#this image also never fails to make me laugh

[dragonsruby]

M'lem

[aquateenpatrolsomethingshowshow]

i fucking love this image sm

AND EUSTACE IN THE BACK IS FUCKING SENDING ME 💀💀💀

[lonely-moons]

⁀✶comfort of you | bucky barnes x reader

title: comfort of you

pairing: bucky barnes x reader (can be whatever era you want if you take it as an au where the avengers compound is still thriving. rip.)

warnings: mentions of a nightmare

summary: when you wake up to find your friend bucky sleeping on the floor of your bedroom, it's safe to say you're confused. but, hey, the guy doesn't have an abundance of comfort, so you're more than okay with being it for him.

wc: 1,380

notes: haven't posted in ages but i am down so bad for this man goodbye (or ig hi? lmao). thank you thunderbolts for taking me back to 2021 as i read bucky fics daily 🙏

masterlist

you wake with a sharp inhale that borders on a gasp. it takes a moment for the images of your recent failed mission to disintegrate. you're plagued by a screaming woman - a roaring fire - and then the darkness of your room.

but something isn't quite right. after so long in this job, your senses stay awake even when you aren't. they ring now, heighten even more when you hear a movement on the ground beside your bed.

you switch your bedside lamp on in record speed, prepared to pounce or kick or whatever it is you have to do to eliminate the threat. but your poised stance falters when you see what's on the ground. or rather, who.

bucky barnes is laying there, propped up on his elbow as he looks up at you. his expression is sheepish but tinged with concern, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be and now he isn't quite sure how to react.

you blink once, twice, trying to come to terms with the image in front of you. the guy is your best friend, sure, but you don't quite know what to make of this. he's wearing what he typically sleeps in: a simple t-shirt and sweats, his eyes a little bleary like they'd been closed for a while.

had he been sleeping on your floor?

"um..." you say ungracefully, the only thought that's bouncing around in your head right now.

the sound of your voice seems to snap him to action. he sits up further, the chain of his dog tags shifting along with him. "sorry, i -" his arm comes up to rub his neck as he cuts himself off.

"impromptu sleepover?" you ask.

it's light but unsure. you want to know what the hell is going on, but the way his face scrunches, as though guilty, makes something in your chest ache. if this had been anyone else, you would have long since thrown a pillow at them, let your voice raise in exasperation. but this is bucky. while you don't tread around him on broken glass, knowing he hates it and deserves more, you also vividly remember how long it had taken for him to open up to you in the first place. you never want to ruin that.

he stares down at his hands, unable to look at you any longer. which means he must be really flustered, because one thing about bucky barnes - he has a staring problem.

"you okay, buck?"

he huffs out a laugh, but it's weak, like it gets caught in his doubt on the way out. "i should be the one asking you that. nightmare?"

your confusion had almost made you forget about why you were awake in the first place. now you smile, slightly rueful. "guess so. you, uh... got precognition or something?"

he copies your expression. "guess so."

a silence lands between you, not quite comfortable but not yet in the territory of awkwardness. you both have things to say, but they're evading you. unspoken words seem to fly between you as you watch each other, waiting to see who will break first. but this is your room, your space, which provides you with a home advantage.

"i wasn't sleeping well either," he finally admits. "came to see if you were awake and when you weren't... well, i doubt i wouldn't have been able to get through to you with all the snoring anyway."

"i don't snore!"

his shoulders shake with the small laugh he releases, and it's as though the movement throws some of the tension right off. you think you'd let him throw out jabs like that forever if it meant he'd relax even a little further.

"sure," he says. "you don't talk in your sleep either."

"you," you point a finger at him, "are a horrible person."

"i know." a small smile appears, but neither it nor his words are self-deprecating. they never are anymore, at least not with you. "it keeps me awake at night.

an exasperated huff escapes you. "whatever. i can't believe you coming in here didn't wake me. i'm usually a pretty light sleeper."

"never has before."

"wait - what?"

"uh - shit."

the lightness of the previous few minutes evaporates in an instant. bucky runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. you, on the other hand, do not feel bad enough to spare him from a grilling.

"you've come in here before? when?"

"no, it's not like that, i don't..."

"don't what?"

he opens his mouth to answer, but instead of speaking he rises to his feet. "look, i'm sorry, this was... i'm just gonna -" he points to the door, then immediately begins to bolt for it.

"wait!"

your voice stops him, which you're vaguely surprised about. in his current state, you thought he's been in a full-fledged flee mode. tunnel vision, feet on a set path, hearing only tuned into his self-derogatory thoughts. but it seems the sound of you has managed to break through.

he doesn't turn around, though. you think you've managed to figure out what's been going on now, even if you don't quite understand it. bucky tends to prefer harder surfaces to anything cushy. you've seen it before, when you've gone to his room to ask to borrow something and he was sitting on a blanket on the floor beside the bed. after you'd finally taught him how to play mario kart on one of tony's huge tvs, and he'd chosen to sit on the ground by your legs as you sunk into the dreamy sofa. he'd said he was able to concentrate better down there, that the plush comfort would just send him to sleep.

you'd called him an old man but silently wondered if it was something else. eventually the pieces had seemed to align and you realised the truth: whether he really didn't like it or didn't think he deserved it, bucky did not like the comfort of those soft things. that explains why he's on the floor, but as for why he's on your floor...

you speak quietly but firmly, watching his back and trying to picture his face.

"you can lay back down if you want."

he hesitates. not even a full second, but you know him well enough to just catch it. "no, that's okay. i'll let you get back to sleep."

"seriously," you press, before he can reach the door handle. "i don't mind. honestly, i... i wouldn't mind the company."

he looks back over his shoulder, guarded like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. even though he's known you for years now, knows your kindness, bucky isn't used to such a carefree affection that you give him. "really?"

you nod. "besides, i'm gonna need someone to listen to my sleep talk and report back to me. could be some really important stuff going on there."

his lips twitch slightly and you mentally cheer. he's giving in. he doesn't allow himself that luxury much, but it seems you have a certain knack for getting it to happen.

he falters as he heads back to his position on the floor, looking between the blanket - that he'd brought with him and planned on abandoning in his haste to leave - and you, on the bed. his eyes study you, a question in them that only takes a moment for you to decipher. you think he's wondering about your offer, about whether lay back down means the bed or the floor, about which he wants, about which might seem rude. but you say nothing as he thinks, only sending him a brief, reassuring smile, then avert your eyes to let him decide as you turn off the light.

he chooses the floor. you certainly wouldn't have minded him in your bed, but all you want is for him to be comfortable.

"night, buck."

"night, doll."

as the sound of your breathing syncs up, you shift to the very edge of the bed. your hand blindly reaches down, feeling around. he jolts slightly when you make impact with his flesh hand, but then he intertwines your fingers without a word.

bucky may not be ready for the comfort of a mattress or pillows, but he's certainly learning to love the comfort of you.

[velarisdusk]

Unveiled Pleasures

Day 4: Virgin | Rhysand x Reader word count: 4.3k author’s note: this was not a kink i thought i had but during planning, the thought of rhys getting a dark look in his eyes, losing himself and going feral when he finds out…… yum :) ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

A blizzard rages outside, snow swirling in the darkness. It’s been relentless; for two days, its winds clawed at windows and howled through the night. Snow accumulates in thick drifts outside, burying Velaris in a frosty silence. Inside the townhouse, the warmth of the fireplace provides a cozy, safe haven.

You and Rhysand are curled up together on the couch, wrapped in a heavy blanket. The house is quiet; Amren is back at her apartment, Cassian is in Illyria (Gods help him, you can’t imagine the storm there), Azriel’s away on reconnaissance, and Mor winnowed to the cabin last night, claiming she needed some “alone time.” But you had a feeling she just wanted to leave the two of you here, together. 

You’ve known each other for centuries, since you were all young and reckless, before the world became complicated. Over the years, you’ve become more than friends — you’ve become constant in each other’s lives, someone to rely on through war, heartbreak, and everything in between. For a while, there was something between you — something unspoken but undeniably there. The way his hands lingered when he touched you, or how you’d catch him looking at you a little too long.

But whatever it was, it never grew beyond that. Time passed, and eventually, it seemed like he’d moved on. You told yourself you had, too. You never let it become a big deal, never let it interfere with the easy friendship you shared. It was just… there, hovering in the background, a feeling you’d long since learned to live with. And now was no different, chatting and playing card games on the couch, sharing a blanket by the fireplace. You would’ve thought it cliche if not for the fact that you’d been in this exact scenario more times than you could count — and nothing had happened.

Nothing will happen. 

“Place feels off,” you muse absently, shuffling the two cards in your hand as you consider your next move.

Rhysand chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Off how? Too quiet without Cass?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Well, yeah, that… but also just calmer.” You glance up at him, noticing the way the firelight casts soft shadows across his face. “We’re usually out doing something or surrounded by other people. Just not used to this much quiet, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully, drawing a card from the deck and placing it face up next to the 10 of clubs. Ace of hearts. “That’s true,” he agrees, glancing at the cards on the blanket. “But it’s a nice change of pace, don’t you think? A well-deserved one.”

You eye your own cards — 10 of spades and ace of clubs — two pair. You toss two peppermints into the makeshift betting pool. “Raise. It’s definitely safer,” you say with a shrug.

Rhys matches your bet, tossing in two more mints. “Safer? From what? Drunk fae trying to chat you up? Or Cassian making an ass of himself with every female in sight?” His brow quirks up as a grin spreads across his face. 

You burst out laughing, the image of Cassian’s failed attempts at flirtation all too vivid. “Both, actually,” you manage between fits of laughter, shaking your head. “That last time at Rita’s… that was something.”

Leaning back against the couch, he shakes his head with a mischievous grin. “Do you remember that awful line Cass used on that poor girl? Something about his sword and–”

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “Oh gods, don’t remind me. He really thought he was being clever.”

Rhys chuckles, rubbing his jaw. “He always thinks he’s clever. Like this—” He suddenly leans toward you, his voice dropping into a ridiculous impression of Cassian’s deep tone. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bigger the sword, bigger the—'”

You both dissolve into laughter before he can finish, your sides aching from how ridiculous it sounds.

He grins, gaze still playful as he mimics Cassian again, this time reaching out and gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “But then he’d get all serious,” Rhys murmurs, his voice dropping lower, soft and teasing now. “He’d do this… look into her eyes and say, ‘I could spend hours just watching the way you blush, imagining what else I could do to make you look like that.’”

The sudden shift in his tone and the warmth of his hand against your cheek make your breath catch. You freeze, the playful atmosphere suddenly charged. He holds your gaze, the firelight flickering in his violet eyes, and for a moment, it’s hard to remember this is supposed to be a joke. 

You laugh, but it’s quieter now, more nervous. “Cassian really said that?” you ask, but it’s hardly louder than a whisper. 

