#but that childlike way of expressing it is missing

[ilovetenna]

One of the most interesting things to me is Tenna’s ability to change size (and shape, though that is considerably limited). This ability isn’t the most consistent thing in terms of its context and application, so this is trying to make sense of it beyond simply “it’s just funny.”

First of all, Tenna’s size changing is dependent on his emotions. I feel this is relatively clear considering what happens in Ch3, but I think it’s worth reiterating since there are some confusing things involving his emotions and the fun meter.

Now, at first glance we could argue that his size is dependent on this fun meter. And I feel that on the surface this tends to add up. Generally, the higher the fun, the bigger he is, and the lower the fun, the smaller he is. But there are some variations in this that show he isn’t fully bound to the fun meter, and instead is more dependent on his overall emotions. A good example of this is the dead fun meter during the doom board sequence.

As you can see, he is full size. However the fun meter is fully depleted for obvious reasons. I feel that this shows the fun meter is separate from him, like a show prop of some kind. Though I still like interpretations that bond him to the fun meter, it can make for some silly jokes.

Nevertheless, this raises some questions. If his size is dependent on his emotions, then what emotions specifically make him larger or small?

The answer, from what I can tell, is that all strong emotions will make him bigger, but sadness and hopelessness are the ones that make him shrink.

The moments in which he is at his smallest always show him despairing. Whether it be a silly despair like in his introduction sequence, or after his fight, it’s still sadness nevertheless, and once he lets it consume him, he shrinks into… A tiny ant.

This is an important distinction to make between negative emotions and sad emotions. If he shrank with all negative emotions, then fear would also shrink him, and I don’t believe that to be true. During the whole TV world situation, he can be seen experiencing various forms of fear, like when he is trying to find Kris & Co. after they escape, or when he is begging people to not leave him. It is very clear that he is afraid in these scenes, as he talks frantically and misses details going on around him in order to fixate on one goal. If these emotions shrunk him, he would be much smaller way more often.

So now that we have narrowed down what technically makes him shrink and grow, let’s talk about why this is narratively interesting.

I have seen a variety of jokes about Tenna being a child of divorce. While I feel that is only one interpretation of his character, it is something that I find to be… An accurate description nevertheless. Not to get personal, but I am also a child of Divorce, and I can see very clearly how the impacts of fighting parents are reflected in Tenna. I think that this reading of his character is also supported by his size changing ability.

Think of it this way: When Tenna gets sad or upset or hopeless, he shrinks. He looks pathetic. He, intentionally or not, becomes small and vulnerable. He almost becomes “childlike” in that vulnerability, which parallels the idea of a child despairing through splitting parents. In his intro sequence, he very vocally expresses his distress to Kris & Co., but was surprised when they actually wanted to play with him. His smallness is trying to express his loneliness and despair so that maybe, just maybe, someone will care. However, whatever happens, he becomes complicit and follows along even if it means certain despair. His associations with childlike fears, emotions, and wants is something that, I feel, should not be ignored.

Considering Deltarune has a lot of themes about childhood neglect, abandonment, etc., Small Tenna’s behavior is not there for nothing. In a way, in those moments, perhaps he represents a Susie who wasn’t able to get over despair and make a friend. Perhaps he represents a Kris who was isolated and lonely during the divorce. But that’s getting into fanfic territory, and is stepping away from simply pointing out some observations on the source material.

When Tenna is large, we can see that he is much more capable of handling and managing complex things. He can run a show, even. But his smaller self does not want for grander things, and does not wish to make these larger things real. He wants simple things; love, attention, connection. If you are familiar with psychology, you may recognize these as “basic needs” in some models of thought.

That’s preeeetyyyy much all I have for this one. TLDR: Tenna Small = Sad & Hopeless Tenna. Tenna Large = Any Other Emotion Tenna. His mood is very visible and I feel that his sadness parallels other character’s struggles too.

[miraofhearts2point0]

WHAT IF JINX GETS HER BULLET TATTOOS FOR ISHA.......like Jinx got her smoke tattoos after she tried to help her family. Isha ran head-on into battle to try and help her family, Jinx. Jinx could get the bullets in memory of Isha's sacrifice. her tattoos might be symbols for a childlike innocence, loyalty, and love

[togeblurbs]

Do You Miss Us?

Five Hargreeves x F!Reader - angst with a happy ending (yeah… happy ish ending)

synopsis: when you find out Five and Lila kissed, you don’t know what to feel. All you know is that you need to get away. Because it was one thing for them to kiss, and another to realize that in the time spent apart, Five Hargreeves may not love you anymore.

content/warnings: hints of anxiety, curse words, cheating, s4 spoilers, mentions of disassociation, morally grey characters, not lore accurate, not really canon, doesn’t focus on the plot moreso reader & fives relationship, lmk if i forgot anything

“Y/n, please,”

you continue walking, wiping away the incessant tears that stream down your face. you feel nauseas, and your chest hurts in a way that it pains you to breathe.

he catches your wrist in his hand, and you turn around, angered. “What? What could you possibly say that would make this better, Five?”

he looks distraught, if not more than you and the thought has your hands shaking in fury. for what reason did he have to be so upset? you weren’t the one who disappeared for a few hours - which ended up being seven years - and then kissed another person.

“I fucked up, I didn’t… You don’t understand, I was losing my mind.” he slips his hand from your wrist to intertwine your fingers, but you shake his grip off in disgust. he looks at you so brokenly at the action, you almost feel bad.

but then you remember her, and you feel the bile rise to your throat once more. “I don’t understand?” you say slowly, taking a step forward.

you point at him, “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand. I knew some shit was going on between you two, with your secrets and odd glances. But I trusted you, Five. You know why?”

he looks at you with wide eyes, seeming almost unsettled by your outburst. “Because I loved you.” you whisper.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you wipe the remnants of your tears. “But that didn’t matter in the end. You were alone with her for seven years, so it makes sense. I wish you nothing but happiness, Five. Even if it’s away from me.”

you turn, moving to walk again, but he crashes into you from behind and wraps his arms around you. “Please,” his hands are trembling where they rest on your stomach, and although you want to soothe him, you don’t think you are in the place to at the moment.

you take a shaky deep breath, before carefully untangling his hands from your torso. he whimpers pitifully at the action, and you have to stop yourself from giving in and drawing him closer.

you used to bring him comfort, give him love and make him feel safe; but it seemed it was not enough; because in the end he chose someone else.

you turn back around, “I need some time alone right now, Five.” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, ripping the skin. you don’t want to look at his face, so you choose to stare at the chipped paint on the wall.

Five lifts his hand for a moment, before dropping it. “Will you come back?” his voice has never sounded so childlike; as though he can’t bear the thought of you leaving and never coming back.

you swallow harshly, “I’ll come back.”

he nods, his own arms wrapping around himself.

“I just don’t know if it will be for you.”

you take a chance and glance at his face, hating the way your heart hurts when his expression crumples.

back in the room, you were so sure he was in love with Lila, but now you’re starting to doubt yourself. because if he truly felt something for her, would he really be crying in front of you right now?

you don’t know. you also don’t feel like you have it in you to make any assumptions.

you turn around, your back facing Five. “I’ll see you later. Don’t follow me.”

and with that, you walk out of Five’s life, unknowingly carrying his heart with you.

-

Five lays in a bed - not his, for years it’s never been his - and recounts the last seven years.

he remembers missing you immensely in the beginning. for the first three years, you were all he could think about.

and then his friendship with Lila began to grow. the time he wished to spend with you, he was now spending with her. it was odd at first, because the two were not close friends of any sort. but when you’re trapped in a different time-line, or different universe, you become allies with those you normally wouldn’t.

somewhere along the way, they had provided one another with the comfort they lacked from their significant others.

it wasn’t supposed to end up that way. it wasn’t.

but now Five can’t get the way you looked at him out of his head; it was like he physically shot you in the chest, or told you he didn’t love you. like he betrayed you.

he grasps at his own chest, curling up into a ball beneath the covers. he feels like he’s going to die.

and maybe that would be for the best. he’s lived a long, torturous life. with a nut-job for a father, siblings that were always thinking about themselves and a lover who he’d ruined everything with, what was the point of life anymore?

its been a month since Five had seen you, and the ache in his chest has yet to go away. he couldn’t find it in himself to eat, often laying in bed as Luther force-fed food down his throat in fear that he would truly pass away.

it’s just another late night, and Five takes the time to stare at the broken glass window as the sun begins to set. the only sound in the room comes from the clock, the constant ticks helping him disassociate and think about you.

he distantly hears the door creak open, but is too exhausted to look at who it is. he doesn’t really care anyway, because he knows it’s not going to be you.

“Five?”

he blinks slowly. it almost sounded like you, but he figured he was hearing things at this point.

“Five,” he feels a hand smooth over his shoulder. gentle in a way he’d only ever experienced with you. his head turns, if only slightly, and he catches sight of your concerned face.

his eyes widen, he forces himself to sit up even if his arms have little to no strength left. “What are you… what are you doing here?” he croaks.

you sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. it’s far too away from Five, he wants to pull you in the bed and bring you into his arms.

“Should I leave?” you glance at the door for a second, but Five immediately grabs onto your hands and shouts, “No! No, please. Please stay.”

you look shocked at his outburst, nodding softly.

the silence in the room is deafening, but Five is merely happy you’re there. Seven years and then some apart from you was not easy, and after his last conversation with you, he knows he’ll feel unsettled until he makes it right. if he can make it right.

“I did some thinking.” you start, cautious.

Five watches you with fear, scared to hear your next words.

“I’m not angry anymore. I understand you went through a lot being trapped again, and I can’t blame you for falling in love with Lila since she was there for you. I do wish you broke it off with me before kissing her, but what’s done is done.”

your voice comes out stable, like you’ve thought it all through and are content to leave things as they are. but Five is shaking his head the moment you say the word love and Lila in the same sentence, because that could not be more far from the truth.

“Wait, please stop it,” he begs, seeming desperate.

“I understand why you might think that way, but I do not love Lila.” he feels lighter with the words being spoken. he’s been aching to clarify this the moment you found out they kissed, but hasn’t had the chance.

your brows furrow, and you pick at the cotton sleeve of your hoodie. “Um, I see.” you look so confused, he can’t help but move closer to you.

you look at him, body rigid. you don’t seem comfortable around him anymore, and the thought has him clutching his chest in pain.

“Y/n, I love you.”

you recoil immediately, and it prompts Five to reach out instinctively.

the words tumble out of his mouth, like he’s scared you’re going to run before he can finish getting everything out. “I haven’t stopped loving you, Lila and I.. when we, you know, it was a moment of weakness after losing you and being trapped again. I wished every day that I could see you, but I was stuck.”

you move to stand, and a part of Five’s heart breaks for what he thinks will be the last time ever. because if you walk out of this room, he knows he won’t be able to love again. you are it for him, and if he doesn’t have you, then he’d rather stay alone for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, but I need you to know that I love you.”

at the end of his little speech he breathes out, listening to his heart thump loudly in his ears.

it’s odd, he thinks. love has always been so painful, so destructive. but with you it was simple. it was calm, steady and soft. he wonders; he hopes, that he’ll be able to experience it again. after all, a healthy type of love was rare for his kind.

he watches you walk closer, reaching a hand out and placing it on his cheek. he leans into it, closing his eyes as he missed your touch immensely. you use the other hand to push his hair back, planting a kiss on his forehead.

his eyes shoot open at the feeling, and he stares at you in wonder. he begins to feel hope bubble in his chest.

“You love me?” you ask quietly.

he nods, “Only you. Only ever you.”

you exhale, shoulders drooping as you move to sit beside him. you wrap an arm around his waist and one on his neck, pulling him down as you lay on the small bed. his head falls to your neck, and he sneaks a small kiss in, hoping you won’t push him away.

“I can’t promise that i’ll forgive you completely. At least not right now. And I’ll probably hate Lila forever, but I don’t think I can walk away from you knowing you love me.”

you run a hand through his hair, feeling him nod into the space between your head and your shoulder. “I know, I completely understand.”

you pat his head gently, staring up at the ceiling.

“I love you too, Five. I don’t think I ever won’t.”

he rubs his face into your neck, and you feel something wet touch it. you card your fingers through his hair once more, cooing.

“Thank you,” his voice comes out shaky, but he hopes you hear the sincerity.

you shift the two of you until you’re underneath the covers, cradling him in your arms with his head on your chest. “Don’t thank me yet. I will be making out with Diego as revenge.”

Five lifts his head, “What?!”

sorry if this is ooc:>

[haerenven]

        ₊　˙　 　⢷          ˚   ͙✦.         whiplash .

Pairings. M.D.Luffy- R.Zoro- P.D.Ace - T.Law - shanks

summary. Short hair girly.

— (a/n): request!, I really love this idea cause I was pixie hair girly in some point of my life (‘. • ᵕ •. `)

Monkey D Luffy

• Luffy is fascinated from the start. “Whoa!” he exclaims the first time he sees you. “Your hair’s so short! That’s awesome!”

• He immediately reaches out to pat your head like you’re the softest, most interesting thing in the world. and when you bat his hands away, he just laughs. “But it looks so fun to touch!”

• He adores how unique it makes you. To him, it’s not just hair—it’s you, and that makes it special.

• There’s something endearing about how blunt he is about it. “I like it. It makes your face look happy!” It’s such a simple, childlike way of thinking, but it makes you smile anyway.

• He loves to play with your hair absentmindedly—sometimes when he’s talking to you, sometimes when he’s just lazing around, his fingers twirling a stray strand. It’s never calculated, never flirtatious—just pure, unfiltered affection.

• If you ever feel self-conscious about it, or If you ever say you miss having long hair, Luffy will tilt his head, confused. “But this is how you are, right?” he says, as if that should be the most obvious thing in the world. “And I like you like this.”

Roronoa Zoro

• Zoro doesn’t notice your hair at first. Not because he’s oblivious, but because things like hair length isn’t register as high on his list of priorities. But one day, he really looks at you—sees how the shorter strands frame your face, how the style suits your sharp gaze, your effortless confidence—and something about it tugs at him in a way he can’t explain.

• He never says it out loud, but he likes how practical it is. You’re not constantly pushing it out of your face, and it never gets in the way. Efficient, No fuss, no unnecessary distractions. Just like you. Just like him.

• When you’re standing side by side, he’ll catch himself staring, though he always looks away before you can call him out on it.

• If someone ever makes a comment—something thoughtless, something meant to imply that short hair is less feminine—Zoro will shut it down instantly, his voice flat, his glare sharp. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll spread your head out of your body” And just like that, the conversation ends.

• He’s not the kind for casual touches, but sometimes—when he’s half-asleep, when the world is quiet—his hand will find the back of your head, fingers grazing your hair in a rare moment of softness. He won’t say anything about it. He won’t need to.

• He won’t outright admit it, but he likes how easy it is to tilt your chin up and kiss you—no stray strands getting in the way, your lips on his—and that’s it.

Portgas D Ace

• “Damn,” is the first thing Ace says when he meets you. It’s low, almost breathless, like you’ve just knocked the air straight out of his lungs. “I think I’m in love.”

• He’s always been drawn to things that burn bright—things wild and unpredictable, things that feel like freedom. And there’s something about you, about the way you carry yourself, about the way your hair catches the firelight, that makes him want to chase after you.

• He loves the way your short hair makes every expression bolder, sharper. When you laugh, it makes you look even more mischievous. When you glare, it makes you look untouchable. And Ace? He loves a challenge.

• Constantly finds an excuse to touch your hair—Running his fingers through it, ruffling it like you’re a kid, tugging playfully at a strand, resting his chin on your head like you’re his personal pillow. “Soft,” he murmurs, as if it’s some great discovery.

• Calls you every nickname under the sun: “sparky,” “shortcake,” “firecracker.” The more you roll your eyes, the more determined he is to find new ones.

• “Y’know,” he says one night, voice softer than usual, “I like that I can see your face like this. No hiding. Just you.” And there’s something in his eyes, something warm and unguarded, that makes you realize he means it.

Trafalgar d water Law

• Law is quiet the first time he sees you. Not unimpressed, not indifferent—just observing, those sharp eyes of his taking in every detail. “Hnn,” he says at last, nodding slightly. “It suits you.”

• He’s not one for unnecessary compliments, but the fact that he acknowledges it at all means something.

• But later, when he thinks you’re not looking, you’ll catch his gaze lingering, something almost amused in his expression. He likes the way your hair frames your face, how it highlights the sharp intelligence in your eyes.

