#and reader is very bitter and angry and confused

[francixoxoxo]

Some scattered hints for reader in tambourine beech leaves

[endofthelinegang]

the witchy type

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  thunderbolts x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  in a world frayed by shadows and war, each Thunderbolt finds an anchor in a witch whose magic threads through their wounds, memories, and buried humanity. love blooms quietly—in blood-soaked silence, stolen rooftop sunsets, and the spaces between survival and surrender.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

John walker found himself with a Hex-Witch (combat-based, sigil-driven magic; rooted in practical mysticism and battlefield protection)...

At first, John doesn’t trust you. Not because of the “witch” thing—he's seen weirder—but because you're not predictable. You fight with whispers and flicks of your fingers instead of fists, and that unnerves him.

You, in turn, don’t like his aggression. His All-American soldier act rubs you the wrong way—too much ego, not enough awareness of what lies beyond the veil.

But he learns fast. Starts watching the way you carve symbols into the air mid-battle. Notices how you keep him alive without him realizing it���redirecting bullets, hexing weapons to jam.

He's not used to someone fighting with him like that—quiet, efficient, terrifying in ways he can’t define.

Over time, he becomes protective of you in a very "I don’t believe in magic but don’t touch her or I’ll break your jaw" way. You make him a sigil to etch into his armor. He acts like it's dumb. But he wears it.

You hex his nightmares once. Just once. He doesn’t ask again—but he sleeps easier near you.

There’s tension between you two, like gunpowder and lit candles. Controlled... until it isn’t.

John isn’t used to falling for someone like you. You’re unpredictable, untouchable in ways that unsettle his soldier brain—but God, does it keep him up at night.

The first time he realizes he has feelings for you is after a mission. You get hurt—not bad, just bloodied—and instead of patching yourself up, you use the last of your energy to cast a protective sigil over him. He’s stunned. Angry. Confused. In love.

He pretends to hate when you tease him with “witchy” stuff—blowing out candles from across the room, making his gun jam when he mouths off—but deep down? He gets a little soft about it. Thinks it's cute. Will never admit that.

He brings you practical things as gifts: a new combat knife, a fireproof journal for spellcraft, a custom patch to sew onto your gear with a barely-visible warding symbol. He acts like it’s “just tactical,” but the way he watches you smile after? Yeah.

You enchant his dog tags with a small hex of protection. He says it’s pointless. But he never takes them off again.

He’s touch-starved, but doesn’t initiate often. The first time you reach out and thread your fingers through his gloved ones, his entire body goes still. Then soft. Like he forgot what it felt like to be held without being used.

When he kisses you for the first time, it’s after a brutal mission. You’re both scraped up, bloody, alive. He cups your jaw like you’re breakable, like your magic doesn’t terrify him half as much as how badly x~~~he wants to be yours.

He calls you “witch” like it’s a love language—gruff, protective, a little mocking. You hex his coffee in return so it’s always exactly the temperature he likes. Balance.

When he sleeps next to you, your magic quiets. And he does too. For once.

🥀 damn soldier 

The night hangs heavy, thick with fog that clings like a damp cloak, and the air tastes of burnt ozone and scorched metal—a bitter reminder of battles fought just beyond sight. Beneath your fingers, the rough concrete is cold and unforgiving, gritty with dust and flecks of ash you smear into a crude, jagged symbol. Your hands tremble slightly, stained with iron and the raw pulse of magic that hums beneath your skin.

John’s pacing nearby is a stark contrast to your stillness—boots scraping softly against cracked stone, breath shallow, the faint metallic clink of his dog tags whispering in the silence. His voice cuts sharp through the quiet, snapping like a whip. “You done whisperin’ to the dirt yet?”

You don’t meet his gaze. Instead, your eyes stay fixed on the symbol as your lips part in a slow, almost reverent murmur. “Almost. Unless you want to walk into an ambush and leave your bones scattered across the alley.”

He stops, jaw tight enough to see the strain beneath the skin. “I’m not afraid of a couple of mercs.”

“It’s not mercs,” you say, voice dropping, rough and low, the words coated with something older than him—an ancient warning. “It’s what’s riding inside them.”

The space between you shifts. The silence thickens, buzzing with an unspoken weight.

The final stroke of ash is barely a whisper as you finish the symbol, your incantation slipping from your tongue in a language older than any flag John’s ever fought under. For a heartbeat, the symbol burns a searing white-hot glow, then fades into nothingness.

John’s gaze stays locked on you as you rise, fingers brushing ash from your palms like shedding a second skin. “So what now?” His voice is rough, but there’s a hint of awe threading through. “You summon lightning? Melt their faces?”

“No.” Your smirk curves soft and dangerous. “Now, we walk in... and nothing will touch you.”

He finally meets your eyes—really meets them. The storm behind your gaze is fierce, but there’s something else there, something that threads through the tension and settles deep in his chest. “Why me?”

You step closer, the fog curling around your ankles like it knows to give you space. Your voice is softer now, but sharp with truth. “Because you keep stepping in front of me.”

His breath catches—a slow exhale, low and ragged, like he’s been holding it far too long. The rough edges of his voice turn almost tender. “Damn witch.”

You reach out, fingertips ghosting over the curve of his jaw—warm against the cold bite of the night. Your smirk deepens into something softer, a promise buried beneath teasing words. “Damn soldier.”

And for a moment, the fog parts just enough for two impossible people to stand on the same side—waiting to fight, to fall, to maybe… stay.

Yelena Belova finds solace in a Spirit Medium…

Yelena doesn’t flinch when she finds out what you can do. She’s seen too much to fear the dead. But she does flinch when she sees how it’s eating you alive.

You’re not flashy with your power. You listen to voices no one else hears. You light candles that burn cold. You disappear sometimes—drawn into the veil between life and death. She pretends it doesn’t scare her.

She watches you, silently. The way you close your eyes when you feel the grief around you. The way you speak gently to empty air. The way your hands shake after summoning something that didn’t want to be remembered.

You tell her the dead don’t lie. That they’re more honest than the living. She says, “Then I’m surprised you still talk to me.”

She brings you food when you’re drained. Tells you dumb jokes when your eyes go distant. She doesn’t say she cares—but she never lets you drift too far.

One night, you channel someone she lost. You don’t mean to. She doesn’t ask you to. But when it happens, she doesn’t walk away. She just... listens. Tears running down her cheeks silently. You never speak of it again.

She doesn’t believe in soulmates. But she ties a thin red thread around your wrist—“for protection,” she says. You feel the way it hums with her energy. You never take it off.

🥀  too much 

The motel room is dim, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink, lit only by the soft, uneven flicker of a single candle perched on the battered nightstand. The wax drips slowly, a quiet rhythm against the stillness. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers tangled in the worn, threadbare sheets—cool against your skin, rough with age—eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the peeling wallpaper and cracked ceiling, lost in the flickering light.

The scent of stale cigarettes and old coffee lingers faintly, mingling with the faint, earthy smell of sage burning somewhere deeper in the room—your attempt to cleanse the heaviness that clings to your bones.

Yelena leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the thin strip of hallway light. The leather of her jacket creaks softly with the subtle movement. “You’re listening again,” she says, voice low but steady.

You nod once, not trusting your voice.

“Anyone I know?”

You pause, swallowing the heaviness lodged in your throat. “No. A boy. Eight years old. Doesn’t understand he’s dead.”

Her expression tightens, jaw clenched, but you hear the slight hitch in her breath. “Can you help him?”

“I already did,” you murmur, voice barely above the candle’s sputter. “Just... had to let him tell his story.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she moves across the room, settling beside you on the bed with a quiet sigh. Her warmth presses against your side—steady, real. A balm to the cold edges inside.

“You take on too much,” she says, the words gentle but carrying weight.

“So do you,” you reply, eyes still tracing the dance of shadows on the wall.

A silence falls, thick and heavy, until she breaks it with a soft, tentative question. “What do they say about me? The dead?”

You glance at her, surprise flickering in your chest. “They say... you carry your ghosts well.”

She scoffs, the sound rough but almost tender. “Figures. Even in death, people lie.”

Your fingers reach out instinctively, brushing against hers—the rough calluses of a fighter meeting the softness of vulnerability. “Not to me.”

Yelena exhales—a breath caught between relief and something deeper, shaky but sure. Slowly, deliberately, she laces her fingers through yours, the touch grounding and electric all at once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, eyes cast downward, voice steady. “So if you start slipping into some spooky dead zone, drag me with you. Deal?”

A smile tugs at your lips—soft, genuine. “Deal.”

The candle flickers one last time before settling into a steady glow. Outside, the veil between worlds seems to thin just enough to let the silence breathe. For now.

Bob Reynolds finds himself more than in love with a Threading Witch…

When Bob meets you, he doesn’t understand why the voices in his head go quiet around you. He’s used to fear, to internal war, to the Void clawing at his insides—but you’re like static turned into white noise. Not peace. Just... stillness.

You don’t look at him like the world does. You don’t fear him, even when you should. Especially when his eyes flash gold or his hands shake and he whispers, “I don’t want to break again.”

You tell him you’ve seen worse things than gods. That you’ve rewritten fate in blood. That theuniverse has cracks—and you live inside one.

Bob watches you work a probability hex once—make a bullet curve mid-air, miss him by a centimeter, and ricochet into someone’s gun. He doesn’t breathe for ten full seconds. “That’s not possible,” he says. You smile. “Exactly.”

You know how fragile he is under all that strength. You become his grounding tether. The anchor point in the chaos. The one constant that refuses to break—even when he does.

He once asks you what you see when you look at him. You answer without blinking: “Potential. To save everything. Or destroy it.”

And then, softer: “But I think you’ll choose right. Because you already did when you didn’t kill me.”

He tells you later, “You’re the only variable I can’t predict.” You kiss him like a question. He answers with a storm.

Bob’s a guy who’s seen hell and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty—emotionally or physically. He’s tough, abrasive, and quick to shoot down softness, but with you, that rough exterior cracks in unexpected moments.

Your threading magic feels foreign to him at first—too delicate, too precise—but he respects it because he can see how it calms you, how it can patch things even when bullets can’t.

When he’s frustrated or angry, you don’t push. Instead, you quietly thread a thin, warm line around his wrist or heart—something only he can feel. It’s subtle, but enough to ground him.

Bob rarely opens up about his past or his pain. But one night, when he’s too wound tight to sleep, you thread his fingers in yours and whisper a charm to untangle the knots inside him. His grip tightens, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s awkward with affection at first—gruff “here, hold this” moments that slowly evolve into lingering touches and quiet, steady presence.

When you tease him about his bad luck or reckless attitude, he smirks and fires back with a joke—trying to keep things light, but there’s an honest warmth in his eyes.

Bob’s fiercely protective, not just of you but of your magic. If anyone tries to disrespect what you do, he’s ready to fight—no questions asked.

He’s not one for grand declarations, but he shows his feelings by small, consistent actions: offering you the last cookie, silently carrying your bag, or catching your hand when you stumble.

🥀 a star called the sun 

The sky above is too bright. Not metaphorically—literally. The sun’s harsh light bends lazily around Bob in swirling spirals, like the universe itself can’t decide which angle to hit him from. The air hums with warmth and a faint electric charge, the kind that makes your skin tingle just being near him.

You sit cross-legged on the weathered rooftop next to him, the rough concrete pressing cool against your palms. The sweet, tangy scent of pomegranate juices drips from your fingers as you casually pop a seed between your teeth, the crunch sharp and satisfying.

“People don’t usually sit next to me when I’m glowing,” Bob says, voice low and gravelly, eyes fixed on the city sprawled below, avoiding your gaze.

“Most people don’t see what I see,” you reply softly, watching the way the sunlight catches in his unruly hair, setting golden edges ablaze.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, skeptical but curious. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

You chew slowly, savoring the burst of tartness. “You’re like a prism. All that power, refracting off a million cracks. It’s not broken. Just... scattered.”

Bob exhales sharply, a short laugh like a gust of wind. “Romantic way to say I’m barely held together.”

You reach out without hesitation, plucking a thread of shimmering magic from the charged air between you—fine, silver, and invisible to anyone else but you. It twists and coils in your fingers like liquid light, a fragile filament of ‘what if’.

“You’re held together,” you murmur, your voice almost a caress as you thread the glowing strand around his wrist like a delicate bracelet. “And now... slightly luckier.”

He stares down at the subtle shimmer wrapped around his skin, a flicker of wonder crossing his face. “What did you just do?”

You grin, eyes bright with mischief and warmth. “Nothing dangerous. Just made sure your shoelace won’t ever untie itself again. Oh, and your next coffee will probably be free.”

Bob blinks, surprised, then lets out an actual laugh—short, sharp, and genuine, like the sound surprises even him. “You’re a menace.”

“Chaos is a lifestyle,” you shrug, leaning back on your hands, feeling the sun’s heat seep into your bones.

He watches you for a long moment, this impossible person who bends reality with just her presence and doesn’t run away from the chaos he carries. Something softens behind his guarded eyes.

“I like you,” he says quietly, voice rough but sincere.

You smile, a secret shared between just the two of you. “I know.”

With a playful flick, you toss him the other half of the pomegranate. He catches it instinctively, golden eyes wide in the fading light.

The sky begins to settle.

And somehow, today, the world doesn’t end.

Ava Starr is more than happy to accept a Temporal Rift Witch into her space…

Ava is startled by you. Not because of your magic, but because you’re never entirely present—or always toopresent. You’ll speak to something two seconds ahead, react before things happen. She doesn’t trust it at first.

You never try to fix her phasing. You don’t offer pity or solutions. Instead, you exist beside her, synced in a way that makes space for her disjointed reality.

The first time she phases and you don’t flinch—just calmly wait—it rattles her. You blink in time with her rhythm. Like you can hear the tick of the clock she’s stuck between.

You call her “constant,” and she nearly snaps at you. “I’m anything but.” But you smile, patient. “You’re still here. That’s constant enough.”

You’re quiet with her. Not silent—but slow. Gentle. She’s used to being weaponized, watched. With you, she’s just Ava. And that’s terrifying. And addictive.

You anchor her. Not physically—but energetically. With whispered words tied to the rhythm of her molecules, and fingers brushing just close enough to remind her she exists.

Eventually, you teach her a trick—a breath pattern, a focus phrase—that lets her phase intentionally for a few seconds longer. She doesn’t thank you out loud. But she sits closer after that. Just a little.

🥀for her 

Ava’s half-phased through a wall when you find her—her shoulder trapped in the crumbling brick, fragments of dust and mortar drifting down like slow-falling ash. Her eyes are squeezed shut tight, lips pressed thin, breath shallow and uneven like the fragile flutter of a dying bird.

You don’t panic.

You kneel across from her, the rough concrete cold beneath your knees, your voice steady and low, a soft anchor in the chaos. “You’re not stuck. You’re drifting.”

She grits her teeth, the tension pulling at the lines of her face. “Can’t pull back. It’s—loud. Everything’s too loud.”

Your fingers move gently through the air, weaving invisible threads of magic—silken strands of moment-to-moment, delicate as spider silk but strong enough to hold a fractured soul. You hum a slow, steady rhythm, a lullaby of time itself. “Then listen to me instead.”

She doesn’t respond at first—but you watch her chest rise and fall, slow and steady, matching the cadence of your hum.

“You’re here,” you say softly. “Now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. Just now.”

Her jaw tightens. “I don’t know what that means anymore.”

You smile—soft, bittersweet—like a quiet promise in the dark. “That’s okay. I’m keeping time for both of us.”

Your hand inches forward, trembling slightly with hope and intention. Even though she’s barely real in this moment—half a ghost caught between here and elsewhere—she feels the warmth radiating from your skin, the steady pulse of your heart pressed into your touch.

Ava exhales, a breath that seems to carry all her fear and exhaustion. The phasing shudders, flickers like a weak flame caught in the wind—then stops.

She collapses forward, weight finally giving way as she falls into your arms, solid and trembling. Real. Tangible.

You hold her—not tightly, just enough to remind her she’s not alone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracked and raw.

“For what?” you ask, voice gentle like a caress.

“For not knowing how to stay.”

You press your cheek softly against her temple, feeling the rapid pulse of her heartbeat slow beneath your touch. “You’re learning. And I have all the time in the world to wait.”

She closes her eyes, sinking into the warmth of your presence. For the first time in years, she believes it.

Bucky Barnes and his Bloodhound Witch…

Bucky doesn’t ask what kind of witch you are. He doesn’t have to. The first time you say his true name—all of it—he feels it. In his bones. Like something old inside him recognizes you.

You don’t touch his metal arm without permission. And when you finally do, it’s not in fear or reverence. It’s to draw a sigil against the cool surface, something simple. Protective. A tether. He asks what it means. You say, “It means you come back.”

He watches you prepare rituals like it’s an artform—mixing herbs with blood, knotting thread, burning names into wax. He doesn’t understand all of it. But he respects it. Deeply.

You both carry guilt like armor. But you treat his gently, never demanding he "let it go." You say, “It’s part of your blood now. But it doesn’t have to rule it.”

The first time he bleeds in front of you, you catch it in your palm and don’t flinch. You whisper a binding—not to hold him, but to protect what’s already his.

He never says “I love you.” Not directly. But he gives you his dog tags. Lets you etch an old protection rune on the inside of his vibranium wristplate. Learns to breathe through your grounding spells when his nightmares get sharp.

And when he finally lets you write his name—James—into a charm of blood and silver, he does it with a nod. Silent permission. Trust deeper than words.

Bucky’s instinct is to protect and to run from pain, but your magic reveals things even he can’t hide—from the blood on his hands to the scars in his soul. He’s wary at first, but slowly he learns to trust your insight.

When he’s haunted by nightmares or memories he can’t shake, you softly trace a circle on his wrist with your fingers, weaving a quiet bloodhound spell to keep the darkness at bay.

His metal arm and your magic feel like two halves of a whole—steel and spirit—combining strength and intuition. When you entwine your fingers, the threads of your magic pulse along his metal like a heartbeat.

Bucky is rough with affection—gruff touches, a hand lingering too long on your back, a quiet hand squeeze when words fail. Your magic threads through those moments, making them more tender, more profound.

You’re the one who finds him when he disappears, tracking his trail through blood scents and spectral whispers. When you pull him back, it’s not just your magic—it’s your quiet, unwavering presence that grounds him.

He’s protective, but he lets his guard down enough to let you “read” him, sharing pieces of his past he’s never told anyone else. Your magic weaves those fragments together, creating a tapestry of healing.

Late nights, he holds you close, your fingers lightly resting over his chest where the metal meets flesh. Your bloodhound magic hums softly, syncing your rhythms, sharing a calm only you two understand.

Sometimes, when the weight of the world gets heavy, you let him lean on you. Not just physically—emotionally, magically. He feels your magic tracing protective sigils along his spine, a shield woven from trust and love.

Bucky may never say it outright, but in the quiet moments when your magic brushes against his skin, when your eyes meet, he’s saying the words his lips won’t: You’re my home.

🥀remember me, remember you

Bucky sits on the edge of your work table, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm, the metal gleaming softly in the flickering candlelight. Shadows dance across the room, warm and intimate, wrapping around you both like a secret kept from the world. The faint scent of ink and iron hangs in the air, mingling with something more subtle—your own magic, electric and alive beneath your skin.

