#Hope I didn't get the spelling wrong

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

Wearing a Texas t-shirt that I bought at a Bucee's in Houston and eating stuffed crust Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapple: this one's for you, Doug Eiffel <3

[4whomittolz]

Was drunk and bored and getting annoyed at the ridiculous coverage of the US election so I decided to fix the place.

I'm from Australia where we only have 7 states, as such I have the (objectively correct) opinion that 50 is too many states, so I decided to cut it down to 10.

A few notes on my improved US map:

•Despite Illinois making the cut, Chicago is now in Michigan, due to the state getting the entire bank of its namesake.

•Boston is also in Michigan due to special exception. Edit: Yes I know where Boston is, that's what "special exception" means.

•New York is now the capital of Pensylvania

•Yes that's how you spell Pensylvania

•The border of California is just roughly the Rockies, no need to overthink it.

•Making Florida bigger actually dilutes it's power, but Texas must be abolished

•Colorado should still be a rectangle, that's my mistake, I just couldn't be bothered fixing it.

•Alaska has been returned to Canada with a hand written apology

•All the random ass islands that the US forgot to pretend they didn't colonise have gained independence

Please let me know if there are any more improvements you can think of.

Edit: As a number of you have mentioned, Alaska never belonged to Canada, and giving it to them would be incredibly wrong when the native people have been trying to gain independence all this time.

Luckily, the apology note got lost in the mail in all the turmoil, so Canada never realised they're meant to have Alaska now. The Alaskans just start quietly self-governing and hoping the US and Canada don't notice, then after a few years they declare independence.

[damselneedssaving]

「 FRIENDS DON'T LOOK AT FRIENDS THAT WAY 」

JASON TODD X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: You and Jason agreed to be just friends—he was even the one who proposed the idea in the first place. ...So why does he keep looking at you like you're his whole world?

★ TAGS: yearning, pining, angst, idiots in love, unreliable narrator, jason is down bad for you, but he'll deny it all to hell, practically worships the ground you walk on tho

★ A/N: inspired by tate mcrae's 'that way' <3

line divider by @cafekitsune

You don't even mean to do it. You just kinda... do.

It's like there's some sort of sixth sense in your body that can tell when he enters the room; some omnipotent being that whispers in your ear whenever he's so much as nearby, and it almost always compels you to look for him, and you almost always do.

Not 'almost' actually. Just 'always'.

You like to lie to yourself though. Give yourself a fighting chance to get over him. Which is useless anyhow, because how can you even hope to try when he looks at you that way?

When the very moment you find him, he's already staring back at you?

It's weird. It's confusing. It's this fluffy cloud of pink that you can't help but let fog up your vision until you can see nothing else. Nothing but him.

But it's wrong. You aren't supposed to. Not when you both agreed not to.

Not when he proposed not to.

You can still remember the moment he did like it was just yesterday.

It was 8 p.m. on the dot.

You had just come back from a mission that had gone awry; one that could've spelled both your deaths had you not pulled out on time.

Some cartel led by Black Mask, you can't remember. It doesn't even matter.

Jason tore off his helmet like it had personally wronged him, like he was disgusted to even be under it, his jaw taut and his teeth grinding.

You had settled onto the couch nearby, elbows resting on your knees and head hung low in your hands, buried.

"I should've been faster," he had said. And you had frowned. "If I was just a little fuckin' faster, I coulda got him."

"And gotten yourself killed in the process," you quipped, moving to look up at him, and his jaw flexed. "There was nothing you could do, Jason. We were overwhelmed. Drop it."

He almost boiled over from just those words alone, you're sure of it. He's always had a temper. Still does. Even so many months later.

The reason he didn't, however, is the same reason he proposed that dreaded idea in the first place.

Your biggest regret.

You had stood up, gaze softened with care, and said in a voice almost too quiet for him to hear, "Besides... I'm glad you didn't."

He blinked back at you, owlish, before letting out an equally as quiet, "What?"

That was enough to get you shy, but apparently, not shy enough, because even as you looked down and kicked the air like a dumb little school girl, you still managed to say, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

It wasn't quite a confession, but it might as well've been.

Silence bathed the room after you spoke, the kind that sinks in deep and twists, and you still remember the sharp pang that it shot through your chest the moment it did.

It was enough to urge you to look up, whispering promises of how it would remove the blade should you satisfy your curiosity.

So you did.

And oh how cruel Jason was.

Not in the traditional sense, no. He didn't curl his lip, or turn up his nose, or yell such profound expletives at you, that you couldn't even bring yourself to ever repeat them. Oh no.

He gave you hope.

He looked at you with wide, shaking eyes, something so dangerously close to longing swirling in his gaze, that you allowed yourself to dream for a second.

And then he ripped it away.

He ripped away all your hope by opening his mouth and saying words that didn't at all match his expression.

"We can't."

Your whole world shattered.

"What do you mean 'we can't'?" You repeated his words like it hurt to say, like the syllables shifted into sharp shards in your mouth and mercilessly punctured your tongue, leaving you to choke on your own blood.

"I mean: we can't," he said again, the same way that you did, with an added wince that just swelled your heart even more. "It'll never work out. So you might as well just forget it."

"Forget it?" You breathed out, letting out a dry laugh towards the end. "Forget it?"

"Yeah," he doubled down. "Forget it."

'Forget it', he had said, like you could just toss your feelings to the side and pretend they were never there. 'Forget it', he had said, like this whole thing was nothing more than a mere afterthought, a mistake that was never meant to happen. 'Forget it', he had said, like it all meant nothing to him.

Like you meant nothing to him.

You couldn't help yourself, voicing your thoughts out like you were wearing your heart right on your sleeve.

And the next thing he did ripped that sleeve up more than him storming out ever could.

His gaze had softened, and his stance had faltered just the slightest amount, and he ran a hand down his mouth with a small huff, letting his index and thumb hold his jaw as he said, gentle but still a little gruff, "Of course you mean something to me, doll. We're friends, aren't we?"

Friends.

"Right"—you nodded, lungs breathless and gaze so, so far away—"friends."

That was it. The moment you both agreed to be just friends. The moment he proposed to be just friends.

He proposed it.

So why, now, does he look at you like that?

The room is dark, but it does nothing to hide him, hide his gaze, only making the whites of his eyes glow instead, burn like a candle in the night.

And just like a candle, they burn with an intensity, an ever-present gaze that refuses to so much as blink in your direction, as if afraid of wasting even a moment spent with you.

He looks at you like an answer to his question—like the answer to his question, one he's tried to find for so long, he lost a part of himself in the process.

A part he looks at you like you have.

He's so close now, practically a hair away from being pressed against you in the cold, barren room.

You can feel his breath mixing with your own, tangling in a dance you're sure will never end, but God do you want it to. You want it to so bad.

So you lean forward, and you let your heavy gaze fall shut.

And you feel the way his lips brush against your own, the tingles that explode just from the contact.

But then the light turns on, and he withdraws, and your mind swirls.

And you're left to wonder if he was ever even there in the first place.

[the-modern-typewriter]

"Please."

The villain raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise look up from their desk. "You can walk out of that door any time, darling. I'm not stopping you."

"I'd come back. It wouldn't - I don't want to break our deal."

"You don't want the consequences of breaking our deal. You absolutely want to break it."

"People are dying," the hero snapped. "I can help."

"Mm, of course you can. You're a miracle on legs."

"I'm just suggesting a pause," the hero said. "A temporary change of terms. That's all."

"And I'm just saying no."

The hero stopped on the other side of the table, fingers digging into the fine wood in an effort to control their temper. They took a deep breath. Released. Another.

"I'm still yours," the hero said. "I'd still be yours."

"Always. But N-O spells no."

"I'm begging," the hero said, through gritted teeth.

"Is that what that is?" The villain finally deigned to glance up. Their eyes - a dark and stormy night for all bad things to happen in - did not match their light tone. The amused curve of their slight smile. "Gosh. Your standards are slipping. You're not even kneeling or anything."

"Would you say yes if I knelt?"

The villain's head tipped to one side. "No," they said, after a long moment. "But I'd sincerely appreciate the view. Perhaps it might even distract you from this latest bout of self-loathing."

"Screw you."

"But it's so much more fun when you do it, dear."

"This is serious!"

The villain scoffed and merely pointed a finger at the door, expectant and waiting.

The hero's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt but they didn't move.

"Mm," the villain said. "Are you kneeling or are we done here?"

The villain could have lied, they knew that. They could have pretended there was a chance that they'd say yes. They could have offered false hope, only to rip it away again once they'd had their fun.

In the grand terms of their arrangement, the villain had done absolutely nothing wrong. They were even, in their own particular way, being kind.

There was a bitter taste in the hero's mouth.

"It's bad out there," they said, voice cracking. "People need me. They could - maybe it could be fun. You've never played at saving the world, have you? We could do it together. Go together. It could be an experiment. A game."

"Perhaps," the villain shrugged. "But I don't think that would be very good for your mental health."

"This isn't very good for my mental health!"

The villain simply looked at them.

The hero could leave. They could end the deal at any time.

But, then, the villain would simply leave too. An apocalypse slipping free of its gilded cage. The horrors on the TV would seem mild compared to the fight to come.

"I could be back in an hour," the hero said. "You wouldn't even notice I was gone."

"And I could end the world by lunch time," the villain said. "You'd be dead before you had time to be too distressed. What's your point?"

"You really don't care what's happening out there?"

"No."

"You have to care."

"I don't."

"If you're worried I'd get hurt-"

"-I'm not. I'd slaughter anyone who tried to hurt you before they got the chance."

The hero's mouth dried. Their fingers flexed on the table. They wanted to scream. Fight. Throw things.

The villain leaned back in their chair and sighed, at whatever they read on the hero's face.

"You are saving the world, love," they said. "You're here. With me. Do I need to prove that I still have teeth?"

"No," the hero said. "I - no. Thank you."

The villain nodded, just once. "Good. Come here."

"It's okay. I - I'm okay."

"You're not. Come here."

Feeling foolish, and furious, and raw, the hero rounded the desk. The villain's arm wrapped around them, pulling them close. The grip was painfully tight, mercifully impossible to wriggle free from, and so the hero had to settle against them. They could hide the prickle of tears against the deceptively vulnerable line of the villain's neck.

They stayed like that until the hero could no longer hear the screaming beyond the window.

[himbosandhardwear]

"Look who's talking, Mr Ponytail and a Crop Top," Steve says with a smartass grin.

Eddie looks down. "Huh?"

"You," he waves toward Eddie's general vicinity, "looking like some kinda Metal Cheerleader." He noticably swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay. This is it, this is the perfect moment to tell Steve he's sending signals that he definitely doesn't understand he's sending.

"Steve," he has to clear his throat before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

He leans in, wide eyed and focused. "Yeah?"

That's not helpful. "Um. So, to guys like me... Gay," he chokes out, still hard to say aloud even though he knows Steve knows, "sometimes you say things or do things that come off as...flirty. And I know you didn't know," he rushes to explain, "but I wanted to make you aware. To not do that. You know, in case the wrong person overhears it. It's a safety concern," he finishes lamely. Safety concern! Ugh. More like 'You're breaking my heart, I can't take much more of it.'

He waits for Steve to say something but he's just blinking owlishly.

"Steve?" He prompts, concerned.

"......yeah?" He finally seems to come back to himself. His eyes drift away, over Eddie's shoulder. "So...you want me to stop flirting?"

"Yeah, just in case, you never know who-" Wait. What? "What?"

Steve still isn't looking him in the eye. "What?" He mumbles.

"Did you say..." He can't even repeat it, it sounds like putting words in his mouth, but he did say that, right?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll stop. I didn't realize it was bad, I guess. I thought... It's stupid. Nevermind. I'm gonna, um, take off actually. I'll see ya around, maybe."

He hops off the back of the van and actually starts walking away, like they're not 6 miles from his house. That snaps Eddie out of the paralysis spell he was under, adrenaline taking over like a bump of cocaine.