Rhys doesn’t drop his hand, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your skin as he looks at you. “Well,” he says softly, his smile softer now, uncertain. “Maybe not like that… but, I guess… something like it.” You feel your face grow warm, a quiet tension slipping between you. His eyes search yours, and something unspoken passes between you both — something neither of you can ignore anymore. 

His voice is quieter when he speaks again, as though he’s only just noticing the change himself. “You okay?”

The question feels loaded like there’s more behind it than just casual concern. You nod, but your voice is stuck in your throat. You can’t tear your gaze away from his. He’s still so close. Rhys leans in slightly, his thumb moving to brush along your jawline now, the motion slower, more deliberate than before. His eyes flicker over your features, lingering on your lips for just a second too long. 

You swallow, heart pounding. “Just… surprised.”

“Surprised?” His brow lifts slightly, but his tone is softer, more serious now. “By what?”

By the way his touch sends a ripple of heat through you, by how your heart races under the intensity of his gaze. You don’t say that though. Instead, you let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it off. “That you’re taking this Cass impression so seriously.”

Rhys huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His fingers pause for a second, lingering on your neck. He doesn’t move away. “I’m not, really… just… You’re looking at me differently,” he says softly, almost like he’s noticing it for the first time. The room feels suddenly smaller, the crackling fire and storm outside fading into the background. 

You hold his gaze, your heart pounding. There’s a question in his eyes, and you can’t help but feel the pull between you growing stronger. You’re both so close now, the warmth of his skin against yours more pronounced. 

Without breaking eye contact, Rhys’ hand gently slides down to rest at the back of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, time seems to stretch.

He leans in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. His lips brush against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s a slow exploration, a testing of the waters. When you don’t move away, his kiss deepens, his lips melding with yours as the warmth between you ignites into something more intense. 

As the kiss between you and Rhysand grows more heated, the heat becomes almost unbearable. Clothes are shed in a frenzy of passion, and you find yourself in your undergarments, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet before him. The firelight flickers across the room, casting a warm glow that dances over both of you. You start to reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, but suddenly, uncertainty creeps in. Your hands falter, and you pull back just enough to look up at him, a mixture of nervousness and determination in your eyes.

“I’m not really sure what to do,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s my first time.”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from surprise to an intense, almost reverent focus. He takes a moment to process your confession, clearly stunned.

He speaks softly, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “After all these centuries, you’re still–”

He pauses, searching for the right words. “You’re still a virgin?” His gaze sharpens, the intensity of his stare turning into something more primal. 

When your only response is a nod, a slow, hungry smile spreads across his lips. “Gods, that’s incredible,” he breathes, his voice low and tinged with a dark thrill. Leaning in, his breath warms your ear. “You have no idea how much that turns me on. The thought of being the first one to touch you like this…” His hand slides over your head, fingers threading through your hair with a possessive caress. “The first to make you feel things you’ve never…” He inhales deeply, his nose brushing against your neck, “–felt before…”

Rhysand pulls back slightly, his hand gently gripping your chin, and he tilts your face up to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this… Guiding you through it, showing you everything…” His eyes flash with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. He traces his thumb over your lips, his touch charged. 

“Not everything; I’ve read romance novels,” you clarify, shifting your weight back onto your calves.

Rhysand’s lips twitch and he lets out the barest breath of a scoff, shaking his head as if in awe. His eyes flicker with a dark amusement as his hand trails from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers toying with your hair. “Romance novels,” he repeats, his tone light, but the glint in his eyes betrays something darker. His thumb brushes your cheek, and his lips curve into a slow, teasing smile. “Well, then… you’re practically an expert, aren’t you?”

You feel the weight of his gaze as you fumble for a response, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Well, I mean–”

Rhysand cuts you off, his voice edged with raw desire. “I’m going to show you everything you need to know.” His grip on your hair tightens just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours with a possessive intensity. “Just focus on me and let me take control,” he murmurs, his voice low. “If you need anything, you speak up, alright?” The intensity in his gaze makes you feel like you’re melting.

You nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement, and his gaze doesn’t waver. His fingers trail lightly over your collarbone and down to the swell of your chest, his touch a teasing whisper against your skin. With a deep breath, you lean forward, your hands cautiously pulling down his underwear, and Rhysand’s breath hitches slightly as you expose him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your head, guiding you as you lower yourself, taking him into your mouth.

The room is filled with the soft sounds of your movements and his encouraging murmurs. As you cautiously take him into your mouth, you focus on finding a rhythm, the unfamiliar texture and warmth making your pulse race. Your hands rest lightly on his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles as you move. Each gentle stroke is executed with trepidation and eagerness, guided by Rhysand’s soft, approving sounds.

Rhysand’s hands gently cradle your head, his grip firm but tender. “Damn,” he groans, his tone laced with surprise. “You’re a natural.” His praise sends a shiver through you, mingling with the heat of your desire. Though he guides you slightly, his touch remains light and encouraging. His voice drops to a low murmur, filled with adoration. “That’s it, just like that,” he urges, his breath hitching as you experiment with different motions. His nails gently graze your scalp, and he lets out a soft, appreciative groan when you press a flat tongue to the underside of his cock. “You feel so good, baby. Just keep going, you’re making me lose my mind.”

Every word from him makes you more determined to continue, your movements growing more confident as his reactions heighten your arousal. “You can take me deeper, I know you can,” he murmurs, his voice low and urgent. “You’re doing so well, you got it,” and his hips start bucking into your mouth. Your own breathing becomes shallow as your throat constricts around him, the new sensation is overwhelming yet intoxicating.

With a low groan of approval, Rhysand suddenly shifts, his hands coming to rest of your shoulders. “Hold on a moment,” he says, helping you up from the floor, and guiding you back onto the couch with him, a dark hungry glint in his eyes. 

A hand reaches under you, deftly unclipping your bra with a single, smooth motion. He moves the other to the waistband of your underwear, and he slides both off of you tantalizingly slowly. He discards them with a casual flick, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable under his intense, appreciative gaze. 

“Go on, let’s get you a bit more comfortable,” he says, adjusting you with deliberate care so you’re sprawled out comfortably across the couch. His gaze smolders with hunger as he moves between your legs, his breath fanning over your inner thigh. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as he begins to tease, his tongue a tantalizing caress that makes you gasp and shiver. The sounds of his enjoyment mingling with yours create a symphony of shared desire, each touch sending waves of sensation through your body. 

Just as his tongue delves deeper, the sensation blurs your senses, making the room seem to spin and float. The combination of his skilled tongue and the disorienting rush of winnowing overwhelms you with a euphoric intensity. When your vision clears, you find yourself in Rhysand’s bedroom, his tongue still lavishing attention on you. He takes his time to savor every part of you. His movements are masterful, each flick and stroke of his tongue tailored to make you writhe in pleasure. He alternates between gentle, teasing laps, and more focused, firm strokes, finding the rhythm that has you gripping the sheets. 

His hands are relentless, roaming your body, occasionally tracing the curves of your thighs or the sensitive skin of your hips. He clasps your hands tightly, anchoring you as his deep, guttural moans vibrate through you, heightening every sensation and leaving you squirming with need. 

Amidst the physical pleasure, Rhysand begins to invade your mind with a barrage of filthy, electrifying thoughts. His voice, though unspoken, reverberates in your mind like a seductive whisper. “It’s going to feel so good when I fuck you,” he promises. “Picture how good it’s going to feel when I’m buried deep inside you, how you’ll be trembling under me.” The mental imagery is a pleasant surprise — he shows you vivid scenes of him thrusting into you with relentless vigor, making you gasp and shiver. “It’ll feel so much better than your fingers, darling.”

“Can you see it? Feel it?” he sends into your mind, his thoughts a sultry whisper caressing your consciousness. “Feel me pushing into you, filling you completely. Every thrust, every stroke… I want you to feel every inch of me, how your body will mold perfectly around my cock.” The intensity of his words only drove your arousal to a fever pitch, leaving you moaning and writhing with an urgent need. 

His thoughts also weave images of you coming undone, of him making you see the stars with his touch. “I’m going to make you come so hard, you won’t know what to do with yourself. I’ll have you screaming my name, begging for more.” The raw, possessive desire only drives you closer to the edge, each thought and image adding to the pleasure building rapidly within you. “You’re my sweet little virgin now,” his voice growls in your mind. “But not for long. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging for my cock every chance you get. You’ll be a little whore for me won’t you? Needing to be filled again and again.”

When your climax finally crashes over you, it’s intense and all-consuming, leaving you gasping and trembling. Rhysand’s mental presence remains, a constant, darkly, satisfying presence as you ride out your orgasm. 

After you’ve come down from your high, Rhysand pulls back slightly, his gaze dark and hungry. He leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks softly. “See how easy that was? You’re going to be amazing, just like that. “

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, his cock slick and hot against your folds. As he aligns himself, his voice is thick with desire “Feel how hard I am for you? Feel how much I want you? I’m going to fuck you so good, make you feel things you never imagined. You ready for me, sweetheart?” He looks up from where the tip of his cock lines up with your entrance, eyes locking onto yours with a burning intensity.

You meet his gaze, your voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. “I… I want you, Rhysand. I need you.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him, the vulnerability in your eyes matched by a fierce desire. “Please, don’t hold back.”

Rhysand’s smile turns predatory, his eyes alight with satisfaction. He maintains eye contact as he pushes inside, inch by inch, savoring every second of your tight, untried body struggling to accommodate him. “Does it hurt?” his voice drips with mockery and satisfaction when you squeeze your eyes shut. “Does it hurt having this pussy stretched out for the first time?” He watches your reactions intently, delighting in them as your expressions shift from nervous anticipation to surprised pleasure, your brows furrowing with the intensity of it all. 

He cradles the back of your head, tilting it down toward where your bodies are joined. “Look at that,” he breathes, his tone full of wonder. “Look at how you wrap around me. So… fucking tight — it’s like you’re sucking me in.”

The mewl you let out would be embarrassing if not for the overwhelming pleasure and mind-numbing stretch of his cock inside you. “Rhysand, please,” you whisper, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to steady yourself.

“Please, what? What do you want me to do, darling?” his voice is a lazy drawl, as though he has all the time in the world to tease you, to make you beg for more. His hips are still, the need to move evident in the tense muscles beneath your hands, but he holds back, watching you writhe beneath him.

“Please, Rhys, just move,” you whine, your body yearning for more, the slow stretch making you desperate. “Just want you… Want you to move.”

“Move?” He raises a brow at you, feigning confusion. “Move where? Move off of you?” He starts to pull out, slowly, torturously, and for a moment, the sensation feels good — until the realization hits that he’ll leave you empty. Without thinking, you wrap your legs around him, arms clinging to his neck to keep him in place.  

He chuckles darkly, a low, amused sound. “You’ll have to be more specific, I need to hear what you want, or…” He pulls out further, the head of his cock barely inside you now.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “Rhys, fuck me, please.”