You stand before him, holding a shallow bowl filled with a thick mixture of ink and blood—a potent blend that carries both vulnerability and power—in one hand. In the other, a slender silver thread catches the candle’s glow, shimmering like liquid starlight.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but steady.

He meets your gaze without hesitation—those haunted, storm-grey eyes steady and unflinching. “I want to,” he says simply.

You swallow, the weight of the moment settling between you. “Once your name is bound,” you warn softly, “it’s not just protection. It’s memory. It’s weight. A tether to who you were—and who you are.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’ve carried worse.”

Carefully, reverently, you take the silver thread and dip it into the dark, viscous mixture. The ink coats the metal like a shadow, and you begin weaving, fingers nimble and sure. Each loop and knot hums beneath your touch, weaving layers of magic into the charm. Your lips part slightly as you speak, voice low and melodic—the cadence of your spell coaxing power into the delicate weave.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you murmur, each syllable rolling off your tongue like silk woven with sorrow, binding his full name into the spell.

The charm vibrates softly, a heartbeat in your hands, pulsing with quiet strength.

Slowly, you lift it and tie the finished charm around his wrist, just beneath the edge of his metal arm. The cool silver contrasts against the warmth of his skin, the thread shimmering faintly as it settles into place.

He watches your hands—steady, reverent, tender—like you’re handling something sacred.

“What does it do?” he asks, voice rough but curious.

“It remembers who you are,” you say softly, looking up to meet his gaze again. “When you forget. When others try to rewrite you.” Your fingers linger for a moment, brushing his skin gently. “It brings you back.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and for a long beat, he says nothing. Then, slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his—flesh over flesh, rough against delicate—holding on as if afraid to let go.

“Thank you,” he breathes, the words rough and heavy with meaning, like it hurts to say, but it means everything.

A warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile—small, sure, full of quiet promise.

“Always.”

The candlelight flickers once more, casting long shadows around you, but for this moment, in this room filled with whispered magic and unspoken trust, everything else falls away.

[sweetmisery]

fighting with piwon | hyung line

pairing: theo | keeho | jiung x female!reader

genre: angst, fluff

a/n: i looove writing ot6 scenarios and this time it‘s about having your first fight with them :( i hope you enjoy reading this, if you have any ideas for scenarios/reactions feel free to send me a request, i‘d be very happy to write about it ♡ maknae line will follow soon!

hyung line | maknae line

THEO

You let out an exhausted sigh as you stepped back, hands on your hips, surveying your work in the living room. You had spent the past hour rearranging the furniture, pushing the coffee table a little closer to the couch, angling the armchair just right. They were small changes, but they made the space feel fresh. You smiled, satisfied.

And then - thunk.

Your foot caught on something. A dull, hollow sound followed, and when you glanced down, your stomach dropped. Theo’s guitar lay face-down on the hardwood floor, the headstock at an odd, unnatural angle.

Panic set in instantly. You dropped to your knees, hands shaking as you reached for it. Turning it over, you saw the damage: the wood near the tuning pegs had splintered, a jagged crack running through it. This wasn’t just any guitar. This was Theo’s guitar. His favorite one. The one he played when he was stressed, when he was happy, when he was just messing around. The one he treasured.

Your throat tightened. No, no, no.

For a second, you considered calling him, confessing immediately, but fear won. Instead, you lifted the broken guitar carefully and slipped into the bedroom, tucking it out of sight. If he didn’t see it right away, maybe… maybe you would have time to figure out what to do. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice.

The front door opened.

Your heart jumped. Footsteps followed, the sound of Theo kicking off his shoes, the rustling of his coat as he tossed it onto the hook. You forced yourself to breathe, smoothing down your shirt like that would somehow make everything feel normal.

“Hey,” he called from the hallway. “Where are you?”

You swallowed hard. “Living room.”

Theo appeared in the doorway, his dark hair slightly disheveled from work, his expression soft. He looked tired, but he gave you a small smile anyway. “Hey,” he said again, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “What have you been up to?”

You forced a casual shrug. “Just, uh, moving some things around.”

He nodded, then glanced around the room, his gaze landing exactly where the guitar should have been. His brows pulled together slightly. “Huh. Do you know where my guitar is? I’m sure I left it in the living room.”

Your pulse hammered.

You met his eyes, feigning confusion. “Hm?”

Theo tilted his head. “My guitar. The acoustic one.”

You felt the lie pressing against your lips, thick and sticky. “Oh, uh… I don’t know? Maybe you put it somewhere else?”

He frowned, glancing around again before heading toward the bedroom. Your stomach twisted into a tight knot as you watched him go, every step bringing him closer to the truth.

Then - his voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable.

“Y/N!”

Your heart stopped.

Theo stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his face twisted in anger, the broken guitar clutched in his hands. His knuckles were white as he held it up, the damage glaring under the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

“What the hell did you do?!” His voice was sharp, accusing.

Your chest tightened. You opened your mouth, but no words came. Theo shook the guitar slightly, as if that would somehow force an answer out of you.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t me.”

A bitter, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Oh, come on, stop lying!” His tone dripped with frustration. “You rearranged the living room, where I left my guitar yesterday, and suddenly it’s broken?! What, it just snapped on its own?”

You pressed your lips together, heart pounding. You had never seen him this angry before.

“And this is my favorite one!” Theo shouted, his voice echoing through the small bedroom. “Do you even know how expensive it’s going to be to get this repaired?!”

Your throat tightened as the weight of guilt crushed you. Your lips trembled, and you could feel the tears building, hot and stinging. “I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, your voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

Theo scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not even the worst part,” he snapped. His dark eyes locked onto yours, burning with frustration. “The worst part is that you lied to my face. You didn’t even admit it.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, trying to find something to say, anything to fix this. “I-I’ll pay for the repair,” you offered weakly, your voice barely steady.

Theo let out a sharp breath, his jaw clenching. “That’s not the point!” he hissed. His hands gripped the broken guitar tightly for a moment before he exhaled and shook his head again, looking away. “Just… leave me alone,” he muttered, his voice lower now, rough with exhaustion.

Without another word, he turned and walked past you, making his way toward the living room.

You stood there, frozen, alone in the bedroom. The silence pressed in around you, thick and heavy. And then, finally, you let the tears fall.

——————

The bedroom felt quiet, apart from the soft sound of your sniffles as you sat curled up on the bed. You wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, but the tears kept coming, leaving streaks down your cheeks. Your chest still ached from the argument, from the way Theo had looked at you - frustrated, disappointed.

Then, you heard footsteps approaching.

Theo appeared in the doorway, no longer carrying the broken guitar. His expression was softer now, the anger from before fading into something calmer. You braced yourself, thinking he was still upset, but instead of speaking right away, he sat down beside you.

You kept your gaze on your lap, avoiding his eyes. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and then, his hand landed gently on your thigh.

You blinked in surprise, hesitating before finally looking up at him. Your voice wavered through your tears as you mumbled, “I’m so sorry… for breaking your guitar… and for lying to you.”

Theo let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was mad,” he admitted, “but I didn’t mean to overreact and make you cry.”

You sniffled again, nodding. “I get why you were mad,” you murmured. “It’s your favorite guitar…”

His fingers squeezed your thigh gently, a silent reassurance. Then, to your surprise, he exhaled a small chuckle. “Honestly? I can just buy a new one.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “But… it was your favorite.”

Theo shrugged. “Yeah, but I was already thinking about getting a new one anyway. This one’s been old for a while.”

You hesitated. “I’ll pay for it,” you said quickly, feeling like you at least owed him that much.

Theo let out a laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t need to.”

His hand lifted to your face, his thumb gently wiping away a lingering tear from your cheek. His voice was softer now, filled with regret. “I’m sorry for making you feel this way,” he murmured. “Are we good?”

You nodded, sniffling once more. “Yeah.”

Theo’s lips curved into a small smile. “Good.” Then, his expression turned teasing as he added, “But from now on, you have to stay at least five feet away from my guitars.”

A watery giggle escaped your lips. “Deal.”

His hand slid up to cup the back of your head as he leaned in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your forehead. And just like that, the tension melted away.

KEEHO

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of running water from the bathroom. Keeho was in the shower, leaving his phone unattended on the kitchen counter. You weren’t proud of the way your eyes kept flickering toward it, drawn by every little vibration that echoed in the stillness of the room.

You had no reason to doubt him, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. He had always been kind, attentive, and loving. But lately, something had felt… off. You had noticed the way he smiled at his phone, his fingers flying over the screen with an eagerness that made your stomach twist. And when you had asked, he had simply said it was his family.

You had believed him. Or rather, you had tried to.

But then, the screen lit up again.

Buzz.

Your heart pounded.

Buzz.

You swallowed hard. The name on the screen sent a wave of unease through you.

You hesitated. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew that trust was the foundation of every strong relationship. But something deeper, something ugly and jealous, clawed at your insides. You weren’t normally like this. Keeho had never given you a real reason to doubt him before.

And yet, before you could stop yourself, your fingers were reaching out.

The screen unlocked with a simple swipe.

You shouldn’t have looked.

But you did.

And what you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

?: i miss you :(

?: i can’t wait to meet you when I’m in Seoul

Your hands trembled. The words blurred for a moment as your mind scrambled to make sense of them. I miss you? Can’t wait to meet you?

Your stomach dropped.

Was Keeho… cheating?

No. He wouldn’t. Would he?

You wanted to think there was some kind of explanation, something innocent you weren’t seeing. But in that moment, all you could feel was a sinking, suffocating sense of betrayal. Your chest tightened as a storm of emotions swirled inside you - hurt, confusion, anger, fear.

And then, before you could even begin to process what to do next, a voice cut through the silence.

“What are you doing with my phone?”

Your body went rigid.

Slowly, you turned around, your hands still clutching the device as if caught red-handed.

Keeho stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his wet hair dripping onto his bare shoulders. His expression was unreadable, his eyes locked onto you, a flicker of something behind them that you couldn’t quite place.

The air between you grew heavy.

And just like that, the moment you had been dreading had arrived.

The fight was inevitable now.

The weight of Keeho’s gaze pinned you in place. His phone was still in your hands, the damning messages from the mysterious girl glowing on the screen. You could barely hold back the sting of tears as they welled up in your eyes.

Keeho’s brows furrowed as he took a step closer, water still dripping from his hair. His voice was sharp, laced with disbelief.

“Why the hell are you snooping through my phone?”

You flinched. You knew this was wrong, you knew you had crossed a line. But the pain in your chest was too strong to ignore. The betrayal, the doubt, the ache of wondering if everything you had with him was a lie - it was suffocating.

A shaky breath left your lips as you finally lifted your eyes to meet his. “How could you do this to me?”

Keeho’s expression shifted. The irritation in his eyes flickered into something softer, something more concerned. His voice lowered, confusion creeping into his tone.

“…do what?”

Your chest tightened. A part of you wanted to believe him, to believe that there was some kind of explanation. But your mind replayed the words on the screen: I miss you. I can’t wait to meet you.

“I already had this feeling for a long time,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “And now I know. You’re cheating on me.”

Silence.

Keeho blinked at you, completely stunned. Then his jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

“I saw the messages,” you shot back, your grip tightening around his phone.

Keeho let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his wet hair. “What messages?”

Your heart pounded as anger swelled inside you. You let out a sarcastic chuckle, shaking your head. “Are you seriously still trying to deny it?”

Keeho exhaled deeply, his frustration now evident in the way his shoulders tensed. “Wait… so you seriously think that I’m cheating on you?”

“I know that you are!” you snapped.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, something in his face shifted. His frustration was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something more painful.

“Wow,” he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. He shook his head, looking at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. “So that’s what you take me for? A cowardly cheater?”

You swallowed, your emotions a mess of anger and pain. “Then tell me…” Your voice wavered as you took a step closer, gripping the phone in your shaking hands. “Who the hell is Anna?”

The second the name left your lips, Keeho’s face twisted, not with guilt, but with sheer frustration.

“Seriously?!” He let out a bitter scoff, rubbing his temple as if he was trying to keep himself from yelling. “That’s my sister.”

Your breath caught. Your thoughts froze.

No. That couldn’t be.

“You’re lying,” you whispered. You had to be right. The messages were too suspicious. He was just trying to cover it up now. “Stop lying.”

Keeho’s expression darkened, his patience running thin. “I’m not lying,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why the hell would I lie about that?”

“Then why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”

Keeho scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I thought I did.”

He snapped his phone from your hands and started scrolling through his photos. Within seconds, he found what he was looking for - an old picture of him and Anna, both of them grinning at the camera, looking unmistakably alike. He turned the phone toward you, his jaw tight.

“There,” he said, his voice cold. “That’s Anna. My sister.”

You stared at the picture, your mind reeling. The resemblance was undeniable. The way she smiled, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. It was Keeho’s face in a female version.

Your stomach twisted.

“My family is coming to visit soon,” Keeho continued, his voice still sharp. “I was actually planning to surprise you with it. I wanted you to finally meet them.” His lips curled into a bitter smile. “But you just had to go and ruin the surprise, huh?”

Guilt crept up your spine, but you were still too stunned to speak.

Keeho scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. His voice was low, almost to himself. “I can’t believe you would actually think that I’d cheat on you.”

Before you could say anything, before you could even think of how to respond, Keeho turned on his heel and stormed off.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him.

And just like that, you were left standing alone in the kitchen, heart pounding, mind racing, and regret already sinking in.

——————

Your hand rested on the bedroom doorknob for far too long.

The weight of what had just happened sat heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You had accused Keeho of something terrible, something he didn’t deserve. And now, on the other side of this door, he was hurt because of you.

Your fingers tightened around the handle. You were scared to face him, scared of the disappointment in his eyes. But you knew that you had to.

With a deep breath, you slowly turned the knob and stepped inside.

Keeho sat on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. His head was slightly bowed, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the room. He didn’t look up when you entered.

Carefully, you approached, your steps hesitant.

“Keeho…” Your voice was soft, almost unsure.

He scoffed, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something else beneath the frustration - something tired, something hurt.

“What do you want?” His voice was flat, emotionless.

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t back down.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I made a mistake.”

Keeho didn’t reply. His silence felt heavier than if he had just yelled at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and continued. “I didn’t even know you had a sis-”

“That still doesn’t give you the right to look through my phone.”

The words hit you like a slap. You knew he was right. No matter how much your emotions had clouded your judgment, no matter how suspicious things had seemed, it still wasn’t okay.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but you refused to let them fall. “I know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I broke your trust, and I understand if… if you want to break up now.”

Keeho’s head snapped up.

His entire posture changed as he quickly stood, closing the distance between you. His brows were furrowed, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what you had just said.

“Break up?” His voice was filled with disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You lowered your gaze, unable to look at him. “I messed up, Keeho. I accused you of something awful. I don’t deserve-”

“I would never want to break up with you,” he interrupted firmly. His expression softened, but there was still something heavy in his gaze. “But…” He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “I won’t lie. It hurts that you don’t trust me.”

Your heart clenched.

“I do trust you,” you insisted, desperation creeping into your tone. “I should have just asked you instead of… instead of going through your phone.” Your voice broke as you continued, “I swear, I would never do this again. Please… please believe me.”

For a moment, Keeho just stared at you.

Then, without warning, he reached forward and pulled you into his arms.

You melted against his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, his warmth seeping into your skin. He didn’t say anything right away, just held you there, as if trying to calm the storm of emotions between you both.

Finally, Keeho leaned back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you. His expression had softened.

“I get it,” he murmured. “You didn’t know about my sister. And… maybe I have been acting a little suspicious lately.” His lips curled into a small, tired smile. “I guess I can understand why you got the wrong idea.”

Your throat tightened with guilt. “I’m still so sorry,” you whispered. “Especially for ruining the surprise with your family.”

Keeho let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he reached up to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek. “It’s okay,” he reassured you. “Honestly, I should’ve just been upfront with you from the start.”

He paused for a moment, then met your gaze with a serious expression. “But promise me something, okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Anything.”

“From now on, if you ever have doubts about anything, talk to me.” His voice was gentle but firm. “No more assumptions. No more snooping. Just be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, nodding again. “I promise.”

Keeho studied you for a second longer before a small smile finally broke through his stern expression. He pulled you in for another hug, holding you close as he murmured, “I’m sorry too… for making you feel like you had a reason to doubt me.”

A shaky breath of relief left your lips as you hugged him back.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a hesitant smile. “No more surprises, okay?”

Keeho chuckled, his usual warmth returning to his eyes. “No more surprises,” he promised, pulling you back in a tight hug.

JIUNG

The weekend had finally arrived. After weeks of Jiung being swamped with work, you were both looking forward to spending time together. You had planned everything down to the last detail - a cozy day in the kitchen, cooking his favorite Korean dishes together. It felt like the perfect way to reconnect.

At first, everything was perfect. The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of garlic and sesame oil, the sound of vegetables sizzling in the pan. Standing at the counter, you were slicing carrots into thin strips. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you were doing your best.

Beside you, Jiung was focused on chopping onions with precise, practiced movements. Every now and then, he glanced over at your cutting board.

“You’re cutting them wrong,” he pointed out, leaning over your shoulder.

You giggled, not taking it seriously. “Oh no, the perfectionist chef has arrived,” you teased.

Jiung rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile playing on his lips. “You should cut them like this,” he said, demonstrating with his own knife. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of seriousness in it.

You looked at your uneven slices and then back at him, smiling playfully. “It’s fine, Jiung. They’re just carrots.”

He sighed softly, setting down his knife. “But they won’t cook evenly if they’re all different sizes.”

You giggled, finding it cute how much he cared about something so small. “Okay, Chef Jiung, whatever you say.”

But he didn‘t laughed. Instead, he picked up one of your carrot slices and examined it like a food critic. “You’re holding the knife wrong too. Here, let me show you.”

Before you could react, he stepped behind you, gently guiding your hands. His fingers curled around yours, adjusting your grip on the knife. His touch had been warm, and for a second, your heart had skipped. But then he took your wrist and moved it in a controlled motion, like you were a student in a cooking class.

“See? If you do it like this, it’s much easier,” he said.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Jiung, it’s just vegetables. We’re not on a cooking show.”

He didn‘t let go. “I know, but if we’re going to do it, we should do it right.”

That was when you started feeling a little annoyed. This was supposed to be fun, but he had been taking it so seriously, almost like he was critiquing you instead of cooking with you. You pulled your hands away and continued cutting the way you wanted.

“Okay, okay, I got it,” you said lightly.

You shrugged and kept chopping, but soon, he started correcting you again. First, it was the size of the carrots. Then, the way you were stirring the sauce.

“That’s not how you do it,” Jiung sighed, stepping in to take the spoon from your hand.

You frowned and turned to face him. “Jiung, are you serious right now? It’s just dinner. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Jiung let out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. “This is my favorite food, okay? We can’t mess it up.”

You felt your chest tighten. “So now I’m messing it up?” you said, voice quieter now, but the hurt was obvious.