• You’ll catch him staring sometimes, though he’s always quick to look away. If you ever call him out on it, he’ll scoff. “You’re imagining things.” But the slight pink on his ears tells a different story.

• He appreciates the practicality of it. No strands falling into your face during fights, no unnecessary fuss. It’s efficient. And Law values efficiency.

• If you ever express doubt—if you ever wonder aloud whether you should grow it out—he’ll glance at you, expression unreadable, before saying simply, “Don’t change it.” And that’s all he’ll say.

• But later, when you’re resting beside him, when the world is quiet and his guard is down, you’ll feel his fingers ghosting over the back of your neck, tracing absent patterns along your hairline. He won’t say anything about it. He doesn’t have to.

• But if you ever run your hands through your hair in frustration, tiredness, or thought? He’ll watch, transfixed, before clearing his throat and looking away.

Red-haired Shanks

• The first time Shanks sees you, his eyes linger—not just on your hair but on the way it makes you stand out. There’s something wild about it, untamed like the sea, and it suits you.

• Shanks notices everything about you in that lazy, deceptively perceptive way of his. The cut of your hair, the way the sea breeze plays with it, how the sun catches in the strands. His gaze lingers—not just in admiration, but in curiosity, like you’re some beautiful puzzle he’s eager to figure out.

• He has a habit of reaching for you, fingers always finding their way to the nape of your neck, ruffling your hair like he’s testing how much he can get away with. When you glare at him, he just chuckles, utterly unrepentant. “What? It’s soft,” he says, as if that explains everything.

• He loves running his fingers through your short locks, ruffling them playfully before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Cute,” he hums, grinning when you swat his hand away.

• He teases you about it constantly. “Y’know, you remind me of a mischievous little fairy.” But there’s an unmistakable fondness in his voice.

• The crew loves you almost as much as he does. Lucky Roux teases that you must have been a rogue wind spirit in another life, while Yasopp claims your hair makes you look sharper, like a blade that’s just been honed.

• Shanks finds himself watching you when you’re not looking, the way your hair shifts with every tilt of your head, the way it moves when you laugh. He doesn’t just admire you—he memorizes you, drinks you in like the finest sake, and finds himself craving more.

• “You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs one evening, arms draped lazily around you, fingers playing with your hair as if he’s always meant to have you this close. “And I like trouble.”

• When you’re out at sea, he watches the wind tousle your hair and thinks you look like you belong nowhere else but here—with him, with the ocean.

[mya-valentine]

Hi! it's me again! I'd like to request a few genshin men/boys and most of them are my favs like at least like 14 of them😂 fluff please

I wanted to request a Diluc, Razor (it's fine if you don't do him, but I'm pretty sure he's at least 16 or 17) Xiao, Wanderer, Cyno, Al Haitham, Neuvillete, Kinich, Ororon (there's lack of Ororon love) and Dainsleif. I wanted the headcannon to be like:

their friends asking fem!reader: What do you see in him?

reader: he makes me laugh

i wanted to see this kind of headcannon for so long (i hope it's okay if i can request this much character😅)

Headcanon: He Makes Me Laugh

Diluc

At a cozy café in Mondstadt, you and your friends sit around a small table, sharing stories over steaming cups of tea. One of your friends leans in, eyebrows raised. “Diluc? Really? What do you see in him?”

You take a moment to think, a smile creeping onto your face. “He makes me laugh,” you finally reply.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances. “Diluc? The serious, brooding one? How does that even work?”

You lean back in your chair, recalling a recent night at the tavern. Diluc had been tending bar when a customer made a ridiculous drink request. With a straight face, he had leaned over to you and said, “If I serve one more ‘secret drink’ request, I might just invent a potion to erase memories of it.”

You burst into laughter, and he shot you a quick, playful smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. The moment had felt electric, a fleeting glimpse of the softer side he rarely showed anyone else.

As you reminisce, you can’t help but grin, feeling warmth in your chest. “He’s got this dry wit that surprises me. You just have to know where to look.”

One friend rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see it. But how do you get him to show it?”

You shrug playfully. “Maybe he just needs someone to break through the brooding exterior.”

Diluc, standing nearby, overhears your laughter and smirks, catching your eye with a knowing look, as if he appreciates the affection behind your words.

Razor

Your friends are gathered in your room, sprawled on the floor as you all catch up. Suddenly, one of them narrows their eyes and asks, “You’re with Razor? What do you even talk about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the question. “Oh, you have no idea. He makes me laugh!”

Your friends exchange confused looks. “Razor? The one who spends all his time with wolves?”

You nod, recalling a beautiful morning walk you took with him through Wolvendom. “The other day, we were watching the sunrise. He looked at it, wide-eyed, and said, ‘Looks like egg yolk spilled.’ And then he asked, ‘Why do people say ‘crack of dawn’? Dawn don’t break…’”

Your friends burst into laughter, imagining Razor’s serious face juxtaposed with his innocent, childlike observations.

“He’s not trying to be funny, but he has this way of looking at the world that’s just… refreshing,” you explain, a soft smile on your lips as you think about him.

One friend grins, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I guess if you’re into that… unique perspective.”

Razor, who has been listening from the doorway, looks a bit confused but intrigued. “I like egg yolk. It is good food,” he adds earnestly, causing another round of laughter.

Xiao

In a quiet corner of Liyue Harbor, your friends sit across from you, disbelief painted on their faces. “Xiao?” one asks, incredulous. “But he’s so… intense and brooding! What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh,” you respond, shaking your head at their expressions.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances, clearly struggling to understand how someone as serious as Xiao could ever be funny. “Seriously?” one of them challenges. “How?”

You remember a day when you and Xiao were training together on the mountain. As you stumbled over a loose rock, he caught you just in time, and without missing a beat, he said, “Are mortals always this clumsy?”

You had burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He doesn’t mean to be funny, but his honesty is refreshing,” you explain, smiling at the memory.

Your friends nod, starting to see your point. “Okay, I can see how that would be amusing.”

Just then, Xiao approaches, overhearing the conversation. He raises an eyebrow. “You laugh a lot around me. Is that good?”

You grin, meeting his gaze. “Absolutely! It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Xiao looks slightly flustered but turns away, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoicism.

Wanderer

Strolling through a quiet clearing with your friends, one of them shoots you a concerned glance. “So… Wanderer? The same guy who’s known for his prickly attitude? What exactly do you see in him?”

You smirk, already used to the question. “He makes me laugh,” you say simply.

They look skeptical, one raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

You nod, smiling at the memory of a recent encounter. Wanderer had once muttered something about the “absurdity” of people who thought they knew everything about him. He’d followed it up with, “Honestly, they know less about me than that rock does about erosion.” He’d pointed at a boulder, then turned to you, daring you to laugh. But you couldn’t help it—you cracked up, and he’d rolled his eyes, but with the faintest hint of a smile himself.

Your friends seem taken aback. “Wait, Wanderer said that?”

Just then, Wanderer appears, crossing his arms as he approaches. “Are you sharing my profound observations with these mortals?” he asks, feigning annoyance, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he glances at you.

You grin, meeting his gaze. “I can’t help it. You’re just so funny.”

He scoffs, muttering something about “annoying people,” but the faintest smile betrays him, earning a knowing look from your friends.

Cyno

After a long day, you and your friends gather at a cozy teahouse. One of them finally leans in with a curious look. “Cyno, though? Isn’t he a little… intense? What do you see in him?”

A grin spreads across your face as you think of Cyno’s well-meaning, if occasionally dreadful, sense of humor. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look surprised, clearly doubtful. “Cyno? Are you sure? He’s the General Mahamatra!”

You laugh at their disbelief. “Yes, that Cyno. Once, he tried to tell me a ‘joke’ about Teyvat’s elemental reactions. ‘Did you know Pyro and Hydro make steam…y results?’” You can’t help but laugh at the memory, and your friends blink at you, processing.

Then one snickers, and another gives in. “Okay, that’s actually—unintentionally funny.”

As if summoned, Cyno appears at the table. “Did I hear mention of… humor?” he asks with utmost seriousness, casting a proud look your way. “I have another one. What did the dendro traveler say to the withering zone?”

You grin knowingly, but your friends glance at each other nervously. “What?” they ask in unison.

“‘Leave it to me,’” Cyno deadpans, straight-faced. You burst out laughing, your friends struggling to hold back their smiles. Cyno raises an eyebrow, satisfied. “See? I told you humor is a valuable asset.”

Alhaitham

Gathered at the Sumeru Library, your friends can’t hide their disbelief. “Alhaitham? What do you even see in him?” one of them exclaims, shaking her head.

You grin, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh.”

“Really? The stoic scholar?” they ask, bewildered.

You reminisce about a quiet evening when you found him deeply engrossed in a book. You had asked, ��What’s so interesting?” He glanced up and replied, “The existential dread of characters in fiction is quite entertaining. They can’t even do anything about it.”

His deadpan delivery made you laugh, and he’d raised an eyebrow, confused by your reaction. “You find that funny?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed, which only made you laugh harder.

Your friends start to nod, clearly amused. “Okay, maybe he has a point there.”

Alhaitham, overhearing your laughter, approaches with an amused glint in his eye. “I see you’re discussing literature. Should I be concerned?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you’re worried about being funny.”

He smirks, unfazed. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

Neuvillete

In the refined atmosphere of Fontaine’s opera house, your friends question your attachment to Neuvillette, the reserved Chief Justice. “So, what do you see in him?” one friend asks, an eyebrow raised. “Neuvillette’s so… solemn. He barely smiles.”

You chuckle, casting a glance at the grand stage. “But that’s the thing. He makes me laugh when I least expect it.”

Your friends exchange looks, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Neuvillette?”

You nod, remembering a moment from an evening much like this one. Neuvillette had been watching an opera, his typical composed expression in place, when he leaned over and whispered, “I find it curious that, despite its grandeur, this aria is about a fish lamenting her lost pond. Dramatic, isn’t it?” His understated humor and subtle wit had made you stifle a laugh, though he looked pleased with your reaction.

One friend’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, he actually jokes? In his own way?”

At that moment, Neuvillette arrives, having overheard the conversation. “I merely observe the world as it is,” he says with a faint, almost invisible smile. “I trust I’ve provided adequate amusement?”

You smile up at him warmly, while your friends look at each other, slowly starting to see his appeal. “Yes,” you reply, reaching for his hand. “You certainly have.”

Kinich

As you and your friends stroll through the bustling markets, one of them nudges you, raising an eyebrow. “So… Kinich? He’s got that cold, intense vibe. What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, picturing the man who, beneath his pragmatic exterior, occasionally revealed a dry, clever humor that caught you off guard. “He makes me laugh,” you reply, smiling.

Your friends blink, visibly unconvinced. “Kinich? The Kinich? The guy who talks like every word is a business contract?”

“Trust me, he’s funnier than you think.” You recall a time when you had teased him about always being so serious. He had given you a mock-stern look and said, “Seriousness is simply efficiency applied to communication. If I were to, say, laugh needlessly, it would be inefficient—unless, of course, you think I’m funny?” His tone had been deadpan, but you had caught the sparkle in his eyes, which only made you laugh harder.

One of your friends scoffs, half amused, half disbelieving. “He’s secretly funny? Now that I have to see.”

Just then, Kinich appears, drawn by the sound of laughter. He stands with his usual composed expression, his gaze steady as he glances at you. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, though his eyes linger on yours with a warmth your friends would never guess at.

“Not at all,” you reply, a mischievous smile on your lips. “We were just talking about how funny you are.”

A single brow arches, and he replies smoothly, “If efficiency in humor is what amuses you, then I suppose I’ve succeeded.”

Your friends stare, open-mouthed, as he gives a faint smile, the smallest show of his affection reserved just for you.

Ororon

Gathered in a quiet grove just outside the bustling village, your friends share stories, each of them glancing at you with barely concealed curiosity. Finally, one of them speaks up. “Ororon? Really? He’s so… unconventional. What do you see in him?”

You smile, looking down at the wildflowers in your hand. “He makes me laugh.”

They seem taken aback, sharing doubtful glances. “Ororon? But he’s so… odd. He even lives out in the woods by himself. Isn’t he a little too eccentric?”

You laugh softly, thinking of all the moments Ororon’s uniqueness had brightened your days. “Maybe. But he’s more observant than anyone I know.” You recount a day spent walking with him through the forest, where he had pointed out a bird with feathers the color of storm clouds and said, with absolute conviction, “Look at him, he’s judging us. Clearly, he’s unimpressed with our lack of feathers.” You’d laughed, and he had given you a small, playful smile.

One friend smirks, shaking their head. “You actually find him funny?”

Before you can answer, Ororon appears, emerging from the trees with his usual easygoing stride. “Are we discussing birds?” he asks, his expression calm as he settles beside you. “I could have sworn I saw a bird earlier that looked particularly snobbish. Perhaps it’s you it dislikes.”

You laugh, reaching for his hand as your friends chuckle, finally starting to understand his strange charm. “Exactly,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.

Ororon gives a satisfied hum, his eyes meeting yours. “See? Nature understands us well.” And in that moment, your friends see how the quiet humor of this eccentric man makes him so dear to you.

Sitting on a rooftop overlooking the stars, your friends are still trying to wrap their heads around your choice. “Dainsleif? Really? What do you see in him?” one asks skeptically.

Dainsleif

You smile softly, reflecting on your experiences. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look puzzled. “But he’s so serious and mysterious!”

You recall a late night when you were stargazing together. He had shared tales of his travels and then abruptly said, “In the end, I find that stars are just like people. Some are bright, some are dim, and some are just… lost.” Then, after a pause, he added with a straight face, “But at least they all shine, even if it’s just for a moment.”

You had burst into laughter at his unexpected metaphor, and he’d turned to you, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he asked, “Is that amusing?”

You nod, a warm smile on your face. “Yes! It’s all about perspective with you.”

Your friends nod, starting to see the appeal. “Okay, that’s a bit poetic.”

Dainsleif, overhearing the conversation, walks over with an amused look. “If my musings provide amusement, then perhaps I should share more.”

You grin. “Please do! We could all use a little more humor.”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Stand Alone Series: Chapter 3

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: A few years post 'Battle Of Hogwarts', y/n decides to buy her and Hermione a home that they can move into as newlyweds.

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: smut, jealous hermione, g!p reader, dom hermione (in theory), penis in vagina sex, cunnilingus, possesive hermione is hot, porn very little plot

Note: hello! so i've had this drafted for months but just never had the motivation to finish it but i finally forced myself to write since i was missing hermione, so here it is :) this isn't an original idea (loosely inspired by a scene in a film) and i'm embarrassed to admit which movie gave me the idea so i won't say it but iykyk. anyway, enjoy!

Taglist: @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @poppyflower-22 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @cherryflavoredcoke @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @brocoliisscared @aki-ham @theheartwants-what-itwants

"Make a left here." You say as you point to the turn coming ahead. Hermione merely scoffs, begrudgingly turning the steering wheel.

"Will you just tell me where you're taking us?" She asks, your wife's brows are furrowed the same way it has been the entire drive, but still, you don't give in.

Shaking your head, you respond. "Have patience, darling.. you'll see soon enough."

Although that does nothing to soothe Hermione's curiosity; her scowl only deepens.

She takes her eyes off the road for a moment to glare at you. "You know that I hate surprises."

"Oh you'll like this one, I'm sure of it." You declare with a certain conviction, soon leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Hermione's cheek.

As you almost earn a smile, you continue to kiss along Hermione's jaw before reaching up to part her hair away and doing the same on the shell of her ear.

You nip at it, and this time Hermione doesn't fight back her giggle as she squirms, shrugging you off. “Stop it, you rogue– I'm driving.” Your wife warns, and you eventually relent, leaning back in your seat as you travel further into the outskirts of London.

Gone is the bustling city, now there is only a long winding road, shaded with tall oak trees.

For a while it seems as though the journey may never end, but soon enough, a large property comes into view.

Ten acres of wood and stone, the house sits perfectly at the end of the road. It remains still and empty, abandoned for nearly a century, but it is a glorious sight nonetheless.

“Why have you brought me here?” Hermione questions as she slows the car, before it eventually comes to a complete halt.

You don't respond just yet, your bottom lip is set in between your lips in excitement as you unbuckle your seatbelt before climbing out of the vehicle.

Hermione follows suit, eager for an explanation.