The glint in his eyes is dangerous, primal. He leans down, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He thrusts back into you, slow but deep, filling you completely. “You feel that?” he murmurs against your neck. “You’ve never had anyone touch you like this before, have you? I’m the first… and I’ll be the only one to make you feel this way. Your fingers don’t even reach this deep, huh? You can’t even pleasure yourself the way that I will.” His words are gentle, but the power behind them is undeniable. “So pure, so untouched. You’re mine now. I’m going to make sure no one else gets to fuck you like this.”

The way he speaks, the deliberate pace of his thrusts as he starts to push in and out of you, has you melting beneath him, pleasure and helpless surrender pooling in your belly. Every inch of him fills you perfectly.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. “Look at how you take me, so well. So fucking tight and sweet, like you were made for this,” he growls, his breath puffing against your skin as he thrusts again, deeper this time. “You feel that, darling? That’s me, stretching you open, shaping this pretty pussy so it’ll only ever fit me.”

A gasp tears from your lips, your body overtaken by the sensation of him inside you, deeper than anything you could have imagined. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs trembling as you try to keep up with the rhythm he’s setting. “Rhys,” you whimper, your voice soft and breathless. “It’s so… so much.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, a dance of tongues and lips, exchanging breath ang longing. When he pulls back, his voice is a low rumble. “It’s going to be more, sweetheart. So much more. You can take it though, I know you can.”

You shudder at his words, the physical and mental onslaught of pleasure overwhelming. “Rhys, I–” you gasp, struggling to speak as your mind spins. “I’ve never– fuck! I didn’t know it could feel this good.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he purrs, his pace quickening slightly, making you moan with every deep stroke. “You’ve never been fucked before. You didn’t know what you were missing, did you?”

Your breath catches, your hands fisting in the sheets as his words sink in. The sensation of being filled, stretched, and dominated by him is getting to be too much. “Rhys, please,” you whisper, “please, don’t stop.”

His lips curve into a wicked smile. “I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve ruined you for anyone else.” He thrusts into you harder now, making your body jolt with each sound of skin against skin. “No one else is ever going to fuck you like this. You’ll always want me. You’ll always need me.”

The pleasure building inside you is almost too much, the sensation of his cock slamming in and out of your tight heat. “It feels so good!” you cry out, your pretty noises spurring his desire. “I– I can’t… believe how good it–”

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You like the way I stretch you out. The way your body squeezes me like it’s never going to let go.” He moves faster, his thrusts becoming rougher, more demanding. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how much you love it.”

Your head is spinning, your body trembling as the pleasure builds. “I love it,” you gasp, your voice high and breathless. “I love the way you feel inside me, Rhysand.”

His eyes harden, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “That’s right. You love being fucked by me, don’t you? You love the way I make you feel, the way I take your virgin cunt.” His hand slides down your body, gripping your hip to keep his unrelenting pace. “And I’m going to keep fucking you until you’re screaming my name, until you can’t think of anything else but how good my cock feels inside you. So innocent… But not anymore, darling, you’re going to want this every single time you see me.”

Your muscles shake as you respond wantonly. “I want more, I want you to fuck me harder.” Rhysand groans, flipping you over without pulling you off his cock. His hands grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his cock slamming into you with renewed force.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for. But I’ll give it to you, if that’s what you want?” He glances at you for confirmation, though he already knows what he’ll see.You’ll look back at him with a blissful nod, your eyes heavy and barely open. You cry out as his pace turns punishing, far beyond what you’d imagined during those restless nights spent desperately rubbing your clit to thoughts of him. You can barely catch your breath as he fucks you for all you’re worth. 

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as he pulls you up, holding you flush against his chest. His hands wander over you, the swell of your breasts, the soft skin of your neck. “You’re going to come for me again, aren’t you? I can feel it. You’re so close. You’re going to come all over my cock, aren’t you?”

You can’t speak, your voice lost to pleasure. “Rhys, please,” you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets as you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge. “I’m so so close.”

He teases your ear lobe between his teeth as he whispers, “Come for me, go on. Show me how good it feels to have your virgin cunt fucked for the first time.”

“Feels so good, feels so–”

With a final thrust, you fall apart, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you. Rhysand’s name is a broken moan on your lips as the pleasure floods through you. Rhysand watches you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace never slowing. “That’s it,” he coaxes you through it. “That’s my girl. You’re mine now, sweetheart. Only mine.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex

[burytheruby]

I N A P P R O P I A T E

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which Captain Price is your father, and your eyes are set on his lieutenant.

OR: you're down bad for Ghost, and your father isn't too keen on that.

you’re in Part 1; Part 2

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent tbh, little to no british slang bc i barely know american LOL. written from my phone please bear with me. also, do not get groomed, this is just fiction. WC: 1501

English is my second language, very self indulgent.

"m'gonna marry him, daddy!" Captain Price used to laugh about that, when your eight-year-old self would cling onto his arm while pointing at the twenty-one-year-old man who had just been recruited. it used to be an inside joke between the unit task, your father was oh so confident that you'd get over your childhood crush.

oh boy was he wrong.

every time without fail, when the squad would gather at your home during their leave, you'd take peeks to the living room, kitchen, or wherever they settled to talk. this ritual continued well into your pre-teenage years, right before you turned moody and too shy to even come out of your room. that's when Price thought it was over, what he didn't expect however was how you'd be so damn adamant on having Simon come over almost daily as soon as you turned eighteen. he was a seasoned captain, he wasn't oblivious to the way you'd eye his lieutenant, how you'd give him the coldest beer when it used to be reserved for him, the way you'd come every now and then and sit right across from The Ghost to "join in the conversation and catch up." nothing escaped his sharp eye, not even the way Ghost would sometimes stare your way for a little too long.

"he's emotionally unavailable, princess." he'd tell you, dropping you off for orientation day at your dream university. "he's a good lad, but he's got his own demons to fight." and he'd sigh as you slammed the car door on him. he could never deny your wishes, though, as he created a woman who was too determined—too set on her track who did not know the word defeat. but you were also just a kid—or at least that's the mental image of you in his head, a little girl with innocent thoughts who simply found his comrade to be cute.

"yer young and beautiful, m'sure those college boys are dying for ye." your father would tell you, almost begging for you to enjoy these years and experiment.

"but i don't want a boy." you would roll your eyes, having started your second year of university certainly made you into a character. you were confident—rightfully so, your beauty outshined anyone else. "i want Simon." you'd repeat like a broken record, and if it didn't make him want to strangle his lieutenant. how has time truly passed, he remembered when you'd call Simon by the name of Ghost, the name everyone used instead of his given name. but you weren't a part of the task force, there wasn't really a reason for you to call him Ghost for reason other than his signature balaclava and stitched-in mask.

you soon turned twenty, you were not a little girl anymore. his team had joined later in the evening to celebrate you, bringing you gifts and sneaked in alcohol for later when your friends would leave. it wasn't until Simon's arrival that you suddenly disappeared, but Price isn't a fool. he clutched the now empty can of beer, stopping immediately as he felt Gaz's reassuring touch on his shoulder. you were not a little girl anymore, you were a woman. he repeated in his head, no longer glancing over at the backyard door as he focused on the conversation between his comrades.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

"thank you, Simon." you smiled as he helped you put the piece of jewelry around your neck. a beautiful necklace of the metal of your liking—the one you always used when you dressed up so pretty, so dolled up. he looked at your face, his mouth in a straight line yet his eyes full of unspoken softness for you. he hummed in response, his gaze falling back down to your neck, where the necklace laid so neatly right under your collarbone, before it touched your cleavage. Simon tore his gaze away, he refused to look at you that way—not to his captain's daughter.

your smile faded as you noticed his lack of eye contact, your hand grazing his calloused one with gentleness. his eyes landed on yours once more, one hand moving the stray hair out of your face as he admired you, how you had grown to be a gorgeous woman. "we can't, love, m'way too old for ye." is what he said to you—to himself, to stop the pounding of his heart and the ache of having you so close to him. you shook your head in rebuttal, the frown of your brows making you more enticing to the man who towered over you with ease. you were determined, and he liked that about you—among the many other things that piqued his interest.

"don't care, Simon, i said i'd marry you." too determined, maybe. he scoffed at your words yet couldn't help it as the ghost of a smile appeared on his usually stoic face. "and i don't care about what old man has to say about it, i'm an adult for christ's sake." you held onto his hand, the one that laid so gently on the curve of your neck, feeling your pulse on his rough fingers. your eyes roamed from his eyes to his cheekbones, the scars on his face that added to his charm, and his slightly chapped lips that seemed to beg to close the gap between you. Simon noticed your lingering eyes, and he cursed under his breath as his fingers squeezed your neck softly.

"eyes up 'ere, love." his voice took you out of trance, eyes quickly darting back up to his as you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at being caught. you smiled in response, your own eyes getting lost on his gaze. a deep shade of chestnut, one that conveyed a turmoil of emotions. surely, he couldn't just court his captain's daughter, it's just wrong. no matter what her sweet eyes silently pleaded for, he couldn't just give in—hell, temptation is too strong. rough digits let go of your neck, reaching down to your waist so tenderly that anyone who looked your way would know.

you couldn't help it, not when he always tried to make you happy, to give you everything you deserved, for treating you the way he just did. with a pull of his jacket, your lips clashed passionately, desperately, as if you were to disappear, like a prayer that had been heard, you clung to him with your arms around his shoulders as he held you impossibly close. you sighed between the kiss, pulling at his bottom lip playfully before you returned to the steamy friction of your lips. a want, one Simon hadn't realized how much he needed, how much he craved. you were a woman, one so, so perfect. "so gorgeous," he hummed lowly against you, letting go of reddened, puffy lips. his words sent a shiver down your spine, relishing on his words, the ones that were only for you, always you.

Simon has never been rough with you– he couldn't even imagine being so, not when you're holding onto him like a lifeline, like he's everything you've ever wanted. he doesn't complain when you bring him up to your face again, breaths mixing in the silence of the yard, so silent you have both forgotten of the people inside your home. "Simon," you gasp in a plead, a withheld plea as the backdoor opened. he pulled away from you in an instant, his hand still on your waist protectively.

"everything alright?" Price asked, and you could hear Simon curse under his breath. you just knew your father did it on purpose, he had that mischievous look on his face you had inherited, one you both used when you planned something. his eyes bore on the point of contact between you and his lieutenant, and Simon found himself forced to let go of you with a grumble. Price's eyes fell on the pendant hanging off your neck, letting out a sigh as he closed the door behind him and walked up to you.

"gorgeous pendant, hun." his eyes found their way to his lieutenant on your side, a look on his face that was no longer a warning– but rather a petition (demand, more like) to keep his treasure safe. do not break her heart. you could almost hear his thoughts, shifting under his gaze as you observed the interaction. Simon gave a curt nod, a wordless promise of affection and protection. "you should hurry, s'getting cold." Price said after a moment, giving you a smile before walking back inside.

Simon found your smile endearing, the way it reached your eyes and made your face bright. his hand returned to your side, giving a playful squeeze before making its way to the small of your back once more. "let's go inside, yeah?" he murmured against your ear, and you couldn't help but think of how neatly wrapped you had him around your finger, always getting what you want.

an unforgettable birthday.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

made an entire account just to write this. i will be doing more, trust.