He frowned slightly. “I'm just saying that it should be done properly. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Something in his tone made your frustration flare. “The point is to have fun. Not to make some five-star gourmet meal. You’re acting like I’m ruining everything.”

Jiung let out a breath, rubbing his temple. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like help. It feels like you’re just telling me I’m doing everything wrong,” you shot back.

His expression hardened, his voice raised. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so terrible at cooking, I wouldn’t have to tell you how to do everything!”

The words hit you like a slap. You stared at him, feeling your stomach twist. Was he being serious?

Your heart pounded. “Do you even hear yourself right now?” you asked, voice quieter now, but the hurt was obvious.

Jiung sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just- look, never mind. Let’s just finish the food.”

But you had lost all interest. The cozy atmosphere that had surrounded you earlier now felt tight and heavy. You didn’t expect to argue tonight, you were so excited for this. But suddenly, the warmth of the moment had turned into something frustrating, something that made your chest ache.

“You know what? Just finish it yourself,” you said, setting your knife down with a soft clatter.

Jiung looked at you, his lips pressed together, as if he tried to choose his next words carefully. But you didn’t want to hear them. Not right now. Without another word, you turned away, walking straight to the bedroom.

You didn’t slam the door, but you shut it firmly enough to make a point. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared down at your hands, replaying the words in your head.

Maybe if you weren’t so terrible at cooking…

A lump formed in your throat. You weren’t expecting him to be that harsh.

From the kitchen, you could still hear him moving around, pots clanking, the faint sound of something sizzling in the pan. But he didn’t come after you.

And that hurt even more.

——————

It had been a while since you left Jiung alone in the kitchen. The muffled sounds of clinking dishes and the faint aroma of his cooking had long since settled, but you didn‘t move from your spot on the bed. Arms crossed, you stared at the floor, still replaying the argument in your head.

Then, there was a quiet knock. A moment later, Jiung pushed the door open and stepped inside. His expression was unreadable as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Jiung frowned, stepping closer. “I put in all my effort to cook.”

Your frustration bubbled up again, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “I wanted to cook with you, but you were being so bossy and annoying.” Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes sharp. “Why did you have to take it so seriously? I just wanted to have a nice, fun evening with you.”

Jiung scratched the back of his head, exhaling slowly. “When it comes to cooking, I just… I want everything to be perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell that.”

His confident stance faded, and his expression softened into something more worried. He could see just how upset you were. Without another word, he sat down on the bed beside you, hesitating before speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

You stayed silent, still sulking.

Jiung sighed and continued. “I know that sometimes my perfectionism takes over, and I can get… annoying.” He gave you a small, guilty smile before quickly shaking his head. “No, really annoying. But I know I should have never let that out on you. And I’m so sorry for making you feel this way.”

You finally turned to look at him. His eyes were filled with regret, and the corners of his lips were turned down slightly. He was really feeling bad about this.

A teasing idea formed in your head. You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Jiung’s face fell instantly. “What?!”

You struggled to hold back your amusement, keeping your expression serious.

“And let’s not forget,” you continued, raising an eyebrow, “you called me a terrible cook.”

Jiung’s eyes widened. “No! I didn’t mean that when I said it!” He exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “I love your food, especially the cupcakes you make.”

You almost smiled at that, but you kept your act up. “Hmm. I don’t know, Jiung. I might need to think about this before giving you another chance.”

Jiung groaned and suddenly leaned over you, hovering just inches away. His lips jutted into a pout, and his eyes grew wide and pleading. “I’m so sorry,” he whined, voice softer now. “Pleaseee forgive me?”

You tried - really, really tried - to keep your serious face. But with him looking at you like a lost puppy, it was impossible.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, you finally said, “Fine. I forgive you.”

Jiung’s lips curled into a soft, relieved smile as he leaned in and kissed you gently. The tension melted away, leaving behind only warmth between you.

Pulling back, you looked at him and smirked. “But just so you know… I’m never cooking with you again.”

Jiung laughed, shaking his head. “Deal.”

He kissed you again, a little longer this time, before pulling you up from the bed. “Now come on,” he said, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Let’s eat together.”

And just like that, the fight was over.

Even if you never cooked with him again, at least you knew one thing for sure - Jiung was terrible at letting go of his perfectionism, but you were even worse at staying mad at him.

© sweetmisery - please do not repost my works! ♡

[uramakimochi]

BITCH WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

Sirius Black x Reader

WARNINGS: just fluff, FEM!R + use of Y/n, the title is the tiktok trend, this was inspired by Remus' version that someone else wrote who's username i don't remember sorry. Also R is a sweetheart and a bit sensitive for the sake of the story, if you don't like it just ignore it or write your own story^^

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

"I don't know James..."

"Come on, Sirius. It's just an innocent prank"

"Yes, but you know what Y/n is like. What if it hurts her?"

"Nah, when i did that to Lily she almost threw the pan in my face. Y/n's tough too, she'll probably put you in your place"

"Do you think so?" Sirius asked unconvinced and James nodded resolutely.

"Of course. And i'm sure she'll realize it's just a joke, she won't take it too seriously"

"If you say so..." Sirius sighed and James patted him on the shoulder.

"Come on, come on! Tomorrow you'll tell me how it went, okay?"

"Okay..."

That evening Sirius returned home and he hoped with all his heart not to find you where he imagined, that is, already in the kitchen busy preparing dinner. But unfortunately you were right there, like every evening. 

Sirius leaned sideways against the kitchen wall, silently staring at you and contemplating what to do. Yes, the prank James proposed was an innocent idea, but Sirius just didn't know how you would've reacted. And knowing you, he wasn't expecting well.

"No, come on" he thought, trying to convince himself. "She won't let me treat her badly for no reason. Right?"

It was now or never.

Suddenly Sirius stepped away from the wall and slammed a hand on the table to make you aware of his presence, making you jump with a squeak. You immediately stopped what you were doing and turned to him, smiling in confusion.

"Siri, you gave me a heart attac-"

But Sirius cut you off abruptly, saying the words he didn't want to say.

"Bitch, what's for dinner?"

You fell silent and as your eyes widened, taken aback by his tone, Sirius felt his heart break right there on the spot.

"Um… I made your favorite…" you muttered, squeezing your hands nervously.

Sirius let out a breath through his nose, but before he could even apologize, you continued.

"A-Are you mad? Did something happen?" you asked shyly.

Oh shit… The more he looked at you, the more Sirius was sure you were about to cry. Fuck James, it was all his fault.

"Darling-" Sirius said taking a step forward, though he was cut off by you.

"I'm sorry, if you don't want that i can make you something else" you murmured, sniffling and turning away, so he wouldn't see your trembling lip and shining eyes.

"Oh my love, no no no"

Sirius quickly walked around the table to reach you and placing his hands gently on your shoulders to make you turn towards him again. He felt his heart break further when he saw you sniffle, while you rubbed your eyes with one hand to wipe away the tears that were about to fall.

"Now listen to me very carefully" he said resolutely. "If i talk to you like that one more time sweetheart, you'd better give me a slap, no actually a punch on the nose. Do you understand me?"

You looked at him confused, not understanding all those changes in his behavior. "W-What?"

Sirius sighed.

"It was a joke, darling. James proposed it to me after he did it to Lily"

"Oh…" you muttered, looking down, not sure what to say.

Sirius tilted his head to meet your eyes and placed a hand on your cheek, making you look back at him. "Hey. You know i would never talk to you like that, right?"

You nodded and Sirius felt more relieved when he saw the small smile on your lips.

"I thought you were angry with me, but i couldn't understand what i had done wrong"

Sirius returned a bitter smile and leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, pulling you against his body with an arm around your shoulders.

"Aw, my poor girl. She was making me my favorite dish and i treated her like an arsehole" he cooed against your skin and you closed your eyes, enjoying the contact. "I'm so sorry, dollface"

"It's okay, Siri"

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. James and i thought you would've reacted like Lily"

"And how did Lily react?" you asked him.

"He said she almost threw the pan in his face"

You both giggled and you raised your arms to hug him around the waist.

"I could never throw something in your face" you said, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

"But i want you to. You can't accept the fact that i treated you like that so easily, it's not fair" Sirius replied.

He took a step back and leaned his torso forward and you tilted your head, confused.

"Come on love, punch me" he said, holding his cheek out to you and poking it with his finger. "Right here"

"But Siri, i can't. And i don't want to hurt you if you haven't done anything wrong"

"Nope, now i demand that you do it" he said in a stubborn tone and you looked at him uncertainly. "I can take it, i'm a grown man"

Sirius leaned his face further towards you and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. But when he felt something soft, which was nothing other than your lips, rest on his cheek, he opened one eye to look at you.

You smiled shyly, lifting a hand to caress his cheek with your thumb. "Here you go~"

Sirius sighed, but then smiled back.

"You're too good for someone like me, doll" he said in a loving tone, covering your hand with his.

"I could never hit you, Siri" you replied. "But i can still throw a pan in James' face for his stupid idea"

Sirius chuckled, placing a hand on your hip and pulling you closer to him for a kiss on the cheek.

"And i certainly won't stop you, darling"

[allhandsonhotch]

Mommy Makeover

Pairing: reassuring!hotch & insecure!new mom! reader!

Synopsis- After hearing one of the moms at Jack’s school ask you if Aaron was going to pay for your mommy makeover— it leaves you feeling very insecure in your own skin.

Warnings: mentions of body insecurity, slight angry hotch, alludings to smut (potential part two ;0), sad, insecure reader, mentions of child birth/labor, comforting hotch, mean pta moms. let me know if i missed any!

You had just had a baby about a two months ago with your boyfriend of a year. It was a little soon and the both of you knew that but Aaron remained by your side through the whole thing and reassured you that the baby wasn’t going to change your relationship.

You loved him and your new baby girl but you had noticed how your stomach stretched out a little more now, your tits were lopsided from breastfeeding, and you hadn’t really made an effort to look good since you had your baby.

None of that bothered you too much because Aaron didn’t seem to mind or at least he didn’t tell you he did.

You had taken Jack to school a lot since you were on maternity leave from work and you hadn’t seemed to notice the judgemental stares from some of the other moms until they came up to you directly.

“So— Y/N is Aaron paying for your mommy makeover?” One of them asked, you’d grown to know her name as Liz but only because she tried to get you to join the PTA.

“What?” You asked confused. You’d never heard of a mommy makeover and you didn’t know if you wanted to know.

“My husband paid for mine when we had our last baby— not that I really needed it the way you do..” Her tone was condescending in a way that made you want to hit her and that’s when you noticed what she was talking about. Her stomach was flatter than ever despite having 3 kids, her thighs weren’t saggy with extra fat and her tits were annoyingly perfect in the way that they perked up perfectly in the tiny crop top she wore, her ass was rounded off and it didn’t sag the way yours did. She looked good.

“What do you mean?” You asked, irritation clear in your tone. “Oh I just mean that— my husband hated the way I looked after I had our last baby— he wouldn’t sleep with me if I looked like..” Your heart dropped as you let her words get into your head.

Aaron hadn’t had sex with you since the baby and the doctor cleared you for that weeks ago.

He hadn’t even tried to get with you at all now that you thought about it and just like that it stung really bad.

Childbirth had changed your body in many ways and it bugged you but you never thought it could have bugged Aaron— but maybe it did.

“Me?” You asked which made her head shake with a fake smile. “No! Y/N of course not! I’m just saying..” You hated the way she condescended you, it made you feel disgusting.

“I’m sorry but just because your husband couldn’t appreciate the way you looked after growing his child in your womb doesn’t mean I need that stupid mommy makeover!” You snapped irritatedly and god you wished you believed yourself.

You went home right after that looking defeated as you walked through the door. Aaron was staying home today and he offered you a break from the baby by letting you take Jack to school.

“Hey honey..” Aaron greeted his tone lowering as he saw the expression on your face. “What’s wrong?” He asked almost so softly you couldn’t hear.

“Just the other moms— M’ fine.” You tried, hoping it sounded reassuring enough for him. “What did they say?” He demanded, his voice sounding bitter as he spoke.

He knew how judgy they could be. “Just some talk about a uhm— Liz insinuated that uh—” You wished it didn’t sound so dumb as you tried to say it out loud.

“Liz basically insinuated that I needed one of those stupid mommy makeovers..” Your tone was quiet, insecurity clear as you spoke.

Aaron’s eyes softened immediately, his hand coming to grip your waist. “You can’t believe her.. right? You don’t believe her?”

His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—like the very idea of you believing Liz’s words physically pained him. His hand tightened on your waist, grounding you, pulling you closer.

You swallowed hard, eyes dropping to his chest instead of meeting his gaze. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… I had Delilah not too long ago, and it’s not like I look the same as I did back when we started dating..”

Aaron exhaled sharply, his grip firm as he guided you to look at him. “You’re serious?” His brows knit together, frustration flashing in his dark eyes—not at you, but at the fact that you were doubting yourself because of someone else’s careless words. “You are beautiful, exactly as you are.”

You huffed a short, humorless laugh. “You have to say that.”

“No,” he countered immediately, shaking his head. “I don’t. But I do have to make sure you understand how wrong she is.” His free hand lifted to your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a gentleness that made your breath hitch. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and anyone who says otherwise is blind.”

The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, you thought—hoped—he might kiss you. But then he exhaled through his nose, reigning himself back in.

“I don’t want you believing anyone who tries to make you feel less than what you are.” His thumb brushed your cheek again, and his voice dropped, softer now. “And what you are is incredible, you carried a child for nine months I couldn’t imagine doing that.. of course your body is bound to change but I love the way you look now just as much as I loved the way you looked before if not more.”

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. “Aaron…”

“You don’t need a dumb mommy makeover,” he murmured. “And you sure as hell don’t need validation from someone like her.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity. And maybe—just maybe—something more.

“But you haven’t had sex with me since before I had the baby and I just thought maybe you thought I was unattractive or something..” Aaron’s entire body went still. His jaw tensed, his brows drawing together as if the very idea was incomprehensible to him. “What?” His voice was low, almost disbelieving.

You swallowed, feeling heat rise up your neck. You hadn’t meant to say it—not like that, not so bluntly—but now that it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.

“I just… I know things have been different since Delilah was born,” you said quietly, shifting under his gaze. “And I get it, we’re exhausted, we barely have time for each other, but sometimes I wonder if it’s more than that.” You exhaled shakily. “If maybe you don’t want me like you used to.”

His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes—something raw, something frustrated. “You think I don’t want you?” His voice dropped, rough with emotion, and before you could answer, his hands were back on you—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The heat of his body against yours sent a shiver down your spine.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he murmured, his lips just inches from yours. “I think about you constantly. Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop myself? How many nights I’ve laid awake next to you, wanting to touch you?” His fingers flexed against your hips, like he was barely holding himself back. “You just had our baby. The last thing I wanted was to pressure you, to make you feel like you owed me something.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching in your throat. “Aaron…”

His thumb brushed against your lower lip, his eyes burning into yours. “You are everything to me. Everything. And if I haven’t touched you, it’s not because I don’t want you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s because I can’t trust myself to stop.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling low in your stomach. “Then don’t.”

His eyes searched yours, hesitation warring with desire. And then, finally, something inside him snapped.

Aaron’s mouth was on yours before you could take another breath, the kiss deep and consuming. His hands roamed your body, relearning every inch of you, and you melted into him, the weight of every doubt, every insecurity, fading beneath his touch.

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

They are being mind-controled by a villain and they believe you cheated on them (Part.1)

A fog has settled between you, a cruel illusion woven by unseen hands. The X-Man, your beloved, now look at you with wounded eyes, twisted by whispers that cloud their trust.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Bobby Drake

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- When Logan confronts you, it’s with an intensity that feels like it could crack the very air around you. His accusations are sharp, his words biting, and you barely recognize the man standing before you. He paces like a caged animal, his fists clenched, and his usually calm eyes are clouded with betrayal. Despite your confusion and protests, he remains adamant, pain flickering in his expression as he tries to push you away.

- You try to explain, to reach him, but Logan’s too deep in the hurt. He accuses you of breaking his trust, the one thing he’s rarely given anyone, and every word feels like a wound that digs deeper into both of you. Watching him struggle is heartbreaking—Logan, who’s faced everything with bravery, looks broken, vulnerable, and angry all at once, and it’s all directed at you.

- Days pass after the confrontation, and Logan distances himself from you entirely. He spends time in isolation, wrestling with his inner demons, consumed by a pain that he believes you’ve caused. Though you know the truth, his cold behavior is excruciating, and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever trust you again. You feel the loss of him like a piece of yourself gone missing.

- It’s a week later when the haze finally lifts from Logan’s mind, and the weight of realization crashes down on him. He remembers every word he threw at you, the devastation on your face, and it feels like claws are raking across his heart. He immediately knows he’s made a terrible mistake, that he’s been manipulated, and that he let it tear the two of you apart.

- Logan doesn’t waste a second after the truth comes to light. He finds you, standing before you with an unfamiliar vulnerability in his posture. The look in his eyes is almost childlike, full of remorse and guilt. He barely knows where to start, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “Darlin’, I messed up… and I’m so sorry.”

- His apology is raw, filled with regret as he struggles to find the right words to convey the depth of his remorse. Logan isn’t one to be emotional, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he reaches for your hand, as if afraid you’ll pull away. He admits to letting his fears get the best of him and begs you to forgive him, acknowledging that he never should’ve doubted you.

- You accept his apology, though the pain is still there. But when Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you like he’s terrified to let go, the walls around your heart start to crack. He promises, over and over, that he’ll make it right, that he’ll spend the rest of his life proving he’ll never doubt you again. His words are like balm to your broken heart, and slowly, you let him back in.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy’s confrontation is full of drama and heartbreak. His usual charm is gone, replaced by a sharp bitterness you’ve never seen from him before. He speaks with an edge, accusing you of betrayal, and it feels like he’s tearing your heart apart with each accusation. His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, pained, and he looks at you as though you’ve ripped his heart out.

- He’s visibly devastated, masking his hurt with sarcasm and bitterness as he tries to process what he thinks you’ve done. When you try to explain, he cuts you off, refusing to let you defend yourself, as if he’s afraid that hearing you out would only deepen the wound. Remy, who’s usually so open and loving, now feels closed off, unreachable.

- The days that follow are painful, as Remy retreats into himself, haunted by the idea that you betrayed him. He’s normally social and outgoing, but you notice he’s withdrawn, spending more time alone. He’s haunted by the memories of the life you built together, struggling with an emptiness that seems to swallow him whole.

- The moment the mind control breaks, Remy’s world feels like it’s spinning. The realization of his mistake hits him hard, and guilt floods every part of him. He sees, painfully, that his trust was manipulated, and the weight of his accusations toward you crushes him. He spends sleepless nights thinking of how he hurt you, how he let himself be blinded.

- He seeks you out immediately, carrying flowers as a small gesture of peace, his hands shaking slightly as he approaches. Remy’s usual swagger is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a genuine, almost desperate sincerity. He tells you how sorry he is, his voice trembling as he explains how he was played, how he let his fears consume him.

- Remy’s apology is heartfelt, filled with regret, as he stands before you vulnerable and bare. He acknowledges that he should have trusted you, that he let his insecurities get the better of him. His words are raw, his gaze intense as he begs you to forgive him. The flowers fall from his hands as he reaches for yours, a silent plea for another chance.