"No!" He shouts, like an insane person, and then takes it one step further by jumping up and tackling Steve into the grass.

"Uggff," Steve grunts when Eddie accidentally shoulders him in the gut, but he ignores the embarrassment in favor of crawling up his body so they're eye to eye.

He gets Steve's face between two hands and smooshes it. "Were you flirting with me on purpose?" He shouts.

"Are you serious?" He mumbles, half coherent, through pursed lips. "I'm gonna jump into the quarry."

"Answer the question!" He rattles Steve's head a little bit, for good measure.

"I work for Scoops Ahoy." Steve deadpans, unamused.

Eddie is going to throw one hell of a tantrum in a second. "Steve."

He smacks Eddie's hands away from his face. Doesn't bother to move out from under Eddie, he notes absently. "Yes, dude, obviously I was flirting with you on purpose! I thought that was, like, an understood thing that was happening. Why are you surprised?"

He feels like he's losing his mind. Why are you surprised the grass is made out of taffy? Would've made more sense as a question.

"Because you're straight." The duh is implied.

Sensibly, he asks, "Why would I flirt with you if I was straight?"

Eddie becomes very aware of every inch they are pressed together. Aware of the sound of the leaves rubbing together in the wind, aware of Judas Priest still playing through his speakers. Love Bites is a hell of a track to be having this revelation to.

"You're not straight?"

"No."

"And you were flirting?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

He rolls his eyes, not an ounce of bitchiness lost to his embarrassment. "No, Eddie, with the crusty blanket on your van floor. Yes, of course with you- Mmmphh!"

They probably shouldn't be making out on the ground at Settlers Quarry in broad daylight but, honestly, the shambling corpse of Jason Carver could show up right now and Eddie would not give two shits. Steve slides a hand down the back of Eddie's pants, grabbing what little bit of ass cheek he has, and Eddie thinks, Hope you're watching from hell, you bastard. Enjoy the show.

[zillychu]

designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):

newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!

except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well… 

oops. they summoned a demon.

which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.

but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.

okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?

weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”

Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?

Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.

it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.

Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?

“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor. 

“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”

Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.

it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident. 

But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.

the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??

they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.

Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.

but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.

they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm. 

when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands. 

Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.

magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.

they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.

“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.

Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”

abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.

Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him. 

once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS

(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)

they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

[gachaparadise]

finishing up the Loufu story chapter and it's making me feel insane (positive)

[khuzena]

The best dad in the world!

𐙚 PAIRING: Phainon/AFAB!Reader

𐙚 SUMMARY:In this lifetime, he is no hero. He is no god. He does not bear the weight of the world—only the quiet, ordinary weight of responsibility. A life too mundane, yet a life full of warm memories. Phainon learns how to raise his daughter while caring for you, the love of his life. Through six grounded steps, Phainon does not save the world. He learns to hold it gently, one bottle, one memory, and one bedstory at a time.

𐙚 C.W: memory loss, distress, comfort, fluff, hopeful ending, identity anxiety, caregiver phainon, implied medical consultations (?)

𐙚 A/N: im on fire im so obsessed with phainon I didn't go to school today to write two fics......... BUT IN MY DEFENSE I WAS ILL AND IT DIDNT STOP RAINING TIILL IT WAS 10 AM SO I HAVE AN ACTUAL EXCUSE TO NOT GO. butttttttttttttttttttttt..... didn't do assignments. idgaf atp sit back and enjoy

𐙚 W.C: 3.7k

How did Phainon become the best dad in the world? He only followed six steps—just six!

Step One: Learn how to hold her

1. Cradle gently. Always support the neck. Your daughter calla was born in late autumn, when the air outside was dry and restless and the light came in gold through the window blinds. Phainon’s hands trembled the first time he touched her—slow, careful, as if her bones might scatter like powdered glass. You watched him tuck her into the crook of his arm with the reverence of someone handling something sacred.

Calla curled her tiny fist around his pinky like it was already hers. He looked stunned. Breath hitched. He was a man not used to being speechless, learning how fast silence can mean love.

2. Get used to watching. Phainon didn’t sleep that first night. Your husband sat next to the bassinet and watched her chest rise and fall. Every few minutes, he leaned forward, fingers barely above her stomach, just to be sure. You woke to find him still sitting there, blanket draped over his shoulders, whispering her name under his breath like it was a spell he needed to learn by heart.

3. Write it down, even if it’s messy. By day two, he had started keeping a tiny notebook in his pocket. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t poetic. It was mostly timestamps: 2:41 AM: hiccup. 3:27 AM: sneezed 3x. 6:00 AM: got trapped in the blanket. You teased him at first. But he didn’t stop. Later, you caught him drawing a tiny sketch of her face next to the word ‘miracle.’

You found him again the next morning, curled awkwardly in the rocking chair with Calla asleep on his chest. His hair was a mess. One sock was missing. The notebook was open on the floor, scrawled halfway through a sentence. But he looked... peaceful.

“She fell asleep on me,” he said, as if apologizing.

You smiled, leaning in to pick up the fallen notebook. “You drooled on page four.”

“I was exhausted,” he muttered.

“She still looks okay with you.”

“I’m getting better at it,” he said softly. His eyes dropped to her. “I think she knows.”

He brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek. You sat beside them, close enough to hear the slow breath shared between them.

It was new. It was exhausting. It was terrifying. But Phainon wasn’t flinching anymore.

She stirred. He adjusted. You leaned on his arm.

Step two: Keep the house running

1. Wake up first. Check her breathing. Reheat the milk. Phainon started setting alarms five minutes before the goblin usually stirred. So it didn’t matter that he hated mornings. It didn’t matter that his left arm still tingled from where she slept on it. He makes sure to roll out of bed quietly, check her chest for those soft, steady breaths, then shuffle into the kitchen. Warm bottle. And then two scoops, not three. Shake, test on wrist. He got it wrong the first week—too hot, too cold, too foamy. But he learned.

2. Take over what you forget. Don’t comment on it. He started checking the stove behind you. Rewriting the grocery list when you skipped ingredients. Moving your shoes from the hallway before you tripped again. It wasn’t a conversation. He didn’t tease, didn’t hover, didn’t ask are you okay?. He just did it. When you left a laundry basket outside for three days, it was suddenly folded on the couch, the onesies rolled up like tiny burritos. You didn’t even notice until you smelled the softener.

3. Keep the tone soft. Laugh when she laughs. Let the silence stretch. Sometimes you forgot mid sentence what you were saying. Sometimes you’d trail off with a wooden spoon still in your hand, blinking at nothing. Phainon never rushed you. He’d pick up where you left off if you remembered, or shift the conversation gently away if you didn’t. He learned to fill the quiet with humming. Calla always giggled at that—especially when he hummed off key.

The kettle clicked. Phainon didn’t turn it off immediately. He waited in the hallway, listening.

Calla was shrieking—happy shrieking, the kind only infants made when they discovered their own voice. You were trying to distract her with a plushie, but she was more interested in your hair, which she’d somehow managed to grab in both fists.

“Ow,” you murmured, smiling despite yourself. “She’s stronger today.”

“Can't believe you're losing to a kid.” Phainon chuckled from the doorway.

You snorted. “Help me.”

He walked over, hands raised like he was approaching a crime scene. “Alright, Commander Calla. Hands off the hostage.”

She laughed. He untangled your strands with surprising gentleness.

You sat back against the crib wall. “I was going to do the laundry.”

“I already did.”

“The dishes?”

“Already drying.”

Your brows furrowed, “I swear I washed the dishes…”

Phainon sighed, “No, love. I did, just five minutes ago.”

“Huh?”

When your eyes darted to the sink, it was squeaky clean without a plate greasy with soy sauce. 

“Huh,” You bit your lip as Calla grabbed your finger through the crib, “Weird.”

Step Three: Pay attention without taking control (important!)

1. Notice patterns, not incidents. It’s good Phainon didn’t panic the first time it happened. Normally, people forget things. He’d forgotten Calla’s pediatrician’s name three times (the doc was an asshole anyways). So when you blinked down at the laptop on your lap and couldn’t name them for five seconds, he waited. Watched. Didn’t draw attention to it. But he made a note.

2. Don’t jump in, you wait until they ask. When you blanked on the bottle’s formula ratio, he didn’t correct you. He watched you count one scoop, hesitate, then say “Is it two?” and laugh. “I’m sleep-deprived,” you said. “Or getting old.” He nodded, smiled, and passed you the second scoop.

3. Learn the difference between being careful and being afraid. Phainon began building quiet systems. Tiny labels on things. He made color coded reminders on the fridge. There’s a highlighted bookmark with a sticky note saying,  “You stopped on page 211.” He pretended calla needed them. Said it was for her when she got older. You played along.

The next day, you forgot the word for “scissors.”

You had them in your hand. You were trying to say something, something about trimming calla’s little pink paper crown—and the word just slipped out of your brain like water through a crack. You paused, staring at your fingers.

“It’s fine,” you muttered a moment later. “I meant scissors.”

Phainon glanced up from the floor, where he was helping Calla stick stars onto a paper sky. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said too quickly. “Yeah. Just a brain fart.”

He didn’t push. Just handed you a new glue stick.

Later that evening, he watched you go quiet during a show—when a side character appeared and you squinted, confused. You said, “Wait, who’s she again?” then laughed. “Sleep deprived,” you said. “My brain’s pudding lately.”

He smiled. But he wrote it down in his notebook that night. Quietly. Just one word: Pudding.

The next day, he added new labels to the kitchen: milk, kettle, sugar, rice. Phainon drew tiny doodles next to each one so it wouldn’t look like pity. There’s even a crooked smiley face on the coffee jar. 

When you saw it, you rolled your eyes. “You’re labeling the house like a preschool.”

“For Calla,” he said.

“Sure it’s not for me?”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I just don’t want her to think sugar goes in soup.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he grinned like that was all the confirmation he needed.

But later that night, when he heard you whispering the formula ratio to yourself under your breath—twice, then three times—his chest ached.

You weren’t laughing that time.

Step Four: Stay gentle when it gets hard

1. Don’t correct, you guide. When you forgot the bottle in the microwave, Phainon didn’t scold you. He simply took it out before it overheated, swirled it twice, and handed it to you with a smile. “Still warm,” he said. “Just in time.”

2. Build backups. Not large fences. He started preparing a second set of bottles every morning, “just in case.” He left sticky notes not just for you (they’re yellow this time), but from Calla, signed in crayon: 'Mommy, remember my blanket!' It made you laugh.

3. Laugh when it’s safe. Hold still when it’s not. When you called Calla “Clara” by mistake, then immediately corrected yourself with a forced grin, Phainon made a joke about time travel. “She’s been secretly switching dimensions,” he said, ruffling her hair. But when you didn’t laugh, just stared down at your hands… he didn’t say anything else. He just sat closer. Let the silence be soft.

It was late afternoon when you paused mid-sentence and blinked at the refrigerator like it had spoken.

Phainon looked up from the kitchen. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, biting your cheek. “Just… trying to remember if I fed her lunch.”

“She had applesauce at twelve. And that weird beet thing.”

You breathed out. “Right.”

He didn’t say you forgot again. He just pulled out a tupperware and handed you the leftovers. “Want to try some? She spit it out dramatically, so obviously it’s gourmet.”

You chuckled. “Then that’s gourmet beet disaster.”

Calla, now big enough to sit up with a little wobble, banged her spoon on her tray and shrieked with laughter.

You smiled.

But that night, when you tried to read her a bedtime story and stumbled on the first line—Once upon a... and then nothing, your throat closed.

You stared at the page like it had betrayed you. Like the words were in a language you used to know.

Phainon sat beside you and turned the page for you.

“...dragon,” he murmured softly, like it was just part of the story. “There was a dragon who blew out pink fire, protecting the castle from evil thieves.”

Your fingers gripped the edges of the book.

He didn’t touch you, he just kept reading. Slowly. Softly. One line at a time.

By the third page, you joined in again.

