwing at her. But he shakes his head, refusing to listen. His hands fist tighter in the material of her top, pulling her closer.

“I’d give up everything for you,” he insists, his voice thick with a mix of fear and anger.

“Everything. Y/N you can't leave me-”

“-Rafe, just let go of me.”

She pleads, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t loosen his hold on her at all. She tries to take a step back, trying to break free from his grasp, but he’s not letting go.

“No, no,”

He repeats, his voice growing more frantic, more desperate and then slowly, he moves up, his knees shifting as he rises slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. His face is flushed, his skin red and blotchy from crying. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes her breath catch in her throat.

“I’d kill for you. Y/N, don't you understand? ”

Y/N can barely breathe, the tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at him, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over her. She’s scared. She’s angry. She’s confused. She doesn’t know how to react to this raw, desperately unhinged version of him in front of her. His hands slide down to take hers, lifting them gently, pressing her hand to his lips. She can’t move, her body trembling as he places kisses on her hand, trailing them down to her ring finger.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice breaking once more.

“I’m going to make you my wife-”

“Stop… please-”

She whispers, her voice barely audible, the words escaping in a broken breath. But Rafe’s grip only tightens, pulling her closer to him again. She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. He peaks again his voice low, like a promise, or a threat—she can’t quite tell.

"Going to be mine forever.”

And in that moment, she doesn’t know what to do.

She doesn’t know how to escape from this.

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

part three

[flwrkid14]

Learning to Be Someone's Favorite

braindead version of this post

Tim, of course, would never believe that he could be anyone's favorite person.

Tim doesn’t expect anyone to like him—not right away, not even eventually. He’s learned to approach every new connection with the quiet, sinking knowledge that the best he can hope for is tolerance, and the worst is outright disdain. It’s not paranoia, not in his mind. It’s pattern recognition.

People don’t dislike him on purpose, not really. But Tim knows what he is—a little too sharp, a little too obsessive, a little too much. He doesn’t have the warmth Dick has, the easy charisma that draws people in. He’s not raw passion and magnetic energy like Jason. He’s not Cass’s quiet strength or Damian’s undeniable presence.

Tim is… there. Functional. Useful. And if people don’t like him, that’s fine. It’s not like he’s giving them much reason to.

Which is why Danny throws him completely off balance.

At first, Tim doesn’t know what to make of the guy. Danny just… shows up one day, cracks a joke, and slips into Tim’s life like he belongs there. He’s ridiculous and charming in that obnoxious, impossible-to-hate way that makes Tim’s head spin. And he stays. That’s the strangest part. Danny keeps showing up—at the Cave, during patrols, sometimes in Tim’s apartment with no warning, casually eating cereal like it’s completely normal.

Tim keeps waiting for the catch. People like Danny don’t stick around for people like him, not once they get to know him.

But Danny stays.

And not just stays. He latches onto Tim like it’s second nature, treating him like a gravitational center. Danny always seems to know when Tim’s burning the candle at both ends—he’ll show up uninvited with coffee and snacks, throw Tim over his shoulder (literally) to force him to take a break, or just plop down next to him and start chatting away about nothing until Tim feels the tension in his shoulders loosen.

Danny likes him.

The realization hits Tim like a sucker punch one night after a particularly grueling patrol. They’re sitting on a rooftop, splitting the last of the takeout Danny insisted on ordering, when Danny leans back and says, casually, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

Tim nearly chokes on his noodles. “What?”

“You’re my favorite person,” Danny repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grins, bright and unbothered. “I thought you knew that.”

Tim stares, unsure what to say. It doesn’t feel real—he’s used to Danny’s teasing, but this isn’t that. Danny’s just... stating it. Like it’s fact. Like Tim is the kind of person anyone would ever call their favorite.

His first instinct is to reject it, but he doesn’t. Not outright. Instead, he files the comment away, tucks it deep into the place where he hides the things that scare him most.

After that, Tim notices the way Danny treats him. How he never seems to prefer anyone else, how he always seeks Tim out first, how he lights up when Tim enters a room. It’s overwhelming, and terrifying, because Tim’s used to relationships being conditional. He knows how easily favor can turn into irritation, frustration, dislike.

Tim starts to tread lightly. He keeps himself carefully controlled around Danny, terrified of making the wrong move. He goes over every word they exchange, second-guessing himself constantly. The last thing he wants is to push Danny away—or worse, turn that bright, unwavering affection into resentment.

But Danny doesn’t seem to notice Tim’s cautiousness. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He keeps showing up, keeps throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders, keeps calling him his favorite with a grin and a wink. He stays.

And slowly—so slowly Tim doesn’t even notice at first—he starts to believe it.

Danny Fenton thinks Tim Drake is the coolest person in the multiverse.

And maybe, just maybe, Tim is finally starting to think it’s not a mistake.

[rafeslvbug]

nfl!rafe and reader when their son breaks his leg and tries to act tough like his daddy, but eventually breaks when rafe has a talk to him that it’s okay to be emotional

your son had refused help the entire time after he broke his leg playing football with his friends. he was almost flailing in your arms when you lifted him up, enough to make you put him back down in fear he’d hurt himself more. he limped as far as he could, at the very most letting you hold his bag, trying to hold back his tears and cries of pain whenever his hand grasped your arm.

he had only done two half steps so far, each time nearly falling to the floor.

“sweetie, just let me carry you to the car, okay?” you kneel in front of him, making him stop his weak attempt at walking. he knits his brows, shaking his head firmly and trying to stand straighter, as if to prove he wasn’t injured.

“i’m fine momma,” he mumbled, trying to get past you, but you held his shoulders firm. hair blew into his face when he huffed, grumbling about how it wasn’t so bad.

but you could see the bone out of place.

it didn’t take long from texting rafe for him to be striding up the path to where you and your son were. he’d been waiting in the car, said it’d be best if you went because you were better at dealing with injuries and whatnot.

now his jaw was set, face steady when he walked up the path and his son groaned. “dad i’m fine,” he began, but rafe was hearing none of it when he scooped him into one arm, hauling the bag you had onto his other shoulder.

“nah little man, we’re not playing that game,” he simply grunted, carrying him all the way to the car, arm wrapped around your waist.

the car ride to the hospital was silent, your son trying to suck in his tears, you throwing him concerned looks and rafe glancing at him through the mirror.

the hospital was quiet too, letting them do their x-rays and put the cast on after aligning his bone. they had given your son painkillers, but you could see how it still hurt, how he refused to admit it or take more medicine later on at home.

it gave you enough grief that while cooking dinner that night you turned to rafe, brows pinched and biting your lip. “rafe, baby, i don’t think he’s okay.”