- When you finally forgive him, Remy’s relief is palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he swears he’ll never doubt you again. His lips brush against your forehead, his voice barely a whisper as he promises to rebuild the trust he shattered. In that moment, you feel the depth of his love and regret, and your heart begins to heal.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt’s confrontation is heartbreaking and full of sorrow. He approaches you with tears in his eyes, struggling to voice his accusations because the very thought pains him deeply. His faith in you has been his rock, and now, it feels like that foundation has been cracked. He’s devastated, his voice soft but filled with agony as he asks if it’s true.

- He tries to maintain his calm demeanor, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes. Kurt’s normally gentle spirit is marred by doubt, and every word he says feels like a dagger to his own heart. His hurt is almost palpable, and it’s clear he’s wrestling with the pain of even thinking you could betray him.

- In the days that follow, Kurt’s heartache is evident in his every action. He goes through the motions, struggling with his faith, his love, and his broken trust. He distances himself, praying for guidance but feeling lost without you by his side. The ache of loneliness gnaws at him, leaving him hollow and uncertain.

- When the mind control is finally lifted, Kurt’s guilt is immediate and overwhelming. He realizes that he was manipulated, that he was led to doubt the one person he trusts most in the world. The weight of that mistake crushes him, and he falls to his knees in prayer, asking for forgiveness before he can even face you.

- Kurt finds you with a heavy heart, his usual gentle smile replaced with a look of remorse. He takes your hands in his, looking at you with tear-filled eyes as he begins to apologize. His voice trembles, filled with the weight of his regret, as he tells you how deeply he’s sorry for doubting you, for letting his fears take over.

- His apology is sincere, and his words are filled with emotion as he explains the mental manipulation he fell under. Kurt admits that he should have trusted in your love, that he should have held on to the faith he always had in you. He looks at you with a sadness that pierces your heart, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he asks for your forgiveness.

- When you forgive him, Kurt’s relief is visible in every part of his being. He holds you close, whispering promises of love and trust, his embrace warm and full of tenderness. He presses a kiss to your forehead, vowing never to let anything come between you again. In his arms, you feel the depth of his love and the healing of the wounds that the villain’s manipulations tried to create.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott’s confrontation with you is direct and intense, as he’s always been the type to tackle issues head-on. His voice is steely as he lays out what he believes he’s discovered, his emotions restrained but still evident in the tension in his jaw and the way his hands clench at his sides. He’s hurt, yes, but also furious, struggling to understand how someone he trusts so deeply could have supposedly betrayed him.

- You try to explain yourself, but Scott cuts you off, his tone sharp and pained. He refuses to listen, his normally calm and rational mind clouded by the betrayal he believes he’s facing. His words sting, each one landing with the force of his suppressed anger, leaving you feeling both confused and devastated. Seeing him like this, distant and cold, breaks something inside of you.

- The days that follow are almost unbearable. Scott avoids you at every turn, burying himself in his responsibilities as a leader, his emotions carefully hidden behind a mask of professionalism. He’s always been committed to his duty, but now he throws himself into it with an almost unhealthy intensity, trying to ignore the ache of what he thinks is lost.

- When the mind control finally breaks, Scott feels the truth hit him like a physical blow. The realization that he’s been manipulated, that he allowed a villain to cloud his judgment and shatter his trust in you, fills him with an overwhelming guilt. He replays every harsh word he threw at you, and each memory feels like a knife to his heart.

- Scott’s apology is quiet but incredibly sincere. He approaches you cautiously, clearly struggling with the weight of his guilt. His voice is thick with emotion as he explains what happened, admitting that he let his insecurities and fears get the best of him. For Scott, the loss of control over his emotions is almost as painful as the thought of having hurt you.

- He’s never been one to beg, but there’s a quiet desperation in his voice as he asks for your forgiveness, his hand gently reaching out to touch yours. He promises to do better, to trust you more deeply, to never let his own doubts cloud his love for you again. His words are steady, but there’s a vulnerability in his expression that speaks volumes.

- When you finally forgive him, Scott’s relief is palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he whispers words of love and promises for the future. He’s still haunted by what he did, but your forgiveness allows him to finally let go, and he vows to spend every day proving just how much he trusts and values you.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean’s confrontation is heartbreaking. She approaches you cautiously, her voice soft yet filled with a quiet pain. Jean is sensitive to others’ emotions, and even as she accuses you, there’s a sadness in her eyes, like she’s already mourning what she thinks you’ve done. She wants to believe in you, but the thought of betrayal has left her shaken.

- As you try to explain yourself, Jean listens with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, her expression pained. She’s torn, doubting herself as much as she doubts you, and each word you speak seems to only deepen her confusion. It’s clear she’s struggling to make sense of her emotions, but she can’t bring herself to fully believe in your innocence.

- The days that follow are marked by an emptiness that seems to cling to her. Jean is normally warm and open, but now she’s withdrawn, avoiding everyone, especially you. She’s always been a source of strength for those around her, but now, the sense of betrayal has left her feeling isolated and alone, unable to find comfort in anything.

- When the mind control finally breaks, the realization of what happened hits her like a wave of relief and horror. She feels as though her heart has been shattered, and the guilt of having doubted you, even for a moment, consumes her. Jean has always valued honesty and empathy, and knowing she let her fears get the best of her is deeply painful.

- Jean’s apology is tender and filled with remorse. She finds you, her eyes brimming with tears, and she doesn’t hold back as she tells you just how sorry she is. She explains what happened, her voice thick with regret, admitting that she let her insecurities cloud her trust in you. For Jean, failing to see past the manipulation hurts as much as the thought of losing you.

- She takes your hands in hers, her grip gentle but firm, as she begs you to forgive her. Jean promises to trust in your love, to hold on to the connection you share, no matter what challenges come her way. Her vulnerability is evident, and you can see just how much this has affected her.

- When you finally forgive her, Jean’s relief is visible in every part of her being. She pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you as if afraid to let go. Her embrace is warm, her love tangible in the way she holds you, and you can feel the depth of her emotions as she promises to always trust you, no matter what obstacles they face.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo’s confrontation with you is intense, though her tone is calm and collected, as always. She approaches you with a steely expression, her voice as cold as a winter storm. Ororo is a pillar of strength and wisdom, and the very idea of betrayal cuts deeply into her sense of trust. She doesn’t raise her voice, but every word she speaks feels like a carefully controlled strike.

- You try to explain yourself, but Ororo listens with an unreadable expression, her gaze piercing. She’s hurting, and though she tries to hide it, there’s a pain in her eyes that you can’t ignore. Ororo is normally compassionate and understanding, but this supposed betrayal has left her wounded, her trust shaken in a way she’s not used to.

- The days that follow are marked by a coldness in her demeanor. Ororo throws herself into her work, her usual warmth and empathy replaced by a distant, almost unreachable demeanor. She is always the voice of reason and calm, but now, her heart feels like it’s frozen, and even her connection to nature feels strained, as if reflecting her internal turmoil.

- When the mind control finally breaks, the realization of her mistake crashes down on her. Ororo is a woman of honor, and the thought that she let her trust waver, even under manipulation, is deeply painful. The guilt of having doubted you feels like a storm raging inside her, and she knows that she has to make things right.

- Ororo’s apology is graceful yet heartfelt. She approaches you with humility, her usual poise softened by the vulnerability in her expression. She explains what happened, her voice steady but filled with emotion, and she admits that she should have trusted in the love you share. For Ororo, letting herself be manipulated feels like a failure, and she’s determined to prove that it won’t happen again.

- She reaches out, her hand resting gently on yours as she asks for your forgiveness. Ororo speaks from the heart, her words filled with sincerity as she promises to always trust in the bond you share. Her gaze is intense, filled with the promise of a renewed commitment, and there’s a quiet strength in her apology that reassures you of her love.

- When you finally forgive her, Ororo’s relief is like a breath of fresh air. She pulls you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapped around you with a warmth that only she can offer. You feel the calmness of her presence, the quiet strength that has always been her hallmark, and she holds you close, vowing that she’ll never let doubt come between you again.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue’s confrontation is a mix of frustration and heartbreak. She’s never one to mince words, and she lets her emotions pour out as she confronts you, her accent thicker as she struggles to control the pain in her voice. Her fists are clenched, and though she’s trying to stay calm, it’s clear that the betrayal she thinks has happened is tearing her apart.

- She listens as you try to explain, but the disbelief in her gaze cuts deep. Rogue has always struggled with trust, knowing how it feels to be hurt and left behind, so the idea that you could have done something like this shatters her. She’s hurting so deeply, and though she wants to believe you, she feels trapped by the manipulation that’s clouded her judgment.

- After the confrontation, Rogue withdraws, finding solace in her usual haunts and her own thoughts. She’s normally the life of the room, with her vibrant personality and teasing charm, but now, there’s a heaviness to her that makes her seem a million miles away. She hides her pain behind a facade, trying to convince herself that maybe she’s better off without you.

- When the mind control finally fades, Rogue is overwhelmed with guilt and anger at herself for having doubted you. The realization that she’s been tricked feels like salt in an open wound, and she’s furious with the villain who manipulated her, as well as herself for not trusting in your love. She hates that she let her insecurities control her.

- Rogue’s apology is raw and filled with emotion. She approaches you with hesitation, her voice soft but steady as she admits she was wrong. She’s not one to beg, but there’s a vulnerability in her tone as she asks for your forgiveness. She admits how much it hurt her to doubt you and promises to trust in you and your love no matter what.

- She reaches out to take your hand, her touch light but comforting, as she looks you in the eyes. Rogue doesn’t shy away from expressing how much you mean to her, and her words are filled with sincerity as she tells you just how deeply she loves you and wants to make things right. She’s always been fiercely loyal, and now she’s more determined than ever to prove that to you.

- When you forgive her, Rogue pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you like she never wants to let go. There’s a strength in her hug, a silent promise that she’ll never let doubt come between you again. She pulls back with a soft smile, her eyes bright and full of love, and you know that from now on, she’ll do whatever it takes to keep the bond between you strong and unbreakable.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik’s confrontation is cold, calculated, and full of barely-contained fury. He approaches you with an unyielding gaze, his tone low and laced with an intensity that makes it clear he’s already decided that you’ve betrayed him. His words are sharp, and each one feels like a dagger as he demands an explanation, his trust shattered by what he thinks you’ve done.

- When you try to explain yourself, Erik listens with a hardened expression, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He’s always been cautious with his heart, knowing all too well the pain of betrayal, so for him to believe you’ve done this shakes him to his core. His past experiences with betrayal and loss have left deep scars, and it’s clear that this supposed act has reopened old wounds.

- Afterward, Erik distances himself, retreating into solitude as he wrestles with the pain of what he thinks has happened. He becomes colder, more withdrawn, his usual fiery passion tempered by an icy demeanor. His actions are precise and methodical, each one a way to distract himself from the hurt, but the pain is ever-present, a reminder of what he believes he’s lost.

- When the mind control is finally lifted, Erik feels a mix of fury and regret. The realization that he’s been manipulated by a villain fills him with rage, but there’s an even deeper sense of shame at having let himself believe that you could hurt him like this. He’s always prided himself on his strength and resilience, but this has left him feeling vulnerable in a way he despises.

- Erik’s apology is as intense as the rest of him. He approaches you with a quiet, almost hesitant air, his voice softened by remorse as he admits that he was wrong to doubt you. For a man as proud as Erik, admitting a mistake is not easy, and the vulnerability in his eyes speaks volumes about how much he values you and your love.

- He promises to trust you more, his words laden with a rare tenderness as he takes your hand. Erik isn’t used to apologies, but he does his best, vowing to never let anyone or anything come between you again. He’s learned a painful lesson, and he’s determined to show you just how much he cares, no matter what it takes.

- When you forgive him, Erik’s relief is subtle but profound. He pulls you into a close embrace, his touch firm yet gentle as he holds you. There’s a newfound warmth in his gaze as he looks at you, a silent vow that he’ll never let his own fears come between you again. From that moment on, he’s more protective and devoted than ever, his love for you deeper and more unbreakable.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Charles’ confrontation with you is calm, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. He’s not one to leap to conclusions, but the evidence he believes he’s seen has left him deeply conflicted. His voice is gentle as he explains his suspicions, but the pain in his tone is palpable, each word carrying the weight of the trust he thinks has been broken.

- As you try to explain, Charles listens carefully, his gaze never wavering, though his expression is clouded with doubt. He’s always been a strong believer in empathy and understanding, but the thought of betrayal from someone he loves has shaken him to the core. There’s a sadness in him that’s hard to miss, and each word you speak seems to deepen the sorrow in his eyes.

- In the days that follow, Charles retreats into his own thoughts, often lost in contemplation as he tries to make sense of his emotions. He’s a compassionate man, and the idea of mistrusting someone he loves feels foreign to him. His interactions with others are quieter than usual, and there’s a noticeable tension in his usually serene demeanor.

- When the mind control finally breaks, Charles is flooded with relief and regret. Realizing that he’s been manipulated fills him with a sense of guilt, and he’s angry at himself for not seeing through the trickery. He’s a powerful telepath, but even he is not immune to the pain of betrayal, and knowing he doubted you leaves him feeling ashamed.

- Charles’ apology is heartfelt and deeply sincere. He approaches you with a gentleness that is uniquely his, his voice filled with remorse as he admits that he let his own fears cloud his judgment. He speaks from the heart, explaining how much he values your love and how he intends to trust you more deeply in the future.

- Taking your hand in his, Charles promises to never let his own insecurities or doubts come between you again. He looks at you with a tenderness that speaks volumes, his eyes filled with the quiet strength and unwavering devotion that have always defined him. He assures you that he’s learned from this experience and that he’ll always trust in the bond you share.

- When you forgive him, Charles’ relief is almost palpable. He holds you close, his embrace warm and comforting as he whispers words of gratitude and love. There’s a peace in his expression that hasn’t been there since this whole ordeal began, and you can feel the depth of his commitment to you in the way he holds you. Charles may have been hurt, but he’s come out of this with a renewed determination to cherish and protect the love you share.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- When Bobby confronts you, there’s an unusual edge to his usually playful demeanor. His blue eyes, usually filled with warmth and laughter, are clouded with hurt and disbelief. He struggles to keep his voice steady as he asks for an explanation, his usual humor replaced by a seriousness that you’ve rarely seen from him.

- Bobby tries to be logical about it, but it’s clear he’s barely holding himself together. He’s normally the fun, lighthearted one, always quick to crack a joke, but now he can barely bring himself to look at you without pain flickering across his face. There’s a heartbreaking vulnerability in the way he seems so lost, and it’s clear he’s battling with his own insecurities.

- After the confrontation, Bobby avoids you, feeling embarrassed about his emotions but too hurt to stay near. He doesn’t want his friends to see him like this, so he tries to hide his pain with a mask of indifference. He throws himself into training and missions, trying to push down the heartbreak he feels whenever he thinks about what he believes happened.

- When the mind control finally fades, Bobby feels a rush of guilt and disbelief. The realization that he’s been tricked hits him hard, and he’s furious that he doubted you. He’s known for his resilience, but the idea that he let his own insecurities and fears cloud his judgment leaves him feeling deeply ashamed.

- Bobby’s apology is genuine and filled with remorse. He approaches you with his heart on his sleeve, fumbling over his words as he tries to express just how sorry he is for not believing in you. He’s clearly nervous, but his eyes are filled with sincerity as he admits his mistakes, promising to never let anything come between you again.

- He reaches out to hold your hand, his touch soft and careful as he confesses just how much you mean to him. Bobby may be a jokester, but his apology is anything but. He pours out his feelings, his usual carefree attitude replaced with a quiet determination to make things right and prove that he’ll never doubt you again.

- When you forgive him, Bobby’s face lights up with relief and joy. He pulls you into a tight hug, laughing softly as he holds you close, promising to always trust you and to work on his insecurities. From that moment on, he’s even more devoted, making sure to show you just how much he cherishes every moment with you.

[kaiawrites]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES (halloween fic)

lando norris x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

prompt(s): “You okay? Your face is red.” “Yeah, I mean, yes. Totally, it’s just the weather.” & "Oh my god, your room is so dirty. How do you live here?" "If you're so bothered by it, clean it up." "Fuck off. I'm not your servant." "You act like one." "I. Said. Fuck. Off."

warnings: slightly creepy guy calls the reader a wh*re, minor violence/blood (just a bar fight), the rest is pretty fluffy

a/n: posting my 'once in every 3 years' post, happy halloween for the lando girlies! I haven't proofread this, so sorry for any mistakes

"Have you seen my black T-shirt, I'm sure it was here. I swear I saw it here," you heard Lando’s voice call out from across your shared flat. 

"Oh, the one that looked like a rag? Yeah, I threw it away," you replied as you continued drying off your dishes.

“What!” you heard Lando shriek. "You little shit, come here!" You snickered as an angry, shirtless, Lando stormed into your kitchen.

“Clam down Norris, I didn’t touch any of your shit I have no idea where your goddamn T-shirt is,” you laughed at the Brit’s unamused face as you put away the last of the dishes. “Come on, I’ll help you look for it,” you said, though you did not expect what you found when you reached Lando’s room. Rarely did you ever come into each other’s room; so you hadn’t seen it’s inside in a while. Clothes were strewn about on every flat surface, cups and plates you’d been missing for weeks scattered about and his bedsheets practically on the floor. No wonder he couldn’t find his stupid t-shirt.

"Oh my god, your room is so messy. How do you live here?" you laughed, your roommate glowering further at you. Clearly, he did not find you as funny as you found yourself.

"If you're so bothered by it, clean it up."

"Fuck off. I'm not your servant." 

"Well, you act like one, darling," now a teasing smile curling his lips.

“Then you can find your shirt on your own, Norris,” you said, giving him a bitter smile before exiting his room. You knew damn well there was no way you would've been able to find anything in his mess of a room. Anyways, you had to start getting ready too, since you were soon to be on your way to a Halloween party. Your costume was quite simple, just a regular red mini-dress and some devil horns on a headband, so it didn’t take you very long once you’d gotten your makeup down. 

“Come on Norris we’re gonna be late!” You called out, checking your phone for the time. In truth, you were already late, but you were about to be later than was acceptable if Lando didn’t come down soon. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long. Unluckily, however, it seemed that Lando had gone absolutely insane and dumped a gallon of glitter on his skin.

“Is that your costume?” You asked. Lando looked down at himself and nodded proudly, glitter falling off at the movement. “I thought you were being a vampire..?”

“I am,” Lando replied, a permanent proud and shit-eating grin on his face. “You know, like the ones from Twilight.”

“You’re going to embarrass me,” you said in exasperation.

“I know, that’s the point, love,” Lando replied smugly. “Let’s go now, you don’t want to be late, do you?” 

You rolled your eyes and followed him out.

———

Lando watched from the bar as you stumbled off the dance floor and looked around, a bright, dazed smile tugging at your lips when you spotted him. Jesus christ you were beautiful. Not that you weren’t always beautiful, Lando knew you were, but there were moments where you seemed more than beautiful. Moments like this one, where you headed toward him, the glistening of your skin reflecting the club lights, looking at him expectantly as you awaited his answer.