You didn’t say thank you.

But you leaned your head on his shoulder and whispered, “You’d make a good narrator, a damn good one.”

And he whispered back, “Only because you taught me the stories.”

Step Five: Stay when the sun sets early

1. Learn the new rhythm, even when it doesn't make sense To him, calla was easier to soothe than you, these days. She was growing. Her legs are longer, her voice louder, and her questions sharper. You were slipping. Quietly. Slowly. At first, it was just phrases. Then it was faces. Then the rhythm of whole days. The world tilted when you spoke sometimes. A phrase misaligned. A sentence cut short. But Phainon never corrected you. He followed your tempo. He matched your stride. So when you asked the same question three times, he answered it three times, each time with the same tone, the same patience, like it was brand new.

2. Design a map for the days they forget where they are (another important one) He rearranged the house without saying anything. Labels in your handwriting, carefully traced over by his. A laminated list on the fridge: Breakfast, pills, water. Calla’s bath. Lemon tea. More crooked doodles next to each (all in either pink, blue, yellow, or violet). Calla helped color them. She liked the part where the sun had a sleepy face beside “bedtime.” You once sat on the kitchen floor staring at it, tears brimming, and whispered, “It’s a cheat sheet.” Phainon knelt beside you and touched the corner of the list. “No. It’s a map. For when you get lost.” You cried harder.

3. Let the silence say what words can’t There were days you didn’t speak at all. He’d see you just sit by the window, tracing invisible shapes on your thigh, eyes half-focused on the garden you used to care about. Phainon was the one taking care of the garden, you keep forgetting to. Calla would waddle over, hand you her scribbled pictures, then climb into your lap like nothing was wrong. Phainon watched from the hall. So sometimes he’d take a photo. Not to remember you fading, but to prove that, even on the worst days, love still gathered quietly around you like dust catching sunlight.

It was raining when it got bad.

Calla was crying in the next room. Not loud, she was just the confused, sleepy whimper of a child waking too soon. You had gone to get her.

You didn’t come back.

Phainon found you in the hallway, barefoot, clutching a pillow against your chest like a lifeline. Your eyes were wide. Not scared. Not teary. Just… blank.

“She was crying,” you whispered.

“She’s okay,” he said softly. “You already held her. You sang to her.”

You looked down at the pillow like it might transform and grow a pair of eyes. “Is this her?”

Phainon didn’t flinch. He walked toward you, slow, deliberate, arms already reaching.

You didn’t fight him.

You just sagged into his chest, and the pillow slipped from your fingers.

Later, when you were asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you didn’t remember owning, Calla clambered onto his lap and asked, “Is mama sick forever?”

Phainon didn’t answer right away. He held her close. Buried his nose in her hair.

Then, quietly he said, “She’s still here. That’s what matters.”

Phainon had decorated the house quietly. Streamers in yellow and pink. A paper crown. Her name on the wall.

She ran to you holding her little cake plate. “Mama, look! Six candles! I’m six!”

You blinked down at her, confused. “Is it…?”

Your voice faded.

Phainon stepped in before she noticed.

“Time for a dance party,” he said, scooping her up. “Go on, show us your best moves.”

You smiled, stiff. Shaky.

Later, in the quiet of the bathroom, you pressed your hand against the sink to steady yourself.

“I forgot.”

Phainon knelt down and rested his head against your hip, eyes closed.

“Only for a second.”

“A second’s enough.”

“No,” he whispered. “It’s not. Not when I still have you.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned off the lights, curled into his chest, and cried so quietly it barely echoed.

He started humming to you more after that.

Songs you’d made up for calla. The little nonsense melodies that just looped. He played them while he cooked, while he brushed your hair, while you napped beside the laundry basket.

He kept all your old voice recordings, the ones where you were giggling in the middle of telling a bedtime story or teasing him about his loud snoring. Sometimes he played them in the kitchen while he washed dishes, pretending not to be crying into the soap bubbles.

Sometimes, when you heard your own voice, you’d smile.

Sometimes, you didn’t recognize it.

One night, you asked him if the stars were always this bright.

Phainon looked up. “They haven’t changed.”

“Oh.” You paused. “Maybe it’s me.”

He didn’t correct you.

He just took your hand and held it like it was the only thing anchoring the sky.

Step Six: He lets you keep living, even if it’s different now

It didn’t get better in the way people hoped. There wasn’t some magic pill, no reversal, no dramatic recovery where you suddenly remembered the date or brewed tea with perfect timing. Obviously, the ttruth was quieter than that. It’s just that some memories never came back. Some sentences still trailed off. You forgot words in the middle of them. Once, you asked Phainon where your daughter was while she was holding your hand.

But the worst of it passed.

You still got bad days, yes. Mornings when the fog didn’t lift until noon. Evenings when you cried for no reason you could name. But you weren’t vanishing. You were still here. And Calla was growing.

So Phainon adjusted. Again.

1. Never wait for the old normal to return. Make new ones, every single day. Mornings became slower. Softer. Phainon would prep breakfast before either of you woke—toast sliced in neat triangles, a post-it beside your cup reminding you: Add honey, not salt. (You did that once.) He’d kiss your temple and ask how you slept. Most days, you smiled. Some days, you asked, “Did we already talk?” And he’d smile back and say, “Not yet. But we are now.”

Calla, now four, understood more than she let on.

She started calling them “loop days.” When you seemed quieter. Tired. When your words got looser.

“Papa, is it a loop day?”

“Maybe,” he’d say. “Let’s make it a good one anyway.”

2. Tell her the truth, even when it's hard (and especially when it's hard!!) He didn’t lie to Calla. Not once. Not when she asked why her mom stared at walls sometimes. Not when she asked why you forgot that she liked pink and not purple.

“She’s still your mama,” he’d say, tucking her in. “Her brain just gets really sleepy sometimes. That doesn’t mean her heart forgets you.”

Calla would think for a bit, then nod. “She still loves me sleepy.”

“Exactly,” he’d say, brushing back her curls. “Exactly that.”

3. Let you help, let you love, and even if it’s not perfect. Calla started drawing more. Pictures of the three of you holding hands, but sometimes she made your face with a blue swirly cloud instead of a mouth. When Phainon asked why, she said, “That’s for when mama’s words are hiding!”

You cried a little when you saw it.

Not loudly. Just quietly. Hands to your mouth, staring at the paper like it had rewritten the world for you.

4. Keep telling her stories of who you were, and who you still are. Phainon started keeping a journal. It’s not just for himself. For you. For Calla. A collection of your favorite things: the recipes you used to recite by heart, the way you used to hum when watering plants, your childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. He read parts of it aloud sometimes. On the porch, while you napped. While Calla scribbled in her own tiny glitter notebook beside him.

“This is the story of the bravest girl I ever met,” he would say.

Sometimes your eyes fluttered open. And sometimes you said, “Tell me again.”

So he did.

Every time.

One winter morning, the heater broke.

You’d both forgotten to get it checked.

Calla came into the living room in double socks and her favorite dragon hoodie, rubbing her eyes. “Papa, it’s cold.”

“I know, bug. We’re working on it.”

You were curled up on the couch, staring at the window like it was made of stars. Your hair was tied unevenly, your slippers on the wrong feet (one is blue, the other is green), but you looked peaceful.

“Do you remember the name of that soup you made last winter?” Phainon asked gently, kneeling by the coffee table. “The one with garlic and those weird glass noodles?”

You blinked. “Hmm. The broth was light… I remember the steam, it made me sneeze.”

“That’s good. That’s something.”

“...And… I added lemon last, didn’t I?”

Phainon smiled. “You did.”

That night, you made it together. You forgot the salt. Calla added too much parsley. But it was warm. And everyone had second servings. And afterward, Calla dozed off with a noodle stuck to her cheek, and you laughed so hard you cried.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And then one spring evening arrived, Calla came home from school holding a glitter covered project.

It was a poster. Neon purple, slightly crooked, full of stickers. At the center: a drawing of your little house. Crayoned faces. Her wavy hair. Your loose sweater. Phainon’s brows.

At the top, big letters:

“The best dad in the world!”

He blinked at it. “This is for me?”

She nodded proudly. “We had to draw our hero.”

Phainon knelt down, folding her into a hug.

“But I didn’t do anything big,” he said, half joking. “I didn’t fight dragons. I didn’t build spaceships.”

“You helped mama not disappear,” she whispered into his chest.

That was the moment he finally cried. Not quiet tears this time. Full ones. His shoulders shook. You reached across the couch and gripped his hand.

You still forgot things. But not everything. You remembered Calla’s laugh. The way she tapped her fork twice before eating. You remembered Phainon’s hand, always steady on your back when you faltered. You remembered how you loved him. Still loved him.

Even when words were hard.

Even when days blurred.

That part never faded.

The next weekend, you three took a walk.

A short one. Just down the street. Calla skipped ahead with a stick she found, waving it like a wand. You held onto Phainon’s arm. The wind felt nice on your skin. You didn’t remember where the old bakery used to be, but you remembered the taste of lemon tea, and how he always ordered one for you without asking.

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He looked down. “For what?”

“For holding everything. When I couldn’t.”

He shook his head.

“You’re still here,” he said. “You’re still holding me.”

So, how did Phainon become the best dad in the world?

He only followed six steps, just six.

And none of them were ever grand. None of them fixed what couldn’t be fixed.

But they built something gentler. Something enduring, something warm and soft.

A home that reshaped itself around grief without breaking.

A daughter who never stopped feeling loved.

And a partner, who forgot more things with each passing season, but never once forgot what safety felt like when held in his arms.

In the end, Phainon never needed the world to call him a hero.

He just needed Calla to smile when he tucked her in at night.

And you—to reach for his hand, even if you forgot why.

Notes: This was easy, i alr started writing since 6 am. Fanfic writing has become a full time job atp. But idrgaf. I need to train my writing skills for a portfolio anddddddddddd yeah. I promised my friends

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Would you consider writing a story about quinnxreader. She faints in his apartment and he find her when he comes home after training or a game or something. Hes on the phone with his parents and freaks out?

I had to do some research on fainting! I hope this is okay! 🩷

"Yeah, I'm just now getting back home," Quinn answered his mother, trying to unlock his apartment's door without dropping his phone while he fumbled with his keys. "Yeah, me too. It's been a long couple of weeks. Feels good to be back."

Ellen continued to talk to her eldest son as he pushed his suitcase across the threshold. After such long trips, he was accustomed to seeing you first thing -- a guilty comfort you had spoiled him with -- so when he didn't, Quinn looked around hoping you just hadn't heard him come in. However, when he found you, it wasn't at all how he had expected. 

"Y|N!?" He said breathlessly, upon seeing you laying on your side, on the floor between the kitchen and living room. The suitcase rolled forward on its own, with Quinn having kicked it when he rushed over to you; his mother questioning him about what was going on. 

"I don't know! I just found her laying on the floor!" He brushed the hair from across your face and touched your cheek. You're warm to his touch but his heart was still racing. "Let me, um...I'll call you back. Ye--...yeah, I love you, too. I'll let you know. O-- Okay, love you. Bye."

Quinn's phone tumbled to the floor after ending the call with his mother. You weren't responsive to his touch or to his words, no matter what he tried.

"Honey, wake up! Please, please, wake up!" Gently, he'd give your shoulder a shake, but it didn't do anything either. "Shit! Baby, come on! Come on, come on, come on!"

His hands were trembling as he touched your face again. You were breathing which comforted him only slightly, seeing as he had no idea what was wrong with you. The seconds that ticked by felt like hours, but he never left your side -- almost like he was unable to do anything but wait. Quinn knew he should have called for an ambulance but he was frozen, looking down at you like you were just having a nap. 

Eventually, your eyes would flutter open and Quinn would breathe the heaviest sigh of relief. 

"Oh my god, sweetheart!" He exclaimed, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. "What happened? Are you alright? Oh, you scared the shit out of me!"

You were happy to see him, but you found yourself confused by his shock and worry, then you were reminded of what had happened prior to the grey-out. 