[wayneskluv]

Wonder Woman's daughter x Bat-fam - Chapter one

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: around 1.6k before i made final touches on tumblr editor

pairing/s: platonic!alfred x reader, platonic!damian x reader (he's a child in this fic!) and then maybe romantically dick x reader or jason x reader perhaps even tim. probably not bruce x reader. if anyone has any preferences, do let me know!

warnings: basically none at the moment. haven't pre-read. no beta, we die like jason todd. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

a/n: all images edited by me! if there’s an artist i haven’t credited, please let me know! i usually get my images from pinterest, and the credit is.. not great. if i’ve written something twice or misspelled something please PLEASE don’t hesitate to tell me. i very much appreciate it. but please be kind! i promise the next parts will be longer, this is sort of an intro into it. even if they aren’t longer, i’ll write a few.

# ── chapter one's POLAROID design - DAMIAN’S:

WAYNE MANOR is.. a lot.

It’s not just the size—though the sheer magnitude of the place is ridiculous—it’s the atmosphere. There’s a certain weight to the air, something woven between the old wood and polished marble, between the paintings of long-dead Waynes and the ever-present shadows stretching down the halls. It’s a house of ghosts, of past lives and quiet grief, but also of something more. Something alive.

You follow Alfred through the halls, the weight of multiple sets of eyes trailing behind you.

“So,” Dick says, effortlessly slipping into step beside you, “how long are you crashing with us?”

“Not sure,” you admit. “Mom was vague. Something about a ‘diplomatic mission’ and ‘needing someone to keep an eye on me.’”

Jason makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re a grown adult. You need a babysitter?”

“Right?!” You throw up a hand. “I told her that. But apparently, my ‘tendency to attract trouble’ means I need supervision.”

Tim, still lounging on the couch with his coffee, raises an eyebrow. “You’re in good company, then.”

“I fail to see why we should be responsible for you,” Damian mutters, arms still crossed. “You’re more than capable of defending yourself. Do you require assistance dressing yourself as well?”

You smirk. “No, but thanks for the concern.” How old was this kid?

Damian bristles. Jason outright laughs.

Bruce, who had been silent up until now, finally speaks. “You’re here. You’ll train, patrol, and follow house rules. No exceptions.”

Ah. There it is. The Batman speech.

You tilt your head. “Define ‘rules.’”

Jason grins.

Bruce ignores him. “No reckless fights, no engaging Gotham’s rogues without backup, and no breaking my city.”

You cross your arms. “Define ‘breaking.’”

Tim groans into his coffee.

Dick pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You look around at your newly acquired dysfunctional family and resist the urge to sigh.

Mom really did just dump you here like a stray dog, huh?

—

You’re led to your new room—temporary room, you remind yourself—as Alfred sweeps open the door with his usual poised efficiency.

The space is huge. Bigger than necessary. A four-poster bed, heavy oak furniture, a massive window overlooking the eternal Gotham gloom. Everything is dark wood, old money, and class. The whole place smells faintly of leather-bound books and expensive cologne. It’s… nice. In a cold, excessively rich, mildly haunted sort of way.

Alfred clears his throat. “I took the liberty of preparing the room to your specifications. If anything is unsuitable, do let me know.”

Your specifications. Right. You’d told your mom you didn’t need anything, but she must have sent a list anyway, because there’s ambrosia nectar in a crystal decanter on the desk, a thick training mat rolled up in the corner, and a wardrobe that probably contains battle-appropriate outfits tailored to your measurements.

She really did just drop you off and send instructions like you’re a dog.

“Thanks, Alfred,” you say, running a hand over the desk. Solid mahogany. You could probably suplex a god onto it, and it would hold.

He nods approvingly. “Dinner is at seven. I trust you will have no issue finding the dining hall?”

You smirk. “I don’t know. This place is a maze. You sure I won’t end up lost and starving in the east wing?”

He doesn’t blink. “Then I shall inform Master Wayne that a search party may be required.”

Alfred departs, leaving you to take in the ridiculousness of your situation. You sit on the bed—comfortably firm, definitely high-thread-count sheets—and drop onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

Your mother owes you so much for this.

—

You spend the next couple of hours getting familiar with your prison.

It’s quiet for a while. Peaceful.

Then the knocking starts.

“Hey, Newbie.”

The door opens before you can answer. Dick. Of course it’s Dick.

He leans in, all easy grins and big brother energy. “Figured I’d check in. You settled?”

“As settled as I’ll ever be,” you say, sitting up.

Dick saunters in like he owns the place (which, okay, technically he used to). He glances around, nodding at the Amazonian touches. “Mom went all out, huh?”

“She thinks Gotham is held together with duct tape. She’s probably right.”

“Oh, definitely right.”

Before you can ask what he actually wants, another figure appears in the doorway.

Jason.

He crosses his arms, giving you a slow once-over. “So. You’re an Amazon.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Dick chokes on a laugh. Jason grins.

—

The next few hours are a crash course in Batfamily survival.

Tim appears just long enough to tell you that “if you touch my coffee, I will kill you” before vanishing into the night like a cryptid.

Damian tests your reflexes by casually throwing a knife at you in the hallway. You catch it without looking. He says nothing. Just nods and walks away.

Jason decides to test your strength. By handing you a gun. You crush it in your bare hand. “…Well, okay then.”

Dick drags you into the living room for an impromptu movie night. Apparently, it’s a tradition. Jason spends half the movie making snarky Amazon jokes. Damian complains about historical inaccuracies.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re half-convinced you’ve walked into a madhouse.

Alfred serves a massive feast (courtesy of your inhuman dietary needs). You sit at the table, surrounded by Gotham’s weirdest vigilantes, eating like an Amazon in the middle of a completely normal family meal.

It’s bizarre. It’s horrifying.

It’s… weirdly nice.

Bruce, sitting at the head of the table, barely says anything. He’s watching you, but it’s not that usual piercing Batman stare—it’s more like a curiosity. Maybe he’s wondering what kind of trouble you’ll stir up. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to make of you. You’ve barely had a real conversation with him, just him dropping you here with all the grace of a father figuring out how to deal with his kids’ newest problem. But then again, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly father of the year.

Dick’s usual charm is in full swing as he tries to make small talk. “So, you’re a demigod, huh? You’re gonna have to teach me some moves sometime. You know, to keep up with all the crazy stuff we have to do around here.” His smile is big, open—like he’s trying to make you feel at home, but you can tell there’s a nervous energy under it. He keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out how to approach someone who could probably snap him like a twig. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Jason, sitting next to you, shovels food in with no care for finesse. “So, you’re Wonder Woman’s kid. That explains the whole glowing warrior princess thing you’ve got going on. What do you actually do with all that godly power? Sit on mountaintops and brood or do you, like, break people’s faces for a living?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. He’s testing you.

“You’d be surprised,” you say coolly, setting your fork down. “I’ve had a bit of experience with face-breaking.”

Jason laughs. “Good, because Gotham needs a lot of that.”

Damian, who had been silently poking at his food, suddenly looks up from his plate. His eyes narrow with some strange mix of suspicion and mild interest. “You will be trained, I assume?” he asks, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “Or do you believe that your divine abilities will suffice?”

You almost choke on your drink. “Oh, I’m definitely trained, kid. What, you think just because I’m half-god I don’t need to learn how to fight like a human?”

Damian’s lips curl up into something that might be a sneer, but it’s more like the equivalent of a raised eyebrow from someone who’s always trying to one-up everyone. “I suppose that’s a good attitude, for now.”

You raise an eyebrow back, feeling the tension between you two starting to spark. “Keep thinking that.”

Tim, who’s been glaring into his phone the whole time, suddenly looks up. His expression is the usual deadpan, but you catch a flicker of curiosity. “You know,” he says, tapping on his screen, “if you really want to get the most out of this place, you’ll have to figure out which of us is your mentor. Bruce is… well, Bruce, so don’t expect much from him. But if you’re looking for a solid training regiment, maybe ask Dick or Jason. Just—don’t get too attached to the idea of normal training. This is Gotham, and we all have our… quirks.” He’s about to say more when Bruce interrupts with a sharp look.

“That’s enough, Tim,” Bruce says softly, but with authority. The room falls silent for a moment. Tim’s eyes flicker up at Bruce, then down at his phone. No more words from him.

It’s… strange. You’re used to the chaos, but this feels like a whole other level of dysfunction. They bicker like siblings, but there’s this undercurrent of something deeper—loyalty maybe? You can tell that whatever happens between these people, they’re bound by something stronger than just the weight of their shared lives.

You take a breath and cut in, trying to ease the tension. “Look, I’m just here for the short-term. All I need is a place to crash and a bit of guidance while Mom does whatever it is she’s doing.”

“Short-term?” Damian asks, raising a brow. “How short is short-term?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth tugging into a smirk. “Not long enough for you to start calling me ‘sis,’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glares at you. “We shall see.”

The dinner continues, awkwardly at first but slowly finding its rhythm. There’s a comfortable noise in the air now—the kind that only happens when people are used to each other’s company. And while you’re still very much the outsider in this strange little family, for the first time since you arrived, the weight of the world outside feels just a little bit lighter.

@hjgdhghoe @linnygirl09

[partoffantasy]

Fool's Heart (Part 1) - Liam Mairi

⸻ image credits to mybookishdoodles ⸻

summary: reader has always brushed off Liam’s flirting, knowing he never stays with one girl for long—but when she finally admits to herself that she wants more, she finds him with someone else. Heartbroken, she avoids him until he confronts her.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 1.8k

Part 2: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Y/N sat on her bed, staring blankly at the stone wall across from her, her mind a tangled mess of emotions. She hadn't meant for this to happen. Falling for Liam Mairi was never part of the plan. He was a flirt, a charmer, someone who never stuck with one girl for long. And yet, here she was, her chest tightening at the thought of him with someone else.

Y/N had never cared about Liam’s reputation. At least, that’s what she told herself. He was the golden boy of their squad—brilliant in battle, effortlessly charming, and infuriatingly attractive. But he was also a flirt, one who never lacked new romances. Twice a week, without fail, another girl would slip into his room, and twice a week, Y/N would bury herself under her blanket, pretending she couldn’t hear the muffled giggles or the sound of a door shutting a room away.

Earlier that day, they had been in the training yard, catching their breath after sparring. Liam leaned against the wooden post, his shirt damp with sweat, a lazy grin playing on his lips. "You know, Y/N, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like what you see." Y/N rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Liam, I could be blindfolded and still land a hit on you. Maybe focus on your footwork instead of flirting?"