“What?” Lando said, breaking out of his stupor and nearly blushing at how he’d completely missed your question. You laughed at his confusion, before leaning closer. Lando’s heart skipped a beat, and for an imperceptible moment, he thought you were going to kiss him. But of course, the moment passed as you leaned into his ear, repeating your unanswered question more clearly. 

“Why aren’t you having fun?” you asked smoothly, revealing a faux pout as you drew back. Lando let out a chuckle.

“I am having fun, love,” he replies.

“No, you’re standing here watching the rest of us have fun,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “Come oooonnn, Norris, come dance with me.” Lando stared into your puppy-dog eyes, ready to give in and come make a fool of himself on the dance floor for you, before he was cut off by an unknown, and unwelcome voice.

“Forget him, I’ll dance with you,” the voice said, its owner getting far too touchy with you for Lando’s liking.

“Uhm, no thank you,” you answered, all your previous mirth dissipating into discomfort.

“Come on babe, I promise, I’m fun,” the evidently drunk man repeated, 

“I’m alright, thanks,” you said, refusing once more. The man didn’t reply this time, instead choosing to grab your wrist in order to lead you toward the floor.

“She said no, mate,” Lando cut in dryly. The man turned toward Lando, anger simmering beneath his stare.

“Look, you can drop the act mate, I’ve seen her whoring around all night, I know that’s not your girl. She’s free game,” he slurred.

“What did you just call her?” Lando spat. The guy laughed at what Lando could only assume the man thought was an empty threat. However, Lando didn’t give him a chance to retaliate.

“Lando!” you exclaimed as both men went down. The next moments were a blur of fists and bloodied faces, until Lando was suddenly pulled off the man by a security guard. He turned to see you looking all at once scared, worried, relieved and angry. Lando looked back down at the drunk guy, and he couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk at the state he’d left him in, even as the security guard escorted him out of the bar.

———

“Are you mad at me?” Lando broke the heavy silence as you walked into your flat. You sighed deeply, turning around to face him for the first time since you’d been kicked out of the bar. 

“Of course not, just… promise you won’t do anything like that ever again. I mean, I know you’re an idiot, but that was even more stupid than usual,” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood, but Lando still stared at you, uncharacteristically unreadable.

“I can’t promise that, I would do it again if I had to.”

You stared at him intently, searching for any sign of Lando’s usual playfulness, but you only found earnest eyes and a clenched jaw. You averted your gaze, not knowing what to do with this uncharacteristic behaviour. Instead, you turned toward the bathroom, hearing Lando’s shuffling feet as he trailed after you. Rummaging through a drawer, you pulled out a first aid kit and turned back toward Lando to find him almost comically standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Sit,” you said more harshly than you intended, gesturing toward the ledge of the bathtub. Lando heeded your command, silently taking a spot where you’d directed him. After wiping off the remainder of his face paint and glitter, you began by cleaning up the cut on Lando’s nose, soaking a towel with cold water and dabbing it at the cut. Lando flinched and hissed at the contact. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you chided with a chuckle, though there was no malice in it.

“I am not a baby,” Lando scoffed with a small smile. After cleaning and patching up the cut on his nose, you moved on to his split lip, hesitating a moment before bringing the towel to it. Lando’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly at the contact, but he didn’t wince this time. You focused on intently cleaning the wound, and once you were done, you set aside the towel. You turned back toward Lando to find his face tinged a bright red.

“Are you okay? Your face just got all red?” you inquired, looking him over for any sign of an injury you might have missed.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. Totally. It’s the, uhm, weather,” Lando replied, his voice breaking on the first word. You looked at him, deadpan.

“We’ve been inside for a solid ten minutes, Norris,” you stated.

“Well, y’know what I mean, it’s like, warm in here or something,” he rectified, his face somehow flushing further. A small smirk formed on your lips.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flustered, Norris,” you teased as you finished cleaning up the small cut.

“What? Flustered? By you?” He replied, his voice an octave higher and cadence a tad faster than usual, only proving your point further. You disposed of the gauze, turning back toward him and cupping his face in your hands. You smirked and raised an eyebrow at his widening eyes and ever-flushed face. “Okay, okay, maybe I am,” he admitted.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” You taunted him. Lando’s eyes searched your face for any sign of humour, but found only sincerity. With that, he leaned in, closing the remaining distance between the two of you. The kiss was slow and purposeful, free of any of the teasing which usually permeated all your interactions. This was something else, communicating a kind of sincerity your words could hardly convey.

“Thank you,” you added after parting from the kiss.

“What? For kissing you?” Lando answered with a chuckle. “‘Cause I can do it again.”

“For sticking up for me. It was dangerous and reckless and please don’t do it again. But thank you, still. I appreciate it.”

“Well, like I said, I would do it again. That fucker had it coming, messing with my girl.” He replied, brushing the pad of his thumb on your cheek.

“Your girl, huh?” You echoed teasingly.

“If she wants to be, that is?” Lando replied. You hummed, contemplating.

“If he takes me on a date, I might consider it,” you settled on, turning to exit the bathroom, though you didn’t miss Lando’s hushed, dragged out yes, and you giggled as you imagined him pumping his fist. He followed you out, and you both settled on the couch, seemingly in agreement to watch a movie. You tossed Lando the remote.

“Your turn to pick,” you said, as you had picked the movie last time. After a moment, Lando settled on a movie and pressed play. “A horror movie?” You inquired. “You’re terrified of those.”

“Am not!” Lando replied petulantly. 

“Yes, you are,” you laughed, doubling over as the first jumpscare of the movie made Lando jump in his place. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing you laugh, even if it was at his expense. In fact, he would gladly make an idiot out of himself every day if it meant making you laugh like that. And maybe Lando really was terrified of horror movies, but maybe he’d also purposely picked a horror movie so he’d have an excuse to hide his face on your shoulder, and maybe, just maybe, you were glad he’d picked a horror movie because you too, wanted and excuse to keep him close tonight.

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 8)

I hope you all enjoy this part 💛 just to warn you all in advance, this chapter is quite long!

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 9

Warnings: Feelings of anger, confusion, jealousy, brief mentions of death/being killed/being shot, angst

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

You didn’t know what to do. 

You couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard you tried to, your mind just wouldn’t shut off. 

You didn’t know who to believe…you didn’t know who you wanted to believe. 

You should’ve wanted to believe Phillip, you were going to be his wife after all; but if you believed Phillip it meant that he was right about your exes. 

Jealous exes. 

Bitter exes. 

It was a narrative made sense, that they were just twisting the facts to favor themselves, to put themselves in a better light. 

Meaning that they were happy to hurt you all over again. 

But there was something about how Phillip had reacted that caused you to doubt him…

You’d never seen him so defensive, so angry; so avoidant of answering a question. 

He went from not knowing who Johnny and Simon were; to knowing that they were your exes, but he would’ve known them before that. 

He lied to you. 

Did that mean that his version of the situation was a complete lie?

Did they try to kill him in retaliation for what he’d done to them? 

Did they just go round killing his men to get revenge?

Or was the only reason his men were killed was because your exes felt threatened. 

Or did the truth, as it so often did, lie somewhere in the middle of both parties' story. 

But if so why would he leave you here alone if they were so dangerous?

It didn’t make any sense. 

An aggravated groan fell from your lips as you grabbed your phone and typed a number you’d memorised by heart; a number that you thought you were never going to text again. 

"We need to talk; come to the house. No one else, just you" was all you typed out; blunt and concise; somewhat like the very man that the message was going to. 

You weren’t entirely sure why you texted Simon: maybe it’s because you’d already messaged and called Y/f/n and had no reply…and you just needed to talk to someone.

Someone who you knew wouldn’t lie to you. 

You didn’t even know if he was still going to be awake at this hour, though you doubted his sleeping patterns had changed that drastically. 

But you did know that he was there that night. 

That he’d be able to give you a detailed explanation of what had happened that night; a factual one. 

Void of much, if any emotion, unlike Johnny who you could tell was just a bundle of rage and hurt,Simon knew how to shut off his emotions in a way none of the others did. 

You were worried if they were all present again that you’d just get angry as they tried to persuade you out of marrying Phillip. 

That’s not what you needed.

You need to know what happened. 

Once you had Simon's version of events; the full version, not just a snippet like he gave you earlier, then you’d try to talk to Phillip again and get his version. 

And hone that your gut would guide you into knowing who was lying and who was telling the truth. 

~~~~~

Simon wasn’t surprised often, but your text, that had caught him off guard a little.

He was certain that you weren’t going to want to talk to any of them ever again; so when your name flashed on his phone with a text message, e had to blink a few times, to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, but it was real. 

He considered waking the others, but it was their first night home and they were all fast asleep. 

Johnny was snoring loudly next to him; he was pretty sure only a bucket of cold water would wake him up from the deep sleep he was in. 

John was lying on his back; one arm wrapped around Kyle who was lying on his chest, light snores leaving both of them. 

So much had been happening over the last few days; he wanted to let them rest. 

Especially seeing as you had specified in your message that you only wanted to talk to him. 

They’d have questions, wonder why they hadn’t been messaged and he had…of course he had suspicions as to why that was, but it wouldn’t be fair on them to tell them something he wasn’t sure was true. 

He could tell them everything when he came back. 

He wondered if Graves was there; if this was all a setup but that thought soon fell from his thoughts, this was his personal number. 

Not just anyone had it.

Only the people he cared about. 

And Graves certainly wasn’t one of those people; so unless he’d got it out of you somehow, Simon was certain the person that had messaged him, was you. 

He quickly got dressed, throwing on the black t-shirt and black jeans that he’d bunched up and thrown on the chair near the bed; and made his way out of the house. 

~~~~~

You saw the headlights of a car shining through the curtains in your living room; an unwelcome wave of anxiety washing over you as you rose to your feet. 

You were going to be alone with Simon in your house….it was only now that the thought dawned on you of how bad this would look if Phillip came home. 

‘What are you doing?’ You questioned yourself; like there was another person inside your head who was going to give you an answer. 

You could just not answer the door. 

Send Simon a message saying that you’ve changed your mind.

You could just believe your fiance. 

A knock at the door pulled you from the thoughts racing through your head and before your mind had even fully caught up with your actions, you were opening the door, letting Simon in. 

“Do you..uh want a tea?” You offered; trying to act like this situation was normal, in an attempt to try and ease your own anxiety. 

Simon raised an eyebrow, from where he stood in the hallway, “Depends? You gonna give me that berry infused shit again?”

You couldn’t help but snort at his words, “No,”

“Then yes,”

A few quiet moments passed as you both made your way into the kitchen and you made a tea for him, exactly how you remembered him liking it and a coffee for you

“Here you go,” you said, handing over the cup to Simon, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you did so. 

You remembered the quiet mornings or extremely late evenings you two would share when he came back from a mission. 

“Thanks,” he replied, the two of you falling back into a familiar and comfortable silence. 

Both of you trying to work out what to say.

“What did he say? Simon asked, breaking the silence.

“That you’re twisting the story,” you began, looking down at your tea, avoiding his gaze, “Said that things only started going bad after you and Johnny got hostile, that you killed his men….that you tried to kill him.”

Too many images of people you loved lying dead on the ground filled your mind. 

Phillip. 

Johnny…

Simon…..

“Is it true?”

“We did kill his men and we did try to kill him, yeah, and we’d do it again,” Simon confirmed, honestly, taking a sip of his tea before placing it down on the counter next to him, “But we only started getting hostile after he betrayed us and detained people we were working with from another team.”

“He had his orders,” you repeated John's words from earlier, your eyes meeting his. 

Phillip was a soldier, he followed orders, that’s his job.

A scoff fell from Simon’s lips, “From another man who betrayed us,”

You wanted to ask him what he meant; find out what other man had betrayed them. 

But you knew that there were some things that Simon couldn’t talk about, that none of them could talk about and you knew that based on the look in his eyes, that he could say no more than that. 

“Do you believe him?”

His question making the ring on your finger feel heavier than it did earlier, you set your tea down on the counter next to you.

“I should,” you whispered, fiddling with the ring on your finger, “I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you.”

“Why are you?” Simon questioned, genuinely curious about why you were here; unable to stop his heart from feeling a flicker of hope. 

Hope that you weren’t going to go through with the wedding. 

Hope that somehow, someway, you could come back to them….

He could see how conflicted you were, could see it in your eyes and the dark circles that were under them. 

But he could also see it in your demeanour, nervous, worried, confused, like your mind was trying to process a million and one things at once.

“There are just certain things that are making me doubt him…” your started, with a sigh, leaning back against the kitchen counter “he knew you were my exes, but I’d never told him about our relationship, he said Y/f/n told him…which I can’t really imagine.” 

You took a deep breath before continuing, “He also couldn’t give me a straight answer about what happened,”

“Does that not answer your question?”

“No,” you answered quickly, because as much as you had your doubts, his whole story wasn’t a lie, Simon and Johnny did kill Phillips' men, and they did try to kill him too.

That was a truth that Simon had already confirmed. 

A truth that you couldn’t help but feel was purposefully left out of their original explanation of what happened in Mexico.

You love Phillip; you had to at least give him some benefit of the doubt. 

“I love him, Si, I can’t just turn that off.”

Part of you wished that you could. 

That you could just close your eyes, snap your fingers and shut off your feelings. 

Your feelings for Phillip and the feelings that were still lingering in your heart for not only the man in front of you, but for all of the others too. 

“We wouldn’t lie to you, love, not after everything we put you through,” Simon answered softly; and you were unable to call him out on the nickname he used for you, just like you had been earlier in the evening when he said it. 

You don’t know why you didn’t tell him to not call you that, when you were so quick to correct John when he called you sweetheart. 

Maybe it was simply because John was the one who broke up with you; his words, his voice, that replayed in your mind the days, weeks, months after the breakup. 

Whereas Simon; Simon just stood there, like Johnny, like Kyle not saying a single word, just watching. 

“So I should just blindly believe you guys over him?” Your reply to his words was harsher than you wanted; but your mind and heart were just at a loss of who to believe. 

And as much as you doubted Phillip; the man in front of you, as well as your other exes, had more of a reason to lie to you.

“Why should I believe the people that broke up with me without a single tangible reason over the man that loves me?”

The sting of your breakup was raw in your voice as you looked at Simon; he pushed away from the counter he'd been leaning against and walked directly to you. 

“We love you,”

His words cut through your heart like a knife, winding you in a way you didn’t expect. 

In a way you remembered dreaming about hearing days after John ended things with you; in a way that made your heart ache now.

“You don’t get to do that, Si,”your words weren’t angry now, just sad, hurt.

“You wanted the truth didn’t you, that’s why I’m here, to give you the truth you want,”  

So you dared to ask a question that had plagued your mind for so long, hoping that Simon would continue to tell the truth. 

“Why did John end things?”

Simon was silent for a few moments, a few moments that felt like an eternity before finally saying, “He was worried people were gonna try to use you to hurt us.”

He was closer to you now, closer than he was upon his previous visit.

“What?” The disbelief was clear in your voice; his words not giving you the closure you sought, but simply adding to an already overwhelming confusion growing in your mind, “What people?”

“I can’t tell you anything else…” his voice was low as he raised his hand to your face, his hand hovering just inches away from your cheek as he waited for you to move. 

But you didn’t. 

Couldn’t. 

Your mind was too busy processing his confession. 

“But we never stopped lovin’ you, Y/n, not for a single second,” he continued, allowing his hand to touch your cheek delicately, as though you were of glass and he was scared you might break, “Leaving you was one of the hardest things we’ve been through, which, considering what we do for a livin’ is pretty a fucked up thing to say, but it’s the truth,”

You were in complete shock. 

His words. 

His confessions. 

His touch; a feeling that until now, you had no idea you’d even missed.

“Si-” 

You realised how close he was to you now; closer than you should’ve let him be. 

Simon knew he was close to crossing a line he shouldn’t; a line that he couldn’t come back from. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you, he did, badly. 

But he couldn’t do that to Johnny, John or Kyle, and he couldn’t do that to you. 

He knew you were already confused on what to believe, but now you had the truth. 

Well, as much truth as he could give you. 

You knew the most important truth, that they still loved you. 

You needed time. 

Time to process everything. 

“I should go,” he said softly, but he didn’t move an inch. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes gazing up his his, unable to not notice how quick your heart was racing inside your chest, “you should,”

He nodded at your words, turning around and grabbing his cup from the counter.

He quickly drank his tea and walked back over to you, placing his empty cup in the sink behind you.

“Thanks for the tea, love,” he breathed, placing a featherlight kiss on your cheek as he leaned past you, “We’ll be home for a few days, if you need us,”

That was all he said before he walked out of the kitchen and left your house.

You raised your hand, your fingers ghosting over your cheek where Simon’s lips had been moments before. 

He’d kissed your cheek. 

And you’d let him. 

You’d just let your ex kiss you on the cheek…

Simon’s confession shouldn’t have changed anything. 

Shouldn’t have changed how you felt. 

You love Phillip.  

But now, knowing that all this time that they’d done what they did to protect you….how could it not change things in some capacity. 

How could it not make you question things? 

They’d never stopped loving you. 

Simon’s admission made you question things about yourself.