"Hi, baby," you squeaked out, trying to sit up but he wouldn't let you. Your eyelids felt heavy; everything felt so heavy.

"Shh, shh, take your time. What happened? I came home and I couldn't wake you!"

It was hard, but you had to break eye contact with him for a moment. "It was just a fainting spell, Quinny. I'm alright."

"A fainting spell?" He questioned, deep worry painting his expression once again. "I don't remember you having those before."

Realizing that you were still laid out on the floor, Quinn pulled your body into his arms and cradled you against his chest. His concern was so intense as he held you, a slight rocking motion in his movements. This was a first for him and something he didn't know how to deal with which was why he found himself struggling so much. 

"They just started happening again," you confessed, leaning your head against him as you looked up into his eyes. "I'm okay, I promise."

"Are you sick?" He pressed, his hand holding your face, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. 

"No, baby, I'm okay."

"But you fainted."

"I know," You reassured, knowing you needed to tell him what was going on, but you feared his reaction -- he was already dealing with so much. "My blood sugar is probably just low."

Quinn's brows furrowed, "Low? Why is it low?"

You said nothing as you looked away again, knowing how guilty it made you appear. 

"Baby?" He pleaded, "Talk to me, please? I'm not upset with you. I just want to know what's going on. How long have you been dealing with this?"

"Since just after you left." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to make you worry while you were away." When you looked back up at him afterwards, it pained you so much. His concern for you was as strong as his love and it was made evident with how he gazed at you, even during uncomfortable times such as these. 

"I'll always worry about you, sweetheart. It's because I love you!"

"I love you, too, baby. I promise I'm okay. I'm just...tired" You said, breathlessly. 

Upon saying that, Quinn put his arm under your bent legs and carried you to the sofa where he laid you down against the numerous awaiting pillows. He would kneel beside you, holding your hand in both of his. 

"Will you please tell me what's going on?"

You swallowed hard, knowing he wasn't going to let it go until you told him. "I just haven't been eating much."

"Why, baby?"

"It's a stupid reason."

He didn't say anything because he didn't have to. His expression had said enough. 

"I get sad when you're gone and I forget to eat," you finally confessed.

Quinn frowned, lifting your hand to his lips. "Oh, sweetheart. You've got to eat."

"I know..."

"How many times as this happened?" He asked, now putting your palm to his cheek and holding it there. 

"Probably a dozen or so. I can always tell when it's going to happen, so I have a second or two to brace for it." 

He was still looking at you with tense worry in his face, still holding your hand gently. Quinn wouldn't tell you, but his own stomach was twisting out of concern for you. He was so deeply troubled that his absence affected you so much, that he couldn't help feeling guilty about the whole thing. 

"I'm sorry, baby," you sighed, eyes stinging from welling tears. "The whole thing is so stupid."

Quinn shook his head, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "It's not stupid, sweetheart. I'll try and be more proactive in checking in with you when I'm gone, okay? Would you like me to give you little reminders, maybe?"

"You have enough to worry about, though," you said, shaking your head.

"And I worry about you the most. You're everything to me, Y|N."

"Quinny--," you whined, tears breaking through with the guilt. "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"I know you didn't." With his free hand, Quinn wiped away the teardrops from your skin. "I'm okay so as long as you are. But, you have to promise me that you'll stop skipping meals, okay? I don't want something more serious to happen to you. You're all alone up here, you know?"

You gave him a nod, biting your bottom lip. 

"You promise me you're alright?"

You nod again, this time with a sniffle. "I am."

He pushed forward to ask a kiss from you which you obliged in giving. "Good. Now, you lay here and rest for a minute, okay? I need to call mom back then we'll see what we can do about dinner."

"Okay," you whimpered, realizing that he must have been on the phone when he found you. 

"Everything's okay, babe. I promise. I'm here now."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Series - Babylon the Great

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Mini-Series - Willing to Break

With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Mini-Series - Death On A Holiday

This day has happened before. So did the one before it. And the one after it. You're sure of it.

Small things change, but it's always the same, and it always resets the same way, and you can't find a way out.

It's perfect torture, and you don't think there's a way out.

One-Shots

To Need Somebody - After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing

I Could Have You - Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

Falling Into Me - You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you. You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Hold You Tight In My Mind - You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Still You Want Me - Request! Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Every Day That You Want - You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Just Giving In - You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

I'll Crawl Home - You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

What You Do - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.

No More - Request! Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them. And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Where Do You End Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt.3 - Request! You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, and your bodies keep trying to do what they always do.

I Can Be A Virtue - You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together. But something always has to give.

Only I Can See - Request! Dean knows you. He knows you better than anyone, better than you know you, better than he knows himself. He'd lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, and knows you'd do the same, even if it's not in the same way. But something's… different.

In Sweetness - Request! Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

The Heat Grows - Request! It's unfair that Dean can look this good just sitting in traffic. That he can be doing nothing at all and you'll crave him more than oxygen. It's amazing that you can prove that to him, though.

The Flood Brings Clearer Days - Request! You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want. And most of what you want is Dean.

There Comes A Breaking Point - Request! Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

I Never Want It To Be Enough - Request! You and Dean have a date night, and it ends exactly how you wanted it to.

How Do You Know - Request! There are different levels of Dean being drunk, and you've seen all of them. Or at least, you thought you'd seen all of them.

If You Need To Hear It - Request! After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Something To Believe In - You and Dean become parents.

It's Early, Baby - Request! A slow morning gets heated fast.

Along the Line - Request! Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping. But he might never want you to leave.

Been Keeping It Down - Request! After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him. Almost as much as he might love you.

And In Health - Request! Making Dean rest when he's sick is a Herculean task. You are more than up for the challenge.

Hold Me (More Like That) - Sorta Request! Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

Only Us - Request! After Dean gets back from a long hunt, the only thing he wants to do is see you.

It's Between The Words - One sided love hurts. Burns. Eats you alive. But it might not be one sided. It might just be hard for Dean to say he loves you back.

[sweetmisery]

first kiss with piwon | hyung line

pairing: theo | keeho | jiung x female!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: just a little drabble of sharing your first kiss with piwon, hope you like it :) pt 2 with maknae line will follow soon!

part 2 - maknae line

THEO - Between the Strings

The recording studio was dimly lit, as Theo sat there alone, his fingers fumbling on the guitar strings. His brow furrowed in frustration as he plucked and strummed the same chords over and over again. His lips moved silently as he worked through the song under his breath, his fingers slipping once more on the neck of the guitar.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself. He let out a frustrated sigh, slumping over the guitar.

It had been weeks since Theo had felt like himself. The pressure to finish the new album, the late-night recording sessions, and - most of all - the tension between the two of you were getting to him.

He didn’t know why things had become so awkward. At first, everything had been easy - your quick wit and creative eye as the groups stylist had made every interaction exciting, even fun. But lately, something had shifted. Theo found himself tripping over words around you, and he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced every time you walked into the room.

You hadn’t seemed unaffected either. Your usual sharp comebacks had softened, replaced by a hesitance he couldn’t quite read. Every time you brushed past him backstage or adjusted something on his outfit, he’d catch you looking away a little too quickly.

Theo strummed the wrong chord again, his frustration bubbling over. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

Then the door flew open with a bang.

You froze in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Oh god, Theo, I’m so sorry! I thought this room was empty!”

Theo startled, nearly dropping his guitar as he turned to face you. His pulse quickened, the sight of you making it impossible to find his voice for a moment.

“No, it’s fine!” he said quickly, standing up so fast he almost knocked over the stool. “You’re fine. Really.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said, already backing toward the door. “I’ll just-”

“No!” The word came out louder than Theo intended, and he winced at himself. Clearing his throat, he added more quietly, “I mean, don’t go. I could, uh… use your help.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “My help?”

Theo set the guitar down, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Yeah. I’ve been working on this song, but I’m stuck. I just need someone to listen, and everyone else is… busy.” He left out the part where he didn't even ask anyone else.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still on the doorframe. Then you nodded. “Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

You stepped into the room, closing the door behind you. Theo swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were as you leaned against the wall.

“I’m still figuring out the melody,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Then he started to play.

The first notes were soft, tentative, but as his fingers found their rhythm, his voice followed. The melody unfurled like a thread in the air, and when Theo sang the first line, you froze.

His voice was rich and haunting, a perfect match for the bittersweet lyrics. The emotion in his tone was palpable, like he was pouring pieces of himself into every word. You couldn’t look away.

Leaning against the wall, you let yourself get lost in the sound. It wasn’t just that his voice was beautiful, though it was. It was the way he sang with such vulnerability, as if baring his soul.

When he finished, the silence in the room felt almost holy.

“That was…” you began, but the words wouldn’t come.

Theo set the guitar aside, shaking his head. “Terrible, right?” He gave a self-conscious laugh, breaking the spell.

“No!” you said quickly, your voice firm. “Theo, that was… incredible. Your voice- it’s-” You stopped, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I mean, it’s beautiful. The whole thing is.”

Theo’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, something passed between you, an unspoken connection that made your heart race. But as quickly as it had disappeared, the tension returned, settling heavily between you.

“I, uh, should probably go,” you said, pushing off the wall.

Theo’s heart sank, but he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for… listening.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers lingering on the doorknob for just a moment before you slipped out, leaving Theo alone with his unfinished song - and the sound of your voice still echoing in his mind.

-the next day-

The next day, Theo couldn’t get you out of his head. The way you’d looked at him during the song, the way your voice had softened - it played on repeat in his mind like an earworm he couldn’t shake.

He told himself he was imagining things, that he’d misread the moment. But when you walked into the studio again that afternoon, this time deliberately, he felt hope flicker to life.

“Hey,” you said softly, lingering by the door.

Theo straightened up on the stool, setting the guitar down as if unsure what to do. “Hey.”

“I was thinking about your song,” you said, stepping inside. “And I realized… I need to hear it again.”

“You do?” Theo's surprise melted into a small smile.

You nodded, your expression a mix of nerves and determination. “Yeah. I think… I wasn’t really listening yesterday. Not the way I should’ve been.”

Theo’s throat felt dry, but he nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll play it for you.”

He started the song, his fingers moving more confidently this time. But as the melody filled the room, his gaze drifted to you. You weren’t leaning against the wall like before - you were standing closer, watching him with an intensity that made his heart race.

His voice was mesmerizing - angelic, even. The emotion in it was undeniable, raw and achingly real. It made your chest tighten, your breath catching as you took a step closer to him.

By the time he finished, you were standing just a few feet away, your heart pounding.

“That was…” you began, but your voice broke. You took another step forward. “Theo, that was incredible.”

His eyes met yours, his expression soft but searching. “Thanks,” he murmured. Theo set the guitar aside, standing up so that you were just a foot apart.

The tension between you was thick now, impossible to ignore. For weeks, you’d both danced around whatever this was, but now there was no escaping it.

”You know…,” Theo said softly, taking a step closer. ”Things have been kinda weird between us lately.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, they have.”

“I don’t know why, but…” Theo said, his voice low. ”I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “Me neither.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air felt electric as Theo suddenly took a tentative step closer, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“Can I…?” he began, his voice trailing off.

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his.

Theo froze for a split second, then melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His lips were soft, warm, and impossibly gentle, and the sound of his breathing mixed with yours, creating a music of its own.

When you finally pulled away, Theo’s forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling through the nervous energy still buzzing between you.

“So,” you teased, your voice still breathless, “guess I should storm into recording sessions more often.”

Theo laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’d be my favorite distraction.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as the two of you stayed close. The guitar still sat on the stool behind him, but the song felt complete now, even without another note being played.

KEEHO - Drenched in Love

The rain began as a soft drizzle, cool against your skin as you walked beside Keeho. The two of you had just left the café, where your usual flow of chatter had been replaced by long, quiet stretches. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt different - charged, somehow.

“Guess we didn’t check the weather again, huh?” Keeho said, his laugh cutting through the sound of raindrops hitting pavement. His dark hair was already damp, strands clinging to his forehead in a way that made your stomach do an unwelcome little flip.