“no? hm i thought he wasn’t,” he sighed, settling his hands on your waist, drawing you closer to him.

“he won’t tell me..”

“you want me to talk to him, don’t ya sweetheart?” he guesses, nodding gravely when you hum.

-

your son’s tucked in under his blanket, acting like nothing hurts, like the bulky cast isn’t the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever had to deal with.

and rafe reads it all too well.

sitting down next to his bed with a heavy sigh, he gives his son that look. the one his son knows all too well to be the “i’m not stupid” look.

“how’s that leg of yours, little man?” he asks, tilting his head down at him.

face set as indifferent as he can manage, your son declares, “nothin’ big, you’d handle it just fine.”

it clicks in rafe’s mind finally why his son’s been acting like this. floods into him like waves of guilt too. he’s not pretending like it doesn’t hurt for no reason. for appearances. he’s doing it to be like him.

“that’s not true, hurt my leg once, cried on the pitch, let your momma help me around the house for two weeks,” he murmurs, moving off the seat to kneel beside the bed instead. your son perks up, snapping his head to his dad’s direction as if he can’t even believe what he’s saying.

“you..cried?” he focuses on, “and you let momma help you?”

“sure i did, your momma’s like a healer..and crying’s good too,” he reminds him softly.

“good..?” he asks tentatively.

“yeah, it feels better when you cry. ‘cuz it hurts, so you gotta cry, ‘s only normal.” he can see his sons eyes reddening, them glossing over when rafe brushes his hair back.

“d’you wanna cry? does it hurt?” he asks him, softer than usual, a tone he’s failed to use around his son and now regrets doing so.

your son nods tearfully, rafe not hesitating to pull him into his arms, patting his back as he finally releases the sobs he was holding back, giving him words of reassurance throughout.

rafe couldn’t help but feel it was his fault. years of putting up a front of being made of stone, the strong man of the house. now rubbing off on his son in the worst way possible.

he knew, however, it wasn’t too late to fix it.

once his son had ceased crying, settling back into bed, rafe tucking him in properly and kissing his head, he walked back to your room. after slipping through the door, he climbed into bed, turning to you who sat, anxiously awaiting news.

“is he okay?” you ask, worried as rafe pulled you to face him, bringing your head down to his chest.

“he will be,” he mutters against your hair. “i’ll keep talkin’ to him. shoulda been doin’ that a while ago”

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @mak1777

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 3

Part 2

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1664

The next morning when Damian woke up everyone was much more prepared to deal with his inevitable attack. The restraint on his ankle and Alfred the cat still napping on him helped deal with most of the initall anger that radiated off him though. The goal right now was to convince Damian that he had been de-aged, and all he needed to do was stay with them until the magic wore off. 

The topic of Danyal would come later, for now they needed to focus on Damian. 

Everyone had also prepared an item to show Damian to prove to him that they were telling the truth about his current situation. Alfred was first and had brought him a cup of tea the exact way the young boy preferred when he had first joined them at the manor. Duke showed Damian his school yearbook, and had marked which pages had an older Damian in them. Jason rummaged through the art room and pulled out a few old sketchbooks. 

Those had done well enough to calm the baby assassin down so that Bruce was able to explain the details to the young Damian. Which only served to make him think that instead of this being a test from his grandfather it was actually a scheme to draw him away from his birthright as one of the heirs to the demon head. 

To help further convince him Tim printed out the first DNA test they had done with Damian; making sure to note that the dates on these can’t be altered. Then Dick had showed him photos of him dressed in his Robin costume. What was strange though is that Damian didn’t look pridefully at the photos, only confused. 

Finally it was Bruce’s turn and no one was surprised when it turned out to be a family photo album. It was filled with photos of everyone from the last few years. Pictures of both big and small moments that the family had gone through. What was surprising though is when Damian practically exploded with rage with every page he turned. 

“Chum, is something wro-” Bruce tries to start once he sees how affected the photo album is making him. Only for said book to be launched at his head before he can finish speaking. 

“Get out!” Damian snarls as his eyes dart to everyone around the room as he repeats his words, “Get out!” 

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.” 

“Not now, Jason.” 

Dick makes an obvious move of wanting to comfort Damian, but is clearly holding himself back knowing that his succor would only make things worse. “Dami…” 

“You do not have the right to call me that,” Damian's breath starts to speed up with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “The only one that will ever be allowed to use that name has apparently been long absent from my life. So I will repeat myself only once more; get out.” 

No one makes any move to leave at first and it isn’t until Tim clears his throat as well as putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder does the others finally move. It takes both Duke and Tim to get Bruce out of the room, and Jason ends up having to practically drag Dick out. 

“Why did you pull me away from him! He was clearly on the verge of a breakdown based around the fact that Danyal, his twin, never came here with him! Damian needs someone to be with him right now!” Dick angrily breaks out of Jason's hold on him. 

Jason, immediately matching Dick’s tone retorts, “Since when has that kid ever liked having family much less strangers comfort him? Cause newsflash Dickiebird that what we are to him right now, nothing but strangers who are trying to act way too familiar with him. The only thing your sympathy will do right now is just make things worse!” 

“I’m not going to let my currently 6 year old baby brother mourn a death by himself!”

“We don’t actually know if Danyal is dead or not right now. Just that he didn’t arrive with Damian at the manor 4 years ago.” Tim interjects before any more arguing between the two can continue. “For all we know Ra’s could have sent one twin away to here while keeping the other involved with the league.” 

“Wouldn’t have Damian said something by now if that was the case? He obviously cared a lot for Danyal.” Duke honestly doesn’t know what the right decision is right now, but he’s more inclined to agree with Jason right now. 

Tim runs a hand through his hair in thought, “14 year old Damian, maybe. The Damian that first arrived at the manor four years ago, no way. Especially if he was told explicitly not to say anything. That little brat was still deep in the league mindset, and would have done anything Talia or Ra’s said.”

“Wouldn’t have Ra’s already used Danyal against Bruce though? He’s had plenty of opportunities to use the knowledge of a second child to get B to do practically anything for him. What possible scenario would he be saving that information for?” Dick at this point seems to have calmed down. He’s still obviously wanting to be with Damian, but also knows that Jason is right about how his presence wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment. 

Jason instead of offering any answers to Dick’s questions turns to direct his lingering anger at Bruce, “You’re being awfully fucking quiet right now B, what do you have to say about all this?”

“... I think it’s time to call Talia. I wanted to wait and give Damian the chance to explain himself before doing so, but if the league does still have Danyal we need to start planning his rescue as soon as possible.” 

After asking the boys to keep an eye on Damian, and to check in on him every once in a while without distressing him more Bruce headed upstairs towards his office. Once there he silently stares at the phone in his hand. 