Liam let out a dramatic sigh, pushing off the post to step closer. "You wound me, truly. Here I am, offering you the privilege of my undivided attention, and you just throw it away." She smirked, shaking her head. "Undivided? You were flirting with that second-year cadet not even five minutes ago." Liam chuckled. "Jealous?" Y/N scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. "Please. I just think it’s funny that you recycle the same lines. You should at least try to be original."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I am. See, the thing is, none of them get the same treatment as you.” She felt her stomach flip at his words but masked it with an unimpressed expression. "So, what you’re saying is, I’m special?" Liam leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "Very." Y/N stared at him for a beat before shoving him again. "Go shower, Mairi. You stink." His laughter echoed as she turned on her heel and walked away, but she couldn’t shake the warmth spreading in her chest.

A knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts. "Y/N? You in there?" Violet’s voice was gentle, but firm. Y/N hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, come in." Violet stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She took one look at Y/N’s expression and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, spill." Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face. "It’s nothing." Violet snorted. "Bullshit. You've been weird around Liam for weeks. And before you say anything, I've seen the way you look at him. What’s going on?"

Y/N bit her lip, hesitating. Then, before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "I think—I know—I have feelings for him. And it’s driving me insane because he’s Liam. He’s never serious about anyone." Violet nodded slowly, as if she had already known. "What changed? You guys have always been close, but something’s different now." Y/N exhaled sharply, her mind flooding with memories. "It’s always been there, I think, but I just ignored it. I didn’t want to acknowledge it because I knew it wouldn’t matter. He flirts with everyone. But lately... lately it’s been different."

Violet crossed her arms. "How so?" Y/N let out a humorless laugh. "It’s the little things. The way he always makes sure I have my favorite seat at the table. How he somehow remembers the exact way I take my tea, even though I only drink it when I’m sick. The way he teases me, but it’s never too much. He always knows when to stop, when to be serious."

She swallowed hard before continuing. "A few weeks ago, I was freezing after drills, and he just—he just wrapped his jacket around me without saying a word. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t expect anything in return. And then there was that night after sparring when I was exhausted, and he just sat with me in the common room, letting me rant about how much I sucked. He told me I was strong, that I was getting better. He said he believed in me." Y/N let out a shaky breath. "It’s stupid. I’m being stupid. He is just a friend."

Violet shook her head. "It’s not stupid, Y/N." "It is," Y/N insisted. "Because at the end of the day, he still has a different girl in his bed every other night. And I’m just another cadet in his squad." Violet studied her best friend for a moment before sighing. "Look, I won’t pretend to know exactly what’s going on in Liam’s head, but I do know one thing—he cares about you. I see it. We all see it. And maybe, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to see it, too."

Y/N shook her head. "And what if he hasn’t? What if I go to him and he laughs in my face? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even care?" Violet grabbed Y/N’s hand, squeezing it. "You’ll never know unless you try." Y/N hesitated, her heart hammering in her chest. And then, with a deep breath, she stood. "Okay. I’m going to talk to him."

By talking to Violet, she had found the courage to do something about it. To go to him. To knock on his door and tell him that she—The sight of him stopped her cold. Liam was leaning against his doorway, shirtless, his pale skin illuminated by the flickering hallway torches. And in front of him, pressed against his chest, was a girl.

Blonde, beautiful, draped in nothing but one of his shirts. His hands rested on her waist, his head dipping close as he whispered something that made her giggle softly. Y/N’s stomach twisted violently. She should move. She should run. But her legs refused to work. All she could do was stand there, helpless, as Liam’s lips found the girl’s neck, as she curled into him, as his door clicked shut behind them. And just like that, everything shattered.

A sharp inhale burned her lungs. She pressed her fingers against the cold stone wall, willing herself to breathe, to stay upright. But it was impossible, because the truth had never been clearer. It had never been her. Not really. She had let herself believe in something that was never hers to have. That she was somehow different. That the way he looked at her meant something. That she wasn’t just another girl who could be so easily forgotten in the morning.

Gods, she was an idiot. A broken laugh escaped her lips, bitter and self-deprecating. Of course this was how it would end. Of course she would be the fool who thought Liam Mairi could be anything other than what he was. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned on her heel, her vision blurring as she walked away. She would be fine. Eventually. But tonight, she let herself grieve the fantasy she had so stupidly let herself believe in.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Y/N spent the next week and a half avoiding Liam like the plague. She skipped meals when she knew he’d be in the dining hall, trained at odd hours to avoid crossing paths, and stuck close to Violet or Rhi whenever she had to be in the same room as him. But it was impossible to avoid him forever, especially when they were in the same squad. 

Liam noticed. At first, she thought he might not. He had enough distractions—flirtations, fights, responsibilities—to keep him occupied. But by the end of the second week, it was clear he had run out of patience. His stares had become more pointed, his usual teasing remarks absent, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

That evening, as she tried to slip out of the training hall before he could catch her, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, but she forced herself to stay rigid, unreadable. “Alright,” Liam’s voice was low, rough, tinged with irritation. “What the hell is going on?” Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to face him. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers, full of confusion, frustration, and something else she couldn’t name. Her pulse pounded, her instincts screaming at her to run, but his grip on her wrist—firm, steady—held her in place.

“Nothing,” she muttered, attempting to tug her hand away. He didn’t let go. “Bullshit.” His voice sharpened, his brows drawing together. “You’ve been avoiding me for days—weeks, actually. You barely look at me, you leave the second I walk into a room, and don’t even try to deny it because I see it every damn time. You won’t even spar with me anymore. What did I do?” His voice softened just slightly at the end, the frustration laced with something dangerously close to hurt, and that nearly broke her. But she refused to let him see how much this was tearing her apart.

Y/N clenched her jaw, anger bubbling up—not at him, but at herself. Anger for feeling this way. Anger for thinking she had been special. Anger for hoping. “You didn’t do anything, Liam,” she snapped, her own voice betraying the turmoil inside her. “That’s the problem.” His brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly as he tried to piece her words together. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. “It means I’m an idiot,” she bit out, her chest tightening with every word. “It means I let myself think—just for a second—that maybe you were different with me. That maybe I actually meant something to you.” Liam’s grip on her wrist slackened slightly, his expression shifting from frustration to something raw—something she couldn’t bear to see.

“Y/N—” “I saw you,” she cut him off, her voice cracking despite her best efforts. “That night. With that girl. And I felt like a fucking idiot because I actually thought—” She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head at herself. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Liam’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. And that silence, that hesitation, was worse than anything he could have said.

Her throat burned as she swallowed against the lump forming there. “I have feelings for you, Liam,” she admitted, the words barely more than a whisper. “And I hate myself for it.” Then, before he could say anything, before he could see the tears welling in her eyes, she yanked her wrist free and turned away, walking off before the weight of her own words could crush her completely.

Part 2: Click here

[gffa]

Hi, I'm both curious and interested in starting a fight among the Batman fandom

There's an old joke where the Batmobile is failing to start. Batman says:

"Robin, can you check the battery?"

To which Robin says:

"What's a tery?"

I was just curious which Robin this would have been. Funniest and most likely answer are both acceptable

Here's my answers: All of them made this exact joke. Dick came by it honestly, that's his sense of humor, especially because he likes needling Bruce for a reaction, he is never as proud of himself as when he can get Batman to laugh and dumb jokes are his FAVORITE way of getting a rise out of the man. Jason would make the joke, because he was trying to live up to Dick Grayson's legacy and mold himself in the same image, so he made jokes that weren't really his style sometimes and it was really cute, because Bruce would smile, but the times he would get a real laugh out of Bruce were when he made his own style of jokes. Tim would do it because he was beating Nightwing to the punch on a joke, because Tim Drake may be a Dick Grayson stan first and a human being second, but that often came out in the form of, "I must steal my favorite human being's joke So He Will Approve Of Me." This 100% works, Dick acts offended that his line was stepped on, but he laughs and noogies Tim's head because that's now his baby brother. Steph would do it because she's trying to fit in at the time, trying to live up to the mantle of Robin, because she's seen Tim step on people's jokes and how it's a good ice-breaker and she's really working hard at this. Damian would do it because Damian is The Funniest Child Alive Actually and will whip out a joke when you least expect it, but also because that child's foundation as a superhero was 100% Dick Grayson and sometimes he misses Dick so he makes Dick's stupid joke for him. Ultra Hot Take: Sometimes all five of them try for it at once and NOBODY is happy at the ensuing chaos, because someone has to Win at the joke, because if you're all reaching for it, nobody is annoyed In The Right Way when you make it. EXCEPT when Bruce makes an annoyed little "Hn." noise and then they all swivel their heads towards him at the exact same speed and light up with unholy glee and start chirping it on repeat. "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" on repeat for a solid 30 seconds like a group of parrots in an echo chamber. It's uncanny and Bruce hates it, but, hey, it's teamwork and he wanted them to work together better, don't punish the behavior you want to see, Bruce.

[daegorth]

Con razón juega poquito últimamente, se lo quieren encuerar

[kislnd]

can i get a what would it be like dating willne?

dating willne~

ofc pookie, here you go!! i love making these, it just gives me an excuse to type my silly little thoughts hehe

-> will doesn't strike me as the type of guy to be big on pda so i think as a consequence he would be extra touchy behind closed doors. he would always need to have part of him touching you, whether it be you on his lap or even something small like him resting his hand on your thigh.

-> i feel like he would be protective of you so you would probably have quite a private (but not secret) relationship. both of your social medias would only show snippets of your lives together - will likes it this way because he gets to have you to himself and you can enjoy lots of things together without worrying about public image or anything.

-> you guys would definitely share clothes. his wardrobe would become your wardrobe and it wouldn't be uncommon for him to lose a jumper only to find that you were wearing it. he definitely wouldn't mind though, it would make you even more attractive to him.

-> couple naps - because he is always close to you and probably like a human heater, it is so easy to fall asleep. there would be many cases where people would walk in and see you and will cuddled up having a nap just because you are both so comfortable.

-> he makes doing mundane tasks like cooking or washing up much easier, he would always be willing to help and would always have his horrendous puns on hand to make you laugh, even if it is just because of how rubbish they are.

-> when you're upset, i think he would be trying to do anything in his power to make everything okay again - i feel like seeing you sad would be one of the most stressful things for him because he never wants you to be unhappy.

-> he would love to take you out on dates. i imagine he would always want them to be a surprise for you so he would just tell you what to wear and the rest would be up to him. he would take you out to fancy restaurants and give you the princess treatment you deserve but i also think he would take you on more chill dates, maybe activity based ones like to the arcade or to places like the beach. if neither of you can make time to go out, he will make sure to cook you your favourite meal at home.

-> it would be impossible for you to get out of bed in the morning, he would try to drag you back in or get you to stay in his arms by promising to get up in five minutes instead (it's always more than five). it would take a lot for you to convince him that going to work was more important than five extra minutes of cuddling, the only way for him to let you go would be by promising to pick up where you left off in the evening.

-> i think you would get on really well with his friends and they would consider you part of their group - there would be many occasions where they would invite you to hang out or to go out for drinks.

-> he would always bring things back from the shop for you without you asking. any time he goes out, you can expect him to come back with something extra, like a packet of your favourite sweets, especially for you to enjoy.