You pulled your jacket tighter, though it did little to keep the rain, or your emotion, at bay. Being with him had always been easy, effortless. But lately, you’d felt something else creeping in, something that made you hyper-aware of how close he was or how his smile lingered when he looked at you.

By the time the rain picked up, the two of you had ducked under the awning of a closed bookstore. It was familiar ground, a place you’d stopped at countless times to joke about bad book titles or dream up absurd stories. This time, though, neither of you seemed to know what to say.

Keeho leaned against the wall, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah?” You tried to sound casual, but it came out more uncertain than you’d hoped.

“You’ve been…” He paused, his gaze flicking to yours before darting away again. “I don’t know. You’ve been kind of different lately.”

Your heart skipped. Was he guessing at the feelings you’d been struggling to keep hidden? The ones that made your chest ache whenever he smiled at you like you were the only person who mattered?

“What do you mean?” you asked, hoping you sounded more composed than you felt.

Keeho hesitated, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck, a habit you knew well. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

The rain filled the silence that followed, the steady rhythm matching the nervous thrum of your heartbeat. You wanted to say something, to push him to clarify, but fear rooted you in place.

“It’s probably stupid,” Keeho added with a quiet laugh, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before looking away again.

“It’s not stupid,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “Just tell me.”

He turned to face you fully then, and the intensity in his expression made you forget the chill of the rain. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

Your throat tightened. “Mess what up?”

Keeho opened his mouth as if to answer, but a sudden crack of thunder made you both jump, the sound splitting the air and breaking the tension. You laughed nervously, the momentary distraction easing the tightness in your chest. Keeho’s laughter followed, warm and familiar, and for a second, things felt normal again.

But then his hand brushed against yours - whether by accident or not, you couldn’t tell - and the warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you. He didn’t pull away, and neither did you.

“We should probably find better shelter,” he said, though he made no move to leave.

You nodded, but your feet stayed rooted to the ground. His gaze found yours again, and this time, it didn’t waver. The rain fell harder now, soaking through your jacket and chilling you to the bone, but you hardly noticed.

“Keeho,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping closer.

The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant. You could see the rain clinging to his lashes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“I-” Your words faltered, caught somewhere between your head and your heart.

Before you could gather the courage to continue, a gust of wind whipped around you, scattering rain in chaotic waves. Keeho laughed, reaching out instinctively to steady you as the storm raged on. His hand wrapped around your arm, and the touch was electric, sending heat coursing through you despite the cold.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there, soaked and shivering but unmoving. The words you wanted to say hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to speak them to know they were written all over your face.

So were his.

The rain was relentless now, soaking through every layer of clothing. You and Keeho were still standing there, frozen in a moment that felt like it had been years in the making. His hand lingered on your arm, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into your skin.

He didn’t let go.

The world around you seemed to blur, the pounding rain and rumbling thunder fading into the background. All you could focus on was him, the way his dark eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find the courage to take the leap you both knew was coming.

“Keeho,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

His name on your lips seemed to break something in him. He took a small step closer, his fingers tightening slightly against your arm. “I… I’ve been wanting to say something,” he began, his voice low but steady. “But I didn’t know if-”

“Me too,” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath catching in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, and suddenly the words came easier. “I didn’t want to mess things up either. But… I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this.”

Keeho let out a shaky laugh, a sound of relief and disbelief. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to figure out if you felt the same way.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache. How could you not have seen it? The way he looked at you, the way his hand would linger when he touched your shoulder or brushed against your fingers. It had always been there, just below the surface, waiting for one of you to acknowledge it.

And now there was no going back.

“I guess we’re both pretty bad at this,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Keeho grinned, his usual confidence creeping back in. “Maybe. But we’re figuring it out, right?’’

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The rain poured down, soaking you both to the bone, but the cold didn’t matter anymore.

Keeho’s hand slid down your arm, his fingers brushing yours before settling on your hand. The touch was tentative, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you took a step closer, your free hand lifting almost instinctively to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. His breath hitched at the contact, and for a heartbeat, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own pounding pulse.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow at first, as if he was giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. You tilted your head up to meet him halfway, your heart racing as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to set your world spinning. Keeho’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The rain continued to fall, cold and unrelenting, but all you could feel was the heat of his touch, the warmth of his lips moving against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your rain-chilled skin. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laughed, the sound breaking through the storm. “More than okay.”

Keeho smiled then, the kind of smile that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

You didn’t know what would happen next, but in that moment, you didn’t care. The storm could rage on around you, but all that mattered was that you were here, together, no longer hiding what you both felt.

And as Keeho pulled you back into another kiss, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

JIUNG - Before You Go

The styling room was unusually quiet, the hum of activity that normally filled the space replaced by the soft rustle of make-up supplies being packed into your suitcase. You moved systematic, putting the powder brushes into a small etui and tucking it into the case. The air carried a bittersweet tension; it was strange to think that tonight would be the last time you’d close this door behind you.

Working as P1Harmony’s stylist had been more than just a job. You had shared laughter during fittings, offered comfort during stressful shoots, and your heart ached, not just for the job you loved but for the unspoken feelings you had buried deep inside for Jiung.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your feelings for him started to grow, but over time, his subtle smiles and quiet moments with you had become the highlight of your day. Of course, those feelings could never be acted upon. Being a stylist for an idol group meant following unspoken rules, and dating an idol was taboo.

It wasn’t easy to walk away, but this job could no longer sustain the financial pressures you faced. The offer from another music label was too good to pass up, even if it meant leaving behind the people you had grown to care for deeply.

You sighed, brushing aside the wave of emotion that threatened to consume you. “Just a few more things,” you whispered to yourself, trying to keep the ache in your chest at bay.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Startled, you turned to see Jiung standing in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the room before locking onto you. He was dressed casually, a black hoodie pulled over his head, but the way he stood there made your heart race.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Jiung,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “I didn’t expect-”

“I.. I wanted to see you one last time,” he interrupted, his gaze never wavering. “Before you leave.” His words hung in the air.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The intensity of his presence in the quiet room made it hard to breathe.

You forced a smile. “You’ll be fine without me. You’ve got a great team-”

“Don’t say that,” Jiung interrupted, his voice trembling slightly. He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “Do you really have to go?”

His question caught you off guard. “Jiung, it’s not that I want to leave,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I just… need something different. I need to pay off some debts, and-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But… if it's about the money, I will talk to our boss. I'm sure they are willing to match your new offer. You don't have to leave."

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "It's not just the money. I thought maybe it was time for something new, even if it hurts to leave."

Jiung frowned, his brows knitting together. "But you love working with us, right?"

"Of course, I do," you said, your chest tightening. "It's not an easy decision."

“Please don’t go,” Jiung said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle not seeing you anymore.

His words struck a chord deep inside you. The thought of leaving P1Harmony, of leaving Jiung, had been tearing you apart. But you had convinced yourself there was no other option. Now, standing here in the intimate stillness of the styling room, his plea cracked the walls you had built around your emotions.

"Jiung, what are you saying?" You whispered, barely trusting your voice.

He took another step closer, reaching out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping around your hand. His touch was warm and grounding, sending a jolt through your body.

Jiung took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. "I should've said this sooner, but l didn't know how. I was scared. Scared of what it could mean for me... for us. But now, with you leaving, I can't keep it in anymore."

Your heart was beating fast in your chest as he hesitated, searching for the right words.

"I like you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "No, I- I think I've fallen for you. I don't know when it started, but every time I see you, I feel... I feel something I can't ignore. And now, knowing you won't be here anymore, it's killing me. I had to tell you, even if it's too late."

The world seemed to stop. Jiung’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Jiung - the person you had been secretly pining for - felt the same way about you?

“Say something,” he urged, his voice cracking.

"Jiung," you said, your voice barely audible. "I... l feel the same way."

His eyes widened, a flicker of hope replacing the nervousness on his face. "You do?"

You nodded, a smile breaking through despite the tears threatening to spill. "I've liked you for so long, but I thought it was impossible. I thought you'd never feel the same."

He let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. "I should've told you sooner."

Before you could reply, he closed the distance between the both of you, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and full of emotions you had both kept buried for far too long.

The kiss deepened, and you felt a thousand butterflies take flight in your chest. Jiung’s hands gently cupped your face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. You were both breathing hard, your emotions tangled in a beautiful mess.

“Please stay,” Jiung said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You hesitated. “Jiung… this is risky. What if someone finds out?”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I care about you. And I can’t let you leave without trying.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t want to leave in the first place. But I thought it was better this way. I thought… I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Jiung smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’ve felt this way for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you. But now that I have, I can’t let you go without a fight.”

His words melted the last of your doubts. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” Jiung asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

You nodded. “I’ll stay. But we have to be careful.”

A relieved laugh escaped his lips, and he pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”

As he held you close, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, the future felt bright, even if it was uncertain. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

© sweetmisery - please do not repost my works! ♡

[vbecker10]

The Brother Tax

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You find out Loki has an interesting way of getting cash.

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a little while and one of my friends from work finally convinced me to write it. (Love you!) This is silly and I know the first bit doesn't have Loki but just wait for it. I hope you all enjoy it! 💚

Bucky opens the door to the bank and holds it open for Steve and Thor. "Just admit you lost the money," Bucky rolls his eyes.

"I didn't lose it," Thor says defensively. "I swear I had a hundred dollars this morning." He walks over to the ATM and opens his empty wallet.

"Sure," Steve laughs as he stands next to Bucky across from the ATM. "It just vanished into thin air."

Thor sighs and puts his card in the machine, "I don't know where it went but I didn't lose it. Why would I lie about that?"

"So you don't have to pay me for losing the bet," Steve suggests.

Thor shakes his head as five crisp 20 dollar bills pop out of the ATM. He reaches for them but the second his fingers touch the bills, they vanish instantly. "What the-?" he asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"What?" Bucky stands up straight from the wall he was leaning on.

"It's gone," Thor looks over at his friends. "The money just... disappeared."

"Seriously?" Steve folds his arms across his chest in disbelief. "Look, if you don't have the money, it's fine. We'll find a different way for you to work off the bet."

"I have money," Thor says, his annoyance growing. "This is ridiculous," Thor mumbles as he shakes his head, turning back to the ATM. The God of Thunder presses a few more buttons slowly and another stack of 20 dollar bills comes out. With a deep breath, he touches the money lightly but again the cash vanishes instantly as Steve and Bucky lean closer to watch. Thor swears loudly in Asgardian, causing the two super soldiers to take a step back in surprise.

Bucky laughs, "Well that's a problem."

Thor angrily presses the buttons on the ATM again and takes a step away when the money comes out. "Steve can you...?" he asks, trying to contain his frustration.

"Yeah, I've got it," Steve steps up to the machine and easily takes the bills. Counting out the sixty Thor owes him, he hands the reaming money over.

Thor holds out his hand and as soon as the bills are placed in his palm, they vanish.

"Loki!" he yells as he slams the door to the bank opens and storms out followed closely by Bucky who can barely contain his laughter and Steve as he puts his winnings into his wallet.

As you lay on the couch with your head on Loki's lap a small green glow catches your attention. You look away from the TV, your focus moving towards the end table where Loki keeps his wallet and keys. A few moments later you see the green glow again and sit up, staring at his wallet curiously.

"What's wrong darling?" he asks.

"Your wallet is... glowing," you tell him.

He chuckles as it glows a third time. "Oh, that's the brother tax," he says with a smile that you know means trouble.

"The what?" you raise an eyebrow.

"Thor was being rather annoying yesterday so I decided to try out a new spell," he explains. "Any time he comes in contact with cash, it will appear in my wallet."

You giggle, "Loki, that's mean!"

He smirks, "You didn't seem to mind when I bought you those flowers and that little green bear."

"You bought those with Thor's money?" you look over at the cute, stuffed bear sitting on the armchair in the corner then back up at Loki.

"It's my money now," he corrects you gently.