It had been devastating to learn that he had a son, and missed out on so much of his life. Bruce had been angry at Talia, furious even, especially when she had raised Damian to be a child assassin. To learn that she had done this not once but twice shattered him. Even more so when he thinks about how his second son might still be a part of that life when he could have been living here with him instead. 

The alternative to that thought though, the unfortunate more likely option, is that Danyal is dead. 

That he had failed yet another child. 

Bruce presses the number and puts the phone to ear. With each unanswered ring he sees flashes of what could have been if both boys had arrived that day. What was Danyal even like? Was he similar to Damian, or was he the complete opposite? 

“Beloved, what a pleasant surprise hearing from you.”

“I know about Danyal.” Bruce leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. Today has already been exhausting, and he knows that it’s not going to get any better anytime soon. “What happened to him?” 

The amount of silence that follows tells him that for maybe the first time he has truly shocked Talia with his words. Eventually though she answered, sorrow clear as day in her voice, “How much do you know?” 

“I’d rather you tell me what you know right now.” 

“Danyal died two weeks before Damian was sent to live with you.”

There it was, the hard truth. A child that he was never given the chance to hold, to meet, and to love was dead. Bruce had nothing to hold onto from a child that died way too young. 

“My Father and Damian are the only ones that truly know what happened in that room; I didn’t even know at the time that he had pulled the two of them from their afternoon studies.” She continues softly, “By the time I reached them Danyal was gone. I imagine Ra’s wanted to make an example out of him because he had put his body into the pits … only he never came back out. The pits had even taken his body with them.” 

“Did you never question what happened to him?” 

“Ra’s told me it was none of my concern when I questioned him, and he forbade Damian from telling me himself. He had all evidence of Danyal erased after that; he only exists now in the memory of those who knew him.” 

“Would you have ever told me about him?”

“No.” 

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t do anything more than acknowledging her response before hanging up, and putting the phone down. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of her, and he had more important things to focus on right than interrogating Talia. It seems they’re all just going to have to wait for Damian to learn what happened to Danyal anyway. 

For now though he needs to go back downstairs and make sure they haven’t exploded into chaos due to his absence, but as he exits his office he makes a quiet promise to himself and Danyal. “Even in death you will be a part of this family; I’m so sorry you will never get the chance to know just how much they already love you.” 

Once he reaches the batcave once more he sees Tim and Duke at the computer, Jason laid back with his feet on the center table, and Dick leaning by the med bay door. All of them though stop what they’re doing and look towards him as he enters; waiting for him to tell them what has become of the brother they’ve never met. 

“Danyal is dead.” It hurts to watch his sons lose what little hope they had that maybe by the end of this their brother would be coming home. 

[kxsagi]

HIHIHIIIII POOK vould you do something w the bllk boys (isagi, itoshis, shidou n whoever else u'd like😽) and reader who's been really down lately, like the average depression blues and maybe the boys take care of them a little 😁only if u wanna ofc ofc

“𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: yesss ofc, i hope this brought some comfort!

i couldn't think of a title idea for the life of me and wrote most of this late at night 🌚

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

isagi yoichi

isagi notices first when your texts start getting shorter. you���re saying “i’m tired” more often, cancelling plans, and your usual emojis are missing. he doesn’t pry, he knows that can make it worse. 

instead, he starts showing up unannounced with your favorite food and something soft, like a hoodie of his he knows you love or a little plushie. he doesn’t say why he’s there. he just sits beside you, talks about his day, and holds your hand. 

when he sees you struggling to get out of bed, he gently rubs your back and whispers, “you don’t have to do anything today, love. but if you want, we can just lie here. i’ll be your blanket.” 

and then he actually just… lays on top of you like a weighted comforter. 

he’ll do your skincare, braid your hair with tik toks in the background, and narrate his entire football training schedule in the most boring monotone possible until you finally giggle. 

itoshi sae

he’s not good with emotions, but he’s very good at noticing them. and lately, your voice’s been quieter, your eyes a little duller. 

he doesn’t say, “what’s wrong?” he says, “you haven’t smiled in three days.” 

sae starts doing things without asking. dishes? done. laundry? folded. fridge? stocked. and every time you protest, he gives you this deadpan look like, “don’t argue with me when you’ve been living on toast and sadness.” 

one night, he lies down beside you, not touching, just watching you breathe under the moonlight. then, in the quietest voice ever, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay with me. i’ll sit in the dark with you.” 

if you cry, he doesn’t say “don’t cry.” he just pulls you into his chest and rubs your back until the silence becomes soft again. 

itoshi rin

rin has no idea how to help at first. he watches you zone out mid-sentence, sees you curled up in bed at 2 PM, and feels this tight ache in his chest. he hates seeing you like this. 

his version of helping is silently putting your comfort things around the room: a heating pad, your favorite hoodie, a playlist that he made secretly titled “for her on bad days,” and your favorite snacks on the nightstand with a sticky note: “eat or i’ll kill you. – rin.” 

when you start crying randomly, rin panics. he stiffens up, goes “uhh, shit, uhhh” and then just awkwardly hugs you from behind like a koala. 

“you’re allowed to be sad, okay?” he mumbles into your hair. “just don’t shut me out.” 

he’ll lay there with you, barely moving, one hand resting on your hip to let you know he’s there, even when you can’t talk. 

shidou ryusei

surprisingly… shidou handles it better than expected. he notices when your energy disappears. he’s the one dragging you out of the house when you’ve been inside for four days straight. 

“sunlight, baby. vitamin D. you need it. and me. mostly me. and my vitamin D–” 

when you’re curled up like a burrito, he physically lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, yelling, “you don’t need therapy, you need tacos. and me. mostly me. and my di–” 

he makes you laugh when you really don’t want to. calls your depression “the emo gremlin in your brain” and offers to fight it. literally draws a face on a pillow and body-slams it yelling “GET OUTTA HER HEAD YOU GREMLIN BITCH.” 

when the laughter dies down and your eyes go sad again, he softens. “hey… you don’t have to be happy around me. i’m not goin’ anywhere. you got me.” 

bachira meguru

he notices immediately. he feels it. when your voice loses its color, when your hugs don’t hold as long, when your smile doesn’t crinkle your eyes anymore. 

he paints you a mural on a giant canvas, full of bright yellows and warm oranges and little cartoon versions of you two holding hands. 

“this is how i see you, even when you don’t.” 

if you’re having trouble eating, he turns it into a goofy picnic on the floor with tiny flags and “rate this snack from 1 to 10 or i’ll explode.” 

when you cry in silence, he doesn’t ask why. he just cups your face gently and rests his forehead on yours. 