Like if you really had ever stopped loving those men; or if you’d simply closed your heart and persuaded yourself out of loving them because you believed they no longer loved you. 

~~~~~~

Phillip hadn’t gone far; he was parked just down the road from the house; and it was a good thing too, otherwise he would’ve been noticed by the late night visitor you had. 

Simon Riley. 

Simon's visit confirmed what he was afraid of; that he was losing you. 

Maybe if the 141 knew the danger they were putting you in they would leave you alone; just like they were meant to. 

That’s what he’d been told when he took this mission...

All he had to do was marry you to hurt the 141 in a way that didn’t involve anyone getting physically hurt. 

But now they were poisoning you against; making you confront him about things you didn’t need to know the truth about. 

He saw the doubt growing in your eyes when he spoke to you.

Lying about Y/f/n telling him about your exes bought him some time; he thought you might believe that they could do that, knowing how much they hated your exes.

But given Simons visit, that plan clearly hadn’t worked. 

Meaning that he had to start thinking about what happened if you called off this wedding. 

What he had to do to you if you called off this wedding. 

That was a thought he hadn’t thought of in a while; there’d been no need to, up until a few days ago you were blissfully unaware of his connection to your exes, you were simply excited about planning the wedding. 

Phillip noticed his phone flash with a call from an unknown number; unknown to his phone, but he knew who was calling him.

It was the same person he’d messaged the moment he’d left the house after the argument you and he had had. 

“What’s happening, Graves?” An all too familiar voice questioned through the phone. 

“They found out, they’re trying to turn her against me,” he summarised simply; watching as Simon’s car pulled away from the house he shared with you. 

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered; knowing what his answer meant; but he couldn’t lie; it would only make things worse if he lied. 

“If this wedding doesn’t happen, you know what happens to her,” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

“Yes,” Phillip repeated; though his voice was much quieter this time. 

He knew what he’d agreed to when he took this mission on. 

He thought that he’d be able to keep his feelings under control, but he couldn’t. 

He fell for you. 

He'd come to terms with that; knowing that the 141 would probably be too worried about your safety to come anywhere near you again. 

But that hope was now gone. 

You’d seen them; multiple times.

He knew that they were intent on stopping this wedding; whether they crashed it and stopped it themselves or persuaded you to call it off. 

The problem was, when he agreed to this mission, to marry you to hurt the 141; there was an additional clause. 

A clause that if you called off the wedding for whatever reason, he had to find another way to use you to hurt the 141. 

He had to kill you. 

But not before making you suffer; until the point that you were begging for the pain to end. 

“Are you still prepared to do what needs to be done, if that situation arises?”

He wanted to say no. 

But that wasn’t an answer he could give. 

He agreed to this. 

Regardless of his own feelings towards you; you were his mission first. 

“Yes,” Phillip answered again, before the call ended. 

He didn’t want that scenario to happen. 

Taglist:

@mermaniaa @sunrise-willarive @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @littlejoyfulthings @s-void @rivwritesiguess @lilyalone @salemlovespies @amongthe141 @z-wantstowrite @sleepybarnesbby @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @moon-on-the-crest @dasphinxone @iaozuyiling @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @famouspoetrydinosaur @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @bookworm1767 @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded

[blackbirdsblackberries]

What do you think of a teenage antihero reader?

Readers are the type of people who like to tease others. Of course, they also like to create chaos.

like:

Batman feels sad because his children are estranged from him.

Reader: *deliberately calls Batman papa in front of the Batkids. makes them jealous and fight to get Batman's love.* "Papa, let me join this mission.", "Papa, pocket money?"

Reader: "I wasn't adopted by Batman. Why do I call Batman papa?" *Looks at the Batkids, who look at Reader with bullet-shaped eyes* "Because it's fun and I get to watch them get jealous but can't do anything to me, haha"

Reader: Spend time with your father and I will handle your affairs. Same old account, transfer the money there. *Accepts to stay away from Batman happily because Batkids will pay Reader*

I love this!

I don't know if this is yandere or not so I'll do overall reactions and you can decide whether they end up yandere or not! (If you want proper yandere then don't be afraid to ask)

At first Dick doesn't mind, in fact he finds it odd - who would want to call Batman "Papa" or any type of name like that? Over time however he'll start to feel an odd pang in his chest, he could've been the teenager calling Bruce that, he could have had a good relationship with Bruce like how you seem to (even if you yourself are pretending). So, he gets huffy and irritable whenever he sees you. He'll find some flaw in what you do and immediately tell everyone and try to make you look bad - you don't care clearly but Dick feels like he's doing something so you pretend, kinda.

Jason at first pities you. He thinks you genuinely mean it, that you genuinely see Batman as a father figure. He's so sure that Batman is going to fail you. That is until it starts getting too much. Jason would of spoken to Roy about it over some drinks and despite what Roy would have said Jason would feel bitter and angry - he could have had that! If he didn't fall for that trap, if Joker didn't kill him, if Bruce - no, Batman, got to him in time. Jason would from then on "accidentally" stumble across missions he wasn't supposed to be there for that you and Batman would be on. He'd flip you off before bantering with Batman - you shrug it off, you don't actually have any interest in Batman being your dad.

Tim is automatically suspicious, you're known for causing chaos and judging by how everyone reacts this is probably just one of your ploys. He doesn't pay much mind but slowly gets peeved at your continuance. Haven't you had your fun already? (no, seeing the reactions of the others makes you continue). Tim digs into your civilian life - he and the others found out about it when you first appeared so as to label you as a threat or not. He'll dig up past mistakes and issues then present them to Bruce and you, subtly taunting you with your past so as to convince you to distance yourself. When you don't he gets petty, you approach Batman - he steps in front of you and blocks your path. You yell out to him - he yells louder. You want to go on a mission - oh no.. Looks like you're swamped with work AND injured :(

Damian is immediately pissed. What are you doing? You shouldn't be pretending that Batman is your father! You aren't blood - hell, you aren't even adopted! Damian, though he's gotten better, is very traditionalist (thanks to his grandfather). What you're doing - along with the chaos you cause in general - is against the proper traditional lifestyle. Is he just using that as an excuse and doesn't actually believe it? yes. Is he going to stop? no. Fuck that. Damian dreams of setting his animals on you, the only thing stopping him is that he doesn't want his poor animals to meet such a disgusting person like you. Instead, he'll stand on your toes, ignore you if you need help, stay close to Batman and try and intimidate you away.

Finally they all would of had enough and would corner you, they'd offer to pay you to stay away and you all would sort out a deal.

It'd confuse Batman as to why you're suddenly keeping your distance while his children are constantly around him. Batman has a soft spot for children - you included. He thought he was fixing you but now you're back to your old habits??? Batman would immediately be onto his children and question them. They don't crack easily so Batman checks their accounts, messages, etc until he gets enough proof that they are the reason you keep away. He's obviously disappointed and ends up trying to talk his way into you becoming one of his full allies - you obviously reject it, you don't actually care for him and prefer to not be stuck on just one side.

The others end up being forced to ask you to join back and you reject them, they threaten you that they'd stop paying you and you laugh - they've given you enough money to last a year, maybe more if you're frugal!

[polarisjisung]

SILENT TREATMENT

synopsis: your boyfriend broke some guy's nose for you, but what he doesn't realise is he also broke his promise to you

wc: 0.9k

pairings: bf!jeno x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mention of blood like once (feel the need to mention I don't want to romanticise violence 💀)

notes: jeno lee is driving me insane.

Jeno doesn't like it, the silence. He liked to hear you ramble about nonsensical things, the sound of your awkward chatter filling the room, not the incessant pattering of rain against the roof above.

That's the first sign, he figures

On most days, you'd warn him before pressing an alcohol soaked cotton swab against his wounds, delicately pressing down on his jaw with a worried stare. Today you grip his chin firmly, tilting his head upwards and swiping over the cut less gently than before.

That's the second.

The air is cold coming in through the open bathroom window, the dim lighting not sufficient for him to make out your features, when you step a little further away, but still just enough for him to notice the way your nostrils flare and you bite at your lip when reaching for the antiseptic gel kept in the cupboard to your right.

Three of three, he thinks, and jeno comes to the only valid conclusion there is.

Your usually talkative, enthusiastic, and bubbly self now so cold and stand offish, it only meant one thing, something you could argue the lee found entertaining judging by the innocent smile on his lips.

"Are you angry at me?"

A glare is the only response jeno gets.

Not angry enough to leave him to tend to his own wounds, he figures, so really just how angry could you be?

"ow, it hurts" he whines cautiously, taking ahold of your hand as it passes over the deep red, bloody incision in his bicep— which by the way, was doing nothing to help you maintain your rage.

your eyes, however, don't widen, and your lips don't move forward into a pout, you don't react.

nothing except pulling your hand back.

maybe you were a little angrier than he thought.

"silent treatment huh?" he seems amused, a short chuckles escaping his busted lip as you  disinfect the wound, the laugh echoing through the room.

You couldn't stay mad at him, not for long at least, jeno knew that much, so despite watching you walk away to replace the first aid kit just where you found it, ready to use the next time jeno got himself like this, he knows he hasn't got a thing to worry about

Equally, you know jeno just as well, and you know that walking anywhere in his reach would end in you wrapped up in his arms, being showered with soft sweet apologetic kisses like always

Only you both realise your phone is left forgotten on the counter beside him, and if bothering your boyfriend after a long day wasnt on your list of things to do, scrolling for unnecessarily long hours through twitter certianly was.

In hopes to outsmart him you try and lunge to grab the device, only to find yourself in the very position you imagined, lee jeno's strong arms wrapped around your waist, sweet brown eyes staring back.

"can't run now can you baby?"

You scoff, only managing to turn your face away from his— getting uncaged from his arms was far beyond you.

Jeno let's his head fall into the crook of your neck, your floral perfume overtaking the medicinal smell in the air as he pecks the corner of your lips, slowly tracing your jawline with soft kisses until you finally turn to face him again.

"I'm sorry" he whispers, calloused, bruised hands holding your chin with utmost tenderness. The rough skin of his thumb traces over your lower lip, a soft kiss placed there once again.

"you said you wouldn't"

jeno pauses, confused.

"you promised you would stop"

the desperate tone in your voice is clear as day, and it doesn't take jeno much longer to realise, this wasn't about what he'd done, it was about what he'd said he wouldn't do

the cracks in your shaky voice are enough for the bitter taste of guilt to bubble in his stomach and rise to the tip of his tongue, your glossy eyes staring back, disappointed

"I'm sorry" he sighs, eyebrows furrowing as he stares down at you, "I'm so so sorry my sweet girl."

The hair messily sprawled across your forehead is pushed to the side by his index finger, an apologetic kiss pressed to your temple. Jeno's hand is placed at the crown of your head, soothingly passing his fingers through your hair when you're pulled forwards into his chest, resting your arms at his side as you let your weight fall onto him.

"Please, don't get hurt because of me" your hands reach for his, and jeno realises you're asking him once again, to promise he wouldn't do it—this time he doesn't know if he can.

"I can't stand it." his tone differs from the sweet one he uses with you, or the mocking one he'd taken on earlier, now he spits harsh words at the floor, eyes rolling instinctively. "those scumbags talking about my pretty girl like that."

you notice the way his fist tightens, the plasters you'd just placed over his knuckles slipping off his skin in seconds.

"if you can fight them for me" with a cold hand against his cheek, you reach up to guide his eyes back to meet yours, "can't you, not, fight them for me too?"

he smiles— you giggle, the very man who'd just taken on another 2 guys almost twice his size just a few minutes ago now looked at you with a wide grin and two crescent moons in place of his eyes.

"I'll try" and suddenly you wear a smile just as wide as his "I'd do anything for you"

You don't doubt it.

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Never There p. 2

Chef Luca x GN!reader Summary: Your boyfriend decides to go home for a while and leaves you totally confused and alone Warning: Angst, kinda ooc Luca, breakdown, crying, illusions to depression, anxiety A/N: Read part 1 here

It had been a weird few weeks. Luca's sudden return to work after his extended leave of absence has thrown your routine into chaos - he started repeating this cycle of working himself to the bone, of barely being home and when he was home, barely talking to you, to taking multiple days off suddenly, and still not talking to you. It was a confusing, disorienting pattern: long hours away, late nights when he wouldn’t come to bed until after you were asleep, followed by stretches where he was home but not present—physically beside you but mentally somewhere else, somewhere unreachable. It was starting to upset you, and most of all worry you.

At first, you tried to give him space. You knew he was struggling with something, though you still didn’t know exactly what. After your conversation on the balcony with him a few weeks ago, you felt like you were walking on eggshells. treading cautiously around him as though he were a wild animal about to spook at any second and run off never to be seen again. You weren't sure where you stood anymore, even as you continued to live together, and it made it all the harder to see him like this.

It was clear whatever he was going through was deeply affecting him, but he insisted on keeping you at arm's length, shutting down every attempt you made to spend time with him, or snapping at you when you would try to get him to open up. As much as part of you felt guilty for feeling this way, you were beginning to get angry at him for it. For just shutting down on you like this, after so long together.

You felt like he was building up to a breakup that he was too scared to commit to, trying to get you to be the one to pull the trigger so he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of breaking your heart. You didn't want to do that, obviously, despite all of this, you loved him to bits, and his recent actions were so out of character that they made you more concerned than they did make you want to leave him. A part of you didn't want to give him the satisfaction either, but you tried to ignore that bitter part, born far more out of hurt than any genuine feelings towards the man you loved.

So you waited. Patiently. Trying your best to get him to talk and spend time with you, dotting on him with a very genuine concern, though you were starting to think it made him feel worse, and hoped that in time he would open up and let you in, and you could fix whatever was going on. Because sometimes, just sometimes, there were glimmers of the old Luca. Fleeting but radiant moments: when he’d crawl into bed and wrap himself around you without a word, or when you’d find a cup of coffee waiting for you in the morning, or a tiny scribbled note on the fridge that read, love you. sorry. Those moments reminded you that he still cared. That somewhere in the mess of his mind, you still mattered.

Though these were getting further in between.

After a frankly shit day at work, the last thing you expected to hear when you got home was rustling from your bedroom. You thought the apartment would be empty. Luca had left before you this morning, silent as usual, and you assumed he’d be working late again.

Instead, you found him standing on tiptoes, dragging his suitcase down from the top of your shared wardrobe.

Your heart dropped.

He has a frankly random pile of clothes on the bed, shoes and socks, underwear, enough to last an extended period of time. Not everything he owned, but it made your stomach twist nonetheless. He doesn't hear you come in, stopping only when he loses his grasp on the suitcase and it goes clambering to the floor behind him, and you audibly gasp at the sound as you're pulled from your shock.

He turns and meets your gaze, staring at you wide-eyed like a deer in headlights as though he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. You both just stand for a while, him staring at you, you staring at the clothes on your bed as you feel a thick sadness rise in your throat.

You're home early, he murmurs, sounding almost scared as he makes no attempt to retrieve the suitcase he dropped.

“Are you… going somewhere?” you asked, though the answer was obvious. Your voice cracked as you said it, barely a whisper, thick with dread, unable to say the obvious words you so desperately want to ask.

It's only then that he moves, turning his back to you as he stands in front of the bed, not saying anything as he seems to take stock of the situation.

It only makes you feel worse. His lack of response is a clear confirmation of your worst fears, and tears flood your waterline. "Luca?" you asked again, more firmly this time.

He didn’t look at you as he began moving again, methodically placing clothes into the suitcase, almost on autopilot, "I have to go home for a bit."

His voice is so robotic it makes you flinch, "home? to London?"

He just nods.

"I didn't know you were going to London," you say, your voice softening slightly as you take a step forward, cautiously, "have you bought tickets yet? Maybe I can take some time off work and -"

"I'm going alone," the words were blunt. Final.

You froze. It was like he’d slapped you. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. Like the door had been slammed shut in your face. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, unable to find words. The silence was deafening.

He seems to sense your heartbreak, and after putting the last of his things in his suitcase, he turns to you, just standing there as you both stare at each other.

Neither of you moves, a fragile silence settles over the room, and you both feel too scared to say anything, as if the slightest movement with totally shatter the last shred of home you have for your relationship.

He steps closer to you, standing in front of you now, nearly chest to chest and just stares at you, eyes scanning over your face, you can't tell if he's taking you in for the last time, or for the first time in months. He moves his hand gently up as if going to cup your face, before freezing, uncertain.

"Are we over?" you ask, in a whisper as you let him reach out for you, leaning towards him until his warm hands cup your cheeks as you let the tears spill over.

"I don't wanna be," he says back, voice cracking as he looks at you, looking so fragile and vulnerable as he watches your heart break because of him.

"That doesn't answer my question."

he swallows hard, fighting back his own tears as he begins to shake his head, "i just need some time."

You just nod as you both stare at each other, before the dam breaks.

He collapsed into you, arms wrapping around you with desperate force, finally letting out everything he's been holding back as he burries his head in your hair and bawls.

You hold him tight, trying to comfort him as your hands rub soothingly down his back as you let him find comfort in your presence, ignoring your own pain to allow him the space to finally get out everything he's been feeling.

"I'm sorry," he sobs, voice cracking as he struggles to breathe, "I'm sorry I've been doing this to you, I don't know what's wrong with me."

You try to shush him, try to tell him it's ok, but the apologies keep spilling from his lips, just as fast as the tears keep coming. He works himself into a panic, hyperventilating as he cries into your arms, as you both hold each other. It doesn't feel like a breakup, but you both know things are so deeply not ok. It feels like something less simple, less easy to fix. Despite having him in your arms, the closest you've been in over a month, you've never felt further away from your boyfriend.

He had promised he'd try to message you, though you're not sure you believe it. He would at least tell you when he gets there, you trust he'll keep his word on that. All you can do for now is lie here, waiting.

Every few seconds, you're reaching for your phone, convinced you've missed a notification in the few seconds since you put your phone down, the streams of tears never ending as you try to remind yourself he loved you - it was the last thing he said after all, before he left. You force yourself to believe it.

You can't help the burning pain coursing through you; sadness that it came to this, heartbreak that your boyfriend is struggling, loneliness as you watch him leave you, anger as you feel him abandon you. He gets to go home and be with family and friends and ignore life, while you're left in your shared bed, curled up with his pillow as you try to imagine he's here with you, reassuring you it'll all be ok.

Your phone lights up with a message, and immediately you're opening it, desperate and unashamed, hoping he'll lay out everything he's feeling and tell you he's getting on the first flight back.

"Got here safe. Thought about you the whole way here."

It doesn't help.

Your hands shake, almost violently as you try to type, deleting and retying messages over and over as you know he's watching the little speech bubble appear and disappear each time.

Eventually your ahnds shake too much to even try to type, the tears completely blurring your vision as you let the phone drop to the bed.

He sends one final text before your phone meets the floor, where you leave it fro the rest of the night as you sob yourself to sleep.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

Taglist: @gallyismylittlesilly @mcu-queen @k-pevensie28 @famousladyalpaca @vinecstasy @hrtsvivis @limensodaa @momattmoproblems @daydreamgirly1221 @knoxvilleshappytrail @smthgsmthgidk