"Mmhmm," you hum in response. "You tell Thor that when he figures out what's happening."

"It'll take that oaf a week to figure it out," Loki insists.

You lay back down on his lap and Loki leans down to kiss your lips lightly. He sits back again and runs his fingers through your hair as you both continue to watch the movie.

(Twenty minutes later)

"Loki!" Thor shouts from the hallway as he knocks heavily on the door.

"A week huh?" you ask, sitting up.

"It seems I might have underestimated him a little bit," Loki admits with a shrug.

"So... what's the plan now?" you wonder as Thor knocks again.

Loki chuckles, "I honestly hadn't thought this far ahead but I suggest we don't open the door for the time being."

You laugh and turn the TV up a bit louder as you lay back down. "What am I going to do with you, Mischief?"

He kisses your forehead, "Love me?"

"I guess I can do that," you smile up at him then focus on the movie once again as Thor's knocks become fainter.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @sabspoetic @anukulee @lovinglokilaufeyson @beaniemoon @hotburreaux

[kookie-doughs]

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Chapter 1: I'm Going To Leave

You're lost in your own world, a smile playing on your lips as you reread the exchange with the gang.

"L/N!" Athena's voice, sharp and clear, slices through the hum. You blink, pulled back to reality. She stands with hands on hips, fiery hair framing her face, a mock glare masking a playful glint in her eyes.

"Bloody hell, Y/N," she chuckle, peeking at the held device. "I've been calling you for ten minutes! What's got your attention?"

A blush, warm as embers, bloomed on your cheeks. "Phone? I was..." Contemplating whether to share the event to her or keep to yourself you smiled, deciding against it not long after as its much easier that way to keeo your identity secret. "Just lost in thought, that's all."

The suspicion lingering in Athena's emerald eyes was palpable, but she wisely held her tongue. "I have DADA with Ced," she announced, linking her arm with yours. "Let me walk you to Charms before then. Maybe along the way, you'll feel like... enlightening me about your sudden trance."

You chuckled, the warm sound hollow as you clutched the secret close. As you ambled through the throng, a murmur rippled through the crowd, the path ahead inexplicably clearing. Heads swiveled, whispers fluttered on the breeze. "It's Tom Riddle," a student breathed, their voice laced with a swooning awe that made your stomach churn.

Athena tugged you discreetly to the side, her gaze fixed on the approaching figure. Tom Riddle. Tall, regal, with an aura of power that seemed to hang in the air like incense. You followed his path with your eyes, your heart doing a clumsy tap dance in your chest.

It wasn't that you weren't in love with him, you just weren't like the simpering girls who practically melted at his smile. No, you'd seen past the polished exterior, glimpsed the darkness simmering beneath the charm. Tom Riddle was smart, yes, dangerously so. Handsome, undeniably. Nice? Hardly.

Yet, a part of you, a reckless, foolish part, couldn't deny a grudging admiration. He was fascinating, an enigma wrapped in a riddle. And now, the mystery seemed to brush against you, you had garnered his attention.

The world narrowed to just him, his dark hair catching the dying sunlight, his lips quirking in a sardonic smile. You forgot Athena, forgot Charms, forgot everything but the pull of the shadows he cast.

Was it fear? Excitement? Curiosity? Had he figured you out? You didn't have the answer, not yet. But as Tom Riddle's gaze brushed yours, you knew this was just the beginning.

The final chime of the bell echoed through the corridor, signaling the start of Charms. You watched Athena skip off to DADA, her eyes still sparkling with Tom Riddle's afterglow.

As you settled into your Charms seat, your gaze couldn't help but stray towards the door. Every rustle of robes, every whispered word, made your head snap up in hope. Would Tom, just for a moment, glance your way? Would he recognize the clues you'd left scattered?

You'd subtly moved your quill to point in his direction during Professor Flitwick's lecture, hoping he'd catch the unspoken message. You'd let out a small cough whenever your eyes met his in the bustling hallways, a barely-there sound only he might understand.

Professor Flitwick, perched on a pile of enchanted textbooks, noticed your gaze wandering once too often. His sharp eyes, twinkling behind oversized spectacles, darted towards you. "Miss L/N," he squeaked in a voice surprisingly booming for his stature, "would you care to demonstrate the Summoning Charm for the class?"

Panic seized you. Your mind, tangled in Tom Riddle's cryptic magic and unspoken attraction, was barren of spell formations. Yet, to your surprise, Tom's gaze met yours, a faint glint of amusement dancing in his brown eyes. It was as if he'd seen right through you.

Taking a deep breath, you channeled the image. You flicked your wand, whispering the incantation with newfound confidence.

A hush fell over the classroom. Professor Flitwick, despite his diminutive stature, clapped his hands with glee. "Excellent, Miss L/N! As expected from a L/N!" His praise washed over you, but your eyes remained fixed on Tom.

A thrill coursed through you, a dangerous mix of fear and excitement. Tom locked eyes with you and wrote something down. Does he know? Would he befriend you? Are you gonna get closer with him? Or had you simply drawn the attention of a dangerous predator?

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay

[keigh0e]

Touch ↬ Caleb

Summary: You have been dating Caleb for quite a while now and you’ve had enough of him not touching you with his metal arm, so you give some not-so-gentle encouragement

Word Count: 5.9k

Triggers: smutty smut and the usual language you can always expect from me

Author Note: Meowdy .₊̣̇.ಇ/ᐠˬ ͜   ˬ ᐟ\∫.₊̣̇. Hope you’re all doing well! I finished the new stories for Love and Deepspace last night and now I’ve got Caleb brainrot, so you must suffer with me I’m afraid. This hasn’t been checked so apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. I’d appreciate any feedback!

You were an open book to Caleb and had been for years. 

Every twitch in your lips was a poem to him, every laugh his new favourite song, every tear a sonnet that pressed more weight on his soul than his evol ever could. 

He’d do anything for you. No, the man was determined, he would do everything for you. Everything, it seemed, but touch you with his metal arm. There would be accidental grazes here and there, but he made a vow to himself the first night he held you after returning, that he wouldn’t let his darkness touch you.

That arm was the physical manifestation of everything wrong with him. Even though it had been years and he’d learnt how to make use of the mechanism, learnt how to make it one of his greatest weapons in battle, that’s all it could ever be to him. He wouldn’t put a knife against your throat, so he wouldn’t dare even try to hold your hand with the very thing that had taken him away from you in the first place. Now you were back with him, back in his arms.

Now he was back with you, back in the light, he refused to let the shadows of his past consume anymore than they had.

Caleb thought he was pretty good at hiding things from you. He didn’t enjoy lying to you and made an avid effort to avoid creating any more after all the Farfleet drama that had originally reunited you, then torn you apart again. 

This sweet man didn’t think you carried his same brand of obsession. He didn’t know that you watched him just as intensely, noting every smile, every wince, every breath.

There was a reason you two were so perfect for each other, after all.

He had no idea that you’d caught on pretty quickly to the fact that he’d constantly do things so as to avoid touching you with his right arm. 

It hadn’t been obvious at first, not until you’d caught him reprogramming the faulty appendage one night. He’d been so raw that night. Maybe it was because he was so tired and recovering, but you’d seen it clear as day, the kind of look that didn’t belong on a man like Caleb, shame.

It had broken your heart all over again.

You’d done everything you could think of to wipe that look off his face that night, you’d made him hold you, you’d taken his hand, pressed a thousand kisses to each fingertip and you would have pressed a thousand more if he’d let you. But as per usual, Caleb had pushed his own feelings aside to concentrate on yours, he’d started making lightheaded jokes the second he saw tears appear in the corner of your eyes.

Though it didn't sit right with you, you let him change the subject, thinking maybe that was what he needed. But as time passed, you began to realise how big of a mistake you’d made by allowing him to shove the topic under the metaphorical rug. 

To an outsider they might not notice how he favours you walking on his left side so he can hold your hand with his. If you ever stand on the right side, the most touch you’ll get from him is his arm wrapped around your shoulder. You’d barely be able to feel the weight of him, like a layer was over you, keeping him from actually touching you with his metal arm.

He’d make you sit on his left side whenever you cuddled up on the couch, or ate together at a table. As though he was trying to keep you as far away as possible. 

He was sly about it, as was Caleb’s way. If you ever touched his right arm, he’d smoothly grab your hand with his left, bringing the hand to his lips and distracting you in all the ways he knew how because, as mentioned previously, the man knew every chapter in your book. Specifically the ‘how to arouse them with one look’ chapter. He’d clearly revised over that one many many times.

Last night was the final straw for you.

He’d been showering when you arrived at his home and you didn’t think twice about getting in the shower with him. 

To your shock, his arm was uncovered, not hidden under fake skin so no one but you and him knew about his little secret. He had a couple of scratches over his chest so you guessed he must have gotten hurt and had to fix his arm again.

You let out a titter, hating the idea of Caleb taking care of his own wounds, sitting alone in the dark like that last time. He’d never let you do that, so it was unfair he expected you to leave him like that as well.

Feeling your heart swell, you reached out, dragging your fingers down his arm. The usual cold steel was warm beneath the stream of water from the showerhead. You heard Caleb suck in a harsh breath, one that told you he was uncomfortable, but it just pushed you more.

You pressed a lip against his metal shoulder before nuzzling at it with your cheek. Perhaps it was too much, but you wanted him to see what you really thought of this limb Caleb seemed to be too scared to touch you with. You wanted him to know you did not share that same fear, therefore he shouldn’t either.

His head turned towards you and your eyes connected, you were stunned at the emotions in his violet gaze. The pain tore at your insides and the shame gouged out your insides. He was so beautiful, so whole, but in that moment, you saw how he truly felt. 

You saw the hatred. Not at you. He could never hate you. So you knew that was all aimed at himself, at the appendage you were currently hugging to your body, practically holding it hostage.

“Caleb,” you whispered, having to swallow as tidal waves of words tried to spill out. You wanted to call him stupid for thinking you could ever fear him, even just one small part of him. You wanted to tell him he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, that he had always been the pinnacle of attractiveness for you, you’d come to this realisation as a hormonal teenager and that hadn’t changed now that you were both adults, that hadn’t changed now that one particular part of him had been replaced. 

You wanted to demand he touch you back, to grip your breasts in those cold steel hands, to pull on your nipples with his fingers, to strum at your clit and play your body anyway he wanted because you trusted him, all of him.

But before any of those words could come out, Caleb had blinked away his shame. He shook his head before gently tugging at his arm. You tightened your grip on instinct.

Reaching out, he pressed his other hand against your cheek, stroking your skin with his, ever-so-brave with that touch whilst his other arm layed like dead weight in your hold. “I was just finishing up, you finish your shower and I’ll go cook us some food.” 

He wasn’t even going to talk about it, was just going to move on, just acted like everything was normal.

With a press of his lips against your forehead, he pulled his arm out of your hold and exited the shower, leaving you all alone with your thoughts, with your sadness, with your rage.

Caleb always told you that were his, always made sure you knew that every part of your body belonged to him. Why was this not the same for you?

Why did he get to keep a certain part of himself away from you?

For your protection? No, that was ridiculous, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Caleb’s arms were the safest place in the world for you. 

As you finished your shower, scoffing every ten seconds at the nerve of your boyfriend, a plot began to load up inside your mind. 

You’d play the dutiful girlfriend tonight, the innocent friend who didn’t push too far, who laughed and smiled, who gave and didn’t demand too much. That was clearly what Caleb needed tonight and you wouldn’t push him more than he’d already been pushed by whatever fight he’d had.

But after that, you were through with this game.

Morning light slipped through the cracks in the blind, illuminating your partner who was spread out like a starfish on the bed with you on top of him, his left arm wrapped around you, holding you to his chest like you were his favourite stuffie.

You’d woken up a few seconds ago and had just watched him, your plan that you’d prepared for the night before helping get you wide awake as the excitement began to gurgle at the bottom of your stomach. 