You step in front of the car before speaking.

“You once told me.. when we were looking for places to stay in London, that you liked the look of this house. So I bought it.” You explain with a growing smile, glancing at the home once more.

As you take in the sight of the house and the surrounding scenery, Hermione stares at you as though you had gone mad, but inevitably, a smile also graces her delicate features.

“You are a complete imbecile.” Your wife remarks, although there is no bite to her words. It is cushioned even further with the way she practically jumps into your arms.

You chuckle as your hand rests on the small of Hermione's back. She clings to you, enthusiastically peppering kisses all over your face.

You wince at the contact, but a grin tugs on the corners of your mouth all the same. “I've made a good decision then?”

“Yes, it's- I love it. Reminds me of the lakehouse my parents owned.” Hermione admits.

She takes a step back, keeping her hands on your shoulders as she marvels at the large house with an almost childlike wonder.

Your chest brims with pride at her expression, and you proceed to intertwine your hands with Hermione's so you may walk together.

“Come, let's go see inside.” You urge, giving your wife's arm a tug, but she doesn't budge.

Instead Hermione pulls you back towards her, capturing your lips with her own for a searing kiss, her grip remains firm on your collar.

As your fingers get lost in her hair, you move to deepen the kiss, however you are abruptly interrupted by the sound of another car pulling into the driveway.

“Ah, that must be the muggle architect I hired.” You state watching as the silver car parked next to your own.

“Look, we don't have to change a thing if you don't want to.. but I figured it would be good to have a second opinion.” You express and Hermione swiftly nods, her hand remains on the nape of your neck as you both turn your attention to the curly haired brunette that emerges from the car.

The woman smiles at you as she approaches.

“Mrs Y/N, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The architect greets, surprising you by pulling you into a hug.

After the initial shock subsided, you stiffly embrace her in return, before shifting your gaze towards Hermione.

“This is my wife, Hermione.” You introduce, and the architect finally releases you from her hold.

“Hermione, I am Emilia.” The woman says, only regarding your wife with a firm handshake in contrast.

“This location is excellent, I am going to build you a fabulous house.” Emilia avows, her hand somehow finds your shoulder this time. Her touch lingers uncomfortably, and you catch the way Hermione is staring daggers at the other woman.

You clear your throat, deliberately taking your wife's hand in your own. “I'd like to show Hermione inside.”

“Ofcourse.” Emilia beams, but her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “This way.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

On the inside, the house appears somehow worse for wear. The walls are caked in dust, the wallpaper and paint cracking, but it is expected, and the interior remains gorgeous nonetheless.

More importantly, you know that Hermione prefers houses like this, one with a rich history.

“This is beautiful.” Your wife gaped as you all stepped into the spacious kitchen.

“Really, you like it?” You inquire, making the mental note of keeping the kitchen as it is.

“Yes, it's perfect Y/n.” Hermione utters as she walks around the room, inspecting the aged furnishings.

“Good.” You mutter with a relieved sigh as you take off your blazer to hang it over the barstool.

“It's hot in here, isn't it?” Emilia's voice is sudden as she enters the kitchen with a roll of blueprints in hand.

“That's why I think it would be best to get rid of this old brick and instead replace it with some temperature resistant concrete.” The architect suggests, but as you open your mouth to respond you are distracted by the way Hermione falls in next to you.

She drapes her arm around your shoulder in an almost possessive fashion, her body is flush against your own, as though to eliminate any chance of space in between you.

You wrap your own arm around her waist as a way to reciprocate.

Emilia proceeds to roll out the blueprint onto the kitchen island so the three of you may look at it. “So, this is what I have in mind.”

“A state of the art, self-sufficient smart home. Marine steel with self-cleaning glass, a guest wing and an entertaining area to the west.” She continues, and you notice the way Hermione tilts her head as the architect speaks.

You know your wife well enough to understand that she only does so when she disapproves of something.

“and this, infinity pool” Emilia says as she points to the top half of the blueprint. “It will overlook a gorgeous view of the lake.” She finishes, unnecessarily reaching across the island to touch your arm.

You clench your jaw, now starting to grow agitated with the architect’s incessant attempts to flirt with you right in front of Hermione.

You feel the way your wife's hold on you tightens, she clears her throat before addressing Emilia directly.

“So you plan to tear the entire house down?” Your wife challenges and Emilia flashes an insincere smile once more.

“Why not? It is incredibly dated.” The architect remarks, glancing at you for a reaction.

“I like it, it adds character.” Hermione interjects, she threads her fingers through your hair, now demanding your attention.

You hear Emilia scoff, she continues to address your wife in a condescending tone. “Well, a new house would be a statement. Ecologically efficient– truthfully these older homes are very impractical.”

“Eitherway, it's up to you.” Emilia speaks to you directly, her fingers brushing your forearm once more.

The architect's lack of subtlety makes your brows knit together in annoyance, you look to Hermione to find her wearing a similar look on her face. Although you also notice the way her sharp gaze is now brimming with anger.

“Actually it is up to my wife. What Hermione says goes.” You declare, squeezing Hermione's waist reassuringly before removing yourself so you may look at the pool table in the study.

As you explore further, you somewhat manage to overhear the things Hermione is saying to the architect.

“Please stop speaking to my wife as if I weren't here.” Even in a hushed tone, your wife's frustration is palpable.

You can hear Emilia's chuckle, laced with condescension, no doubt, although as she tries to respond, Hermione interrupts. “This is not your prestige project, this is going to be my home.”

“If you want this job, I suggest you stop making eyes at my wife and keep your hands to yourself.” Your wife concludes firmly and only silence follows afterwards.

As you wait for a response from Emilia, you reach out for the eight ball atop the pool table, fiddling with it.

The architect soon speaks, and you listen closely in added intrigue.

“That is ridiculous, Hermione I would never–” Emilia attempts to continue the farce, but Hermione refuses to tolerate the disrespect any longer.

Your wife sighs. “I have decided this is not going to work, my wife and I don't require your services after all.”

“What? I–” Emilia stutters in evident shock, but Hermione's patience has been stretched thin.

“Do shut the door on your way out– drive safe.” Hermione instructs curtly, and more stunned silence follows before you finally hear the rustling of papers followed by the echo of footsteps heading towards the front door.

As you hear the door shut, the noise is swiftly followed by more footsteps, Hermione's heels against the hardwood flooring as she enters the room you are currently standing in.

You observe the way your wife is looking at you; she appears almost like a predator, staking her claim.

“She's gone?” You ask the obvious and Hermione nods, she gets close enough to wrap her arms around your neck.

“I think you should hire someone else.” She states in a lighthearted tone and you let out a huff in amusement, your hands find Hermione's waist as you reply. “Alright, darling, I will.”

Hermione hums in satisfaction before leaning in, her lips meet your own for a heated kiss.

You only break away once your chest is heaving.

“I've been in the presence of actual Death Eaters, and you are more intimidating than most of them.” You quip and Hermione smirks at your statement, but otherwise, she continues to look at you in a way that suggests she wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation.

“Shall we see the rest of the house?” You attempt, and your wife shakes her head in disagreement.

“Not yet.” Hermione contends and your breath hitches in your throat as her hand finds your rear, harshly holding you in place.

“You're mine.” She asserts and this time you smile, matching her intense gaze.

“Yes. All yours, my sweet.” You seal your promise by kissing the column of Hermione's throat. Your wife's hand shifts to the back of your head in approval as she bares her neck to you.

You continue to kiss her, earning a breathy moan as you sucked on her tender flesh, Hermione proceeds to tug on your hair so she may guide your mouth towards her own once more.

She kisses you passionately, open mouthed and wanting, Hermione's tongue clashes against your own repeatedly as her hands roamed your frame.

*

Eventually, her palm settles on your groin over your slacks, and you aren't able to fully comprehend what was happening before you can feel Hermione's enchantment working.

The shaft begins to form within your underwear, and the familiar sensation causes you to groan, it is only heightened as Hermione boldly palms your cock.

“Hermione–” You barely manage as your lips separate for an instant; your wife doesn't speak, but the gleam in her stare still manages to send a thrill through your body.

“My love, please–” You find yourself muttering pathetically, as you ground yourself into her touch.

Hermione gives your shaft one last squeeze before pulling her hand away. “I know, baby” Your wife coos, and you watch as she lifts her dress up to her thighs before languidly removing her black laced underwear.

“I want to feel your mouth first.” She admits as she settles her rear atop the edge of the pool table.

As Hermione parts her legs, you don't need to be told what to do next.

You kneel before her eagerly, trailing a path of wet kisses along her inner thigh before your tongue inevitably makes contact with her hot, weeping core.

Hermione gasps aloud at the sensation of your tongue on her heat. Her fist clenches in your hair once more as you begin to pleasure her with your mouth.

“Yes..” Hermione moans and you slide your tongue skillfully in between her folds. You repeat the motion a few times before settling your mouth over her sensitive clit so you can suck on it.

Hermione is already trembling once you slip your tongue inside of her. You revel in the way your wife moans aloud.

You soon break away to lap at her folds, and as your tongue makes contact with her clit again, Hermione finally comes undone.

Your wife throws her head back as her climax rips through her. You hold onto her thighs as she writhes, her hold on the back of your head is painful, in truth, but you don't care.

“Y/n,” Hermione utters breathlessly, as you place one last peck upon her swollen folds before standing up to meet her in an urgent kiss.

**

Your wife does not waste anymore time, matching your eagerness as her hands find your belt. She unclasps it with trembling hands, and you moan as she slips one hand inside of your slacks to grip the base of your shaft.

Her thumb then traces the tip of your cock before assisting you in pulling off your pants completely. As you kick them off, Hermione doesn't let go of your length, leaning back onto the pool table.

You swiftly follow her lead, as though in a trance, climbing on top of your wife.

Hermione hastily pulls down the top of her dress until they fall to reveal her breasts. You then eagerly take them in your mouth, licking and sucking on her hard nipples. Your lover rewards you with more gasps of pleasure.

Hermione tugs on your hair habitually, and once your face is hovering over her own, your wife kisses you again, stroking your length simultaneously.

You feel her leg settle around your waist as she lines up the tip of your cock to her entrance.

Meeting her halfway, you move in a fluid motion, and soon you are sheathed inside of her to the hilt. The moan that rips out of Hermione afterwards causes your cock to twitch desperately inside of her.

"Fuck–” You groan, retracting your hips slightly before pushing deep inside of her once more.

Your wife's nails begin to dig into your back through your blouse, you can feel the way she is desperately trying to pull you closer.

You oblige her, your mouth eventually finds the base of Hermione's jaw as you continue to pump in and out of her at an urgent pace.

Hermione is incoherent, she is mewling and whimpering with every movement of your hips as your cock never fails to reach just the right spots within her after each thrust.

“Y/n– don't stop” Your wife eventually manages through her heavy pants, and you can already sense her second orgasm approaching.

You don't stop, instead, bracing your hands on either side of her head, you lift yourself up before rutting into her wildly. The lewd noises of your joining fills the vast room, and Hermione's whimpers soon morph into a loud moan as she reaches her peak on your cock.

The way the walls of her cunt flutters around your shaft was maddening, and the sudden gush of arousal that coats your girth instigates your own release.

Your entire body tenses as you orgasm, mere seconds after your wife.

Your heavy breathing matches Hermione's as you collapse on top of her, for awhile all you can feel is her arms and legs draped around you, along with her soft lips against your ear.

“Perhaps I should make you jealous more often.” You mutter in a playful tone once you regain your bearings.

Your joke earns a firm slap from Hermione, one that lands directly on your bare rear.

“Don't get any ideas.” Your wife warns sternly.

[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.

[sarshles-cheescake-li]

Link Click, internet slang, and Chinese culture

On the Chinese internet, there's a nickname for Link Click called Shiguang Daidaoren, meaning "the blade-bringers of time" instead of "the managers of time," the original title. Calling something "blade" is Chinese internet slang for something being angsty; whether it be derivative content or the originals themselves. Another meme is that Link Click isn't zhiyu (治愈，healing), which it is tagged as on Bilibili, but zhiyu (致郁，causing depression).

Link Click, especially its first season, is a deeply emotional and sentimental show. And it's a shame that so much of it gets not so much lost in literal, linguistic translation as much as it does in cultural, contextual translation. Many people can understand Emma's pain of being away from her parents in a new city, working a difficult job. But watching the scrolling comments on Bilibili, you get the cultural context of it -- the massive migration patterns within China from rural to urban, the children growing up and having to shed their local fangyan (方言) or, less formally, tuhua (土话)("speech of the locations" and "old-fashioned words," respectively) in exchange for Beijing Mandarin. This massive nation, nearly twice the population of Europe and only about 6% smaller in terms of area, is so diverse as to have created (what is close to) an immigrant experience for its citizens entirely within its borders. You visit your parents on Chunjie (春节）, lunar/Chinese new year, on packed trains during the largest singular human migration event on Earth, annually. And when you get home, you are faced with something different from the cities you now live in -- everything from the buildings to the furniture to the clothes they wear. I hadn't realized how deeply I missed the gaudy, garish mianao (棉袄，coats) and mianbei (棉被，cotton blankets) until I saw familiar shades of too-bright burgundy in the hands of Emma's parents. The concept of this original-home, laojia (老家, old-home) is so strongly baked into our lives that every time I meet another Chinese person, I cannot but help but ask them 你老家哪儿啊? Where is your original-home? And even though I know nothing about Chinese geography, every time I hear the answer, a little piece slots into place nonetheless.

In slang, if something made you cry or otherwise feel an emotion you weren't expecting to feel, you refer to it as pofang (破防，breaking defences). And maybe it says something that an expression of human emotion is viewed as a failure in some defences, but that's introspection for another time. Watching on Bilibili, with its hundreds of comments scrolling by "My defences have been breached" and sobbing onomatopoeia, people in the comments saying that they miss their mothers and fathers -- I, too, miss my family. When Cheng Xiaoshi, in Chen Xiao's body, tried to speak his host body's local variation and came up with butchered dongbeihua (东北话, words of the east-north), I nearly fell out of my chair. It was the sound of home, of my grandmother telling us to hush around noon because our neighbours were napping and my grandfather showing me how to play spider solitaire.

Cheng Xiaoshi's breakdown in episode 5 hits hard for its vulnerability. "I'm scared of the dark" has the same literal meaning as "我怕黑," sure, but there is something devastatingly childlike in that three-syllable declaration of fear. Where English so often derives meaning from complexity, from winding metaphors and beautiful prose, Chinese can derive breathtaking meaning from less breath than it takes to say the word analogy. 我怕黑 is stripped of any grown-up pretenses of control or dignity. It is the barest this statement can be: I. Scared. Darkness.

And what he says following, too. 我害怕一个人. Longer yet no less potent. Alone, or lonely, has many translations in Chinese. 孤独. 寂寞. 孤单. 单独. Many more synonyms for all the different ways you can be lonely. But 一个人 is, once again, an almost child-like way of saying it. Before you have the vocabulary to express these complex emotions, 一个人 is a perfectly working expression. Translating it character-by-character, it means one singular person. It is something you say when you've been left behind. When you've been made to face everything by yourself. When the world is so, so, big, and you are just one singular person, with no companions to stand with you.

And, ah, Li Tianxi's Chinese nickname, 小希. It is the last character of her full name, with a "little" shoved right in front. It is an affectionate way to call someone younger than you. It is different from Xixi, its English rendition, because a repetition of the last character is a more generalized, affectionate nickname, whereas diminutives are almost always reserved for someone younger than you, when used in real life. The diminutive says don't be scared. I'm here now. I'll handle it.

There are endless details in Link Click that make everything about it seem a little bit more like home. The word 面馆 which means something a little, subtly different than "restaurant" or "noodles shop," a difference lost without the context of the phrase 下馆子 and the way adults say it with the gladness of once-children who only ate meat on new years. The "honorifics" as English calls them, to me more of just -- ingrained parts of someone's name. Within the snap of Mandarin syllables there is meaning and memory in every character. Jie, mei, di, ge, lao, da, xiao -- they are more than their literal meanings. They are a relationship, a promise.

Perhaps I am overthinking this, awkwardly Chinese as I am: too localized to be considered first-generation, too stubbornly attached to relate to second-generation. Maybe these linguistic subtleties only exist and matter in my mind, a writer of both languages (though I must say, my Chinese prose leaves… much to be desired) with a knack for pedantics. Regardless, I hope other Chinese fans of this show share this feeling. And surely, other people will, too. All the rural children who left home to pursue higher education and opportunities in faraway cities; the raised-in-poverty who spent their childhoods dreaming of buying their family new coats; the speakers of languages long since abandoned by their childhood friends. What a delight it is to see yourself in stories, neither exception nor abnormality but a norm. What a joy it is to be one of one point four billion.