“you’re allowed to be messy and quiet and heavy. i still love you just the same.” 

mikage reo

the moment reo sees your energy drop, he drops everything else. meetings? postponed. training? moved. if you text “i’m not feeling good today,” reo shows up in ten minutes flat, in sweats and with a bag of your favorite pastries. 

he doesn’t try to cheer you up by telling you to “look on the bright side.” instead, he says: “then let’s sit in the dark together, baby.” 

starts spoiling you even more when you're down – luxury spa kits, takeout from expensive places, even orders a custom plush of himself for you to “cuddle when he’s not around” (he pretends it’s a joke, but he’s 100% serious). 

when you start blaming yourself for being distant or moody, he holds your face and says, “hey. you’re not a burden. if anything, it’s an honor to be trusted enough to see you like this.” 

(stopppp reo you’re gonna make everyone cry 😭)

nagi seishiro

nagi might seem laid back, but he notices right away when something’s off. you haven’t texted him your usual memes? you didn’t rant about something dumb today? yeah, no. he’s crawling into bed with you. 

no words – just silently pulls you into a warm cuddle pile, head tucked under his chin, arm lazily but protectively around your waist. 

“existing is hard. let’s do nothing together, mkay?” 

he starts playing cozy games on switch next to you while letting you snuggle up. if you peek over to watch, he hands you the extra controller and says, “you don’t have to talk. just press A sometimes.” 

kisses your forehead so gently when you fall asleep mid-sniffle and whispers, “you’re still my favorite person, even when you’re sad.” 

karasu tabito

he gets weirdly good at dealing with it. he’s the “joking but also serious” boyfriend who forces you to shower by making it into a fake olympic sport. 

“if you get out in under 10 minutes, you win a forehead kiss and a chicken nugget.” 

if you cancel a hangout, he immediately texts “no worries 💕 love u 💕 but also ur dumb and i’m coming over to throw bread at your window 🥖” 

has a sixth sense for when your brain spirals. texts you things like: “you’re hot. emotionally complex. and mildly unstable in a sexy way. this is a pro-depression household as long as you let me hug you after.” 

and when you get quiet and low, he stops joking. his voice softens. “don’t disappear on me, okay? i don’t care if you’re not sunshine right now. i just wanna be where you are.” 

aiku oliver

the guy who tries to make you laugh with the dumbest things like putting cucumbers on his eyes and moaning “self-care is sexy” to cheer you up. 

but also the one who sits you down and asks how you’re actually feeling in a calm, grounded voice that makes you tear up. 

“listen, babe. it’s okay to feel like crap. just means you’re human. hot, wonderful, sometimes-sad human.” 

runs you bubble baths, makes sure you’re fed, brushes your hair if you let him, and throws your depressive guilt out the window. 

“you don’t owe me joy, y’know? you just owe yourself a little kindness. i’ll remind you every day if i have to.” 

kaiser michael

the second you stop being your usual self, kaiser panics internally. not that he’ll ever admit it. instead, he becomes overly dramatic and possessive in the name of “fixing it.” 

“who hurt you? was it the world? was it capitalism? was it that barista who spelled your name wrong? i’ll destroy them.” 

makes you get out of bed just to lie on his chest like a weighted throne. “you’re not allowed to be sad unless it’s on top of me.” 

he doesn’t say “cheer up.” he says, “you’re allowed to be fucked up. i am, too. but if you’re going down, i’m going with you and we’re doing it with style.” 

buys you matching sunglasses and says you two are going to sabotage the universe together unless you feel like napping first. 

but when you’re really, really quiet, when you don’t want jokes or noise, he kisses your temple and says softly, “you don’t have to be anything right now. not perfect. not productive. just… stay here. i got you.” 

(it’s rare but when it happens, it breaks you and heals you all at once.) 

ness alexis

ness notices right away. he’s so emotionally tuned in, you barely have to say anything. if you sigh a little too heavy, he’s already checking your temperature and fluffing pillows. 

“what do you need? food? music? a hug? a legally binding note saying you don’t have to do anything today?” 

becomes the cuddliest nurse on earth. wraps you in a blanket like a burrito and hand-feeds you snacks while talking about random stuff just to fill the quiet without making you feel pressured to respond. 

sends you memes with captions like “me trying to be a functioning adult” but checks up five minutes later like: “okay, but seriously. do you want me to skip practice and come over?” 

writes you tiny notes and hides them around the apartment. in your book: “you’re still the main character.” 

on the bathroom mirror: “your sadness doesn’t scare me. i’m staying.” 

when you cry and say “sorry for being like this,” ness hugs you tighter and whispers, “don’t apologize for being human. i love you even when you’re not okay. maybe especially then.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[eggrollforyou]

okay but like could we get a sex pollen/power kinda thing but opposite?? like instead of y/n being the one getting hit with it, have law get hit with it. bonus points if he doesn’t want to ask y/n for help at first and he’s a bit submissive when she does help😄😄

Wanted This

Law x F!Reader

CW: NSFW, MDNI, sex pollen trope, unprotected sex, p in v, needy Law, rough sex, use of pet names, one bed trope, mutual pining but they don't know it, porn with plot if I forget anything, lemme know!

A/N: Thank you for this ‘Nonnie! This was a lot of fun. I really hope I did your request justice! Law’s  and readers' thoughts are in italics. Hopefully I separate them enough that it’s not confusing. I apparently felt the need to go into great detail to set up Law going to TOWN on reader 🤣

“W-what?!  Are you fucking serious, Shachi?” Law grumbles in frustration. “I-I’m sorry Captain, rules are rules,” Shachi chuckles nervously, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.  

Of-fucking-course this shit HAS to happen. We’re grounded to weather this weird ass storm and this is the last inn with any vacancy and I draw HER name to share the room? Law thinks to himself. “Why can’t she and Ikkaku bunk up?” he pleads one last time.

“Well, they argued that to be fair, it should just be names from a hat…we’re all adults, etcetera, etcetera. I mean they made a strong point, we’re a crew. What does it matter?” Shachi replies. Law rubs his hand down his face in a hidden panic, expressed as faux annoyance. 

“Fucking FINE,” he chagrined as he swipes the room key from Shachi. “Hey, I mean, maybe you can have that talk with her now? You’ll certainly have the privacy to do it, Captain.” Shachi sheepishly replies, hoping to soothe Law’s foul mood at the current turn of events. “SHHH! Shut the fuck up Shachi. I’ll deal with it,” Law whispers, embarrassed that anyone might have heard. 

His feelings for you have grown the last few months but he hasn’t had the nerve to express to you what they are, being as emotionally repressed as he is. Finally needing to get it all out, he’s been talking to Shachi about it, hoping that maybe by getting it out in the open, he’ll realize that they’re nothing more than a simple crush that will fizzle away with time. 