After double checking that he was definitely asleep, you reached out towards your bedside table, sliding out the top drawer so you could reach in and retrieve the handcuffs you’d snuck in there last night when Caleb had been getting in his pajamas.

You kept your movements slow, not wanting to jar your partner awake. 

Reaching out, you wrapped one of the hand cuffs around the headboard. That was step one of your plan complete.

Looking down at Caleb, a sleeping beauty in his very own right, you couldn’t help but reach out and smooth a finger between his eyebrows. Even asleep, he seemed to be worried about something. 

Leaning you down, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then his cheek. Then his lips.

As you sprinkled these little kisses, you felt something nudge against your thigh. Step two had been achieved and it was just as easy as you’d thought it would be. Even without Caleb fully awake, you could always count on one part of hiM being wide awake for you whenever you needed it.

“What are you up to, pip-squeak?” Your boyfriend grumbled, his voice all sorts of rough from sleep that your thighs automatically pressed together in reaction. You pressed another kiss to his lips, pleased when you felt him pressed back.

Reaching down with one hand, you began to rub at his dick through his boxers. Damn, you really hadn’t been wrong about him always being wide awake for you down there at least. He was already hard, the heat melting through the fabric into your hand. It was enough to make you dizzy. Luckily, you were a trainer hunter, so even the very tempting prize between his legs wouldn’t be able to pull you away from your plan of action.

Satisfaction rolled through you as he gasped at your unsuspecting touch, his hips canting slightly, trying to force more pressure from your hand onto him. 

“I just wanted to wish you a good morning,” you whispered as you moved your lips over to his ear, letting your tongue trace his jawline before tugging gently on his earlobe with your teeth. All the while you slipped your hands under his boxers, touching flesh to flesh, which had him letting out the dirtiest moan.

You almost moaned back yourself. It wasn’t often you had Caleb this out of control, this raw. It was a heady feeling you could get addicted to. 

And exactly what you’d been hoping for. He began to move his hips more, desperate to get a feel of your hand which you kept just above his cock, not making the move to grab it more firmly just yet. 

Whilst his focus was completely taken with trying to achieve that satisfaction only you could give him, you slid your other hand down his left arm, joining your hands together and then easily moving his arm above his head. He didn’t seem to care what you were doing, his only thoughts on getting you to touch him more firmly.

You did notice that his right arm, his metal arm, was still away from you. His fingers were curled up in the mattress, and you couldn’t tell if he was gripping it because of the feelings you were gifting him, or because he was doing all he could to keep from gripping you.

The sight of his metal arm stretched out away from you cemented the plan in your mind and kept you from getting distracted, even as the most delicious whine escaped him.

You pulled your hand out of his boxers and locked the handcuff around his arm as quickly as possible, your partner didn’t seem to even notice until the click echoed in the room, still bucking his hips slightly. 

His eyes finally opened, though they remained half-lidded, revealing violet rings wrapped around blown pupils. “What are you doing?” He asked, panting.

“I want to play a game, baby,” you explained in your most playful voice whilst positioning yourself better around him. “Won’t you play with me?”

You’d moved so you were laid on top of him, your hips above his crotch. The covers had been pushed back revealing his solid, naked, chest whilst you were still wearing your silk nightgown. You’d purposely worn his favourite, just to add another level of resistance. Plus, the shoulder straps might as well have been paid actors as they slipped down your arms on accident, allowing the tops of your breasts to be revealed.

He’d certainly noticed as his eyes went to your globes first, then they went down to your crotch which hovered just above his, the barest of space keeping you from settling down on his cock. Then, eventually, his eyes flicked up to glance at the handcuff you’d wrapped around his wrist. He gave a tug, as though to confirm that, yes, they really were handcuffs. Then after no time at all, his eyes returned to you, carrying with them a glare that had your playful nature purring even more. 

“What’s the game?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side.

Caleb was always in control, so you weren’t surprised to see him trying to grasp it back under his control even whilst you were holding him hostage. It was kind of hot, but no, you needed to stay strong and continue on with the plan.

One look at his arm which he’d somehow stretched even further away from you after you’d moved cemented this even further in your mind.

Gently, you laid more of your wait on top of him, pressing your slit against the hotness in his underwear. Satisfaction shivered up your body as you rolled your hips ever so gently, your clit pulsing in time with your movements. 

He reacted exactly as you wanted to, barely able to hold onto his control, just like you. His lips parted and his eyes shut again, his head bent further into the pillow and it took everything in you not to go back down to bite at his neck. 

Never one to make you do all the work, Caleb met your rolling hips with assertive thrusts of his own, working a gasp out of you as he followed your teasing movements with his demands. “The game, baby, what is it?”

“I need you to touch me,” you revealed in a gasp. Feeling drunk on power, you reached out with both hands, pressing them on the peaks of his chest. His nipples fell between your fingers and you couldn’t help but close them, pinching at his nips, earning an unexpected response as he growled.

You saw in your periphery as he lifted his metal arm, moving closer towards you before he seemed to tighten his fist and rested it back down on the bed. 

Well, that just wouldn’t do, would it?

You took one hand off his chest, leaving one to continue playing with his nipples, and reached back into his underwear. You pulled out his cock, feeling the weight of it, hot and thick, resting in the palm of your hand as you pressed it to the very centre of your clothed slit.

You moaned out and bent your head back. That wasn’t part of the game, you just couldn’t help your reaction to him, not when he was so close. 

“If you want me to touch you, then you have to take off the handcuffs, baby.” You could hear his teeth grinding whilst he spoke, and you knew in that moment he’d caught on, especially when he made a point to drag the metal arm back from where it had instinctively gone to.

You stopped all movement, still keeping his dick pressed against you, letting it twitch torturously against your clit. “You know that’s not the rules, touch me with your right arm Caleb.” He shook his head again. “Do it, baby, please.”

“Can’t.” He grunted out, tugging uselessly with his left arm. He was proving you right, you knew he couldn’t resist touching you, the same way you couldn’t resist touching him. He was just being stubborn, letting whatever silly worries he has control him. You just needed to push him more out of control.

You let go of his dick, watching it slap against his stomach, leaving a trail of pre-cum that you wouldn’t have minded licking up. Maybe later.

“Look at me,” you ordered as you slowly pushed up the silky nightgown revealing inch after inch of skin. You might not have been the most confident of people, but you were at least confident of Caleb’s feelings about your body. You weren’t disappointed when his eyes followed every movement, mouth agape and eyes drunk with lust. Once the outfit was off, you reached out to touch your breasts, shoving them together and pulling on your nipples. The pulsing between your legs was an earthquake, demanding you slip onto his cock and take what was yours, but you couldn’t do that yet. Not yet. “Please touch me Caleb, I need you, so badly.”

Another grunt came out of him as he tugged harder on his arm, more beast than man in that moment. He managed to sit up, managed to get his mouth so close to the peak of your breast but you pulled away at the last second, leaving mere inches between your tip and his lips. You felt his hot breath lavish your skin and a moan crested out of your mouth unbidden. This might have been your mission, but you were just on edge as he was.

Reaching out you wrapped your hand into his hair, tugging on the strands slightly until he raised his head and met your eyes once more. “Touch me with your hand Caleb.”

“You handcuffed it, baby.”

“You have two hands,” you countered teasingly, but the mere mention of his metal arm had his expression shutting down and his head shaking once again. “Please, you won’t hurt me.” You’d abandoned the husky voice you’d been using beforehand, matching his honesty with your own pleading version. “You won’t.”

His head fell onto your chest but there was nothing sexual about the touch, not with his shoulders sagging. “I wouldn’t, not on purpose, but-”

“But nothing,” you cut him off whilst running your fingers through his hair. “It is physically impossible for you to cause me physical harm, nothing I wouldn’t want anyway.”

He didn’t respond, but you didn’t think he was ignoring you. It was clear as day that he was going through a battle, and as his partner, you needed to join this fight. Tentatively you reached out for his metal arm that was still throttling the quilt in a tight grip, the moment your fingers pressed on the back of his hand those fingers opened up. 

He wasn’t pulling away immediately, that was progress.

“If I lost my arm and got a prosthetic, would you think differently of me?” 

“Of course not,” he lifted his head up immediately, abhorring the thought that you might ever doubt how much he cares for you.

“Would you not let me touch you with that arm? Would you fear it?” Your fingers snaked in his and you brought the hand closer until it was resting between your stomach and his chest. Again, he just shook his head. You could see his jaw working, teeth clenching. He saw your argument, and he couldn’t exactly refute that you were making sense. You brought the hand further up, beginning to press your fingers between each knuckle. “I do not think differently of you because of your prosthetic. I will let you touch me, wherever, with your hands. I do not fear you, I love you, every inch inside and out.”

Like an animal bearing its neck to a predator, you unravelled his fingers before placing his palm around your throat.

His eyes watched every movement intensely, spellbound, and you watched second by second as that doubt grew dimmer and dimmer. Something else began to sparkle in his eyes, something familiar, the same something that was pulsing between your legs.

“My baby needs me to touch her?” He spoke so softly, you felt yourself melt a little bit more. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak at that moment. “Show me where, baby, show me where and let me take care of you.”

Your skin was practically vibrating, his gentle dominance petting you into submission, a place only Caleb could get you to fall into. Because you only trusted Caleb to this extent. Trusted all of him.

Grabbing his hand once more, you lowered it down, letting his fingers trail over your breasts. Whilst that felt good, you needed him somewhere else far more. You let him give your nipple one small tug before pushing his arm back down further, as you got to the spot between your legs, you released him, showing him that you trusted him to take care of you exactly the way you needed.

He didn’t disappoint. His metal things were cold, the change in temperature a sharp change to the heat coming from your body, you couldn’t help but coo as he slipped them further into your wetness.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he hummed, “so wet and needy for me, I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“It’s okay.” Your hips moved forward automatically as the tips of his fingers pressed against your clit, touching you exactly where you needed to feed that demanding pulse between your legs. He went slow at first, beginning to speed up as he leant forward once more and captured your nipples in his mouth. You hadn’t even realised you’d moved closer to him. You moaned out again, the satisfaction of his touch only making your body demanding for more. “Please.”

“You want to cum baby?” His fingers moved with expert precision, his thumb taking the place of his fingers as they went exploring. One finger slipped inside of you, stealing all air from you before a second one joined it, air gasping out of you with your moans. “You want to cum for me, yeah?” He asked again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted out as his fingers plunged deeper into you, reaching a spot that had lights dancing behind your closed eyelids. Then, he froze, his fingers still inside of you.

Opening your eyes, you were met with your boyfriend wearing an expression that was oh-so-deliciously Caleb. His eyes were alight with mischief, a smirk on his lips that you wanted to kiss over and over again. Gone was the man afraid to touch you with his hand. 

“Prove it,” he whispered out huskily, “make a mess on my fingers, pretty girl.”

He was asking you to prove a lot more than how much you wanted to cum on his fingers, which was a lot. Thankfully, you were up for the challenge. You began to move your hips, using his hand to get yourself off. All the while, you maintained eye contact. Letting him see how you fell apart at his touch.

“Keep going,” he encouraged, leaning forward once more to press kisses against your breast. When you fell even closer against him, desperate to feel all of him, he used this as an advantage to lick across your collarbone before biting down on the spot where your neck and shoulder met. “Good girl, keep going. Make a mess for me.” He groaned out.

“Do you hear that?” He whispered, not wanting to speak out the schlick that escaped every time you pushed his fingers back in your body. You were definitely soaking the bed, but you found it hard to care about anything other than just how good he felt. “So lewd, baby, but you just can’t help yourself can you?”

You shook your head, whining as you struggled to get out a word. 

“Can’t help yourself, need all of me, my dirty girl,” his breath was coming out with pants, his eyes laser focused now on where his fingers pushed into you. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m yours baby, all fucking yours.” With those last couple of words he gave you everything, pushing his fingers in and out of you at a rabid pace, satisfaction rolling through him like a tsunami as he watched your wetness coat his entire hand, falling onto his lap where his cock stood at attention, hard and twitching, waiting for a chance to get in your hole.