[astrologydray]

Pallas through the degrees

Each degree gives Pallas a specific tone—some degrees make you a warrior strategist, others a silent psychic, a healer, or a visionary. These tell us how your brain sees the world’s patterns… and how you’re built to solve what others can’t.

0° – Bold and raw strategist; you jump into problems instinctively.

You trust your first hit of intuition and usually nail it before others finish processing.

1° – Strong-willed and fiercely independent in thought.

You’re devoted to your own logic and don’t wait for validation.

2° – Steady, grounded thinker; your intelligence moves slow but deep.

You don’t miss anything—especially when money, loyalty, or long-term value is involved.

3° – Mentally flexible and witty; you process everything through language and vibes.

You’re sharp in conversations and catch subtle patterns quickly.

4° – Deeply intuitive; your intelligence is emotionally rooted.

You read people’s moods and hidden needs without them ever saying a word.

5° – Creative problem solver with childlike spark.

Your strategy often involves humor, art, or playful genius.

6° – Precision thinker; you can spot the flaw in a system instantly.

You’re wired for service, health, and smart solutions that actually work.

7° – Balanced, aesthetic thinker; you see symmetry and fairness in everything.

You solve relational issues with clarity and grace.

8° – Intense psychological strategist.

You’re gifted at seeing what’s not being said—and using that to shift the whole dynamic.

9° – Expansive thinker; your wisdom is philosophical or global.

You’re great at connecting patterns across time, cultures, and beliefs.

10° – Structured, executive strategist.

You organize thoughts into blueprints for success—you’re made for leadership.

11° – Abstract thinker with a gift for innovation.

You’re a mental rebel, always scanning for a smarter, freer way forward.

12° – Quiet mystic; you receive patterns through feeling, not logic.

You download wisdom from the subtle or spiritual realm.

13° – Laser-focused and unshakable.

You’re not afraid of chaos—you can find the center and take control.

14° – Clever, adaptable, and always three steps ahead.

You’re a mental shapeshifter who solves problems with a joke or a twist.

15° – Charismatic and radiant thinker.

You shine when you’re expressing your vision creatively or publicly.

16° – Skillful, steady, and rooted in logic.

You’re great at mastering the basics and building smart, sustainable results.

17° – Diplomatic mind; you can charm and out-think at the same time.

You keep things fair but always strategic.

18° – Powerful, intuitive, and emotionally complex.

You work behind the scenes and can dismantle a problem from the inside out.

19° – Bold belief-based thinker.

You fight with facts and fire—and your opinions usually stick.

20° – Wise beyond your years with a CEO brain.

You apply ancient logic to modern goals, and people trust your judgment.

21° – Inventive thinker with a rebellious edge.

You challenge every norm and usually win.

22° – Quiet and fated intelligence.

Your wisdom feels karmic—almost like you’ve been solving the same soul puzzle for lifetimes.

23° – Imaginative strategist with a dreamy edge.

You solve problems through visuals, feelings, or fantasy worlds that make more sense than reality.

24° – Functional brilliance; you create efficiency like it’s art.

Your logic is beautiful, earthy, and helpful.

25° – Dramatic, compelling thinker.

You perform your intelligence and captivate people in the process.

26° – Deep strategist with a love of hidden systems.

You see patterns in power, pain, and transformation—and know how to work with all three.

27° – Visionary problem solver; you teach others how to think bigger.

Your wisdom is bold, clear, and influential.

28° – Structured and legacy-driven wisdom.

You’re here to make real moves with your mind and leave a mark through strategy.

29° – Karmic closure; you’ve been carrying this sacred intelligence across lifetimes.

Your pattern recognition is profound, and your solutions often feel final, fated, or deeply healing.

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair steps through the door after a long day of fishing, and he’s welcomed by the sight of you curled up on the loveseat, reading calmly as you were clearly waiting for him to return. 

you look up the moment he enters, your eyes lighting up. “finn,” you call out excitedly, abandoning your book on the old coffee table to go straight to his arms. 

as soon as you reach your lover, he engulfs you in his arms and squeezes you tightly without hesitation. his warm, sweaty body relaxes under your touch with a quiet sigh, and his chin comes to rest comfortably on top of your head. 

“i missed you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled as he turns to press a  tender kiss to your hair. “wish you’d come with me to the port. everything feels brighter when you’re near.”

you suppress a small groan. you have never enjoyed spending hours under the scorching sun, just waiting for some fish to finally take finnick’s bait. still, a flutter of excitement always stirs in your chest at the thought of spending an entire day with him. just picturing the gentle way he patiently would explain to you how to use the bait, the playful teasing, and the almost childlike competition you'd inevitably have over who catches the bigger fish, is enough to make you look forward to it.

life is short and fragile, especially alongside finnick. you never know when some tribute might push too far, giving president snow the perfect excuse to retaliate against all the victors, including your finnick. the two of you share an unspoken understanding. that snow was probably just waiting for the right moment to get rid of him without sparking a riot in his name. if anything ever happened to him, what you'd remember about that day would be the way finnick smiled enormously with pride after catching a big fish, not the mosquito bites or the sunburnt skin.

“i’ll join you next time, i promise,” you say softly, with no traces of dishonesty. you can’t help but cup his cheeks, gently admiring his adorable, sun-kissed face. his cheeks squishing in your hands are pink from hours spent outside. he probably skipped sunscreen again. later, he'll no doubt ask you to soothe his skin with ointment. his nose, just as pink as his cheeks, looks like it's silently asking to be kissed by you. his freckles adorning his face make you want to forget everything else and spend the rest of your days pressing soft kisses on every single one of them.

but it is his eyes that draw you in more than anything else. he has trained himself to maintain a facade, hiding any true feelings, because even the slightest flicker of disgust in the capitol could land him in serious trouble. but here, at home, not just in district four, but in your arms, is where he feels safe enough to let his emotions show openly. so when you look straight into his eyes, you see the pure adoration and deep devotion he holds for you. the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his pupils dilate makes you feel giddy, leaving you to wonder if you look just as enamored as he does right now. 

finally, you press a soft kiss to finnick’s lips for the first time since he walked through the door, and he melts in your hands. you don’t care about the strong smell of the fish he brought home, nor are you bothered by the sweatiness of his body. all you notice is the way his entire body relaxes, how his hands travel to your hips and pull you impossibly closer. his lips taste like comfort, like the peace you find in the ever-moving sea waves. his hand travels up and caresses your back soothingly, and it feels better than any sweet treat the capitol could ever offer. and his breath on your face leaves you dizzy in the best way.

when he finally pulls away, he lets out a quiet chuckle at the lovesick look on your face, teasing you playfully even though his own expression mirrors yours. “i love you,” he murmurs, his voice low. he then picks up the cooler he brought in and heads toward the kitchen, but not before you say it back. 

in the kitchen, you take charge of seasoning the fish while finnick gets the grill going. the conversation is endless, drifting from his complaints about being the tastiest meal for mosquitoes at the port to lighthearted bickering over what'd you name your imaginary family restaurant. that's when mags shows up for dinner like she always does, and finnick immediately ropes her into settling the debate. with a giggly smile, she disapproves of both names before pointing to the grill, where the fish are starting to burn. as the three of you sit down to devour the ones that didn't get burnt, you hum in satisfaction, savoring the precious moment as you quietly bury the unease growing in your chest about the approaching third quarter quell announcement.

[sturnioz]

about the one where fratboy!chris doesn't let shy!reader meet his family I THOUGHT ABT SOMETHING

sooo imagine chris's mom otp while he's with reader then reader gets her hopes up thinking chris would somehow mention who he's with right now but he doesn't and it ends up into reader with hurt feelings and chris just being an asshole like it's no big deal

i lowkey wanna be hurt rn GIMME ANGST

you're staring wide eyed at chris, completely captivated at the voice he uses to talk to marylou on the phone — his tone soft and gentle, almost childlike, and he grins at the words she speaks, his eyes twinkling with warmth, causing a smile to creep across your lips.

it's a side of him you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a flutter of admiration in your chest.

as he walks around his room, his phone cradled in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other, you're stuck watching how tenderly he engages with his mother. his expression constantly shifts between playful to genuine care and adoration.

"yeah, ma. everythin' is good," chris hums softly, placing his phone on the desk and pressing the speaker icon, allowing his mother's voice to fill the room. "classes are good too."

"and how is nick? has he been over recently?"

"y'know nick would rather die than come into the frat house—"

"oh, chris, you know i don't like you saying things like that to me. don't say that."

"sorry, ma," chris apologises sincerely, and you're taken aback by the softness in his tone. it's a complete contrast to the condescending way he usually speaks to you, often laced with sarcasm and mockery. the apology feels so genuine that it makes your heart flutter once more. "he doesn't like it here. prefers to meet up some place else."

"as long as you're seeing each other, that's all that matters," marylou says softly. "'cos your dad and i were worried that you wouldn't spend much time with him with your new living arrangements and all."

"no, no. we're good, we see each other a lot," chris reassures her as he pulls his jeans up his legs, threading his belt through the loops. "you don't need to worry, ma. i promise. we're actually goin' to get dinner tonight. nate's comin' along too."

you knew about the dinner tonight — though you weren't invited of course, you were all too aware of the plans.

"oh, nate," marylou coos softly at the mention of him. "and how is—"

her words are cut off when the book resting in your lap slips from your grasp and falls to the ground with a loud thud, causing chris' head to snap in your direction, momentarily pausing mid-motion.

he then grabs his plain white t-shirt, glaring at you as your lips form a tight-lipped, apologetic smile as you reach down to retrieve the book, your neck and cheeks burning with embarrassment. chris shakes his head at you with a quiet scoff, clearly unimpressed.

"is anyone there with you?" marylou asks curiously, her tone riddled with warmth and inviting.

your heart races as your head shoots up, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside you. you take a deep breath, ready to introduce yourself properly, hoping to make a good first impression.

"no. just some dumb frat kid next door makin' noise." chris immediately shuts it down, his tone dismissive, and your smile immediately drops from your face, a wave of discomfort twisting in your stomach and chest.

the disappointment stings more than you expected, and you can't help but feel small under his words. you tune out chris and marylou's conversation now, the warmth you felt just moments ago fading into an ache deep within you. mindlessly, you flip through the pages of you book, the words blurring together as your interest in that simmers too.

you don't even realise chris is saying goodbye to his mom, using a sweet tone that would have definitely made you swoon if you were paying attention. you completely miss the heartfelt 'i miss yous' and 'i love yous' shared between them too.

it's only when you feel the bed dip that your attention snaps back to reality, and you raise your gaze to see chris sitting on the edge, pulling on a pair of white socks before reaching for his black converse.

"m'gonna get matt to take you back to your place," chris announces nonchalantly, as if his earlier words hadn't left an impact. "gotta go that way t'get nick anyways."

"'kay." you reply, trying to keep your tone light.

chris twists his head to peer over his shoulder at you, his fingers busy tying his laces. his brows furrow in confusion as he stares at you. "what?"

you murmur back, "what?"

"whats the matter with you?" he asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. "actin' all weird on me. quieter than usual—"

"why didn't you tell your mom i was with you?" the question slips out before you can even think to stop it, a mix of hurt and vulnerability lacing your words.

chris gives you a look that makes you feel foolish, as if you've just asked the most ridiculous question. "why would i?"

his bluntness stings again, and you feel a flush of embarrassment wash over you. it's not just the question that bothers you; it's the slow realisation that he doesn't see how much you wish to be acknowledged, to be part of his world in a way that feels meaningful — more than a casual hook-up, maybe even as a friend.

you swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "i just thought... maybe it would be nice, is all."

chris shrugs, turning back to his shoes. "s'not a big deal, kid."

"it is to me." the words slip out before you can hold them back again, a somewhat desperate plea for an understanding.

"why?" he asks immediately, looking back at you once more. "it shouldn't mean shit to you."

"you know my mom," you state. "you... you've spoken to my mom before, and—"

"'cos that was your choice, kid. yeah? 'n this is my choice," he points to his chest to emphasis his words, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race. "y'want me to tell my mom that i've got some girl in my room? have her question shit? nah... i keep my family life separate to what i do here."

his words hit hard. you understand his need for boundaries, but it hurts to feel so easily dismissed, and the ache in your chest deepens. you want to argue back, to make him see your side, but the words catch in your throat and you fall silent,

[bamboobooshark]

Hiiii I just found your page and omg I love your writing so much. I actually did get into an argument with my friend, and I deactivated one of my intas cuz of it (long and stupid story) but it was really comforting to read Logan wanting to coddle and comfort someone yk

You can ignore the request if it makes you uncomfortable, but do you think you can write something where the reader doesn't really know or understand what regression is or why they feel this way so they isolate when they feel childish or playful or start annoying people without realizing it and Logan who loves and cares for them starts to miss them and is like wtf and helps them.

Thank you for your writing I hope you have an amazing day.

LOGAN HOWLETT X LITTLE!READER

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ☁️་༘ COMFORT & CONFUSION : 991 WRDS

<RATING : PG, VULENRABLE MOMENTS, CRYING>

A/N : Just a little note for Anon; I am so heavily greatful that my fic was able to bring you so much comfort. I hope you’re recovering well from what happened. Apologies for taking so long to get this out for you, I always get caught up in spilling and detailing my concepts that end up becoming full fics. I truly hope this fic is what you were hoping for <3 !!Warning for a pinch of angst and crying!!

You’ve been isolating yourself in your room since you woke up. You feel so confused with yourself, with your mind, with your feelings. You press your back against your headboard, legs crossed one on top of the other. You gently rock back and forth while struggling to understand how you’re feeling; why you’re feeling the way you do. Yeah, you’ve got a ton of energy right now. You feel like you’re letting your inner child express itself in your mind, yet you’re holding them in as best as possible. You’re terrified of annoying anyone by releasing those feelings, espically Logan. You bite and chew at your lips nervously as you rock a bit faster. Why? That’s the only question you can ask yourself right now. Over and over, your mind fills itself with nothing but confusion of why you feel like this, why you yearn to be so childish, why you’re scared of annoying Logan when he loves you unconditionally.

You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as the man knocks on the door. “Everything alright in there, kid,” he asks with his face pressed to the wood. God, the way he calls you kid only makes these foreign feelings harder to suppress. You choke back your tears before responding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just feeling a little down,” you reply with a tone that’s involuntarily soft and childlike. Logan raises his brows at the way you speak to him. You’ve never kept yourself away like this, but he’s been noticing a pattern lately. You isolate yourself the moment you wake up, beg him to leave you alone, and then come out quiet and reserved. He continues to press because he misses you so damn bad. He’s willing to do absolutely anything to get you in his arms again. “Please tell me what’s wrong, bub. I promise I’m not going to be upset with you,” he pleads with the softest tone he can force out of his throat. “I mean, I’d be more upset if you didn’t trust me with whatever you’ve got going on,” he chuckles akwardly.

You wipe your tears before inviting him in. The second he realizes that you’re crying, his lips form a frown and his eyes give you a sympathetic gaze. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I swear,” he scrambles to reassure you, sitting on your bed and pulling you into his arms. You let your cries get thicker once you lean into his. He smells so fatherly. His large, calloused hands make your entire body shiver with comfort. Everything about him is sending an unknown, unfamiliar feeling that you’ve been yearning for. You can’t even begin to imagine what to call it, but your body allows you to relax under his touch. “That’s it, baby. Let it all out. Tell me what’s up once you’re ready to,” he coos as his hands rub up and down your back. You nod against his chest, letting the thumping of his heartbeat soothe you.

You pull back from his embrace, but hold his hands in your own. His touch is what you’ve been needing. Scratch that, you’ve been needing Logan in general. You attempt to try and explain things, but you end up stammering and stuttering. “I’m sorry, Logan. I just — I don’t even know what to say,” you apologize while looking away from him. He squeezes your hands gently and sighs. “You don’t need to apologize, kid. I’ll be here as long as you need me to be. If I have to wait here for hours for you to get your thoughts together, I don’t mind. You know that, bub,” he tells you sincerely. You look at him and give him the best smile you can considering the circumstances.