-> your opinion would be very important to him, he would always be asking you about video ideas or showing you what he has made for you to judge. you would be like his quality controls - he knows if you like it, other people likely will too.

-> always sending you stupid reels / tiktoks / memes, you would hear his laugh from the next room and without fail your phone would vibrate within the next seconds following. let's be real, he would probably send you some brainrot that you would laugh at anyway just because you could hear how hard he was laughing.

[snowfieldstories]

Hi ! I saw that your requests were open so I ran here (if I'm wrong pls ignore this ask🙏) ANYWAYSSS , can I get a kimdokja with a reader that's also a regressor like yjh and a reader like him ?you can make them any gender you want ! they regressed over and over to ensure that kdj gets his happy ending with everyone else because she read orv and wanted to change the ending , his reacting to learning that they're basically suffering in order to achieve his and everyone's happiness :>

a happy ending (for you).

hihi! thank you for such a lovely ask. I fear I made it too angsty (i love writing angst, ugh) so I tried to round it out with some fluff at the end. enjoy ◡̈

side note, I think a writing-demon possessed me with how fast I churned this out. it was a very motivating prompt!

kim dokja x regressor!reader [gender neutral] warnings: mentions of regressor-suicide, angst (+ hopefully fluff?) w.c: 1k

"I'm also a regressor. Many times over."

You feel a weight lift from your shoulders as you lay out the truth to Kim Dokja. He nods his head, having suspected this, but he still looks troubled by it. "The end is that hard to reach?"

"Actually, I probably could have reached it by now," you muse.

You fail to see that Kim Dokja's gaze has become wary. "What do you mean?"

"Turns out, it's more difficult that in seems to save one person," you joke, but the laugh becomes weak when you realize what you've just let slip.

Kim Dokja's fury cracks sharp and fast like a whip. "For who?"

You gulp, but there is no escape as Kim Dokja seems prepared to use the full might of his constellation and demon king statuses to keep you trapped in this conversation. He repeats his question.

For you, Kim Dokja. You have to mumble this a few times before you gather the strength to say it clearly.

There is a heavy, painful silence after those four words ring out. When you finally look at him, his anger has directed inwards and a shudder goes through his body.

"You suffer because of me?" Your heart hurts at the way his words break.

"You sacrifice yourself all the time for us. How is this any different?"

"Because...because it's—" You, he wants to say "—not necessary! Surely there's been a worldline where you could see it through to the end?"

You watch his increasingly frantic movements, and you're strongly reminded of the last failed round.

It was not a pleasant one.

Kim Dokja had died after you tried yet another unpaved route that diverged from the original canon, in an effort to bring him his happy ending. You shoved the image of his mangled form out of your mind. The sight had made your own movements agonized, erratic, because you hadn't seen his death so gruesome or vivid in such a long time.

You had slit your own throat before your companions could even take a step.

Reset, reset, reset. I refuse to live in this world without you, Kim Dokja.

Stuck in your mind, you've moved closer to him so that your legs touch. Your fingertips brush the fabric on his thighs. Physical contact with Kim Dokja always calms you best, a reminder that he is there, breathing and unharmed. Alive.

Kim Dokja has noticed your clinginess from the start. But he's never said anything; and he always allows it. Now he begins to see its truth.

A horrifying thought clicks into place within Kim Dokja. You see the anger in his expression give way to a sickening fear.

"H—how many regressions?" His voice is hushed, fraying thin. You force yourself to look him in the eye as you answer.

"I stopped counting after five hundred."

Kim Dokja lets out a cry so broken and anguished that it claws at your soul, as if the words five hundred were a dagger that you had stabbed into his heart, despite being a shamefully low number compared to Yoo Joonghyuk.

Then, as his face becomes wet with tears, he grasps at his chest, and for a terrible moment you wonder if maybe you had stabbed him.

Or perhaps you had injured the Fourth Wall. Kim Dokja's large, shaking eyes are making guilt and pain lace through your chest, and you start to think that maybe you should have lied about this.

You don't notice as you scoot closer, connecting your hips. Your hand cups his cheek, thumb wiping away the fat tears that continue to fall, and you press a kiss over the tears on the other.

Kim Dokja goes impossibly still, and only then do you realize what you've done.

You jerk back. An apology is on your lips as you prepare to flee, but then his hands lock on to your waist, holding you in place. He leans forward until his forehead is pressed into your shoulder, his exhale warm as he speaks. "I'm not worth any of that."

Your hand on him trembles in outrage. "You're worth thousands upon thousands of times. I would continue regressing until I've burned out the stigma, my sponsor, or burned through every worldline available, if that's what it took."

The admission of your love for Kim Dokja comes easily. You wonder if he even recognizes it as such.

His breathing is so, very shallow.

"I want you to be happy," you say, quiet and firm. "It's all I've ever wanted. When you have your happy ending, I will finally rest."

You edge him into the crook of your neck, pulling him tight to you. If it was too hard to make him believe with your words, then you would show him with your presence.

Your name breathes from his lips and against your skin. It makes you shiver.

"You shouldn't be doing this for me," says Kim Dokja. His arms draw you in despite his words.

"I guess if this round goes to hell, I've got a new goal." Kim Dokja lifts his head in confusion, and you smile. "To make you see that you are absolutely worth it."

His pinch is not designed to hurt, but you pretend to yell in pain anyways. Kim Dokja's frown pushes into a pout as he squeezes you tighter.

You think he's beginning to fully understand, to really believe you—and the heaviness that had settled within him appears to lift with each passing moment.

He drops his head back in the crook of your neck. His hair ripples through your fingers as you card them. You're both content to stay like that, in silence, finding comfort in each other's presence.

A strange feeling washes over you. Not the usual, doubtful hope or lingering dread of the previous rounds, but instead a peaceful strength. Then a conviction snaps into your heart, and it feels like the final clue to a long-term, twisted game with the universe.

This would be the round.

Kim Dokja would reach his final, happy ending safely, with all of your companions. And you would be there by his side, forever.

[diamonddaze01]

DIY (why)

pairing: non-idol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader | wc: 1.0K genre: humor, fluff, established relationship | rating: e for everyone! warnings: none! a/n: based on an a conversation with @ylangelegy about how jeonghan has never lifted a tool in his life. enjoy!

You weren’t sure what you expected when you came home, but it certainly wasn’t Jeonghan standing in the middle of the living room, looking like he’d fought a losing battle with the entirety of IKEA.

“Hey, you’re home early!” he greeted brightly, though his tone was suspiciously similar to someone caught mid-crime.

The sight before you was equal parts baffling and hilarious. Picture frames were propped up against the walls, a half-built IKEA coffee table leaned precariously to one side, and what appeared to be a bag of screws had spilled across the floor like tiny, mocking breadcrumbs.

“Jeonghan…” You stepped inside cautiously, toeing a stray Allen wrench out of your path. “What is going on?”

He set down the manual in his hand, holding it up like he’d been caught red-handed. “I thought I’d surprise you by putting the house together while you were at work.”

Your eyes scanned the scene: the lopsided coffee table, the crooked picture frames on the walls (one of which was upside down), and the faint scent of burning plastic wafting from the general direction of the kitchen.

“Surprise?” he added weakly.

“You—” You paused, trying to find the right words. “You thought this would be a good idea?”

He pushed his hair back, smearing what looked like drywall dust across his forehead. “I didn’t think it would be this bad. How hard could it be to hang some pictures and assemble a table?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Jeonghan, you’ve never used a tool in your life.”

“I watched a video,” he defended, pointing at his laptop, which was paused on an overly enthusiastic DIY vlogger holding up a power drill. “And I read the instructions. Well, most of them.”

You crouched next to the IKEA manual on the floor, flipping through it. “This is not most of them. You circled the diagram of the coffee table like it’s a treasure map.”

He peeked over your shoulder. “Because it didn’t make sense! What’s a cam lock? Why does IKEA use pictures instead of words? Are Swedes allergic to clarity?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose to stop from laughing. “Let me guess—you skipped steps?”

“I skipped suggestions,” he corrected with a smirk, only for it to falter when the table creaked ominously behind him. “Okay, fine, maybe a couple steps. But this is IKEA! They don’t even include all the screws sometimes! It’s like they want you to fail.”

“You’re blaming IKEA for this mess?”

“Do you see this pile of screws?” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “I’m convinced it’s more than what came in the box! I think they’re reproducing!”

You tried not to laugh, but the mental image of IKEA screws plotting your demise was too good. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me,” he shot back easily, his grin almost enough to distract you from the tilted bookshelf you hadn’t noticed until now.

You stared at it, horrified. “Is that—did you hang a bookshelf?”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, following your gaze. “It’s modern. You know, asymmetry is trendy.”

“It’s also unsafe.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the very picture of nonchalance. “It hasn’t fallen yet.”

“Yet,” you echoed, crossing your arms.

Jeonghan stood, brushing off his knees and sidling closer to you with his trademark smirk. “Look, it’s not perfect, but I was trying to be romantic. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think lopsided furniture and upside-down picture frames scream romance?”

“It screams effort,” he said dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Do you know how many hours I spent on this? I used a drill, babe. I risked my life for you.”

You blinked at him. “You risked your life… hanging frames?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, pointing at one particularly sad attempt that was dangling by one screw. “Those things are dangerous! The drill kicked back, and for a second, I thought I was going to meet my maker.”

Despite yourself, you started laughing, the image of Jeonghan flinching away from a power drill too absurd to ignore.

“Fine,” you said, pulling away just enough to look at him. “But you’re cleaning this up, and I’m fixing everything. Including that bookshelf before it kills someone.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling you in again. “But after dinner. I worked hard today, and I’m starving.”

“You worked hard?” you teased, poking his chest. “You mean you made a mess and called it a day?”

“Same thing.” He grinned and leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Now, how about takeout? Thai?”

You smirked, reaching up to straighten the crooked frame. “I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to make me do all the work.”

He gave you a wide-eyed look that was anything but innocent. “What? Me? Never.”

“Uh-huh.” You glanced back at him, your tone teasing. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Lucky?” he echoed, grinning as he slid closer to you. “I’m the luckiest. I’ve got a handy, patient partner who’ll fix all my mistakes and keep me fed. Truly, what more could I ask for?”

“Less drywall dust on the floor, for one,” you shot back, flicking at his shirt where a fine layer of powder clung.

“Details.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll clean it up after dinner. Maybe.”

“Jeonghan.”

“Okay, definitely.”

It was impossible to stay mad at him for long—not with that mischievous twinkle in his eye and the crooked, boyish smile that said he’d get away with this, too. You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone.

“Fine. But you’re watching me hang the rest of these,” you grumble goodnaturedly, gesturing to the mess he had left behind. 

“Deal,” he said, plopping onto the couch with a satisfied grin. “You know, we really make a great team.”

You sighed, shaking your head but unable to stop smiling. “You’re impossible, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“And you love me for it,” he said smugly, dodging your playful swat as he grabbed his phone.