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's So Simple - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Help I’m putting plot relevant info in the one-shots. Title from So It Goes... by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary/Warnings: You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just straight fluff. Tooth-rooting fluff. It's a little horny, but mostly sweet.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

You drop across from Ben as he eats, fingers tapping on the table as he looks up at you with a frown.

“What’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing,” you shrug, giving him a small smile. “Eat your sandwich.”

Ben narrows his eyes at you, voice becoming muffled as he takes another bite. “Are you just going to fucking watch me?”

“I’m waiting. Chew with your mouth closed.”

He snorts. “You talk and eat all the damn time, Sunshine. I-“

“I am good at it.” You lean over the table and swipe a piece of jelly off his nose. “You are a fucking toddler.”

He catches your hand before you can pull away, and everything in him is easy. All of Ben’s rough words are still smooth on the edges, and his focused gaze is moving through you. Making your heart pick up and your body relax forward, because even with just a hand around your wrist Be’s warm and safe. His thumb is rubbing small circles on your skin, and his mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben starts to guide you around the table—shifting in his chair so that you stand between his legs—and you let him. 

“What do you want.” He’s grinning as he watches as you walk closer, his hand having never left yours. 

“I don’t-“

Ben drawls your name, tugging you the rest of the way and raising a hand to rest on your lower back. “You’re chewing your mouth like it’s fucking gum, and you look like you’re about to explode. Tell me what you damn want, so I can go get it and you can calm the fuck down.”

You sigh. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

“Seems likely.” He shrugs. “What is it.”

“Icebreakers,” your voice is a mumble, and you’re being very careful to not meet his eyes. You can feel them watching you, feel the rush of sheer confusion through his body. “They’re like conversation starters-“

“I know what fucking icebreakers are,” Ben snaps, and your face flushes as he drops your hand, lightly moving your chin up to force your gaze onto his. “Is this for team building with the Pussy Brigade? Because there’s not a chance in Christ’s pink asshole-“

You snort. “Christ’s pink asshole?”

“Shut the fuck up. Doing dinner with those idiots is already-“

“It’s not for team building, Ben.” You sigh, trying not to just fall into his chest and bury your head in his shoulder where you can’t see his reaction. “It’s for us.”

“Us?” He frowns, narrowing his eyes. “The fuck you mean for us? I know you already, Sunshine, I don’t need some shit ass fucking questions-“

“I know you know me,” you search his face, the clench of his jaw and knit of his brow, and he looks angry. Offended. You can feel his annoyance, but it’s not at you. It’s indignant, and bitter, and his hand has splayed across your back. Pulling you distractingly closer as you try to speak. “But you only know the big stuff. I want us to know the stupid things as well.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“You know what I’m afraid of,” you mumble, watching his expression carefully. “And what I value, and everything important. But I want you to know things that aren’t important.”

Ben’s still frowning, but the sharp, sour feeling has faded and his gaze has turned to the one that pulls you apart. That makes you feel like he can see right into your heart and how it’s picking up just because he’s near you. Touching you. Watching you as he speaks, repeating your words in a low tone. “Things that aren’t important.” You nod, and he sighs. “Like what.”

“Just stupid shit,” you wish he would stop tracing your lower lip with his thumb so you could focus and make your voice firm. “Preferences. Likes and dislikes. I looked up a list, and we could just choose a few-“

“Fine.”

You blink at him. “Really? That’s it? You’re not going to tell me we’ve faced life and death together, Sunshine, I don’t need to know your favorite color-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He snaps, and pull you down into his lap. Holding your gaze as your hands fly to his shoulders. “Your impression of me is fucking shit, I don’t talk like a damn barbershop quartet bassist-“

“That’s exactly how you talk-“

“I said shut up. What’s your favorite color.”

You swallow. “I don’t have one.”

“Than what the fuck is the point-“

“It was an example, Ben.” You sigh, and lean forwards to speak into his chest. Trying to not think about how his hand moves to tangle fingers in your hair, or how his chin rests on the top of your head. “I want to know these things about you-“

“You already damn know my favorite color-“

“But I don’t know your favorite food,” you’re glad Ben can’t see you anymore, because you’re pouting against your will, almost desperate for him to understand. “Or your favorite flower. Or what dessert you’d be if you were a dessert.”

“What in goddamn hell are you talking about.”

“I think you’re fruitcake,” you mumble, smiling against him. “Because you’re old and made of rocks.”

“You think you’re fucking funny.” Ben’s words are bored and grumbled, but you can feel his amusement and he’s rubbing circles on your lower back. “Brat.”

“I’m hilarious.” You wrap your arms fully around his neck, leaning back to grin at him. “What desert would I be?”

Ben scans your face, eyes narrowing. You blink, having not expected him to take this seriously at all, but his tone is low and firm when he answers, “Boston creme pie.”

“Because I’m from Boston.” Your voice is dry, giving Ben an unimpressed glare, but he shakes his head.

“No.” He grins at you. “Because I want to fill you up with-“

Your hand flies up, covering his mouth. “Jesus fucking christ, Benjamin.”

He shrugs, still watching you with light in his eyes. You started it.

“I did not start it.”

You sure as shit did.

“Fuck you.”

I’m trying to. That was the damn point.

“Cunt.”

Brat. Move your fucking hand or I’m not doing any more of these stupid things.

You sigh, and pull your arm back. Ben is still grinning at you.

“Is that what you fucking wanted from me? Did you learn?” Ben’s voice when he says your name is mocking, and you just wrinkle your nose at him.

“I already knew you were a horny old fuck,” you look him up and down. “But I learned that you’re willing to do this.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I can answer a bunch of stupid fucking questions real easy. What will I get-“

“If you do this without being a baby,” you sit up a little straighter, bringing your face only a breath away from Ben’s. “I’ll steal you all the malt vanilla ice cream from the dining hall.”

“I can do that my damn self-“

“And,” you give him one, small kiss and speak against his lips. “You can eat it in bed after we make out.”

You’ve won. Ben is swallowing and staring at you with dark eyes, and you can feel both the hunger and an indigence that he’s lost.

“Fine.” 

You kiss him again—soft with a smile so he knows you’re grateful—and lean back to grab your phone from across the table.

“First,” you squint at the list, reading from the top. “Are you a morning person, or night person?”

“We’re both fucking night people.” Ben frowns. “We were up until 4am last night, and the night before that.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It’s not a great question for two supes with chronic nightmares. What’s your favorite season?”

“Fall.”

You hum, nodding. “Me too. Favorite animal?”

“I don’t have one.”

You scoff. “Everyone has a favorite animal. Most people have like, two or three.”

“Well, I’m not a fucking toddler, so I don’t.” Ben glares at you. “And you don’t have a favorite color, so shut the fuck up.”

“I don’t have a favorite color, because I don’t want any of them to feel ugly.”

Ben snorts. “They’re fucking colors, not people. And some of them are ugly.”

“That’s mean, Ben.” Your voice is a mumble, because you know this is stupid. They are colors, but you still feel guilty choosing one. “All of them have something to contribute.”

Ben gives you a bored look. “Yellow.”

“Sunlight, ducklings, and yield signs.” You list each item off on a finger, giving Ben a proud grin when you finish. His mouth twitches, but it’s all you get before he pushes further.

“Orange,”

“Halloween and the grand canyon.”

“Gray.”

“Metaphors about morality.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Blue.”

“We wouldn’t have green without blue, Pretty Boy.”

His grin becomes toothy and cocky, pulling you a little closer. “And why would you miss green, Sunshine?”

“Grass,” you keep your tone neutral, even as Ben starts to draw circles on your hips. “Trees. The ocean-“

“The ocean is fucking blue.”

“Nope,” you shrug. “It’s green. Sea green, Benjamin. Peace, love and sexuality-“

Ben scoffs. “You made that one up.”

“In the medieval period, it could represent love, as well as mans base desires. The snake in the garden of Eden was green, and lust is a sin.”

“Smartass,” Ben’s not even pretending to annoyed anymore. “What else is fucking good about green.” He squeezes the skin on your waist. "And desirable."

You sigh, about to push his shoulder and pretend you don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but Ben’s smiling. Really, fully smiling at you, and there’s nothing you won’t say for him if it makes this joy in his chest comfortable and aimed at you. “You.”

“Fucking right I am.” He winks at you, and you roll your eyes. 

“Stop stalling and tell me your favorite animal.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Lions.”

“Okay,” you reach up and run hand over the deep lines on his forehead. “Did that fucking kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Man-child.”

“Shut up. Are you going to tell me yours, or just fucking-“

“Swans.” You smile at him, and he grunts. “And snow leopards. What’s your favorite type of weather?”

“Are all of these damn things about favorites-“

“No.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “Answer the question.”

“You answer the fucking question. I keep going first-“

“I like it when it rains in the summer. Your turn.”

Ben scowls. “Rain in the summer as well.”

“Thank you.” You kiss the side of his mouth, and his hands tighten on your body.

“Shut the fuck up. Read the next one.”

“If you had a superpower-“ you cut yourself off, frowning at your phone. “Shit.”

“We both already fucking have superpowers.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out myself, Ben. Chocolate or vanilla.”

Ben’s stare at you is bored, and you shove his arm. 

“Fuck you.”

“I didn’t say a damn thing-“

“Shut it. What decade would you have lived-“ You sigh, and Ben snorts.

“I told you this was fucking stupid.”

“I told you to shut it. What element are you?”

Ben drawls your name, and you glare at him. “You’re a damn fire supe-“

“Yeah, we know what I am. What are you.”

Ben frowns. “What do you think I am.”

“Earth.” Your answer is immediate, and almost involuntary. But Ben is Earth. He’s everything and big and strong and permanent and earth. “You’re earth, Ben.”

He nods slowly. “Fine. You get one more.”

You scan over the list. Three things in a burning building is a no, because Ben will just say he doesn’t give a fuck. You know all his favorite shows and movies, because you introduced him to them. His favorite sport is baseball, and it’s yours as well because it’s funny to watch Ben yell at the TV about balls.

You settle on a question that you know your answer to, and desperately want to hear Ben’s.

“If time and money weren’t an issue, how would you spend your life?” 

Ben blinks at you. “What the fuck does that mean.”

“Like, if you didn’t have a job to do, and that was fine because there were not jobs to do, what would you do with your time?” Ben keeps looking at you like you’ve grown another head, and you sigh. “I would sing and write poetry.”

“Why.”

“Because I would have fun doing it,” you shrug. “I’d be singing for me, and it wouldn’t matter if my poetry was Shakespeare or complete fucking dogshit. I could just do it to do it. What would you do.”

“I don’t know how to fucking write-"

“It doesn’t have to be writing, Ben.” You pull his head down, scanning his face. “It can be anything. It could be acting, or cooking, or traveling the world. It could even just be watching tv-“

“That one.”

You blink at him. “TV?”

He nods. “You would watch it with me, and make dinner, and I’d clean up. Then we’d go to bed, and I’d fuck you, and we’d fall asleep.”

You frown. “That’s just what we’re doing now, sans fucking.”

“No.” Ben grunts. “In my answer, it’s just us. No missions or Homelander or Pussy Brigade. Just me and you, fucking and watching TV.”

“Oh,” you feel your face flush, and wish Ben would stop looking at you like that—with pure focus and sincerity—because now you’re both touched emotionally and incredibly horny, and it’s confusing. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You smile at him. “I mean, I can get on board with that.”

When Ben kisses you it’s easy. This is so easy. Sitting on his lap, talking about things that don’t matter with his body warm around you and his hold on your hips strong but gentle. Feeling Ben’s deep voice rolling through your chest when he speaks. Words hummed against your lips, something unbreakable and content and powerful and hungry pounding against his ribs.

“Good.”

End Note: One day I will write a one-shot that's not based in Chapter 14. Today is not that day.

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

oooh ok so i think something really fitting for dark luke would be him manipulating reader into joining kronos’ army and then reader realises that it’s wrong and tries to leave but he won’t let them (he perhaps might kidnap them just to keep them with him)🤭🤭🤭

Pairing: Dark Luke Castellan x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Minor Violence. 

Took me a long time to write it but here it is finally, so enjoy 😊

--

“Y/N, c’mon. We gotta hurry up.” 

You remain silent, feet fixed on the floor, bothered by the troublesome tentacles of doubt and uneasiness that have started to round you up. 

You had always agreed with Luke’s perspective on the Gods. Comforted him when Luke’s anger and anguish got the best out of him. Supported him when he rambled about the imperative need to act, to defy the Gods.

You understood him.

You had your fair share of bitterness and hatred dedicated to your own mother, something that often led to crying yourself to sleep. 

You even helped him design the plan that made sure that Zeus’ Lightning Bolt was stolen without the fault falling on Luke. 

But now… now things feel different. It feels wrong. Very wrong.

You’re not sure what changed, but as you passively observe Luke hastily stuffing some of your clothes into a small bag, you realize you can't do this.

Because it means to betray the only place that ever felt like home. To turn your back on the people you called friends. 

“I can’t go with you.”

Your words come out in a low tone, barely above a whisper and Luke stops for a moment, hands dangerously clenching around a few shirts of yours.

You think he’s going to say something, but as quick as the moment comes, it also goes away and your boyfriend resorts to ignoring you. 

“The rest of your shirts won’t fit here.” he says, with a strained voice. “But it’s fine. We can get you more clothes when we get there.”

A shaky sigh comes from you before you can stop it.

“Luke, I’m not going with you.” 

Luke tenses up and you nervously gulp when he twists his neck to glare at you with a mix of impatience, anger and exasperation and shakes his head before returning his attention to the bag, zipping it close. 

“Luke-”

“You’re not ditching me. Now right now.” he snaps at you, turning to fully face you. “You promised me you were on my side. Hell, you even helped me begin this. And now you’re abandoning me, seriously?” 

You shake your head, reaching for his hand. He lets you hold it, despite the angry frown he has. 

“This isn’t right, Luke. We can’t just-”

“But you get it, right? You get why I’m - we - are doing this, right?” he tugs you closer by the hand, his other hand wrapping itself around your other hand’s wrist.

Pulling you so close that you can practically see the rageful emotions exploding in his eyes. 

“It’s for a good cause. All of this! We’re doing this to stop the Gods, stop them from always getting away with every shitty action of theirs.” 

You look at him, pure confliction itching your heart and mind and Luke seems to notice that. 

“We’re in this together, okay?” his eyes beg you to accept it, to accept him. To be his partner in crime. “You and me against the world. Having each other’s backs.”

But as much as you want to, it’s not something you can do. 

Luke’s face falls at the tears shining in your eyes - a clear synonym of your decision.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I really am.” 

For a moment, his jaw tenses up and you think Luke is gonna shout at you. That you’re no better than the Gods. That you too have betrayed him when he needs you the most. 

But he doesn’t. 

“So am I.” your brows squirm in confusion at his apologetic words and the only warning you get is a light squeeze of his palms on your hands. 

It happens so fast that you barely have time to react. 

He shoves you hard with one of his hands grabbing the back of your head, smashing your skull against the hard wall.

The pain is excruciating, stars exploding in your vision and you feel a strange numbness disseminating through your body. Your knees give up and you’d almost fall if Luke’s arms weren’t there to grab you, softly rocking you till your back meets the floor. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” his voice sounds distant, your brain slowly disconnecting as you lean towards the darkness,

“...but I can’t let you walk away from me.”

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧

didn't really wanna write this in the first place, considering my faith, but ugh it was too good of an idea to resist😅

Summary: Aemond was always God's favorite creation, that is, until He made you.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), ROUGH NONCON, Lucifer!Aemond x Eve!Reader (does this count as monster fucking?), a whole lotta blasphemy going on here, guilt, degradation, humiliation, corruption, taste of the forbidden fruit (aka oral, m!receiving), painful loss of virginity, blood, creampie, Aemond is very very mean

word count | 2.4k🤙🏻

As soon as Aemond was created, he knew he was made for greatness.

Aemond was the most beautiful out of all of the angels, the most beloved and cherished. God put a lot of effort into sculpting him out of the finest materials, making him appear ethereal, almost as much as Him. It shouldn’t have been much of a shock when some of the angels preferred his company to God’s, telling him how much better he could run things, what things he could achieve if the Creator simply…ceased to exist.

Aemond tried, and Aemond failed, forcing God’s hand to banish him and his fallen angels from paradise, making Aemond lose his eye in the process. He refused to bow down and blindly obey what claimed to be a superior being than everything else, and he was thrown into Hell for wanting his own independence.

Aemond grew bitter and angry, what kind of Father did that to his beloved creation? 

He vowed from then on that he’d try to spurn his Creator at every moment he could, devoting himself to make God have a perpetual headache as revenge. He’d destroy anything and everything He loved and wanted to protect, burn Heaven’s gates to the fucking ground. 

So when Aemond saw God had made such fragile little toys to roam what he called Earth, he took every opportunity to maim and kill each creature. But that only made God create beings that could take care of said creatures.

Aemond and his demons could only laugh at the smooth skinned being that God created out of dust. Dust, he thought derisively, how inferior this so-called human is compared to me to be made out of something so quaint.

Aemond attempted to push all sorts of dangerous thoughts into the human’s head, wanting the man to destroy and self-destruct, but all he managed to get through was the feeling of loneliness.

Then, in response to the human man’s loneliness, God created a similar being to keep this human company; you, whose beauty almost matched Aemond’s, and he suddenly came to the realization that he wasn’t God’s favorite anymore.

God didn’t walk with Adam as much as he did with you, little Eve, doting on you and granting you whatever you wished without you even having to ask. No, no, no, this won’t do, Aemond thought maliciously, only he could be God’s favorite. No…Aemond had to ruin you.

Watching you and Adam live in blissful ignorance, speaking and being in the presence of the Lord, boiled his blood, hotter than he had ever felt before. But one silver lining, the Tree of Knowledge.

God told you and Adam that you could eat from any tree or plant you wished, just never the Tree of Knowledge for you would surely die. Aemond smirked to himself as he devised his plan. He would make damn sure one of you would eat the forbidden fruit.

Aemond came to you when you were by yourself, disguising himself in the appearance of a serpent, the only form he could take in your presence, which irked him, but he’d make do.

You eyed the serpent carefully, watching as it slithered across the grass towards you, seemingly just watching you as you worked in the garden…until it started to speak.

“Did God really say you must not eat from any tree in the garden?” The serpent spoke.

“We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but the Lord God did say, you must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.” You answered hesitantly, still very confused why a snake was speaking to you like it was a man. But a part of you were intrigued, his voice was soft and alluring; entranced, you had to listen to what it had to say.

The serpent seemed to scoff. “Surely you will not die.” The serpent climbed up the tree, taking a bite from the lowest hanging fruit, a loud gasp eliciting from your own lips as you saw the being swallow and didn’t immediately fall dead. “See? Who is He to tell you what you can and can’t do, hm? Aren’t you supposed to be free?”

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of your stomach, feelings of rage and betrayal encompassing you. “I-I…I am free! You have forgotten your place, beast!” You snapped, “The Lord God loves us and wants the best for us. He must have a reason!”

“You think everything is perfect, silly girl?” The serpent giggled, circling around you like the predator he was, eyeing your naked form, finding a reluctant feeling of gratefulness that God chose your features so well. “There’s so much wonder here right in front of your eyes, all you have to do is simply take a bite of the fruit.”

You shook your head defiantly. “No. He said we’d die. Why would He lie?”

“Because, if you eat from the tree, your eyes will be opened for what the world really is. You’ll understand right from wrong. You will be like Him. Consider, for just a second, if God truly loved you, He wouldn’t keep all this knowledge from you, right? Why would He keep something so simple from someone so innocent? Maybe He wants it all for Himself because He doesn’t think you deserve to feel all the joys He feels, that you’ll never feel. Ask yourself, why does He give you less when He takes more? How being free is being locked inside this place? Maybe you're weak or a mistake or too emotional. Maybe you're not good enough for His world, maybe you never were…”

Aemond could see the hesitance slowly leave your face, finally considering what he was saying to be the truth. Yes, little Eve, eat. “He’ll never know, sweet little lamb. I’ll never tell, you have my word. You deserve to know, you deserve to be free.”

The serpent’s poisonous words penetrated into your mind, making your mouth water from just the thought of finally eating from the forbidden tree. You had to admit, the tree was pleasant to the eye, the fruit it bore looked so delectable, like water on a hot day, maybe it would have always come to this? If not now, then definitely later.