You take a deep, shakey breath after a few minutes of silence before attempting to describe your feelings. “I’ve just been feeling like a child lately. I’ve had so much energy and excitement and joy for no reason. It’s so confusing and it’s scaring me Lo, it really is. I just want an answer,” you explain to him. His thumb rubs against your knuckles lovingly before he presses a silent kiss to your forehead. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry. You’ve got such a big heart, kid. I need you to understand that you don’t need to be afraid to let those feelings loose around me. I’ll love you no matter what,” he promises while holding your face in his hands so you’re looking at him. You nod gently, eyes glossy and wide from the way he comforts you so paternally. “I understand,” you mumble back, letting that same childlike voice slip. Logan gives you a gentle smile, failing to hold back a snicker. “Well would you look at that. You sound so little, baby. It’s adorable,” he says while attempting to hold himself back from squeezing your face. You giggle softly and shake your head no. “It’s not adorable, Lo,” you protest. Your stomach knots as you allow yourself to slip into this pure, innocent state. As soon as Logan begins to coddle you further, that knot unties itself and becomes a flutter in your heart. “If you deny anything else I say, I’ll have to find a way to get back at you for it. You’re too damn cute to not accept that you are,” he playfully threatens. “C’mere you sweet thing,” he growls as he pulls you into his lap. “No! Let me go,” you giggle sweetly, squirming in Logan’s arms despite wanting to stay right where you are forever. “I’m not letting you go, kid. You’re mine. My sweet little thing that I’ll protect with my life,” he declares before starting to pepper your face with soft kisses. You can feel him smiling like an idiot against your skin from the sound of your giggles, the way you smile, and the warmth of your face caused by him.

[kingkruell]

THINGS UNSAID, THINGS HELD | JJK MULTIPLE [DRABBLE]

SYNOPSIS - despite the doubt that gnaws at you relentlessly, he always finds a way to silence it. with every gesture, every word, every subtle, careful touch, he could just always bring you back from the edge of your insecurities. and you love him for that.

CONTENT- multiple! jjk characters x insecure! reader, satoru x reader, sukuna x reader, suguru x reader, choso x reader, domestic! jjk bfs au, fem! reader, mentions of getting cheated on, insecurities, bodily insecurities, angst-comfort, established relationships, and most importantly, fluff.

WORD COUNT 3.462

based on a request by @creepyn00dles, enjoy!

listening to candy says - the velvet underground

PART 1

GOJO SATORU

“okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “we’re not going out today.”

you tug at the hem of your halter top, fingers brushing the smooth fabric like you’re trying to will it to feel right against your skin. it’s a sleek white piece that hugs your curves just so right, at least it's supposed to be. it's one of those outfits you’d usually feel good in. but right now, the mirror feels almost unforgiving as it reflects back all the little doubts that have been clawing at you.

satoru’s head immediately pops through your doorway, his expression a mix of confusion and mild disbelief.

“what? no way. i’ve got everything planned, baby! i was so excited—first the aquarium, then a picnic. oh, and wait ‘til you—”

“i’m sorry, ‘toru. i just... don’t feel good right now.”

you avert your gaze, mumbling. his excitement—so sweet, so childlike—makes your stomach twist. guilt curls in your chest. the truth is, satoru has been swamped with work lately. it feels so selfish to just take away the one day you’ve finally carved out for yourselves, especially after weeks of looking forward to it.

the brightness in his eyes softens immediately, and he crosses the room in a few easy strides, his long fingers finding your shoulders with a gentle touch.

“hey, hey... you feeling sick?”

he leans down, forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice lower and surprisingly careful.

“want me to grab you something? medicine? hot chocolate? one of my shirts?”

you look away, your face warm with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“no, it’s... it’s not that. i just don’t feel good about... myself.” you mumble as you look away.

at that very second, gojo just can’t quite comprehend that you could not feel good about yourself.

he thinks—how could you not see it?

the way your eyes catch the light like something holy.

the way your laugh curls up at the edges, soft and unexpected, like the first warmth of spring.

the way your presence shifts the air in a room, quieting the noise in his head like nothing ever could.

to him, you’re gravity. you ground him in a world that often feels too fast, too fragile, too fake.

you’re the realest thing he’s ever known.

he watches you fold in on yourself, and it doesn’t make sense.

because to gojo, you’re everything.

and the idea that you’d ever see anything less in the mirror feels like some kind of cosmic error.

silence falls for a moment, and you can almost hear his thoughts whirring behind those crystalline eyes. then, with a softness that just feels his, satoru hooks a finger under your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. a faint, knowing smile curls at his lips.

“you know,” he starts, lips curling into that boyish, teasing smile, “you could wear a potato sack, and i’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing to ever walk this earth.”

despite yourself, a small laugh escapes, and satoru’s smile widens, triumphant.

he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. seeing your reaction pushes him even more.

“and it’s almost criminal how you’re underestimating yourself right now. you’re absolutely gorgeous—like, objectively. if beauty were a contest, everyone else would have to find a new hobby.”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics, but he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders relax just a little. satoru notices everything—even the things you don’t say.

“you’re just saying that.”

you huff it out, but he only shakes his head.

“seriously. i’d bet my sunglasses on it—and you know how much i love those. you’ve got this way of making everything brighter just by existing, and it’s a little unfair to the rest of the world.”

he tilts his head, his voice lowering to that rare, earnest timbre.

“look, we don’t have to go anywhere if you’re not feeling up for it. but just so you know... i’d still like to spend the day with you. i’m pretty sure watching movies in bed while you wear my hoodie sounds just as fun as the aquarium.”

he winks, squeezing your shoulders like he’s grounding you to the moment, his expression still holding that boyish charm, but now tinged with something softer.

“and if you ever forget how breathtaking you are, i’ll just have to remind you. repeatedly. relentlessly. until you get sick of me.”

the hint of a smile finds its way back to your lips, and he beams, clearly triumphant.

as you lean into his touch, he presses a quick, featherlight kiss to your forehead, his breath warm and reassuring.

“see? there’s that pretty smile i love. now, how about breakfast? i’ll make pancakes. you, me, and a day with just the two of us--whatever that looks like.”

you nod, finally allowing yourself to melt into his embrace, and he hums contentedly, already thinking out ways to see your beautiful smile for the rest of the day.

GETO SUGURU

it starts with the way you look at your reflection.

not hatefully. not even critically.

just like you’re searching for something, something you think should be there and isn’t.

but suguru sees it.

you don’t say anything when you step out of the bathroom. just towel-dried hair, a hoodie that isn’t yours, and that silence. that soft, invisible weight you think you’re hiding.

you dry your hands. exhale once, long and slow. and open the door.

he cheated because you weren’t enough.

because you stopped being exciting. because someone else was better.

you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it coming.

the apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of the air purifier and the quiet flipping of a page. suguru is exactly where you left him: on the couch, half-tucked into the corner, one leg folded underneath him, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he looks impossibly serene, black hair half-tied, jaw slack with ease. the kind of peace you still sometimes feel like you’re borrowing.

“you’re doing it again,” he says, without looking up.

you pause mid-step. “doing what?”

“looking at yourself like you’re a puzzle.” he casually flips a page. and you know he’s right.

you exhale, eyes flicking down. “you make it sound dramatic.”

he hums, finally looking at you now, eyes soft and unreadable all at once. “it is. because it’s you. and i don’t like when you go quiet like that.”

you don’t say anything. maybe because you don’t know how to explain it, the way the echoes of your past still show up uninvited. that ugly, lingering voice in the back of your mind: he cheated because you weren’t enough.

because you weren’t pretty enough. exciting enough. good enough.

you sit beside him, legs folded just shy of touching his

“i don’t want to be the insecure girlfriend,” you murmur eventually, half into your sleeves.

suguru closes the book with a quiet thud. sets the mug aside. and shifts to face you fully.

“then don’t be,” he says simply. “be mine instead.”

you blink. “that’s the same thing.”

“nah,” he smirks faintly, brushing the damp hair back behind your ear. “my girlfriend gets to feel things. even the shitty ones. especially the shitty ones. she also gets forehead kisses on demand, hoodie privileges, and my last piece of gum. so really, she’s winning.”

you huff a laugh and suguru grins.

but then, softer, his hand lingers at the side of your face. his thumb traces the curve of your cheek like it’s familiar ground.

“you know,” he says quietly, “he didn’t cheat because you lacked anything. he cheated because he did. because some people don’t know how to hold onto good things when they have them. and you... you're the kind of good people spend lifetimes trying to find again.”

you stare at him, throat tightening. even without saying it, he just knows, he knows you like the back of his hand.

“you say that like it’s obvious.”

“it is.” he leans in. “and if you ever forget again, i’ll just keep saying it. out loud. annoyingly. maybe even in public.”

“suguru—”

“oh, don’t test me. i’ll pull a megaphone on the train. ‘ladies and gentlemen, please look at my girlfriend, the love of my life, the reason the sun even bothers to rise—’”

you swat him with a pillow, the smug grin on his face only widens, like he’s won something. like your irritation is a gift he’s been waiting to unwrap.

“see? knew i could make you laugh,” he says, ducking another half-hearted swing with the grace of someone who’s used to dodging curses and flirty retaliation alike.

“you’re insufferable,” you mutter, though you’re smiling now, and he sees it. he always sees it.

he raises his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “and yet, here you are. voluntarily trapped on the couch with me. must be something in the hair.”

“it’s definitely not that.”

“rude.”

reaching across the narrow space between your bodies, and finds yours-his fingers slip between yours so easily it feels like something you’ve done a thousand times. maybe you have.

his palm is warm. solid. reassuring in a way that words never quite manage to be. he doesn’t squeeze right away. he just holds it. lets your hand settle there in his like it’s always belonged.

and when he does give the slightest squeeze; thumb brushing over the back of your hand like a spell—you feel something shift inside your chest. like maybe the pieces don’t hurt so much when they’re held like this.

“i’m not him,” he says.

you squeeze his hand.

“i know,” you whisper. and maybe this time, you really do.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you don’t mean for him to hear you.

not really.

it’s just a slip of a whisper, not even words, at first. a half-voiced sigh, the kind that carries weight without sound. but sukuna’s ears have always been sharp. nothing escapes him. especially you.

you’re standing at the edge of the bed, back to him, fingers fussing with the hem of your shirt — or maybe your skin beneath it. he can’t quite tell. your reflection in the darkened mirror looks like someone bracing for battle.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, quiet and strained.

he doesn’t bother denying it. “of course i am.”

you hesitate, shoulders drawing up. the shirt falls from your hands.

“you don’t have to,�� you murmur, almost too low for human ears. but you forget who you’re speaking to. “you don’t have to pretend.”

there’s a pause. his brow shifts, barely. “pretend what?”

“like i’m still…” you falter, lips parting soundlessly before closing again. the words wedge deep, too sharp to drag free easily. “…like i’m enough for you. like you still want me.”

the silence that follows is heavy. not absence — presence. thick with something unnamed, and watching.

then his voice cuts through it. low. and calm.

“are you fucking serious.”

you turn slowly, shoulders stiff, your face a carefully guarded mask. but the tension gives you away, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his, the way your posture coils like you’re expecting a blow, even if it’s only verbal. not from him. from the fear that maybe, somehow, you’re right.

he sits at the head of the bed, one knee drawn up, forearm slung over it lazily. like a king on his throne, but his gaze is far from idle. it pins. holds. not with rage. something quieter. something older.

sukuna tilts his head. there’s an edge of disbelief in his expression, tempered by a kind of dispassionate patience that makes you feel smaller than you’d like.

“woman. do you think i keep you here out of pity?”

you open your mouth. try to explain. but your voice sticks. the doubt’s too loud in your chest.

"it's just...i..maybe i am not enough, 'kuna."

he exhales, it almost sounds like a laugh, but it's more of a scoff twisted in disbelief. “i’ve erased bloodlines for lesser insults.”

“excuse me for being—human,” you snap, voice rising despite the sting behind your eyes. “i’m allowed to have doubts.”

he lifts a brow, unbothered. “doubts, yes. but let’s not confuse them for delusions.”

you turn away again, arms crossed tight over your chest, like you’re trying to hold something in — or hold yourself together.

“god, you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“mm,” he hums. “and you’re sulking in the moonlight like a tragic little thing. do you really expect me to ignore it?”

“i’m not sulking.”

“you’re absolutely sulking.”

your spine stiffens. you whip around, jaw clenched. “why do you even care?”

he’s on his feet before the words finish echoing, fast and fluid, like something coiled finally springing. you barely register the movement before he’s standing before you, too close. towering. calm.

his hand lifts, slow, almost cautious. the gesture contrasts the weight of his presence; all fire and ruin. his thumb brushes your cheek. just barely. like he’s testing the edges.

“i care,” he says, soft but firm, “because it offends me to think anyone else has ever made you feel uncertain of what’s mine.”

your breath catches, unsteady.

his touch trails lower, to the curve of your jaw, anchoring you. his voice dips into something quieter. he doesn’t raise it. he never has to.

“you think some idiot who didn’t know how to hold you gets to decide how you see yourself now? after everything you’ve endured? after surviving me?”

there’s heat behind your eyes, and you hate it. but it’s there. he sees it. of course he does.

he leans in — not enough to touch, not quite. but close enough that the space between you feels intimate. unavoidable.

“i want you,” he says. “every version. every scar. every fury and ache and tenderness. i want you when you’re sharp and untouchable. and i want you when you’re unraveling.”

his thumb tips your chin up. not a demand. a nudge.

“do you understand me?”

you nod, slow, trembling beneath it all. but it’s not enough for him.

“use your words.”

“…yes,” you breathe.

his eyes narrow, testing.

“yes, i understand.”

he studies you a beat longer. then, apparently satisfied, he exhales through his nose and tugs you forward until your forehead rests against his collarbone. his arms curl around you, slow, sure, possessive.

“good,” he murmurs. “now stop sulking before i decide to strangle you for real.”

a muffled laugh escapes you before you can stop it as his arms tighten. he’s pleased. like he’s claimed something.

maybe he has.

because when he walks you back to the bed, not forceful, just certain, when he pulls the covers over your limbs with finality, when he gathers you into him like a crown too precious for the world to touch, something inside you finally lets go.

you’re not too much.

you’re not not enough.

you are his.

and in sukuna’s world, what’s his is sacred.

KAMO CHOSO

the apartment settles into quiet like it always does, the hum of the heater, the faint clink of dishes cooling in the sink, the silence pressed soft and heavy between two bodies that haven’t spoken in a while.

you’re still in your going-out clothes. makeup smudged, jewelry half-removed, hair pulled back like you couldn’t stand the weight of it anymore. your reflection in the blank tv screen looks tired. stretched thin at the edges. like you were holding something in all night and now it’s coming loose.

you don’t know why it hit so hard. the party wasn’t bad. no one was cruel. everyone smiled at the right moments. choso stayed close, his hand on the small of your back, his expression unreadable in that way of his, not cold, just hard to reach.

but somewhere between the sixth inside joke you didn’t understand and the third time someone interrupted you mid-sentence, something small in you began to crack.

and now it’s all rushing out at once. not in sobs. not in tears.

just in the quiet, gnawing doubt you thought you’d buried years ago.

you sit on the couch, knees pulled up, eyes unfocused. choso is in the kitchen, rinsing the last of the glasses from earlier — sleeves rolled up, movements slow, methodical. like cleaning gives him something to hold on to.

he doesn’t speak right away when he comes back. just stands in the doorway for a beat too long, watching you. you don’t have to look to know. he’s always watching when you go quiet.

you hate how much that makes you want to cry.

you don’t mean to say it aloud.

but you do.

“i must’ve seemed off tonight.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just watches you, the way he always does.

so you go on. too soft. too fast.

“i don’t blame you if you were embarrassed.”

his brows draws together like he doesn't understand. because of course he doesn't, not in the way you do, where you've been second guessing yourself since you were thirteen.

he moves then, slow, silent steps across the room. the kind of movement that would startle if it weren’t so careful, so practiced. like he’s always had to be mindful of how much space he takes up. he sinks onto the couch beside you, his weight pulling the cushions down. you feel the shift. the warmth. he doesn’t touch you. just sits close enough for the heat of him to remind you you’re not alone.

still, he says nothing.

you glance sideways. he’s staring at the floor.

his jaw is tight. the silence stretches, soft and sharp. like the space between lightning and thunder.

and then he lifts his head. slowly. looks at you like he’s just heard something he doesn’t understand , something that doesn’t make sense in a language he thought he was fluent in.

his brow furrows.

not in confusion.

in disbelief.

he blinks once, like trying to clear it. like he’s checking if you’re serious.