But no, things can’t be that simple and they can’t go the way of just ignoring it until it goes away that he was hoping he could rely on. And now, since you’re all docked at this island to weather a storm for another couple days he has to spend them sharing the last remaining room at the inn with you?! He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves that are eliciting butterflies in his stomach and anxiety in his chest. He waits until he feels the blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears that he feels burning hot at the idea of sharing a room with you, to dissipate before he goes to find you.

“Looks like we’re bunking together,” Law tries to sound as unbothered as possible as he approaches you, showing the key to your room. Bunking together!? What the fuck is this, camp?! He internally chastises himself. To his surprise, you giggle. “I guess so, Captain!” you reply enthusiastically. God, you’re adorable.

As you both walk toward your room,  you fight to keep your cool. I mean it was obvious to everyone- except apparently Law- that you harbored a crush for the broody man. You’re not sure why you were so excited about this, though. He never seemed to reciprocate your feelings towards him. Always giving you the same clipped responses he gave the rest of the crew. In fact, it seemed he might actually not enjoy your company all that much, the more you think about it. He's always distant. Sometimes if you're going to pass each other late at night on the ship, he flinches and just turns away abruptly. Like he actively avoids you.

Suddenly, you’re wracked with anxiety. This may actually be worse than I was thinking. He probably finds me annoying and this may be REALLY awkward. Suck it up, Y/N. You’re both adults. Just treat it as any other day on the Tang…you’ll be fine right? Ugh. How could I be so stupid. He clearly isn't interested in me. I guess I got so caught up in my feelings, I failed to see it for myself…

As you both approach your room, you shift to stand behind Law to avoid bothering him. Law unlocks the door and as you both step in, you see the bathroom to the right and walk further to see a table in a small sitting area with a vase of beautiful flowers next to the window and one bed. Both of you stop in your tracks. You, quietly giddy and your heart skipping happily, but Law’s face suddenly goes white. You feign shock when he turns to look at you. 

“T-this must be a mistake,” he says. “I’m going to go to the front desk and talk to them. We must have gotten the wrong room key, we’re supposed to have two beds,” he hurries as he rushes out of the room. Leaving you standing there, quietly trying to mend your breaking heart, hoping your face doesn't show the disappointment at your realization that Law just isn't that into you. Keep it together Y/N….it’s only unrequited love. You can deal with it, you sarcastically tell yourself. Leaving you to just nod in acceptance as he sees you before he shuts the door. 

“I’m sorry, Sir. But that is our last room available. We apologize for the inconvenience. It was also assumed that a couple would be staying in the room. We can certainly send up a second set of linens for you if that will help?” Law glared daggers at the clerk who didn’t seem to give two shits about the predicament their assumptions put him in. He sighed in defeat, “Fine. A second set of linens. We’ll make do,” he waves his hand as he walks away. 

When he returns, you're nowhere in sight but he hears the shower running, steam slowly trickling out from under the door. He breathes a sigh of momentary relief. Don't make this awkward, alright? We're adults. We can manage. I'll just tell her I have extra blankets and a pillow being delivered to sleep on the floor. No need to make this a thing.

A few moments later, someone knocks on the door. Must be the bedding. Law gets up from sitting at the table contemplating why life has planned out to land him in this exact moment as he answers, collecting the bedding from the housekeeper and promptly shutting the door behind him. 

The loud slam of the door closing broke you from your in-shower zone out, where little to Law's knowledge, you're also contemplating what karmic retribution landed you here in this exact situation. Your heartbeat in your ears from being suddenly startled, you take a deep breath. It can’t be THAT bad to share a room with me, can it? What the fuck, this seems really over the top for a minor inconvenience.

You hurry to finish showering, clearing your head as best you can, and try to face how you’re going to approach the next couple days. I can just grab my book and hang out in the lobby or at the tavern or something. I don’t have to stay in the room. Just use it purely as a space to sleep. You’ve resigned, you’re going to get dressed, grab your book and just go down to the tavern for a drink and to read. It’ll be some nice alone time anyway.

Law hears the water shut off in the bathroom and in a rush, he accidentally almost throws the spare blanket on the table and knocks over the vase of flowers, water spilling everywhere. “Shit!” Law leans over and rushes to right the vase, but the damage is done. There’s water everywhere as it trickles off the table onto the floor. He immediately coughs and sneezes, realizing in the fall, the pollen on some of the flowers is knocked loose. “What-” he coughs “-the fuck?” He has nothing left to do but wait for you to get out of the bathroom, to grab a towel to clean up the mess. 

In a couple minutes, you rush out of the bathroom, mumbling an apology for taking so long in the bathroom. You walk briskly to your bags and grab a book and turn to exit the room as quickly as you can, trying to make as little eye contact as possible to avoid showing Law the hurt and growing frustration in your eyes. “I’m, uh, gonna be down at the tavern,” as you wave your book in the air. Before Law has a chance to respond, you’re gone. The door quickly shutting behind you. 

He sighs a breath of something- Resignation? Relief? Wanting? He’s not sure. He wants to spend time with you but you have his brain so fucked up. He gets tongue tied and nervous around you. He finds himself wanting to impress you? He wants to get to know you better but you don’t need that. Don’t need what his baggage would mean for you. Suddenly, he’s thinking about your hair. How it always looks so soft. Soft like how soft your skin must feel. He walks to the bathroom to grab a towel to clean the mess from the flowers and he’s hit with the warm, humid air still lingering in the bathroom. The scent is tinged with your soap. The smell enveloping him like how you envelope his thoughts.

He closes his eyes and takes it in. The warmth of the humid, heavy air clings to his skin and he feels it spread across his chest and he suddenly gets pangs of pain in his gut. His eyes snap open. What the hell? His chest feels tight, his skin burns, his ears are buzzing and all he can think of is how soft your lips look. How he wants to kiss them….and your jaw…and your neck. His thoughts grow hazy and he imagines how he would press you against the bathroom counter, bend you over and fuck you into oblivion. WHAT THE FUCKi?!

He feels the familiar throbbing of his cock when he lets his thoughts wander about you, but this time, it feels like if he doesn’t have some contact, he’ll explode. He begins breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath that seems to evade him as his skin burns and tingles, focusing on his groin. What the hell is happening to me? Something’s wrong. He looks down and he sees the evidence of his arousal, feeling as if he doesn’t release his cock, his pants will rip. Without thinking, he hurriedly unzips his pants and frees himself with a sigh, but the aching pain continues. He leans on the bathroom wall and slowly slides down as he palms himself over his boxers trying to find some relief. It sends electric jolts down his spine. 