As you watched him settle onto the couch, surrounded by chaos but entirely unbothered, you couldn’t help but laugh. The furniture might have been a disaster, but somehow, it still felt like home—with Jeonghan, it always did.

[mt-oe]

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴…—𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘶

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Here's a fic that I hope I post just in time for Valentine's day. I am currently writing this inebriated out of my shit. My cheeks are so hot and my world is spinning like I'm a dishrag in a bucket of water. I pray that my quality of writing doesn't plummet because all of you deserve so many good things and the world, and none of you deserve a shitty fanfic.

Every one of you deserves to be loved as softly as you need to be and as rough as you want to be.

I hope everyone will enjoy and I hope that everyone continued to love Mizu this day dedicated to love <3 Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, i do not know, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

What is love?

Even way back then, when you were still young, you've always wondered about what love is. You've heard it all over the teen magazines you bought monthly, on the newest romance film, and even in your parent's old film cassettes. Yet, still, you couldn't figure it out.

Your curiosity even reached a point when you'd pester your next door neighbor about it. The image of Mizu, your best friend, frowning at you as if you were asking her some kind of dumb insignificant shit would never fail to make you laugh.

"Could you stop pestering me about this and just go on," her annoyed voice would growl through the call. You distinctly remember her putting you on 'deafen' every time you started talking about it while the two of you were on Discord. But honestly, who could blame her? You were teens. Still kids. All she wanted was her LP and a new rank this season, not to hear you ask her what the hell love was.

There would be times when you'd ask your parents. But honestly, asking your parents about something that can give you incredibly subjective answers is never a good thing. You'd always be greeted with a ' just focus on your studied first' or a very vague try-hard-to-be-poetic-or-sentimental answer. They're answers were always either so lacking or so dramatic that it never quite hit the spot.

Searching on the internet was also an option. Your teen self would sit in front of your computer, searching and reading articles about love. Honestly, the answer varied so much it didn't satisfy you at all. More feel-y types of articles would tell you that it was a 'once in a lifetime special feeling that made you absolutely the happiest you'll ever be' while more logical sites would tell you that it was a chemical reaction in your brain.

You could remember Mizu scoff at them. Both of you were hanging in your house while her mother was getting high in their living room again. She walked up to your house one night with a small frown, tired from the smell of drugs and smoke.

Now, she had something else to be tired about. And that was you showing her all these articles were all the same level of ridiculous to her.

For the nth time that night, she rolled her eyes as you read out the contents of the article, both of you under the blanket with only the dim light from your phone illuminating your room. "We're almost done with high school and you're still hooked on this?" she asked, a rough huff leaving her throat. "Isn't this for kids?"

You immediately shook your head and let out a small whine, moving closer until your shoulders touched. "Oh c'mon, Mizu! Have a little curiosity in your life!" you grumbled, refreshing the website when the pictures wont load.

"I could think a hundred things more significant and worthwhile learning," she replied, hands adjusting the blanket, pulling it closer and making sure the chilly night breeze couldn't reach you. "This is nonsense."

"Reasonable nonsense, that is," you said with a slight smile. Her sapphire orbs scanned over your face, tracing over the excitement on your face and the twinkling in your eyes. A little part of her brain was filled with some sort of mushy happy feeling the more she stared. And before these feelings could take over, she rolled her eyes again, annoyance clear in the way she sighed.

"Whatever. It's your phone anyway," she grumbled, looking away. You giggled softly and shifted your weight further against her side, fully leaning against her shoulder. Mizu would never have admitted this during her teens, but your warmth, the feeling of your weight against her, and mutual feeling of comfort definitely made her heart beat faster than it ever did or could during fencing training.

Each article the two of you read together caused your curiosity to grow. Maybe, somewhere along the way, so did Mizu's.

What is love?

Love is a mystery, you thought to yourself.

In college, the two of you were still inseparable, attached by the hip as they say. Thankfully, both of you had decided to go to the same university under different programs. While you were buried in student debt, unsurprisingly, your best friend had managed to acquire a scholarship.

Everything was going well between the two of you. Both of you still hung out and still caught up with each other weekly or over a few games online. The frustrations and moments of joy mended your bond with each other every time. Each hour that passed the clock was worth the grogginess you'll inevitably feel for staying up too late. It felt like nothing could get in between the two of you.

That was until...

Some time during your sophomore year, Mizu's mother had waltzed her way into your lives. With her, she brought an arranged relationship for Mizu and another man. He was apparently an alumni of the same scholarship program Mizu was under and was pretty wealthy.

Both of you knew this was some ploy for her to get money, but whenever your best friend confronted her mother, she'd be greeted with excuses saying this was the best for her dearest daughter and how she knows what's best for her. You could only scoff at her words, knowing she never really cared for her past her childhood.

And for a time, Mizu believed you. She detested the idea of being forced into a relationship for money. Relationships in general were a waste of time for her. You thought everything was going to go well, that she'd still be by your side, that the fun would never stop.

But, somewhere along the way, your weekly gaming sessions turned into nights of doing your projects alone. Your best friend was apparently invited by her boyfriend, Mikio, to some new restaurant.

It didn't matter.

The weekly hangout sessions in either one of your dorms turned into a solo trip to the library to finish something or to mooch off of the campus wi-fi you paid for from your tuition anyway. Mizu was apparently going to go with the old geezer to some movie.

It didn't matter.

Your bot-support duo turned into you playing top or raging in jungle alone. He was apparently inviting her to play duo and she'd play with you some other time.

It didn't matter. It didn't hurt.

Just a pinch.

It was college anyway, people are bound to lose friends, right? Maybe you could go back to finding out what love is. Maybe the deeper academic pursuits in college and the wider range of educational materials could grant you a more extensive selection of literature regarding the matter.

You could drown yourself in writings from the library, books you've never even heard off, more knowledgeable goons trying so hard to explain love through neurotransmitters and electrical signals in the brain. Maybe the pursuit of this knowledge would allow you to move on from the person of your affection.

Affection? What a stupid word.

It was college and you've made new friends along the way. You'd get invited to parties and merriments and meet more people. Maybe this night, you'd take a shot more than the usual, a cig more than the usual, and you'd repeat that to yourself until the squeezing tightening feeling in your throat retches over to the toilet.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until you were in Akemi's arms crying about your blue-eyed best friend who she already seemed to dislike. Apparently, they'd known each other and Mizu had apparently wiped the floor with Akemi's boyfriend. A soft bitter chuckle left your throat.

"Yeah, that's definitely something she would do," you whispered, voice rough from vomiting the intoxication out.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until Akemi was starting to feel like comforting you was her own Sisyphus. You'd go on about how you were there first and how cruel the world was for making you realize your affection a bit too late.

"Affection? That's a stupid way of putting it. I think you're in love," Akemi would say, cringing as you buried your tear-stricken face against her hair.

Is love supposed to hurt?

You could not accept it.

Love tastes like pure coffee beans without any cream or sugar. Strong, bitter, almost tasteless, gives you migraines, could send you into palpitations, and can kill you. Slow and unknowingly.

Maybe it was the time to stop pursuing love. Maybe those old people in journals and books with a hundred million different titles from all the licenses they have were right. That it was all just neurotransmitters and electrical signals going the synapses in your neurons that'll inevitably deteriorate with age. It'll go away.

Is this really what love is?

What was love?

Love is a kind of bitterness that aches, you thought to yourself.

Semesters passed and you never got to bond with your best friend again—if you would still call her that.

The ache made you grow cold, but you preferred to call it mature. You continued on with your life, her name sounding like a distant song whenever the winds whispered. Every blue in your life felt like a strike of undescribed nostalgia. A memory that could have been a novel but ended a bit too early.

You weren't a god but you sure had the ability to summon a personal raincloud over your own moments of happiness. It wasn't bitterness. It was called choosing practicality over emotion, you said.

And maybe, that's how life works. Maybe you should just go on and be like those old geezers with a shit ton of masters degrees and doctorates who'd tell you that love was just hormones and your brain going overdrive.

Maybe you should grow old and into a boring life, not affected by the blue eyes that were staring back at your with a sad old smile.

Maybe you can be Ms. Practicality again and ignore how beautiful she was when she walked towards you.

Maybe you can finally control the electrical signals in your brain so your heart could stop beating so fast as she greeted you, placing a hand on your shoulder, feeling the warmth you missed so damn much. Her long hair against her shoulder and the cold aura of her eyes warming as her eyes squinted with that precious smile of hers.

Maybe the hundred million academic titles you planned to pursuit would give you an early lesson and tell you that you'd know what love was some day.

And maybe...that some day was today.

Maybe the crazy romance books and magazine articles were right. That love would waltz into your life one day and maybe love had already waltzed into your life from the very start.

You'd soon find out that your best friend had some how made a reputation for herself, getting into a fight with her ex over some betrayal. She didn't really want to talk about it since the wounds were still fresh. Rumors of her violent tendencies grew and now she was trying to lay low again.

They'd call her a dangerous fellow

Well...they were neither right nor wrong. This fellow was dangerous indeed.

Dangerously sweet.

Dangerously funny.

Dangerously understanding.

Dangerously charming.

Dangerously lovely.

After decades of asking the question, "What is love?", you'd finally get your question. The bells of heaven can finally ring now because your lifelong journey of finding out what this mystery was can finally end.

Love wears orange-tinted glasses. A gift she got from you before both of you went to college together. The sight and the knowledge of it being her favorite tugging your heart strings and warming your cheeks.

Love continued her fencing training and was somehow better than the instructors in uni. She'd be so cocky and call their techniques trash, so much so that they think of her more as a competition than a student.

Love doesn't laugh a lot but when she does, it sounds like what an angel would sound like. She thinks you're exaggerating but you could honestly drown in the honeyed sound.

Love incurs the wrath of her professors by passing projects late, but her work is so good, they could never give her a fail.

Love is called so many horrible things. They'd call her a demon, an onryo. You'd ask her if she was okay and she'd just look at you with a soft smile and tell you that she didn't mind.

Love was lying. She definitely minded and you could never figure out why she'd always act okay while she smile so genuinely at you.

Love always puts her hair in a bun and is lowkey ticked off about it going allover the place when she takes it out.

Love is always mistaken as a man. If she was a man, she'd be the prettiest man you've ever fallen in love with.

Love secretly likes stuffed animals but would never buy one for herself. Love likes to playfully rough house and lowkey beat the shit out of her friends.

Love wakes up before the sunrises and goes to the gym. All the equipment were available and it was quiet. She loves the peace.

But love also feels guilty whenever she accidentally wakes you up. Your groggy whine would make her heart beat faster and make her suddenly feel hesitant to go.

Love would get into arguments with you, but she'd still try her best to be understanding. Her patience wasn't big when it comes to anger and negative emotions, but for you, nothing was impossible.

Love was incredible. Love was all-pursuing.

Love made you realize that love wasn't a 'what' but a 'who'.

What is love?

Love is a person.