“embarrassed?” he echoes, voice quiet. “by you?”

you draw your arms tighter around your legs. press your cheek to your knee. and you hate how you feel yourself closing in, folding smaller and smaller. like if you keep still enough, the lingering doubt won't bloom even further the way it always does. like you can trap it in your lungs and exhale it later.

“everyone else is so easy,” you say. “they talk without thinking. they laugh and it sounds real. i’m just… trying not to say the wrong thing. or too much. or not enough.”

and then he laughs. not because it’s funny. not because he’s mocking you. it’s short. breathless. a sound cut from the middle of a scoff. like something in him can't quite process the absurdity of it.

he rubs a hand down his face. then over his mouth. still shaking his head, eyes dark.

you feel your chest tighten, shame curling in your throat. you don’t know why it hurts more that he’s reacting like this — like the thought alone unsettles him.

then, softly:

“is that really what you think?”

he turns to face you, full now. and you can see it all, up close: the flicker of frustration, the rawness underneath it. but it’s not aimed at you. not even a little.

he looks at you like someone trying to remember how to breathe.

and suddenly, you realize —

he doesn’t know how to do this. not the talking, not the gentle, not the naming of feelings. but he’s trying. hard.

you nod. just once. small. shame creeping up your neck.

his hand moves before he even seems to decide it — just a touch to your arm, the back of his fingers grazing your sleeve. like he wants to make sure you’re real.

“you were the only person in that room,” he says,“who didn’t want something from me.”

you look up.

his eyes don’t flinch.

“you weren’t trying to be impressive. or charming. or easy to like.”

he swallows.

“you were just being you. and i couldn’t stop looking.”

your breath hitches. it’s not the words, it’s the way they sit in the air between you. like they were carved instead of spoken.

his thumb brushes the inside of your wrist, hesitant

and then quieter, he says almost to himself, “i didn’t know it was possible to want someone this much and still think it’s not enough.”

you don’t mean to cry, but your eyes burn. his other hand comes up slowly, touches your jaw. his thumb rests just under your cheekbone, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.and he leans in, not to kiss, but just to rest his forehead lightly against yours. grounding. still.

“i’m not that good at this,” he breathes.

you nod. whisper, “i know.”

“but i’m not leaving,” he says.

not a promise. not a reassurance.

a fact.

he draws you in, finally, arms wrapping around you like a barrier against the rest of the world. not tight, but firm. like the way people hold onto the only thing that’s ever made sense. you press your face into his shoulder, and he smells like laundry soap and warmth and the faintest trace of clove from the candle.

neither of you speaks after that.

he doesn’t need to.

the room hums around you: gentle, lived-in, dim.

and for the first time that night, you let yourself belong.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Storge

Summary: When one spoke of the Lannisters, the last thing that came to the mind of anyone was familial love.

A/N: I apologize to everyone still waiting on pt 5 of Loving Arms, a lot has been going on in my personal life and I only had the energy to finish this one up. Hopefully this sort of makes up for it.

It had been a long journey for the pair, almost 5 months since the day that Jaime’s younger sister had turned five and ten name days old. The longest journey that the young girl had ever experienced in her life, spending much of it behind the walls of the Red Keep.

Despite the opposition from Cersei and Tywin, King Robert had a grand celebration done to celebrate the girl as he held a fondness for his slightly strange and quiet sister by law. It should have been a time of merriment, but only a Lannister like Tywin could find a way to bring the mood down when he had both Jaime and (Y/N) brought to his study to tell them that he intended on marrying his youngest daughter to the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. 

Immediately both Jaime and (Y/N) were opposed to the idea of the girl marrying the man, it was an inconceivable thought. But there was little love from Tywin for his youngest daughter, born from a brief marriage, who only served as a reminder of being the wrong sex and cause of him losing another wife. It was a mere miracle that their pleading seemed to do anything and the Lannister patriarch agreed that if they could somehow convince the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to agree to a match, then he would leave the girl be. 

As they ride towards Winterfell with the cold air biting at their faces, Jaime can't help but feel a sense of unease the closer they get to it. In his mind, he is already planning out how to make this proposal of having young Robb Stark and his younger sister marry, sound as appealing as possible to Ned Stark. The man has always been a man of honor, but his disdain for Lannisters runs deep. 

Jaime can't help but glance at his sister, her small frame huddled against the cold and heavily bundled with her cloak and furs. His protective instincts kick in, and he can't help but feel a pang of worry for her safety. There was a part of him that wished he had tried harder to have her stay behind, but another part of him knew that leaving her in the care of either of Cersei or his Father was out of the question. He figured it would be better to keep a closer eye on her as they approach Winterfell, his hand always ready to reach for his sword in case of danger and awareness that should she feel any colder, that he was sure that he had an additional cloak.

The snow begins to fall softly and (Y/N) looks up at the sky in childish wonder, so accustomed to the warm weather and heat, it wasn’t a surprise that she stopped her horse to stare. And Jaime can't help but smile at her awe, her expression filled with a wonder at seeing snow for the first time was one that he had missed. It filled him with regret that he had not been able to ensure that it was a constant for her and he watches her for a moment, the snowflakes catching in her hair and on her eyelashes.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he mutters, his voice affectionate.

“Very pretty!” she says as snowflakes fall on her hair.

He chuckles at her excitement, her childlike wonder making him smile. 

"Careful, sweetling. You'll get covered in snow and we don’t want to risk you falling ill,” he mutters, reaching out to brush some snowflakes from her hair.

“But it's so nice Jaime!” she giggles but ultimately listened to her brother and put up the hood of her cloak.

Jaime grins at her words, her laughter filling the air. It's refreshing to see her so happy, so carefree, despite the daunting task that awaits them at Winterfell.

"Just be careful not to catch a cold," he mutters, his tone affectionate as he watches her put up her hood. "We don't need you sniffling and sneezing all the way to Winterfell."

But as they draw closer to Winterfell, Jaime can feel his nerves starting to fray as the anxious thoughts swirl in his mind. He reaches down to grip the pommel of his sword, his heartbeat picking up speed. He glances at his sister, who is looking up at Winterfell with wide eyes.

"Almost there, sweetling. Just stick close to me, alright?"

She nods but her excitement doesn’t fade. 

Jaime leads her closer to the gates of Winterfell, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of trouble as the horses trundle through. It is obvious to everyone that the Lannister siblings aren’t from there and the guards look at them with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, more so when they recognize the Lannister sigil on their cloaks. Jamie can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing as the guards call out for them to halt.

He reins in his horse as they approach the guards at the gate, his voice firm and commanding.

"We seek an audience with Lord Stark. Tell him Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with him."

One of the guards goes inside, and the remaining guard keeps a watchful eye on them, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Jaime tries to ignore the man's watchful gaze, his mind racing as he waits for Ned Stark's response. After some time had passes that felt like an eternity, the guard returns, a serious expression on his face.

"Lord Stark will see you," he says gruffly, his eyes flickering over Jaime and his sister.

The guard leads the way through the gates, and Jaime follows suite with his sister close behind him. The castle of Winterfell looms above them, its massive stones casting a massive shadow. The elder Lannister glances towards his sister, seeing the nervous look on her face and reaches back to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Do you think it’s warmer than it looks?” she asks.

Jaime can't help but chuckle at her question, the innocence in her voice making his heart ache. He glances up at the imposing structure of Winterfell, the stone walls and turrets seeming to reach up to the very clouds themselves.

"Trust me, sweetling. Nothing can keep out the cold in the North. It's as cold as a witch's teat in there."

Jaime can't help but smile at her giggle, her laughter like a balm against his nerves. 

“That’s not a proper joke to be making, Jaime” she laughs while trying to draw closer to her older brother.

"Just keep your cloak on tight, alright? We don't want you freezing to death before we even get inside."

She nods and tightens her cloak. Not far off they can see Ned Stark waiting for them. As they approach Lord Stark, Jaime can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the man's stern expression and steely gaze making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His sister shrinks back a little, her small frame dwarfed beneath her cloak.

"Lord Stark," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "I appreciate you taking the time to see us."

Ned Stark nods at Jaime but looks at the girl curiously, “This is no place for such a young girl, why did you bring the little lion cub along?”

Jaime takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with a convincing explanation. He can feel his sister's small hand gripping his, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a sword.

"She insisted on coming, Stark,” he replies, trying to keep his voice calm. "She's... she's always had a stubborn streak. There was no talking her out of it."

The young girl jumps down from her horse before anyone can help her down and curtsies in front of Ned Stark, “It's very nice to meet you ser.”

Ned Stark glances down at her, his stern expression softening a little at the sight of her curtsy. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and wide eyes.

"And what is your name, child?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“(Y/N), ser” she says softly.

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her response, clearly taken aback by the name. He glances at Jaime, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “(Y/N)? That’s quite a different name, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound very Lannister” he repeats, his voice tinged with curiosity now. 

Jaime nods, “Her mother wanted something different than the usual Lannister names”

Ned Stark's expression softens a little more at the mention of her late mother, his voice taking on a slightly warmer tone. "I see. And how old are you, Little Lioness?"

She brightens, “I had my five and tenth birthday not that long ago ser”

Ned Stark's eyebrows raise at her response, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Five and tenth? You're nearly a woman grown then, Little Lioness," he says, his voice slightly amused.

“Yes ser, and that's a little of why my brother and I are here.”

Ned Stark glances at Jamie, his expression becoming serious again. "Is that so?" he says, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What is it then that brings the two of you all the way to Winterfell?"

Before either of the siblings can respond, she lets out a small high pitched sneeze and sniffles. Ned Stark looks down at her, his expression softening at the sight of her sneezing and sniffling. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes.

"It's cold out here, Little Lioness. Perhaps it's best we go inside and speak in the warmth."

“Yes, please!” she thanks.

Ned Stark nods and leads the way towards the entrance of Winterfell, the massive doors opening to let them in. The heat of the castle envelops them, and Jaime can feel his sister relaxing as the cold air is left behind. The Lord of Winterfell leads them into what must have been his private study, a fire burning in the massive fireplace. He gestures for them to take a seat at a table, and takes a seat across from them, his expression betraying nothing. The man says nothing as he watches Jaime pulls out a chair and helps his sister sit, his expression softening again at the gesture. He watches the two of them for a moment before speaking.

"So," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "What is it you wish to speak about?"

She looks nervously at her older brother and Jaime can feel the tension in the air, his sister's small form fidgeting nervously. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with the right words.

"We have a proposition to make, my lord," he says, his voice steady but his heart hammering in his chest.

Ned Stark leans back in his seat, his expression guarded. He folds his arms across his broad chest and regards them both with a serious gaze.

"Go on, then," he says gruffly.

Jaime takes another deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he knows there is no going back if they were to make their proposition. But with a glance at his sister, her eyes wide and nervous, and his protectiveness towards her only strengthens his resolve. He looks back at Ned Stark, bracing himself.

"We wish to propose a marriage."

An expression of surprise washes over Ned Stark, “For whom?”

Jaime swallows hard, his heart feeling like it's stuck in his throat. He knew this was the difficult part, the part that would decide it all. "For my sister," he says, his voice steady but firm. "With your son."

Ned Stark's expression darkens at the mention of his son, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and perhaps anger.

“With my son? Robb?”

Seeming to notice the man’s anger, (Y/N) interjects quietly, “Yes ser! But it was my idea, so please don't be angry with my brother.” 

Ned Stark's expression softens somewhat at her words, his stern gaze shifting to regard her instead of Jaime. "It was your idea, you say?" he says, his voice still gruff but lacking some of the anger it had before.

“Yes, ser. I heard Starks were honorable.”

Ned Stark's expression softens further at her words, his voice taking on a slight hint of warmth. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes taking in her small form and earnest expression.

"And what led you to this conclusion, Little Lioness?"

“Very little ser, all my knowledge comes from books of history and rumors,” she says, “I hoped that the stories were true.”

Ned Stark's expression softens even more at her honesty, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're a well-read young lady, it seems," he says, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "But what makes you think I would even consider this proposal, let alone to a Lannister?"

Jaime looks at his sister, and feels a pang of sympathy for her. Her wide eyes are pleading him to reassure her, and he can feel the weight of Ned Stark's gaze on him. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to defend her proposal.

"Please, he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hear her out before you make a decision."

Ned Stark glances back and forth between them, his expression still stern but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. He leans back in his seat, signaling that he is willing to listen.

“Our houses have had animosity for a long time, but I know we could accomplish much together” she says with as much confidence as she can muster, “and I also have a slight selfish reason for this betrothal as well.” 

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her words, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity. He gestures for her to continue, clearly intrigued by her statement. 

She fidgets with her skirt and shrinks in her seat, “Um.... before we came here, my father hoped to marry me off to the Mountain.” 

Ned Stark's expression darkens immediately at her words, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"The Mountain? You mean Gregor Clegane?" he growls, disbelief and anger clear in his voice.

“Yes ser, to thank him for his service to our family.” 

Ned Stark's expression is now one of absolute disgust, his hands balled into fists of outrage."You cannot be serious," he snaps. "To betroth a young girl to a man like Clegane... it's monstrous."

“It's why I then suggested your son, I thought if he was raised by a man like you, perhaps I could find some happiness” she murmurs. “And my father said if you somehow accepted, then he would not intervene.”

Ned Stark's expression softens, his anger subsiding a little at the girl's words. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and now the hint of desperation in her voice. "You wish to escape a marriage with the Mountain, and see my son as a suitable alternative," he says, his voice quiet but still firm.

“Yes ser.”

Ned Stark considers her for a long moment, his expression betraying a hint of sympathy now. He glances at Jaime for a moment, clearly weighing the situation in his mind.

"I see," he says slowly. "You understand this is a very serious proposal, don't you? Do you understand what it would mean if I agreed?"

“If I said yes, I would be lying” she says. “One thing is reading about such things and it's another to truly do them.” 

Ned Stark nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Little Lioness," he says, his voice gruff but kind. "It takes a lot to admit such things, and it's a better quality than most people have."

He leans back in his seat, resting his chin on his fist as he contemplates the girl in front of him. He glances back and forth between the two Lannister siblings for a long moment, his mind clearly searching for a way forward. Finally, he speaks.

"I will give you an answer by the start of the new year," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "In the meantime, you will be welcome here at Winterfell as my guests."

She lets out a small sigh of relief and looks to Jaime. 

Jaime feels a weight lift off his shoulders at Ned Stark's answer. He smiles back at his sister, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude to the Northern lord. "Thank you, Stark,” he says, his voice firm but honest. "We are most grateful for your hospitality."

“Thank you! thank you!” She says gratefully. 

The Lord of Winterfell nods at her, a slight smile flickering across his lips. "You're very welcome, Little Lioness," he says, his voice taking on a hint of gentleness. "But now, perhaps you should rest from your journey. You look quite exhausted."

But in that moment a knock comes at the door. All three of them turn their heads at the knock, and Jaime feels a flicker of curiosity.

"Who is it?" Lord Stark calls out.

“Father, may I come in?” calls out a voice belonging to a young man. 

Ned Stark looks at the door, a flicker of surprise across his face. He looks at Jaime and the girl for a moment before answering. "Come in," he calls out gruffly.

Jaime watches as none other than Robb Stark enters the room, his eyes taking in the Stark heir. The young man looks a lot like his father, with the same stern expression and strong stature, but of course must take some after his mother judging by the boy’s auburn curls.

Surprise is etched on Robb’s face, “Oh, I apologize Father. I had no idea that we had guests.”

Ned Stark shakes his head, a slight smile on his face at his son's trepidation. "No need to apologize, Robb," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "These are two of our guests from King's Landing, Ser Jaime Lannister and his sister, (Y/N).”

Robb's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of their names, his gaze flitting between Jaime and the girl. He glances at his father, a hundred questions clearly running through his mind.

Ned Stark gestures for his son to come closer, "Why did you need to talk to me, son?" he asks, his eyes watching Robb carefully.

“We can discuss it later,” he says, his gaze on the Lannister girl making her blush. 

Jaime notices right away as Robb's gaze has fixed on the girl, and he feels a flare of protectiveness towards her. He glances towards his sister, and notices the blush creeping into her cheeks under the Stark boy's gaze. Ned Stark notices the interaction between them as well, his eyes flicker between Robb and the girl for a moment. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he remains silent, his gaze watchful.