He pulls his boxers down slightly and grips his length at the base. It’s veiny, an angry red, and dripping precum. He hisses as his hand starts moving up and down, collecting the precum from the top and twisting his fist down his shaft. He begins to pump his fist hoping to find some release from this crazed feeling. When he thinks he might finally reach his peak, he finds himself unable to finish and find relief. He continues over and over and there seems to be no release in sight. “Fuuuhck,” he whispers to himself as he slams the back of his head on the bathroom wall in frustration, panting and sweating.

“Shit!” you mumble to yourself. “I grabbed the wrong fucking book,” as you bring your palm to your forehead. You made it to the tavern, decided to order your drink and a snack first before settling down to crack open your book. You were slightly distracted because Shachi and Penguin were sitting at another table and staring at you. You could swear they had a look of pity but thought it must be because you didn’t want to sit with them. Much preferring to deal with your current emotional state alone. 

When you opened your book, looking for your bookmark, you realized then that you grabbed the next book in the series you were reading. “Damn it….now I have to go back up there,” you whined. Do I really need to read right now?

Ugh. I can’t be a weirdo and just stare at the wall all night. I’ll just run in and grab it really quick. And you stand up to head back to the room.

Law didn’t hear your footsteps approaching in his attempt to deal with his current predicament. But as soon as you stopped at the door, he smelled you. His pupils suddenly dilated and his breathing labored. He stops and quickly covers his lap with the towel he couldn't remember the reason he needed as you open the door to the room. 

He grunts as you walk past him, but you don't realize where he is, nor the state he's in. He's trying not to let you find him like this- needy, desperate, bordering rabid for touch. You walk to your bag and swap out the correct book and make your way back to the door to nurse your drink. You hear a shuffle in the bathroom and take a passing peek. You see Law’s legs splayed out, his body propped on the wall. He's breathing heavily, his face and chest are flushed, he's practically dripping sweat.

You stop, “Law! C-captain! Are you ok?!” You immediately begin to check for a fever, search for his pulse on his wrist to check his heart rate. He hisses at the contact, ripping his wrist from your grasp, “G-get out,” he enunciates. “L-leave me alone, I'm f-fine, damn it.” Your hands recoil from him as you pull them back. What the hell is going on? “Captain, I just want to make sure you're-”

“I said I'm fine,” he pants, interrupting you. Grimacing in pain as waves of it return.

 I can't just leave him like this, but clearly he doesn't want my help. “I can get Shachi, or Penguin? I really don't think I should leave you like this, Law.” Your concern for his well being winning out over wanting to leave his grumpy ass alone. Something was clearly wrong, you wouldn't feel right storming off. 

“N-no! P-please,” he's begging. Beginning to lose his mind from his desire to have your skin on his. To kiss you, like he's always wanted to, to force your gaze in the mirror to make you watch him worship your body. He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of you but not like this. He wanted to tell you that you consume his thoughts. He's wanted to ask you out ages ago but he was too much of a coward to do it. And where has that silence led him? 

He's now writhing on the bathroom floor of a room at an inn, with an erection that won't go away, a mind full of lustful thoughts that he cannot control and you worriedly and helplessly staring at him. 

You take a moment, seeing he's clearly in pain and instead try a different approach with him. “Law, I need you to tell me what's wrong. Where are you in pain? Can you tell me your symptoms? Is it ok for me to check your pulse?” You slowly reach out. He nods, his chest heaving. You look down and notice the towel over his lap and your eyes widen. He's very clearly trying to conceal his erection, but the towel does nothing to hide it. 

Suddenly, you realise what's going on. You've seen it before, prior to joining the crew. It's the effects of an aphrodisiac. You steel your nerves. You have no idea what's going to happen when you tell him this. “L-law,” your cheeks are hot, turning bright red, “I, uhm, I think I know what's going on. It looks like you may have been exposed to an aphrodisiac.” You awkwardly clear your throat. 

His wild eyes connect with yours, they're so dilated you can barely see the beautiful amber and gold that they usually glow. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and you're trying to keep your cool, at least for his sake. “P-please, Y/N. I need your help, w-what do I need to fix….this?” He gestures his hands to his throbbing erection. “I-it hurts,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. 

Your eyes quickly snap from his groin to his eyes, your breath hitches, “I…think you know...how to fix it,” you whisper. He leans forward and presses his face into the crook of your neck and inhales a deep breath in your hair, “I'm- hng- I'm sorry,” he winces. “I wanted this to be different.” Your smell is driving him crazy, it's so enticing, it's like you're a siren calling out to him and he's losing whatever sliver of self control he has left. 

“What are you talking about, Law? Different-” Suddenly he reaches forward and he slips his hand behind your head, pulling you to him in a messy kiss. You pause for a moment, but soon get lost in his need. Returning his heated kisses as you lean into him. 

You yelp as he pulls you onto his lap, groaning as you grind your hips onto him. He's lost in the feeling of you. Your lips slotting into his feel like perfection and he never wants to leave. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you part your lips for him. Your tongues dance together, exploring each other. “I need you Y/N,” he growls as he pulls the towel out from underneath you. 

While your hips are lifted, he pulls your skirt down and you shift to remove the item completely and he looks down. His cock throbbing harder at the sight of your lacy underwear. With a growl you hear a RIP as he tosses your underwear to the side. “P-please, I n-,” he groans in desperation, “I n-need to know you want this t-too.” 

Your heart is racing, you just want him to feel better, but you feel selfish. You wonder if this is just the pollen talking. Will he still want me when it's out of his system? Should I walk away? You decide now’s the time to just tell him. This situation is already about as messy as it can get, just get it out in the open. Treat it like a bandage, just rip it off. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Law, I’ve always wanted this.”

Law’s eyes go wide for a brief moment and in one swift motion, he pulls you down onto his length. He groans, a gritty sound, deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sudden stretch as and the delicious burn of your body stretching to accommodate him. He presses his forehead to yours, hot breaths fanning your face, “‘m’sorry. I wanted this to be d-different,” he pants. Despite his pain and desperation, he’s trying to hold back to avoid hurting you. But you take the lead, surprising him.

You capture his lips in a wet kiss, all tongue and teeth as you pull up on his cock and slam your hips down. His groans and praises spur you to keep a steady pace as you bounce up and down his length. “F-fuck, Law, hnng,” you cry out as you throw your head back in pleasure.

Law latches his lips to your neck, pressing hot open mouthed kisses and biting it between whispered thank yous. After a few moments, you begin to slow down to the delight of your legs and hips as the muscles burn and ache. Pulling up slowly to his tip, feeling every delicious inch and prominent vein in your clenching walls before pushing your hips back down. 