You picked the same piece of fruit the serpent had bit into before, the skin of the fruit so soft and ripe, you were practically drooling as you brought it to your lips, taking a considerable bite.

As soon as the sweet yet bitter flavor hit your tongue, it felt like all the walls came down and the heavens opened. It was the best thing you had ever tasted in your life, the taste almost making you moan aloud. And you weren’t dead, in fact, you had never felt more alive. But your skin prickled at the breeze hitting your skin, and you realized you were naked. How long have you been naked? And the serpent was no longer with you, instead, a tall figure stood in front of you now, transformed as soon as the fruit traveled down your throat.

Unlike the serpent, the being in front of you was too beautiful to be any sort of beast, or human for that matter. You teared up instantly, the sight being too amazing for your human mind to comprehend. “Who…who…?” Was all you could get out.

“I am called many names, little lamb. Lucifer, Satan, Devil, Father of Lies, and much more…but you may call me Aemond.”

Your stomach dropped, the fruit sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone, burning from the inside out; you wanted to vomit. What have you done? You almost screamed when he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you close to him, your chest touching his, your breasts pressed uncomfortably against the leather of his clothing.

“You just had to give into temptation, didn’t you? You just had to taste it.” The Devil disapproved mockingly, an evil grin decorating his face, making his visage all the more menacing.

“You…you deceived me!” You sobbed, “You lied! You-!”

“Ah, ah, ah, can’t claim yourself to be innocent now, little girl. Now, the trust is broken. How will your God ever love you now?” He purred, licking up your free flowing tears from your cheeks and moaning at the salty taste. You tried to pull away, but he was too strong, holding your head in place, his fingers digging into your skin, once never blemished nor tainted now marked by the beast. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Besides, I’ve got something else for you to taste.”

You begged for him to stop as he forced you on your knees, the grassy floor that once felt so soft now cutting up your flesh, itching and burning. “Please, don’t do this to me!”

Aemond only snickered, “Poor girl, you have no idea how evil this world really is, huh? This is just a taste of what’s to come. Be grateful this is all I want…for now.” Aemond forced your mouth open, squeezing your cheeks together and forcing his fingers into your mouth, choking you until he replaced them with his cock. “Ah, such a sweet, innocent, unused mouth. Adam never made you do this, hm?”

You couldn’t force back your tears, copiously flowing down your cheeks along with the drool on your chin. The head of his cock kept hitting the back of your throat over and over, you gagged and almost vomited until he gave you a breather, pulling back and looking over your tear stained face with a sickening awe. “So pretty…prettier than me, I must admit.” His eyes darkened in jealousy. “That bastard can’t possibly love you more than me once I’m finished with you.”

In one swift movement, Aemond had you on all fours, shoving your face into the ground, dirt and grass covering the side of your face uncomfortably. You screamed as he shoved his cock inside you in one thrust, filling and stretching you almost impossibly wide. The pain had your ears ringing and vision going white, sweat beading out of every pore in your skin as he forced you to take all of him. “Fuck, so tight. Did Adam never take you to bed? I figured as much, such prudish creatures. Don’t worry, my sweet little lamb, I’ll break you in for him.”

As if you thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, his brutal thrusts had you sobbing, the amount of tears you shed causing the soil to turn into mud beneath you, grass getting underneath your fingernails with how hard you were holding on to keep yourself from passing out. “S-Stop, please, mercy!” You begged.

“Mercy?” He growled. “I’ve begged for mercy too many times to count, I never received any. Neither shall you. Now shut up and take my cock like a good little lamb.”

“God…please…make this end…” You whispered into the ground, only to get a mocking laugh in return.

“He can’t save you now.”

Aemond’s thrusts were wild, trying to make it as painful for you as possible, watching your blood drip down your inner thighs and making a little puddle on the ground, staining the grass. But along with the blood, an almost white fluid made a ring around the base of his cock. “Oh, starting to enjoy this now, are you?” He grinned evilly, gripping your hair to pull you back against his chest, his other hand reaching around to hold your neck.

As much as you hated to admit it, yes. The pain slowly went away, all that was left was an achy pressure in the pit of your stomach, a burning that seemed to grow in intensity with every harsh thrust he made. “S-Stop…”

Aemond hummed in disapproval. “Why do you resist the pleasure you feel? Give in to sin and you can have anything you want in the world.”

“No…” You said to yourself. “No!”

Aemond chuckled. “So defiant, I like that. Makes it more fun to break you.”

You gasped as Aemond reached down to rub circles around a spot you didn’t even know existed, the sensation overwhelming but you didn’t want it to stop, though you’d never admit this. It made the pressure in your stomach only grow faster, moans escaping you and getting louder the more he touched you. “What’s happening?” You cried, panicking.

“You’re about to reach your peak, little lamb. You’re about to feel one of the most pleasurable of sins, and all because of me.”

“No, stop! Don’t make me, please!” 

But it was too late, you reached the point of no return. It felt like you were going to die, the feeling was so intense, your whole body convulsing and spasming around Aemond’s cock. And with it, a dark feeling overtaking you. 

You groaned loudly, an almost growling noise, as you reached your peak, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, only to come back as black voids. There was no white in your eyes nor color, just darkness. Your fingernails pushed out, being replaced with claws. Your canines fell out, being replaced with fangs. A brutal ache in your skull had you crying out, blood dripping down your face as a horn on either side of your head grew from beneath your skin.

“Yes, dark little lamb, give in to me.” Aemond cooed, and for the first time, you listened to him.

Aemond flipped you onto your back, looking down at you in a mocking admiration, grinning as your skin grayed and veins went red, beginning to resemble one of his demons.

He was taken by surprise as you flipped him onto his back with a shocking amount of power, shoving his cock back inside you and began to ride him violently. “There she is, there’s my fallen angel.” He groaned as his cock began to pulse, your walls squeezing him just right as you made yourself come around him as many times as you could, the feeling addicting to you now. “Fuck, do you want my seed, little Eve?”

“Don’t call me that.” You growled, scratching up his chest with your new claws, drawing copious amounts of blood, your now forked tongue lapping up the red fluid. The added pain made Aemond reach his peak quickly, his cum filling you to the brim. With one more cry, you sprouted dark wings, fluttering softly but just enough it brought you to your feet. 

Aemond stood up with a grin, watching as his cum dripped down your shaky legs, mixing with your blood. “You’re mine now, understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Hm, now what shall I call you, if not Eve?” You pondered his question for a brief moment, before ultimately deciding your new name and your new fate.

“Lilith.”

hey y'all, thought i'd post a little something something for Valentine's Day. I wrote the first half of this months ago and then i got a boyfriend and stopped writing but i really liked this idea and decided to finish it. Hope you enjoyed!

[allfearstofallto]

Where I think their darling is from + How they met them - headcanon drabbles

Yandere! Scaramouche, Diluc, Ayato (separate) x reader.

AN: I couldn't think of one for Childe, but spoilers, I think his darling is from Liyue. I'm also writing a full fic based on Ayato's section, just putting on the finishing touches!

Scaramouche -

A Drunk from Mondstadt

The city of freedom. A cute name. A lying name. He knew better than to think there was such a thing as actual freedom, but if it helped the drunken residents sleep at night to believe that, then so be it.

Missions to Mondstadt were short work for him. Partially because he was one of the few Fatui who didn't want to stop and take a drink or enjoy the scenery and “freeing wind” as they called it. He’d rather get things over with and just go home.

“Free samples! Free samples!” That was another thing he hated about Mondstadt. It was constantly noisy. Whether it be advertisements or the people themselves, the city was never quiet.

“Would you care for a sample?” He wanted to ignore you and just walk past, but of course you had to call him out personally. He scoffed and shot you a glare, something that would make most people tremble, but you didn't even flinch. Were you dumb? Or just plain ignorant, either way he didn't see your future as being very bright.

“Wow, you're very angry. Maybe you need two samples,” you reached over to the table next to you and handed him two cups. A sickly sweet smell hit his nostrils and he resisted the urge to gag, “It's a new mead recipe, including this season's fresh fruit. A very popular flavor, I designed the recipe myself.”

He raised an eyebrow at what you said? The hopeful look in your eye made him actually want to drink this sugar concoction. Pure anticipation on your face, a look that was normally annoying to him, but he found your hopefulness rather charming. Cute even.

Scaramouche eyed the cup for a second longer. Then brought it up to his lips. Disgusting. It was absolutely disgusting. That syrupy sweetness coating his tongue damn near induced vomiting, but he held back any emotions. The only pleasant part of the entire drink was the bitter liquor aftertaste.

“So?” You asked. There was a sparkle in your eyes like a gem, he felt himself falter, a feeling he hadn't felt in years. He wanted to be soft to you.

“It's good,” he muttered, a bold face lie of he'd ever told one before, but you seemed to believe it.

“Thank you, sir!” You exclaimed and he could help, but to partially match your smile.

As you continued to talk and recommend wines and beers to try, he barely listened, but he couldn't walk away. The eccentric way you spoke and moved had a hold on him. He wanted that at home with him. Maybe Mondstadt wouldn't be so bad to visit again after all.

Diluc -

A Scholar from Sumeru

Diluc’s mornings consisted of walking around the vineyard, checking on the grapes, and pulling away any that weren't purely perfect. It was a job that started long before the sun even rose and only ended right before the winery opened.

The day looked average. Nothing too out of place. Nothing except for you. With the way you were crouched so still, he almost didn't notice you, your unmoving form practically making you blend in with a bush of grapes. But there you were. Dressed from head to toe in the green Akademiya garbs, he hadn't seen a scholar outside of Sumeru in some time.

“You're quite a long way from home,” he finally spoke to you, crossing his arms to make himself look more intimidating, “And you're trespassing. The winery doesn't open for another four hours,”

You finally turned your head to look up at him with a look of confusion on your face, “But I'm not here for wine?” You said, tilting your head to the side. Finally you stood, picking something up that was next to you. A small notebook, an obvious accessory for a scholar, “I'm here for the grapes.”

One of Diluc’s red eyebrows raised in confusion, “We don't just sell the grapes,”

“I know that!” You laughed like he said something truly funny, even lightly hitting him on the shoulder. Your strike felt no heavier than a feather's touch against his built shoulder, “I'm studying them. Wine from Mondstadt is known to have the best taste, and I'm researching that.”

“By trespassing?”

“By studying your grapes. Good wine starts with its grapes,” you affirmed. You opened your notebook in front of him to show him doodles and notes that you’d written, all actually pertaining to grapes. So you actually weren't lying.

A small smile formed on his lips. It was like it was forced out of him. You were truly passionate about what you were doing, even if it was something as mundane as the grapes that went into wine.

“How about you study the grapes when the sun is up? I have a spare room in the manor that you could use,” Diluc wasn't one to shy away from kindness, but normally staying a night in the manor costs more than a few fun drawings and a charismatic character, but he felt himself falling into an ease around you.

“Could I? Really? Thank you,” You followed him as he led you up the steps to the manor. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he still let one of his hands fall and hold your waist as you walked up the stairs.

He was attracted to you, yes, his red eyes couldn't seem to leave your face as you talked on and on, but the hand wasn't placed there because of that. He wanted to make absolutely sure that you wouldn't stumble, like he didn't trust you not to trip and fall over your own feet.

If you noticed the hand, you didn't say anything and as the two of you walked into the manor together, the idea tickled his mind of never allowing you to leave.

Ayato -

a sneak thief from Inazuma

What you were doing was bases to have you killed. He wondered if you knew that. If you did then you were even more bold for doing it.

The maids in the Kamisato estate all had the same face to him. Obviously, they looked different, but remembering their faces and names wasn't too important to him. All that mattered was that they worked.

And worked you did, diligently at that, until all eyes were off of you. The first time he saw you do it, he thought he'd misunderstood. Obviously, you didn't notice that he was there, so when you took a silver teaspoon off of the tray, and dropped it into the sleeve of your obi, his eyes went wide.

He thought that it was a one time occurrence, that maybe he caught you when you were truly desperate. But then you did it again. And again. And again. You were outright stealing from the Kamisato estate, whilst being one of his loyal employees. And yet somehow he couldn't find it in himself to be angry about it.

Your brazen display of disrespect towards the Kamisato name was honestly a little refreshing. Yes, you still bowed when he approached you and referred to him by proper honorifics, but to know that right under his nose, you were still taking from him, that thought was rather thrilling.

While you thought you were being stealthy, and in truth you were. Your sleight of hands was one to be reckoned with. You were good, but not good enough for him to not notice. What you were doing was something you could be killed for. Treason. Blasphemy even. And he fawned over how he could use that against you.

[devotedfem]

«Frankenweenie» Part 2

Synopsis: Namjoon loved his dog with his whole heart, but she passed away. But that didn't stop him from trying to bring her back to life, what he didn't expect though was his princess pet coming alive as a human girl.

K. Namjoon x f. Reader

Genre: Frankenweenie (Tim burton) au | yander-ish.

Tags: Bringing back the dead, inspired by Frankenweenie by Tim Burton but with a dark twist, grief, angst, obsession, unhealthy coping mechanism, hurt, secrets, smut, dubious consent and painful s3x, revenge, Namjoon is a little fucked up in the head and not only in a hot way, he has issues but don't we all?, captivity.

Part I, II.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

The first thing you notice were Jungkook’s eyes glued to you, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second, making you squirm in Namjoon’s grip in discomfort. You felt exposed before the boy.

“Stop fucking staring at her.” Namjoon barked at Jungkook with an angry scowl, making you two startle by the angered shout.

The young man averted his eyes immediately, you realized he was intimidated by your owne- by Namjoon.

“So… she’s a human now?” Jungkook mumbled with his gaze fixated on his shoes. You wanted to giggle at his attempts of not looking at you.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?” Remarked the older, you didn’t like his bitter tone towards the other boy.

“Me y/n,” you said out of the blue, smiling wide and sweet to Jungkook.

The younger widened his eyes looking at you with amazement and curiosity.

“I’m Jungkook,” he said back, returning your smile.

You felt Namjoon’s arms tightening around your waist as a warn. You gulped averting your eyes and pouting, you didn’t like how territorial he was acting.

“Now that you know that the experiment worked, you can leave.” Namjoon said with a clenched jaw and a tapping foot.

You didn’t understand most of the words they were saying, but you were very aware of their body language, and although Jungkook looked nervous and intimidated, Namjoon seemed to be about to start a fight with the other, and you didn’t know why.

The younger man knitted his brows in confusion, curling his lips down.

“But… shouldn’t we investigate why this happened? I mean-“

“The fuck are you talking about? We didn’t agree to do that. I said I’ll keep your secret if you help me to bring her back to life, and it worked. We're done, so i suggest you to get out of my sight, now.” Namjoon said between teeth, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.

You frowned watching his every angered expression, you never saw him this upset and hostile towards someone. The doubt was hanging heavy in your chest. Something was really off.

The boy sighed defeated with slumped shoulders. He stands up without saying another word, walking away to the front door.

“Can I goodbye?” You asked Namjoon with big pleading eyes, he only nodded with a deep sigh.

You literally ran clumsily towards the boy before he opened the door, startling him.

“Namjoon bad? He secret hide?” You asked in a hushed tone glancing behind you to make sure Namjoon doesn’t listen to your conversation.

“Yes, he’s very bad and he’s hiding a secret.” He said lowly, with pity on his eyes. This time he opened the door without saying goodbye, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Bad? Secret? Hide?

Namjoon’s arms hugging you from behind interrupted your train of thoughts. He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Let’s eat breakfast, my princess.”

Was he really that bad?

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

After Namjoon hand feed you lovingly, he left you alone to go to work, not without giving you a scary warning of course. You understand that he didn’t want you to leave the house, but he said nothing about not wandering around the house to look for answers.

So the moment he left, you went down to the basement you woke up from your slumber. Sadly, you couldn’t read the papers that were there, but something did catch your attention.

Dirt on the bench and a shovel, you didn’t know why that triggered something in you, maybe you should look for answers in the backyard?

Your memories were blurry, but you have a feeling in your chest that was pulling you towards the backyard, and one thing you know it’s that you always follow your instincts because they’re never wrong.

You blinked with difficulty because of the blinding sun. You hummed happily when your feet touched the grass and the breeze kissed your face. You felt at ease outdoors.

But the moment was ruined when you notice something horrifying before you.

Near the tree was a deep hole with a pile of dirt next to it. Your heart stopped beating and your body tensed, you walked towards the hole with heavy steps.

Something gleaming caught your attention. It was collar, your dog collar.

And then the memories came back with force, making you flinch and fall to your knees.

Colors, smells, sun, Namjoon, voices, cars, people, and then. Pain, so much pain.

But after that, there was also peace. So much peace, like a sweet dream wrapping you lovingly. You missed that peace, the feeling of deep slumber.

Now you understand Jungkook’s words, Namjoon was evil and cruel. Because he woke you up from your rest.

You were screaming your lungs out, your eyes were swelling by the amount of fat tears you shed, your breath was labored and your knees hurt.

You didn’t think twice before caving the hole to fit your body in, wrapping yourself in dirt and closing your eyes hoping for the slumber to come back.

The hours passed and you were deep asleep inside the hole. Until Namjoon’s screams woke you up.

You heard him calling your name with a desperate and wrecking voice, you listened to him running around the house like a mad man, looking for you.

He deserved it.

But your moment was interrupted when Namjoon went out to the backyard noticing you inside the grave he caved. His face scrunched in confusion and hurt, you felt a pang of guilt by looking at his tears and disheveled hair.

He ran to you, pulling your body out of the grave and holding you tightly against his chest. He was looking for any injury and kissing your cheeks and forehead, babbling with a broken voice how scared he was when he didn’t find you.

But you were stiffed and unresponsive, making him stop to look at you with knitted brows.

“What is happening my love? Are you okay? Tell me so I can fix it.” His eyes scanned every part of your face, begging you to talk to him.

You shook your head fighting back tears, you fell to your knees again, with Namjoon following you to the ground.

“Wake, you wake slumber, I peace, I death.” You gritted between teeth, looking at him with deep hatred.

Namjoon’s eyes widened with shock, his lips opened and closed like a fish out of the water. He was at loss of words, but his grip on your waist never eased.

“Sorry.” He whispered with tears streaming from his eyes.

He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his limbs around your body, burying his face in your neck.

“But I don’t regret what I did, not even death can take you away from me,” you shivered when you heard his voice lowering threateningly, tightening his grip around your body.

You frowned annoyed that he didn’t let go of you, so you tried to squirm away from his grip, but he growled at you.

He clutched your nape to crash his lips against yours, distracting you from running away.

You melted by his mouth devouring yours like a starve man, biting and licking without mercy. He deepened the kiss entering his tongue in your mouth, the kiss was messy and desperate, he was drinking all of your sounds and moans.

“Your mine,” he growled between the kiss, sucking and biting your lips until they bleed.

He lapped your mouth and chin like a dog, with his hot breath brushing and tickling your skin.

He ripped off your clothes and pinned you to the ground, widening your legs and resting them on his shoulders. He pulled down his zipper with a trembling hand, not prepping you before thrusting inside of you, making you shout in pain and discomfort. He only covered your mouth with his palm, ramming into you like a mad man, hurting you in the process. Your body bounce up and down on the ground by the force of Namjoon’s thrusts, you came with a hurt little cry, and Namjoon didn’t stop even if you were overstimulated, even if you were bleeding. He kept thrusting into you, groaning and panting, with his face scrunched in pleasure, his piercing eyes enjoyed watching your hurt. Then he came inside of you.

He stood up, pulling your body with him and carrying you in a bridal style inside the house.

You watched the grave from Namjoon’s back.

Someday you’ll meet death again, and Namjoon can’t do anything to stop that from happening.

You promise.