“Hello, it's nice to meet you” Robb tells her as he offers a polite bow. 

The girl looks up as Robb speaks, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She blushes deeper under his gaze, but manages to speak quietly. "It's nice to meet you too," she says, her voice soft and shy.

Jaime watches as they speak, his eyes flickering between them. He can sense the interest in Robb's gaze, and the shy reaction from his sister. His protective instincts flare up within him, but he holds his tongue for now.

“Could I perhaps escort you to supper?” Robb asks her.  

The girl looks up at Robb, surprise and excitement in her eyes. She turns to her older brother, clearly seeking his approval. Jaime would have preferred to escort her himself but nods slightly, silently giving his consent. He watches as she turns back to Robb, her voice still very slightly nervous.

"I... yes, I would like that," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Robb and the girl bow and curtsy respectively to the adults in the room then head towards the dining hall, arm in arm with bashful smiles on their faces.

Ned Stark watches as the two young people leave the room, his expression a mix of contemplation and slight amusement. He turns to Jaime, the slight smile still present on his face. "He's taken a shine to her, it seems," he notes, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“Yes,” Jaimes says. “I suppose that's a good thing.”

Ned Stark nods slowly, his eyes still contemplating the doorway where the youngsters had just exited. He turns back to Jaime, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Do you approve, Ser?" he asks, a hint of a challenge in his words.

“Of all of this?” 

“As my sister said before, if I'm honest, I don't know” Jaime says as he attempts to keep the worry from his tone. 

Ned Stark's expression softens slightly at Jaime's words, sensing the worry in his voice. He takes a deep breath and looks at him with a steady gaze.

"I understand your concerns," he says. "But I assure you, I would never allow your sister to be mistreated or unhappy. I have no love for your family, but she seems an innocent in all of this. And my son is a good, honorable man."

“I have no doubts that your son could come to love her, my sweet sister isn't hard to love,” Jaime says softly. “I just wish that I had more time.”

Ned Stark's expression falters at Jaime's words, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "Time is a luxury we don't always have in life," he says, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes we have to make the best decisions with the information and time we have. It's clear you care for your sister's happiness. But you also need to trust her, and in this instance my family. Do you think you can do that?"

“I have no choice but to do so,” Jaime says honestly. “She's been through much at the hands of family and I would hope this is better for her.”

Ned Stark nods slowly in understanding, his expression solemn but sympathetic. "I know you want what's best for her," he says, his voice carrying a hint of compassion. "And I assure you, I will do everything in my power to ensure she is treated fairly and with respect."

“Thank you.” He says sincerely, “Now, should we follow the youngsters and make sure they behave?”

Ned Stark lets out a soft chuckle at Jaime's words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I think that would be wise," he says, standing up from his seat. "They are young and full of excitement, after all. Let us see how they are getting along."

Together, Ned Stark and Jaime exit the private study and walk towards the dining hall, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. They can hear the distant sound of laughter and chatter coming from the hall as they approach, indicating that the youngsters are already well into their supper. The two men step into the hall and are met with the sight of Robb and the girl sitting beside each other at one of the tables. They are deep in conversation, the girl occasionally laughing at something Robb says. They are clearly enjoying each other's company, their faces lit up with smiles. 

There is a slight dreamy look on Robb's face when the girl speaks and Jaime is quick to notice expression on the young Stark’s face as his sister speaks, a hint of surprise registering on his face. He watches the young couple for a few moments longer, a mixture of emotions warring within him. 

But in a brief moment, she notices her brother. “Jaime, Robb was just telling me of how his sword training is going.”

Jaime turns his attention to the young couple as the girl speaks, hiseyes flickering between them. He forces a faint smile onto his face, masking his internal conflict.

"Ah, yes," he says, a hint of forced cheerfulness in his voice. "I had my own share of sword training in my youth. I trust Robb is doing well?"

“Yes! In fact with more practice he could be as good as you” (Y/N) says with a bright smile.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the compliment, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. "Is that so?" he says, a hint of a smile curling on his lips. "Quite a high praise, to be compared to a knight of the Kingsguard."

She blushes and smiles at Robb once more. While Robb doesn’t hesitate to grin back at the girl, clearly enjoying the attention. He casts a quick look at Jaime, a hint of respect in his eyes, before returning his gaze to the girl.

Ned clasps a hand on his son's shoulder, “You both seem to be getting along well.”

Robb looks up at his father, a hint of embarrassment on his face at being interrupted. "Yes, Father," he says, his voice slightly sheepish. "We were just discussing our love of swordplay."

Ned smiles at his son, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I see," he says. "And have you been able to impress the lady with your skills?"

Robb blushes, a hint of bashfulness creeping across his face. He glances at the girl before turning back to his father. "I've certainly been trying," he says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "She seems to be enjoying it, though."

She giggles shyly, while her brother can’t help but roll his eyes at the twitter patted boys attempts at smooth talking.

Ned chuckles softly at the reaction of the girl and her brother. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes. "It seems the young lovebirds are getting along splendidly," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

The two youngsters are all bashful smiles and clearly in the beginnings of perhaps something more.And Jaime watches the two youngsters for a moment longer, a slight smile on his face at their bashful reaction. He steals a glance at Ned, silently expressing his understanding and resignation to the situation.

Time passes by and as the new year approaches, Winterfell becomes alive with preparations for the celebrations. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation, the snow falling outside adding a soft, magical touch to the castle. Ned Stark seems more lighthearted than usual, clearly anticipating the festivities to come. The evening of the New Year's Eve, the great hall of Winterfell is buzzing with activity. Servants hurry back and forth, ensuring everything is in order for the celebration that will soon begin. A sense of excitement and anticipation hangs in the air, making it almost electric. 

But for the Lannister siblings, their time in Winterfell had been a combination of a well deserved respite from their family and a mounting hope that their proposal would be accepted. The number of ravens that they had received from both Cersei and Tywin were far too many, and it only served to further increase their worry in the midst of their interactions with the Starks. As much as (Y/N) had enjoyed her time with Robb, speaking with Jon and the Stark children, and even interacting some with Catelyn and Ned, there was always that worry in her mind that it could all be pulled away should Lord Stark not agree to a marriage between her and Robb. While Jaime did his best to stall his sister and father for a response as best he could, because the last thing he wanted for his young sister carted off and married to a beast like Gregor Clegane. 

But they would soon know that particular evening if all of their effort would bear fruition. 

That evening Jaime helps his sister with her dress, adjusting it carefully. He casts a glance at the window, seeing the snow falling gently outside. The sound of chatter and laughter in the great hall can be faintly heard, adding to the atmosphere of festivity and celebration.

“Jaime?” 

He turns his attention to his sister as she speaks, noting the slight hesitation in her voice. "Yes, dear sister?" he says, his voice soft and patient.

“Do you think this is what it will be like, if Ned Stark accepts the betrothal?”

Jaime sighs slightly, his expression turning pensive as he considers her question. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with the answer. "It's hard to say, sweetling, he says after a moment. "Ned Stark is a man of honor and duty. I don't doubt he'll live up to his word and treat you well. But the north is a cold and hard place, and life here will be much different than you're used to in the south."

She blushes, “Robb has been very kind in the time that we have been here.”

Jaime nods, a hint of resignation in his expression. "Yes, Robb seems to be a good young man," he says. "He's clearly smitten with you, it seems."

“Jaime!” She says shyly, embarrassed with her brother’s teasing. 

Jaime can't help but let a slight smile slip across his face at his sister's bashful reaction. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "It's alright, sweetling,” he says, his voice softening. "I'm just teasing you."

Her face scrunched a little in thought, “Would you be able to stay, even if I was to marry Robb?”

Jaime's expression turns serious at the question, his eyes meeting his sister's. He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn by the emotions the question brings up. "I... I can't say," he says after a moment. "My place is with the Kingsguard, as you know. I have taken vows to the King, and my duty to protect him comes first."

“Oh…” 

His heart sinks as he sees the disappointment on his sister's face. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice thick with sincere apology. "I understand if that's not the answer you wanted to hear."

“I would miss you,” she whispers. 

Jaime feels a pang of guilt at his sister's words, but he knows he cannot promise her a different future. He takes her hand in his, his fingers gently gripping hers. "I would miss you too," he says sincerely. "And I will always be here for you, no matter what. I promise you that."

“Even if I stay with Robb?” Her eyes wide and pleading.

Jaime nods, his expression firm but sincere. "Even if you stay with Robb," he says, his voice steady. "I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. You are my sister, and I will always love and protect you."

She smiles tearfully and hugs him tightly.Jaime hugs her back just as fiercely, his strong arms encircling her and holding her closely. He gently rests his chin on top of her head, his expression a mix of protectiveness and melancholy. He felt a little sentimental holding her in his arms, remembering a time when she used to fit in his hold, a small babe that sought him out even back then.

He closes his eyes for a moment, his grip on his sister tightening ever so slightly in a mixture of loving protectiveness and reluctant resignation. He struggles to reconcile his dual role as a Kingsguard and protector, and that of a brother who loves his sister dearly. He knows that she would be safe and taken care of with the Starks, but the thought of her being so far from him is bittersweet.

Finally, he draws back from the hug, his expression composed but betraying a hint of melancholy. "Come now, we should head to the feast," he says, his voice slightly rough. "We wouldn't want to be late to the celebration."

She twirls in her dress and smiles, “Do you think he will like it?” 

Jaime gives his sister a look that is part playful and part sincere. He runs his gaze over her figure, taking in the way the dress only serves to accentuate her beauty. "If he doesn't, he's a bigger fool than I thought," he says with a faint smirk.

She's bashful at his compliment, “Thank you Jaime, you're a really good brother”

Jaime's smirk softens into a fond smile at his sister’s kind words. He reaches out to pat her head gently, an affectionate gesture. "You're an irritating, yet lovable, little sister," he teases, his tone warm and affectionate. "Of course I'm going to be a good brother to you." He stands up and offers his arm to his sister. "Are you ready to join the celebration now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes betraying the hint of melancholy that still lingers within him.

“Ready as I can be,” she says nervously. “But you will be with me, so I know that I will be okay.”

Jaime offers his sister a reassuring smile as he takes her arm. "I'll be here with you every step of the way," he says, his voice firm and comforting. "You won't be alone, I promise."

With that, the Lannister siblings make their way to the festivities where they can hear the music, laughter and more. Jaime leads his sister into the great hall, his steps confident and measured. The atmosphere inside the hall is one of gaiety and celebration, with musicians playing lively tunes, servants hurrying back and forth, and the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. The elder of the siblings spots Ned Stark across the room and gives him a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his sister. But her eyes are on Robb as he talks to his own brother, flustered as she looks to the younger Stark.

Jaime follows his sister's gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, amused by the sight. "Looks like someone has caught your eye, sister," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

“When we arrived, I didn't think I would fall for him as quick as I did,” her gaze never moves “but I'm glad it was him.”

Jaime glances between his sister and Robb, his expression softening slightly as he sees the smitten look on her face. "He seems a good-natured enough lad," he says, a hint of approval in his voice. "And he clearly has eyes for you as well. I can tell by the way he looks at you."

As he says that Robb turns in their direction when Jon points in their direction, and the boy has an awe struck look.Jaime can't help but chuckle slightly as Robb looks in their direction, the young man's smitten expression clear on his face.

"See what I mean?" he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He's utterly taken with you, sister. It's almost embarrassing to see."

She fidgets a little beside him, “Should I ask him to dance or wait until he asks me?”

Jaime considers the question for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If I know anything about young men like Robb Stark, he's likely too bashful to gather up the courage to ask you to dance on his own," he says with a smirk. "So if you truly want to dance, you'll have to take the initiative and ask him yourself."

She looks unsure of herself and turns to him; seeing the uncertainty on his sister's face, Jaime gently takes the lead, guiding her through the crowd and towards where Robb Stark is standing. He gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her arm gently, his tone reassuring.

"Don't be nervous," he murmurs to her. "You look beautiful, and he's clearly smitten with you. Just ask him to dance, and he will be too stunned to say no."

The brother and sister approach Robb and Jon. Jaime gives a nod to both of them in greeting, while his sister blushes faintly and averts her eyes, clearly a little timid. As the two of them stand there, Robb looks at her with a smitten, yet slightly abashed expression, his eyes drinking in her appearance.

“I... I apologize for the interruption Robb, but... would you like to dance?” She asks timidly.

Robb's face brightens at the question, a boyish smile on his lips. He glances at his brother for a moment before nodding eagerly. "I'd be honored to dance with you," he says, his voice slightly nervous but undeniably eager.

Jaime watches as his sister and Robb make their way to the dance floor, and as the two of them begin to dance, he watches his sister's expression, noting the way her eyes sparkle in the light and the way her cheeks flush with embarrassment and blossoming affection.

“They are quite the smitten pair, aren't they?” Ned Stark says catching the elder Lannister off guard and offering a glass of wine. 

Jaime takes the offered glass of wine, nodding in agreement as he glances at Robb and his sister on the dance floor. "Yes, they certainly are," he says, his tone a mixture of resigned acceptance and reluctant approval. 

He takes a sip of the wine, turning to face Ned Stark more directly. "You must be proud of your boy,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. "I know my sister is quite taken with Robb, and... he seems to care for her as well."

“I will be blunt Lannister,” says Ned. “When you're sister made the offer of a betrothal between the two of them, I wasn't sure what to think.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned Stark's bluntness, his demeanor calm but betraying a hint of wariness. He takes another sip of wine, his gaze steady as he regards the Lord of Winterfell. "I see," he says, his tone cool and guarded. "And why is that, if I may ask?"

“As she said, our houses have hated one another for so long. To think that in a single generation that could be mended, seemed unlikely and it still does.”

Jaime nods, understanding the sentiment behind Ned Stark's skepticism. He sets his wine glass down and laces his fingers together, his expression contemplative.

"I can understand your doubt," he says. "Our houses have a long and bloody history, and it's understandable that you would hesitate to consider an alliance between us."

The Lord of Winterfell looks at his son and Jaime’s sister as they dance, “But seeing these two, despite that animosity, growing to care for each other. I see hope.”

Jaime follows Ned Stark's gaze to the dance floor, where his sister and Robb are still dancing. The two of them are engaged in a seemingly effortless conversation, their eyes locked on each other and their faces flushed with affection.

As he watches them, that sense of resignation tugs at his heart once more, but he cannot deny the hope and potential that this pairing represents.

"Yes," he says, his tone soft. "I see what you mean. They do make quite a picture, don't they?"

He takes another drink of wine, his gaze lingering on his sister and Robb for a few moments more before turning back to Ned Stark.

"But you must also understand," he says, his tone laced with caution. "Our houses have always been enemies, and the shadow of our past will always linger. Even if our families are joined through marriage, it does not erase our history."

“No it does not,” says Ned. “But I believe these two will surprise all of us with what they could accomplish. Which is why I made my decision”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned's words, his curiosity piqued. "And what decision is that, may I ask?" he inquires, his tone cautious.

“I accept betrothing your sister to my son Robb.”

Jaime is somewhat taken aback by Ned's straightforward declaration, his eyes widening fractionally as he processes the words. He hadn't expected the Lord of Winterfell to agree to the betrothal so readily. But a weight does lift from the Lannister’s shoulders that his sister wouldn’t have to return to a doomed marriage.

"I see," he says, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to accept so quickly." He leans forward slightly, peering at Ned Stark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "May I ask what changed your mind?"

“Speaking with your sister and watching the interactions with my family made me realize. That surely if such a sweet and intelligent girl like that can come from your house, then there must be some good.”

Jaime is taken aback by Ned's words, a strange mixture of offense and understanding coursing through him. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, his tone measured and guarded. "I... see," he says, his voice low. "You believe that my sister represents the good in our house. Is that what you're saying?"

“In sum, yes.” 

Jaime lets out a scoff, a mix of annoyance and resignation in his voice. "And I suppose you believe that I and the rest of my family represent the opposite, then? The bad in our house?"

“I believe that you and only you, represent what a man who loves his family enough will do, even setting aside his hate for another, just to see his sisters happiness” 

Jaime's expression softens at Ned's words, a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. He looks down at his hands, his thoughts swirling within him. 

After a moment, he speaks, his voice quieter than before. "You're right," he says grudgingly. "I would do anything for my sister, even set aside my hate. I suppose... that makes me less of a monster than you believe me to be."