Rolling your hips causes Law to grip your hips tightly, his fingertips turning white, “S-shit, Y/N, slow down, m’gonna-,” he warns you of his impending orgasm. You lean down to his ear, biting his earlobe, “G-give it to me.” Your sultry command is his undoing. He pulls you down as he thrusts up into you, holding you tightly against him as he moans, spilling inside of you. As you both continue panting, you feel him twitch inside of you again. “M’not done with you yet, love” he growls. He wraps his arms around you, presses his back to the wall, and stands up without ever leaving your warmth.

He pulls out of you and you protest the sudden feeling of emptiness and he sets you to stand in front of him. Turning you around, he fixes his gaze on you in the mirror, you both lock eyes and hurriedly remove the remainder of your clothing.

Law takes in your naked form, his pupils so dilated you only see black, and his gaze darkens. He still has the painful urge deep in his gut telling him to continue. One orgasm was not enough to dull the effects of the pollen, as he’s still excruciatingly hard.

He pulls your back to his chest so you are flush with his body, reaching around to grab your breasts and knead and squish them, gently rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. You moan, leaning your head back on him.

One of his hands snakes down and rubs circles on your clit, dipping down to press a finger into you, collecting his cum, swirling it and pressing it back in. He watches as you close your eyes, furrowing your brow, and biting your lip.

He leans back and lines back up to your entrance again and presses in, to the hilt, again. “Fuuhck, Law, fuck me, please,” you beg. Law immediately begins pounding into you at an inhuman pace, forcing your back into an arch as he watches how your body greedily takes him. “Mmmm, shit,” he whispers. He’s beginning to lose himself in you, blinded by lust induced by the pollen. The bathroom is filled with the sinful sounds of skin meeting skin when his hips slam into you and your labored breathing. 

Law presses down on your hips slightly so his cock continues to hit the spot in you that makes your knees weak, “Fuck, right there, don’t stop, pleeeeease,” you cry out as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The fire in your belly burns hotter and hotter with each pass of his cock. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Give it to me,” he whispers in your ear as he gently bites the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. 

He forces your gaze to the mirror. As soon as you make eye contact with him, seeing the position he has you, the feral look in his eyes, you shatter. Your orgasm washing over you in waves as your cunt clenches and flutters on his length, gripping it so tightly his eyes roll back. He moans into your ear as he finishes inside of you again. Pulsing and throbbing as he fills you so full, you feel it beginning to run down the inside of your leg. He doesn’t stop fucking into you. Like a man possessed, he continues fucking into you.

He suddenly turns you around, picking you up and pulling you into another kiss. His tongue enters your mouth, taking you, overwhelming your senses. He sets you on the countertop in the bathroom and without skipping another beat, presses his still hard cock into you. You open your eyes in surprise and he begins pounding into you again as your legs are dangling over his elbows, his hands grabbing a firm grip of your ass. He wants to stay like this and claim you as his, forever. 

“Fu-uck, I can’t get enough of you, baby,” Law moans. His head thrown back, you watch his Adam’s apple bob with his swallow, watching the sweat that’s beading on his skin, drip down his sculpted chest and abs. You watch as his, somehow, still hard cock goes in and out of you. “Mmmn,” is all you can manage in your fucked out state. There are no words left, only him and how he has complete control over you as you quickly approach another orgasm. 

Law continues to fuck into you and rolls his hips, adjusting the angle his cock slams into you. Pressing that spot just right again and again. He presses two fingers on your clit and begins pressing in harsh sloppy circles as he gets close to cumming again.

The bathroom air is thick and heady with the sounds and smells of sex and lust. He feels you clenching again as you approach another orgasm, gasping and gripping his arms as you twitch under his ministrations. With one final, harsh thrust, Law groans as he cums again, pressing hard on your clit, you scream out. Your mouth falls open as you cum again on his cock, taking everything he’s giving you.

The effects of the pollen are finally waning. Law’s mind is growing clearer by the second as he rests his forehead on yours. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs as he continues to throb and slowly pump into you. You both wince from overstimulation as he pulls out of you. Your legs hang down over the edge of the counter, but your body is reduced to putty. Every part of you feels heavy. Law gently picks you up, bridal style, and walks you to the bed, laying you down. He walks back to the bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up.

As you slowly regain clarity after a few moments, you begin to grow nervous about what this all means now. Will this change your relationship negatively? Was he serious earlier when he said he wanted this? Or was that the pollen talking? You’re so lost in your anxious thoughts you didn’t register Law lying down in bed next to you. “Y/N,” he says again to get your attention, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you…are you ok?” he quietly questions. His face covered in a look of worry matching your own. “C-can I be honest with you, Law?” He nods.

“I-I….I’ve wanted you for a long time, Law. I know you were under the effects of the pollen, so uhm, if you don’t want to be-” he cuts you off with a kiss that you find all too easy to fall into. “I’ve liked you for a long time as well, Y/N. I….I really did want this, just….not this way. I wanted to get here eventually but I was too afraid to say anything to you,” he quietly admits.

You feel your face heating up in a blush, reaching your hand out to touch his cheek, “We’re both idiots, I guess, huh?” you chuckle. He nods in agreement, “Heh…yea, I guess so,” his thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder. “W-will you be mine, Y/N?” he sheepishly asks. 

Your heart jumps and you giggle at his bashfulness after what just transpired between you two. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, “You always had me, Law.”

PHEW! This fic practically wrote itself, though it ended up WAAAY longer than I expected😅. I really hope you enjoyed it! Thanks again for the request! As a reminder, I work full time, am a part time graduate student, and I have a family. My life can get pretty chaotic, quickly. I will work on requests when I have the free time! ily all  ❤️💕

Taglist: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

[baphometsss]

Solas repeatedly explains that things are not so black and white and the fandom's response to the nature of his relationships with Mythal and Felassan etc are weirdly reminiscent of what he finds frustrating about modern Thedas.

He explains repeatedly that the distinction between spirit and demon is not that black and white, that there's always an element of choice involved. Likewise, he cannot be so easily defined as wisdom or pride. He is a mix of both and will lean into one or the other depending on how he is perceived. Over and over again he tries to make people see that it's our expectations that create the dynamics of our relationships and therefore how we perceive others. If we respect others in the way they would like to be respected, you can come closer to an authentic and equal partnership.

Likewise, he says that he is not defined by his body, a point Trick said came from their own thoughts around their gender and figuring out that they were nonbinary. Solas chose a male body, seemingly because he had to choose one, not necessarily because he felt like a man. In fact he repeatedly explains that he sees himself as a spirit i.e. genderless

The romance or friendship with the Inquisitor is special because it is the first time that he's branching out of his comfort zone of bonding like a spirit bonds (reflecting) and trying to bond like a person does instead (meeting them on their level, sharing his heart with them and being vulnerable). This is why one of my favourite lines from him is 'You are unique. In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me.' This is the first time he has fallen in love, the first time he has actually relished being a person and not a spirit, because he's able to be with Lavellan this way. He can't fall in love as a spirit as spirits don't bond that way, as is repeatedly stated throughout his story. I personally think the relationships he forged before Inquisition were all done using the attachment style of spirits, which is apparently quite abstract, and not as a man, which is more understandable to mortals and us, the player.