[dovesdreaming]

In the quiet halls

A/N: I only recently discovered people write for him so if his character doesn’t seem right please give me tips! I also didn’t know who was the more popular fancast so I just stuck with David tenant because I think he’s hot 🤭

Summary: when Barty finds you in the empty halls crying his fist reaction is anger at who made you feel like this but it melts away when you look at him with tear rimmed eyes. Barty comforts you the best he can.

Request

Masterlist

-

Barty had never been great with emotions, particularly his own. Growing up in the cold, controlled environment of the Crouch household, feelings were something to be kept under wraps, hidden away where they couldn't make you vulnerable. But you.. you had always been different. You weren’t afraid to feel, to express yourself, to be open and honest in a way that made him question everything he'd ever known about control. Which was why it terrified him just how much he cared about you. What had started as friendship had slowly turned into something more, something he didn’t know how to deal with. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your laugh echoed through the common room, the way you always managed to say the right thing when he was in a bad mood, the way your smile made his heart race. But you were his best friend, and he wasn’t about to ruin that by confessing his feelings. No, it was better to keep things as they were, even if it meant pretending that you didn’t make his heart ache in ways he couldn’t explain.So, he kept it to himself, content to stand by your side and quietly pine after you, knowing that you deserved more than someone like him. You deserved someone who wasn’t constantly wrestling with the darkness inside him, someone who wasn’t constantly trying to live up to impossible expectations.

He was on his way to the library, mentally preparing himself for another late-night study session, when he saw you in one of the empty corridors. His brow furrowed in concern when he noticed the way you were slumped against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. You looked… small. Defeated. And most importantly you had hidden yourself away in a corridor instead of seeking comfort like you usually do. His stomach twisted as he quickly closed the distance between you, dread curling in his chest. He had seen you upset before, but this was different. You looked like you were barely holding it together. “Hey” he said softly, crouching down in front of you. “What happened?” You didn’t look up, and for a moment, you didn’t answer. Barty’s heart pounded in his chest, and he felt an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness rise in him, the kind that made his hands clench into fists. Who had done this to you? Who had made you feel this way?

“Who upset you?” he asked, his voice tight with barely contained anger. His mind raced with images of every possible person who could’ve upset you. Whoever it was, they’d have to answer to him. But then, you looked up at him, and the anger that had been building inside him evaporated the moment he saw your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed, tears still clinging to your lashes, and your expression was so utterly broken that it made his chest hurt. The fierceness in him melted, replaced by a deep, gnawing ache. His voice softened instantly. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, his tone gentle now. “Talk to me”. You sniffed, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself, but it was clear you were struggling. Barty’s heart broke a little more at the sight of you trying to be strong.

“I-It’s stupid” you said shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… today’s been awful. Everything’s gone wrong, and I-I feel like I can’t do anything right. Like I’m failing at everything”. Barty’s heart ached at your words. He had seen you go through tough days before, but it was rare to see you so broken. Normally, you were the strong one, the one who kept your head held high no matter what. Seeing you like this, seeing you hurt, was unbearable. “Hey, no” he said softly, sitting down beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours in a gesture of quiet support. “You’re not failing. You’re… you’re brilliant. You’re one of the strongest people I know”. You gave him a shaky laugh, but it was clear you didn’t believe him. “I don’t feel strong right now” you whispered. “I feel like I’m falling apart”. Barty swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to comfort you. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know” he said quietly. “It’s okay to have bad days. It’s okay to feel like this”.

You shook your head, still struggling to hold back tears. “But it’s more than that. I feel like no matter what I do, it’s not good enough. I try so hard, and I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s fine”. Barty felt his chest tighten. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that you were feeling so alone, so lost, and he hated that he hadn’t noticed sooner. He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently taking your hand in his. The contact was warm, grounding, and thought he had touched you before in casual ways, brushing arms, light nudges this felt more deliberate, more intimate. “You don’t have to pretend with me” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Not ever. I’m here, alright? Whatever’s going on, we’ll get through it together”. You glanced down at your intertwined hands, your fingers curling slightly around his. The small gesture made his heart skip a beat, but he pushed that feeling aside. This wasn’t about him. This was about you, and right now, all that mattered was making sure you knew he was there for you.

“I just.. I don’t know what to do anymore” you admitted, your voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear you. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart”. Barty’s heart ached as he listened to you, every word making him want to pull you closer, to hold you until you felt safe again. But he didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to overstep. He settled for squeezing your hand a little tighter, offering what comfort he could. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now” he said softly. “One step at a time, okay? And you don’t have to do it alone”. You were silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, you leaned your head against his shoulder, your body slumping against his in exhaustion. Barty felt his breath catch in his throat, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to risk breaking the fragile moment. “Thank you” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you”.

His chest tightened at your words, a strange mix of warmth and sadness swelling within him. He wished he could tell you how much you meant to him, how he would do anything to make sure you never felt this way again. But the words got stuck in his throat, and instead, he settled for pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m always here”he said quietly, his voice filled with a sincerity that surprised even him. “No matter what” You didn’t say anything in response, but the way your body relaxed against his, the way your hand tightened around his, told him enough. The two of you sat in silence for a long time, the weight of the day slowly easing off your shoulders as you let yourself lean on him. Barty stayed there with you, his heart racing but steady, determined to be the calm you needed right now. For as long as you needed him, he would be there.

Eventually, you shifted slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. Your eyes were still red, but there was a softness there now, a vulnerability that made his breath catch. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like you” you said quietly, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. Barty felt his heart skip a beat, but he forced a smile in return, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m the lucky one” he said softly, and it wasn’t a lie. Every day he spent with you was a gift he didn’t feel he deserved.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, like something unspoken hung in the balance. Barty’s eyes flickered to your lips, but he quickly looked away, cursing himself for thinking about that when you were upset. This wasn’t the time. But then, to his surprise, you reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing softly against his cheekbones. His heart stopped as you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his, your breath warm against his skin. “Thank you” you whispered again, and this time, Barty couldn’t help himself. Without thinking, he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was gentle, filled with the quiet promise of more, of everything that had been building between you for so long. When Barty pulled back, your eyes searched his, a quiet question lingering there.

“I-“ he started, but you beat him to his ramble and quickly pulled him back into your lips by wrapping your hand round the back of his head, hoping it would be enough to answer his questions.

-

Thank you for reading!

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[immortaledd]

Me when I mix Golden Cheese Cookie & Lord Eclipse (TSAMS)

I DIDN’T TOALLY MIX UP THE NAMES AND EDIT THIS POST NOOOOO

If he survived to see the death of his universe.

The fight is over. My enemies are no more.

But so is my kingdom.

My temples, my gold, my treasures, and my subjects. All of them.

I lost everything.

All that was gleaming, all that was mine.

My water carriers, my servants, my status and power.

all those little kids who played on my streets.

Moon. Whose failed assassinations always made me laugh.

Lunar. We had our differences. But none cared for the upcoming of my kingdom as much as you.

My Servant Sun, who died protecting my land.

They all were my possessions. My finest, most sentimental possessions.

Ramble to give some context!

You don’t gotta read this if you see ✨THE VISION!✨

Context of the image

I had a dream. A dream SO CRAZY, it brought Lord Eclipse from the DEAD. It genuinely sounds like a mix of an Alter Forming story and a Religious story. [I DO NOT HAVE D.I.D.]

One night I was getting ready to go to bed - and out of nowhere I just started heavily fixating on Lord Eclipse. I didn’t know why, but I was just extremely fascinated with his lore, details, and the possibilities of new context. That night, I went to sleep. I dreamt I was an Eclipse variation. My own Redeemed Eclipse AU [TWE], actually. I had gone dimensional hopping for the first time after being my tech allowed back.

I was at the bottom of a chasm that resembled a desert. Like I was at the bottom of the grand canyon. I walked forward, turning an awkward wall that revealed Lord Eclipse splattered on a giant rock. His back was completely destroyed and he seemed very much dead. I had froze in place for a hot second processing what I was seeing, staring at his open eyes.

Until he looked at me.

I was TERRIFIED at first, but brushed it up when I realized “THEY’RE ALIVE.” I pulled Lord off the rock and brought him back to the portal I came from. Then, I woke up.

->

After that, it felt like he was LOOMING over my shoulder at all times like any fictional character does when you’re delusional and tired enough. That day I drew my official Eclipse design (as you see in the first image) with the morse code “I’m Alive”. After that, he was gone. Like the message was delivered and I’ve been left like a weird ass spiritual medium.

WEIRD? yes. NOT REAL? absolutely. STILL POSITIVELY CRAZY AND LOWKEY REALLY FUN TO MAKE INTO LORE?? YEAAAAHHH?????

Yeah so since then I’ve been imagining him as alive and recovering off somewhere in a distant universe. This image is the idea of “What if he came back to see the aftermath?”

He’s devastated.

LOOSE QUOTE MONOLOGUE BREAKDOWN

This is where I’ll go over why I edited certain parts of the monologue

“The fight is over. My enemies are no more.”

Sun, Moon, Lunar, anyone who has ever had the chance of reviving or becoming to attack him no longer has that chance.

“My water carriers, my servants, my status and power.”

Originally ending with “my builders and architect”, this quote was altered due to the fact Eclipse built everything himself. He transformed the world to what he wanted. He also cared about his status and power WAY more with his philosophy, “it’s better to be feared than loved”.

“Moon, whose failed assassinations made me laugh.”

Moon wasn’t revived much, but whenever he did, it was only to amuse Eclipse and give him a sense of action. Eclipse does enjoy the revolutions that spawn over the centuries, but when it gets quiet for too long, his conscious starts to set in and he tries to distract himself with violence. Thus, he revives Moon, lets him roam, and waits for Moon to attempt to kill him. The sense of thrill rekindles Eclipse’s passion to live and the society’s passion to throw Eclipse off his throne. It never works, but it’s the only thing that makes Eclipse happy anymore.

Which, by the way, Eclipse’s world isn’t completely desolate like Lord Lunar’s world is. Eclipse has thousands of cities and generations of people who still roam. He’s much like a Greek God but is physically interactable. Everyone is under his direct watch. He is often fought back against for tyranny and violence. But the other half of the world praises him like the God he is. He can’t live without both aspects.

“Lunar, we had our differences. But nobody cared for the upcoming of my kingdom as much as you.”

Lunar was the reason he achieved getting the Star, despite betraying him. Lunar was one of the first he killed when it came to family, but he never shook off the sudden regret that came with it. He hates remembering the excitement in Lunar’s eyes when Eclipse finally made his world…and then the terror when Lunar realized he would not be a part of it.

“My servant Sun, who died protecting my land.”

Sun was killed by Dark Sun canonically to “put him out of his misery”.

“They were all my possessions. My finest, most sentimental possessions.”

Originally “treasures, my finest, most precious treasures”. He doesn’t treasure them, they’re still something he “owns” (in a sense). He doesn’t believe they’re precious, but they were something he didn’t realize how important they all were until he realized he couldn’t just bring them back to play with again. Suddenly, objects became people.