“Not a monster Jaime, a flawed man like the rest of us because a monster would never have done what you have for that girl.” 

Jaime pauses at Ned's words, his jaw clenching slightly as he grapples with the mixed emotions coursing through him. For a moment, he looks like he's about to say something snarky in response, but instead, he lets out a mirthless chuckle.

"Flawed indeed," he mutters to himself. "You have no idea how flawed I am, Stark."

In that moment the elder Lannister glances up as his sister and Robb return to them, both of them breathing heavily and flushed with the exertion of dancing. He can see the happiness and excitement in his sister's eyes, and the adoration in Robb's gaze as he looks at her. He watches the two of them closely, his expression betraying some of his internal turmoil.

“I haven't had this much fun in a long time,” she says with excitement. “Are you enjoying yourself Jaime? Lord Stark?” 

Jaime glances at her, his expression still a bit guarded, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at her excitement.

"I suppose I am," he replies, his tone light. "The festivities are... lively."

Ned Stark nods in agreement, a warm smile on his face as he regards both Jaime and his sister. “I am glad to hear you're enjoying yourself," he says, his voice warm. "It's been a long time since we've had such a joyous occasion here in Winterfell."

Jaime takes another sip of his wine, his gaze shifting between his sister and Robb, who are still standing side by side, their happiness almost palpable. "Indeed," he says, his tone dry. "It seems love is in the air tonight."

The youngsters glance at the other and laugh shyly, Jaime watches the interaction between the two. Ned Stark chuckles softly at the sight, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Ah, to be young and in love," he says, his voice laced with nostalgia. "It's truly a beautiful thing."

“Father?” Robb asks bashfully. “Did you come to an agreement with ser Jaime?” 

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression schooled into a cool neutrality. He glances at Ned Stark, who nods slightly before speaking.

"Yes, we have reached an agreement," Ned says, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your betrothal to his sister is approved."

The older Lannister sees as both his sister and Robb light up in joy, their happiness and excitement almost tangible in the air. He can't help but feel a bittersweet pang. Marriage is a serious matter, and he knows all too well the weight of responsibility that comes with it. But seeing the joy on his sister's face, he can't help but feel a hint of relief that she's found someone who loves her and cares for her.

“Then Lord Stark, may I have this next dance with you as my future father in law?” (Y/N) asks nervously.

Ned Stark chuckles at her request and nods graciously. "Of course, my dear," he says, offering her a hand. "It would be my honor to dance with the woman who will be my future daughter in law."

Jaime stands beside Robb, his gaze following his sister and Ned Stark as they begin to dance. He takes a sip of his wine, his expression contemplative as he glances at the young Stark man beside him.

“Ser Jaime?” The younger Stark says hesitantly.

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression faintly curious. “Yes, Stark?" he responds, his tone guarded yet curious.

“Um... I know you have already agreed with my father, but I was hoping to have your blessing to marry your sister.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the young Stark's request, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He studies the earnestness in Robb's expression for a moment, weighing his response. He lets out a small sigh, his expression stern yet contemplative.

"You care for her, don't you?" he asks, his tone not confrontational, but measured.

“Yes, I do. She's like the moon and stars, lighting up my world that I didn't realize was so dark before her.”

Jaime's expression softens slightly at Robb's words, a hint of understanding in his eyes. He studies the young Stark man for another moment before speaking, his voice lower now, more serious.

"And what assurance do I have that you won't hurt her? That you won't break her heart?"

“I don't have much, I can only give my word and this,” he holds out a dagger to Jaime.

Jaime's eyes flicker down to the dagger that Robb is holding out, his expression unreadable. He glances back up at the young Stark man, his gaze searching and intense.

"And what is this, Stark? Some sort of token of your dedication to my sister?"

“For you to use,” Robb says matter of fact. “If you ever think I have hurt her or broken her heart, use this on me. Because I won't deserve to breathe if that ever happens.”

Jaime's eyes widen slightly at Robb's words, his expression a mix of surprise and respect. He gazes at the dagger in Robb's hand, his mind contemplating the weight of the young man's words. He reaches out and takes the dagger, turning it over in his hand for a moment before speaking his voice solemn and measured.

"This is an unusual request, Stark," he says, his tone not hostile, but wary. "You're asking me to condemn you to death if you ever betray my sister."

“Yes,” Robb says with a shrug. “Because nothing could be worse than betraying her and it seems like a fitting punishment.”

Jaime studies Robb for a moment, his gaze appraising and contemplating. He can see the sincerity and determination in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a small amount of respect for the boy’s dedication to his sister.

"You're a foolish, idealistic young man," he mutters, his tone more resigned than scolding. "But perhaps there's honor in foolishness." He glances down at the dagger in his hand, then back up at Robb.

“So would you, give me your blessing? (Y/N) loves you dearly and sees you not just as her brother but a father as well, so nothing would make her happier than knowing you approve.”

Jaime let out a small sigh, his expression shifting from stern to contemplative. He studies Robb for a moment, the young man's words sinking into his thoughts.

"You speak as if you know my sister better than myself, Stark," he says, his tone a mix of surprise and grudging respect. "But I suppose... that's not entirely inaccurate." He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to his sister, who is still dancing with Ned Stark on the dance floor, her expression radiant with happiness.

“No, I could never think to know her more than you,” Robb says. “You have been her protector through the worst of her days, I could only hope to be half that kind of protector for her.”

Jaime nods slowly, his expression thoughtful as he regards Robb. He can see the genuine admiration and respect in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a grudging trust.

"You speak with a level of confidence that's both admirable and irritating," he mutters, his tone gruff yet contemplative. "You make me almost believe that you're sincere in your devotion to her."

“No man could ever be good enough for her,” Robb says with a shake of his head, “but I would like to try.”

Jaime lets out a small scoff, "You have a talent for flattery, Stark," he mutters, his tone dry yet somewhat softened. "You're almost making me want to like you."

Robb laughs, “I believe the day that happens, Kings Landing will have frozen over.”

Jaime smirks at Robb's words, his expression amused despite himself. He can't help but acknowledge the young man's humor and confidence. "Truly, a cold day in hell," he responds, his tone now slightly playful. "But let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Stark. Just because I don't loathe you doesn't mean I necessarily like you either."

He glances out towards the dance floor, his gaze finding his sister as she continues to dance with Lord Stark. He watches her with a mix of caution and protectiveness. "My sister is fiercely intelligent, and possesses a strong will," he says, his tone more serious now. "You'd do well to remember that."

The younger Stark nods and a comfortable silence settles between the two. 

Eventually the Lord Stark and (Y/N) return, both with jovial spirits. The younger Lannister reaches for her older brother’s hands. 

“Come on Jaime, I waited best for last” she giggles. “Dance with me!” 

Jaime lets himself be dragged by his younger sister, carefully leading her in a slow dance. “Here I thought that you would want to dance the night away with Robb,” he teases. “But you have only danced with the poor boy once.” 

“I will have many more chances to dance with him, Jaime” she laughs. “I just want to enjoy the time I still have with you. Does that suit you? Or would you rather have the evening with many of the beautiful ladies here?” 

“I am dancing with the most beautiful one tonight” Jaime says softly, “I think that there is no need to trouble anyone else.”

She smiles bashfully, “Thank you Jaime. For everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes Jaime, everything” she explains. “You were always there. You saw to my needs, you explained things I never understood, you were patient with my eccentricities. You fought for my happiness and have done so for the majority of my life. I know that I was sired by Tywin Lannister, but in my heart, it is you.” 

They stop in the middle of the crowd and she hugs him tightly, “My wonderful and loving older brother. It is you Jaime Lannister, that I see as a father, and I hope that you will do me the honor of giving me away.” 

A knot gets stuck in his throat as Jaime holds onto his younger sister, “There is nothing I would love more” he whispers quietly. 

He holds onto her tightly. 

Just as he tries to hold onto the memory just as much a year later, when he is given the news of what becomes of his sweet beloved sister and her husband in the Riverlands in the midst of the War of the Five Kings. 

[amagialp]

Slasher headcanons!

not my usual fandom post, but please feel free to request anything! :P

(TW) and GN! reader hope you like it!

Michael Myers (Halloween)

Silent acts of affection: He'll fix things around your house when you're not looking, broken locks, creaky floorboards, even your car engine, but never tells you he did it.

Unsettling gifts: Michael doesn't understand normal romance, so you'll find things like feathers, cracked mirrors, or bones neatly arranged on your doorstep.

Childlike curiosity: He stares at you for hours not only because he’s creepy, but also because he’s trying to understand what makes you tick. If you catch him, he just tilts his head and keeps staring.

Jealous rage: Anyone who flirts with you ends up mysteriously missing or finds themselves suddenly terrified of "something" lurking nearby.

Jason Voorhees (Friday the 13th)

Gentle giant energy: He’s incredibly soft with you, always hesitant to touch, afraid he might hurt you with his size and strength.

Nature dates: Jason loves being in the woods, so expect long "quiet walks" through the trees, with him subtly steering you away from dangerous areas.

Primitive gifts: He’ll leave flowers, smooth stones, or handmade wooden trinkets for you. Sometimes they’re perfect, other times, they’re... rough. It’s the thought that counts.

Protective rage: If someone harms you, they’ll regret it almost immediately. Jason’s wrath is swift and terrifying, but he’ll make sure you never see that side of him.

Leatherface (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

Domestic sweetness: Despite the chaos, Leatherface tries to make your life comfortable, even cooking for you or attempting to sew something nice, though it might not always go well.

Physical affection: He doesn’t know how to express love, so expect bear hugs that are almost too tight and clumsy pats on the head.

Territorial: He’s deeply protective of his space, and by extension, you. Anyone who intrudes on what he considers "yours" is immediately in danger.

Childlike trust: He’ll follow your lead almost blindly, looking to you for approval in everything he does.

Billy & Stu (Scream)

Chaotic duo: They’ll argue over who gets to sit next to you during a horror movie marathon and will both pretend they weren’t scared when you call them out.

Competitive affection: They’re constantly trying to outdo each other to impress you, whether it’s with compliments, gestures, or taking out "obstacles" in your life.

Endless pranks: They team up to prank you, but if you ever prank them back, they’re both shocked and oddly impressed.

Weirdly supportive: They encourage your dark side, hyping you up if you ever show any interest in violence or twisted humor.

Freddy Krueger (Nightmare on Elm Street)

Dark humor overload: Freddy flirts through sarcasm and mocking, but if someone else dares to insult you, they’re in for a nightmare.

Dream manipulation: He creates scenarios in your dreams just to make you laugh or to give you an escape from reality. It’s his twisted way of caring.

Possessive in your dreams: He doesn’t like anyone else entering your subconscious space, treating it like his personal domain (king gojo).

Nightmare protector: If you’re scared of something in a dream, Freddy will destroy it for you, though he’ll make fun of you for being scared in the first place.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Meticulous gifts: Asa leaves you intricate, terrifyingly beautiful things he’s crafted... like butterfly displays or twisted sculptures made from things you’d rather not know the origin of.

Fascination with your routine: He studies your habits obsessively, making sure he knows everything about your day to day life. If something disrupts it, he’ll "fix" the problem quietly.

Quiet, calculated affection: He doesn’t express love traditionally, but his attention to detail in how he takes care of you (even in small ways) speaks volumes.

Possessive and territorial: The idea of anyone else touching you or your belongings infuriates him. He’s not above setting traps to ensure people keep their distance.

Collector tendencies: You’re his most prized possession, but unlike the others, he protects you with a quiet reverence.

ChromeSkull (Laid to Rest)

Silent communicator: ChromeSkull relies on body language and technology to "talk" to you. Expect texts or typed out notes that are surprisingly sweet but still laced with his signature dark humor.

Obsessive filming: He constantly records you... not in a creepy stalker way (okay, maybe a little :D), but because he finds you captivating. The tapes are for him alone, and he guards them jealously.

Over the top protective: Anyone who so much as raises their voice at you is immediately on his hit list. His revenge is brutal, but he makes sure you never see that side of him.

Oddly stylish: He takes pride in his appearance and will sometimes dress you up too, giving you gifts like leather jackets or sunglasses to match his aesthetic.

Acts of service: His love language is taking care of "problems" for you, whether it’s fixing your car, eliminating someone who upset you, or just quietly keeping watch while you sleep.

The Sinclair Brothers (House of Wax)

Bo Sinclair

Charmer with a dark side: Bo loves flirting with you and making you blush, but there’s always an edge to it, as if he’s daring you to fall for him completely.

Overprotective sibling vibes: If Vincent or Lester get too close to you, he’ll intervene under the guise of "making sure they’re not bothering you."

Fix it guy: He’ll tinker with your stuff, fixing anything broken or making small improvements, even if you didn’t ask. It’s his way of showing he cares.

Jealous streak: Bo doesn’t handle competition well. If someone flirts with you, he’ll drag them into his workshop to "fix" them.

Vincent Sinclair

Artist’s devotion: Vincent loves sketching or sculpting you, often without you knowing. His art captures every detail, from the way your hair falls to the light in your eyes.

Gentle giant energy: Despite his imposing presence, he’s incredibly careful with you, treating you like something fragile and irreplaceable.

Silent adoration: He rarely speaks, but the way he watches you intensely and with complete focus says everything.

Gift giving: Expect handmade items like wax flowers, tiny sculptures, or jewelry. He pours his heart into these creations, and they’re always meant to protect or comfort you.

Lester Sinclair

Playful but protective: Lester loves teasing you, but if anyone else tries it, he’s quick to shut them down. He’s got a surprisingly sharp temper when it comes to your safety.

Nature walks: He loves taking you into the woods, showing you secret spots and teaching you random survival tricks, like how to set traps or identify plants.

Down to earth affection: Lester’s not one for grand gestures, but his constant kindness like keeping you company or bringing you snacks, makes you feel cared for.

Acts as the "buffer": He’s the calmest of the brothers and will often step in if Bo and Vincent get too intense around you.

!REQUESTS OPEN!

[moon3verland]

｡･ﾟﾟ･Falling Into Comfort･ﾟﾟ･｡

ENHYPEN MAKNAE LINE FALLING ASLEEP ON S/O'S LAP

HYUNG LINE ★ MAKNAE LINE ❥ In which Enhypen find comfort in their s/o's lap after a long day

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ Maknae line x GN!reader GENRE! Fluff!! Tooth rotting fluff to be specific 『 ↳✧･ﾟ Warnings ; None!! 〘WC: 0.3K〙 ↳˳;; ❝ ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱʜᴇʟꜰᵕ̈೫

Kim Sunoo - Falls asleep during your nightly skincare routine

Sunoo insists on sharing his skincare routine with you, happily explaining the benefits of each product as he applies it to your face.

Halfway through the routine, he starts leaning against you, his voice softening as his energy wanes.

Eventually, he rests his head on your lap, murmuring something like, “You’re glowing already,” before falling asleep.

His peaceful expression makes you smile, his skin glowing even more in the room's soft light.

You’ll absentmindedly trace his features, marvelling at how serene and beautiful he looks while asleep.

When he wakes up, he’ll playfully say, “See? Skincare and cuddles are the secret to happiness.” MORE UNDERCUT

Yang Jungwon - Falls asleep during a late-night study session

Jungwon takes his studies seriously, often pulling you into his late-night sessions to keep him company.

As he reviews notes and explains concepts to you, his words start to slow, and his eyes flutter shut for longer moments.

He eventually rests his head in your lap, murmuring, “Just a quick break…” before drifting off completely.

You chuckle softly, brushing his hair and admiring how calm he looks compared to his usual focused self.

His breathing evens out, and you’re reminded of how hard he works, making you fall for him even more.

When he wakes up, he’ll mumble a quick apology before laughing, “Guess I needed that more than I thought.”

Nishimura Riki - Falls asleep after an intense arcade battle

Riki gets so caught up in challenging you at the arcade that he doesn’t notice how exhausted he’s becoming.

By the time you get home, he’s practically dragging his feet but still insists he can beat you “next time.”

He flops onto the couch and places his head in your lap, mumbling, “Just five minutes…” before falling asleep instantly.

His cheek squishes adorably against your thigh, and his lips part slightly as he breathes deeply.

You’ll find yourself stifling a laugh as you watch his usual energetic self looking so peaceful and childlike.

When he wakes up, he’ll grin cheekily and say, “I was just recharging for our rematch,” making you roll your eyes but smile fondly.

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