What's especially pertinent about this is that says this line right before he's about to abandon his plan to tear down the Veil by telling the Inquisitor the truth, a plan that symbolises his attachment to his spirit-self and the world he inadvertently destroyed. Once he does that, there's no coming back; likewise, once you take a body, you cannot go back. When you fall in love in a way that makes all the parts of you line up perfectly for the first time, you can't go back.

What is so beautiful to me about Solas's love story with Lavellan is that we witness Solas in a chrysalis state between spirithood and personhood, past and present (and future), on the precipice of metamorphosis. At the very moment he's about to take that final leap like The Fool his romance card is based on, he backs out, because of guilt, trauma, grief, duty and the rest.

Even with a befriended Inquisitor, he bonds with them on their level. He doesn't try to elevate them to his level; he comes to theirs. He is the opposite of Pride in their friendship, which is why he respects them. They allow him to be himself.

It's because of this change in nature that I think Solas and Lavellan's love story is so compelling--Solas's world quite literally changes when he falls in love, as he states multiple times, in various ways. I mean, look at the way he needs time to think about a potential relationship with Lavellan. He probably knows that it's a bad idea, but at this point he has no idea how much of a bad idea it is with respect to his plans because he has no idea that it will make him want to give it up. If he had, he never would've entertained the idea of a relationship. His romance card in Veilguard explains that he didn't know what it would mean to fall in love, because he's never actually been in love. He has loved countless friends and companions, like Mythal and Felassan, but he has not fallen for someone like he falls for a romanced Lavellan; Lavellan, who is deified like he was deified, who sees him for who he is (as much as they can) and doesn't shun him or punish him for not doing as he was told like a good lapdog.

Once again there's more of the irony that pervades Solas's story at every turn. It's in falling for a mortal that Solas becomes a more complete person, more of the man he says he is and not the god others have revered him as. That is the deepest change of all and the one that reflects his earlier statements on the delineation between spirit and demon not being so black and white, and involving a level of choice. Solas chooses to be more of a man in a similar way to how Cole chooses to become more human. He knows deep down that he's already in too deep to stop, and this is why, despite knowing he has a job to do and a duty to fulfil, he leaves clues for the Inquisition to follow him. Because he's already gone too far, and now he can't go back, and deep down he wants to be stopped, like Varric said. Solas, as a former spirit, doesn't simply feel love, he embodies it, and so he is helpless to that emotion. Of course he left clues.

Because that is what falling in love meant for Solas. It meant going into that chrysalis state and emerging as a totally new being with an experience that is quite far removed from his spirit self and all the limitations that come with that. Mythal and Felassan etc predate this experience, they're intrinsically tied to his nature as a spirit and then as a manifested spirit. While he loved them, that love was tangled up with a simpler nature, and the love he shares with Lavellan is coming from a totally new place. For that reason, the two can't really be compared.

[thewitchblue]

"Are you... reading Twilight?"

You had asked Jason, who broke into your apartment while you were gone grocery shopping. He only gave you a hum and continued reading as you set your grocery bags on your kitchen table.

You watched him turn the page and felt a sense of dread. It was your copy from when you were 13 years old. It had notes and doodles in the margins. Did he read your notes? Of course he would. He reads the annotated versions of Jane Austen he has for fun. Why wouldn't he read your notes? The world seemed to be against you this day.

You were so mortified you didn't even hear him laugh at a doodle you had of Edward biting a dog with the word "nom" next to it. He was almost done with the book.

You've only been dating for a handful of months. Would the notes break up your relationship? You don't remember the majority of them.

You haven't touched the trilogy since school, and you originally didn't even want to read it. The social pressure from your friends became to be too much, and it felt like a religious experience at the time.

You had forgotten about the book entirely in the years you've had it crammed in a bookcase next to the rest of the series, which, with great horror, you saw he also pulled out to read.

"Don't tell me you're enjoying the book."

You said in disbelief. The memories run through your head of your blushing cheeks at simple words on pages while the girls ganged up on you to ask which team your on. What team is Jason on? Or has he read this before behind closed doors? He shrugged and simply replied,

"I am."

You wanted to bolt out the door, but you had melting limited addition candy cane ice cream in your grocery bag.

Instead of running away, you bravely start putting away your groceries with your eyes trained on Jason. He seemed to genuinely enjoy your trashy romance book that's so incredibly dated. This is so bizarre to you. He's a fan of the classics and loves books that he can revisit without cringing.

The book appeared partially destroyed by the abyss of your backpack with a torn cover and a broken spine, but it drew Jason's attention. Of course, it would draw his attention. He always said a well loved book is one you take everywhere. A book with a broken spine and torn cover is going to make him curious.

He never had the normal teenage phase, so he's never read the book. He was curious, and he was rewarded so far. He understands now why teenagers like the trilogy so far.

You decided to break into the ice cream. You tensed at every page turned. What did you write in there? You tried to remember. You vaguely remember writing "yummy muscles" on a page. You cringed. Oh, the horrors of a horny teen.

The ice cream was as delicious as you expected it to be. How could you look him in the eyes ever again? Will he tell the whole family? You were stress eating.

Jason finished the book and went to pick up the next one, but you plucked it out of his hands before he could open it and grabbed the final book as well.

"I'm seriously going to throw these in the shredder."

Jason smirked at you. He enjoyed your little doodles and notes. It was as if he was meeting you when you were kids. He pointed out,

"I think they are too big to shred, pipsqueak."

You pouted, which only made him more amused. He pulled you into his lap and kissed your cheek. You huffed,

"I can still try."

He laughed. You were so adorable. He might have to embarrass you more. He murmured to you,

"I especially enjoyed your note of 'delicious dog meat.'"

You groaned and held your face in your hands, making the books fall to the floor. You hated your past self in this moment. Why did you keep those books? For Jason to show up and read them?

The feeling of dread eventually went away the more he kissed you. You filed away the fact you can know for a fact Jason read Twilight now, and part of you wondered if he'll spiral into the hellscape of fanfiction as a result. You are going to burn those books.

You like to think you ended up with a better love story than Twilght. Sure, you may be dating a zombie instead of a vampire or werewolf like teen you had wanted (if we can have Superman, we can have a sexy vampire or werewolf), but your zombie is perfect in his own ways.