“Fuck, Caleb!” You held onto his shoulders, worried you’d collapse on him as your hip thrusts became messy. All sensuality was lost, just an all-consuming need to cum. Caleb would provide, he always would. He’d always give you everything you needed. 

Every kiss against your neck, every growl that escaped him, was his solid vow that that would never change. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, give me what’s mine, give me it.” He hadn’t even finished before you were coming apart on his fingers. Your moans were cut off as a wave of pleasure rocked your body so harshly that you collapsed fully on top of him, body shaking with the aftershocks of the glorious orgasm he’d just gifted you. 

Caleb watched unblinkingly, taking in every shudder, every breath you made. Taking note of everything so he could never forget this moment, could never forget how easily he’d played with your body, with the one part of his he’d never believed could be used for such soft things. 

He pulled his arm out, wrapping his arm around your waist so he could keep you close. He saw his arm, witnessed his fingers splayed out on your back, so large they took up the entire middle and then some. He might not be able to feel you from his fingers, but he wasn’t scared, for the first time since he’d gotten that forsaken arm, he wasn’t afraid. He knew how you felt, how soft and how strong your body was against his. 

A giggle broke out of you after a few more seconds of heavy breathing, your mind catching up with what you’d done, and what Caleb had finally done. 

You lifted your head up, looking into his violet eyes with the biggest smile on your face. “I told you, you could never hurt me.” You said each word with such utter confidence that Caleb was left speechless. Instinct was running the show for him, and for the first time ever, he wasn’t forcing himself to play safe. You were right, he could never hurt you, his instinct was only ever to protect you, to keep you safe, to make you happy.

And he was only halfway through with that last part.

He pulled his metal hand back from around your waist, slipping the fingers into his mouth and sucking on each digit that had been inside you. 

Once he was done, he brought the fingers up to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and like the good girl you were, you did as he said. You let him push his cold metal fingers into your mouth, let him explore the inside of your mouth with those digits.

“Is this what you wanted all along, baby girl?” He asked. “Wanted to unravel me?”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, letting you answer his question. “I wanted you to see you the way I see you.”

He cocked his head to the side, “and how’s that?”

You leaned forward, letting your lips rest against his as you spoke your next words. “Completely and utterly mine.”

The next couple of things that happened, occured within the blink of an eye.

His metal hand reached up to the handcuff, snapping it with ease and releasing his other hand. Both hands wrapped around your body as he spun the two of you around until he was on top, his waist pressing against the apex of your thighs. His cock rutting once, twice, against your clit which in turn had your hip stuttering with the overstimulation. His left hand, warm and soft, pressed down on your hip, keeping you in place, whilst his other rested against your throat, the fingers curling and pressing down on your pulse points. Not hard enough to cut off air, just hard enough for you to be incapable of ignoring their presence.

Despite the rough way he’d handled you, he followed up these actions by pressing three gentle kisses against your lips. “Always.” Another kiss. Far more demanding, teeth grazing. “Always have been.” His tongue plunged into your mouth, dancing across yours before he sucked it into his mouth. Another barely contained growl escaped him as he rutted against you more.

You just couldn’t help yourself. You’d got him to the very edge of control, and you wanted to see him lose it. 

Pulling back you bit down hard on his lip, gathering what little attention he had left which wasn’t completely taken by the wet warmth cradling his cock. 

“Prove it.” A demand, no, a challenge. The final stab at his control that pulled forth the beast.

Both hands moved beneath your thighs, pushing them against your chest so your pussy was completely open to him. Glistening under the few rays of sunlight that peaked into the room, as though trying to glimpse at the display of ravenous lust you were putting on. Caleb could understand why, you’d never looked so beautiful to him, spread open and soaking down your thighs, your hole twitching as though begging to be filled.

His poor baby. You didn’t need to beg anymore.

With ease he placed his dick against your hole, slipping in with barely any force because of how slick you were. 

Home. That’s what your pussy felt like to him.

The both of you groaned out, a cacophony of moans that he could listen to for days on end without ever growing sick of the tune. 

“I’ll prove it to you, pretty girl.” His voice was rough and hoarse as it fell from his lips, though he wasn’t sure anymore if it was from being tired, or because of all the moans he’d let escape. “You’ll never doubt me again, never doubt that your mine.” Each word was followed with a deep thrust, his cock reaching places you never knew existed until he’d explored them. 

He fell on top of you, surrounding you. You couldn’t see anything but him. Feel anything but him. Hear, smell, taste anything but him. 

His thrusts turned harder, quicker, every stab of his cock a lightning bolt to your senses.

You lost yourself, mouth opening with silent cries as your eyes stared unfocused on his face. Any time you closed them, he’d respond with a harsher, sharper, thrust of his hips. Even without words, he was in complete control of you.

“You need this, need me,” he told you in between grunts. You could only nod. Too drunk on the pleasure to tell him that he needed you too. He knew. He knew he needed you more, that’s why he was never going to let you go. “You need to cum all over this cock, need to make a mess, give it to me, pretty girl.” 

Your legs were pressed so deep into your chest you weren’t sure if you were breathing, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was his thick cock dragging in and out of your pussy. Pulling pleasure from you with each thrust.

“Give it to me, and I’ll give you my cum.” He promised, and oh, your pussy clenched tightly around him, liking the sound of that far too much. An almost sinister laugh came from your boyfriend as he felt it too. “Oh,” he hummed, apparently just as surprised as you were by that reaction. His thrusts slowed, but they seemed to turn longer, somehow going deeper than ever before. “You want my cum baby? Want me to fill you up until your overflowing with my seed?”

When you moaned in response, he knew he had his answer.

“Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to give you all my cummies? Fill you up? Give you my babies?” Another clench had him slamming down into you. “Want that too pretty girl. Want to see you full of me, knowing you’re filled with me, knowing everything who sees you will know what I did to your dirty little pussy.”

“Fuck.” Both hands wrapped around your thighs tightened to the point of bruising, but that was exactly what he wanted, to mark you in every possible way. And he could, because he was in control. “Fucking take it, pretty girl. Fuck, good girl. Good fucking girl.” 

His words were drowned out by each slam of his hips against yours. You knew you’d be hurting later but you were past the point of caring, you wanted every single thing he’d just promised you. 

Through heaving breaths, you managed to squeak out a hoarse ‘please’ and that was his undoing. His thrusts stuttered until he pressed as far into you as possible and then you felt your insides being flooded. 

It almost felt unreal, there was so much. You felt every corner of your insides being covered and then the knot inside you released with him, your pussy tightening almost instinctively around him, trying to keep his essence inside of you.

“Good girl,” he continued to praise, throwing out little phrases of admiration as you both rode out your orgasms.

Then, when the final wave crested and fled, he released your legs from his hold. His hands stayed steady, controlling how they fell around him, making sure you didn’t move too quickly just in case. His fingers caressed your soft skin, massaging at your thighs where most of the strain had been.

He moved so most of his weight wasn’t on you but he was still hovering over you. Pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he left his lips to rest there as he mumbled out an almost reverent, “thank you.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! I’ve been thinking about doing a part two where Caleb gets revenge and handcuffs the reader, let me know if you’d be interested.

[bitchface24-7]

Hiii! How are you? I hope you had a wonderful day. Now, I'm here with an idea, I was thinking what if Jayce (and maybe Viktor, but I don't know how to make it work) traveled to another reality, like Ekko, but in this reality nothing of what happened happened. I mean, yeah, the explosion happens and blah blah blah, but in this world reader doesn't die (I love angst I'm sorry) and that helps Viktor not turn into the herald and try to kill everyone. I don't know, just a thought, you can use it to inspire yourself or not, that's perfectly fine. If you do write it thank you, and if you do not thank you anyways. Love your blog, keep on like that 😘

THE ONE’S THAT GOT AWAY - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: Jayce isn’t sure how he got here. Did the older Viktor he met who was a mage cast the spell wrong, was it when he and Viktor accepted fate in the cosmos, or was it his gift from the gods he no longer believes in, bringing him back to the two most important people in his life. One of them he died with. The other died much earlier.

warnings: MCD undeath (you're all alive now, hurrah! But the death with be mentioned), Jayce thinking he’s gone mad, crying, comfort, a world where EVERYONE IS ALIVE, poor Jayce; we’re so mean to him. Plot twist… Grammarly is my beta.

genre: m/f or m/m (with a realization of m/m/f or m/m/m)

p.s. Y'all just like putting my boy through the ringer!! Hopefully, he gets his peace here.

Jayce is scared. He's only in his early thirties and he's going to die. Everything is destroyed, their lab, their dreams, their future. All blowing in the wind like ashes, and the ground is stained with blood.

This was never supposed to happen. Hextech was meant to improve lives not become… what it became. You, Jayce, and Viktor were supposed to live long, happy lives. Maybe move out of the city, find a small town and live in a cozy cottage. Or even find a nice house in Piltover where you're in prime real estate. The markets and transit not too far from us.

But all of that is dead now. You died from a dormant virus in your body, it was waiting to strike when you were most happy. Your family has had it in their bloodline for years; and you didn't tell anyone.

You died in your sleep, painlessly, peacefully. Neither Jayce or Viktor knew until they went to your apartment to check on you, it wasn't like you to not come into the lab, not unless you told them before hand.

It was almost like you were sleeping. Your face was at ease, your body stiff. Jayce could lie to himself and say you were in a deep sleep, but he knew the truth. You were dead. Your chest wasn't moving, you were cold to the touch, and there was no pulse.

Viktor stood there horrified, before trying his best to find some sign of life. The more he looked, the more desperate he became. Jayce was frozen. He had finally asked you out on a date, it happened just a few days ago. You shared a kiss. Now you're dead.

Jayce silently walks to the home-phone attached to your wall and calls an ambulance, explains the situation in the most monotone voice he's ever produced, and quietly hangs the phone up; not even hearing what the phone opperator told him.

But he does hear Viktor crying, his hand over his mouth muffling sobs. Jayce walks over to him on autopilot and hugs him as tightly as he can and Viktor collapses into his arms.

They don't move until the paramedics come.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After that, everything went downhill. Sky went missing, Hextech was made into weaponry, he and Viktor’s relationship became strained, the council room explodes due to a bomb, Viktor dies, Jayce breaks his promise to destroy the hexcore, he uses it to revive Viktor, turns out Sky died due to the hexcore.

Viktor leaves.

And Jayce is all alone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor's become a herald of some kind; a messiah. Healing the ill and injured in the Under— Zaun. He talks to Jayce through Salo, mentions all his accomplishments, and wishes he had this power back then to save you.

Jayce winces.

He kills Salo and goes to the commune, he kills Viktor.

Then the Machine Herald is born.

Viktor tries to get Jayce to be his partner again, desperately missing him, and you. It doesn't work.

They fight, they reunite, they die together in a massive glow of white.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jayce jolts up from his bed, frantically patting his face and his body. What the hell is going on?

He's alive? How is he alive?! He died with Viktor in the cosmos, he shouldn't be here right now! He's panicking until a familiar hum interrupts his thoughts.

“Hi, sweetheart! I know those meetings with the council are exhausting so I brought your coffee to yo— what happened?!” You gasp, and Jayce bursts into tears. You place the mug of coffee onto the dresser and rush over to Jayce to hug him.

You're here too, you're alive. Your hair is the same, your smile is still blindingly bright, and your signature scent washes over Jayce as he sobs even harder; barely breathing.

“Oh Jayce whats wrong? Was it a nightmare? You don't have to tell me, I'm right here. I'll always be here.”

Jayce’s cries become much louder at that and you start to panic. You've never seen Jayce cry like this— ever. This is gut-wrenching to see, and you're gonna need another set of hands to help you.

“Viktor! A little assistance please!”

Jayce's cries stop momentarily but pick up when the other man enters the bedroom. He's here too. He's alive too. And he looks so good, so healthy. He still has prominent cheek bones, and he still has dark circles under his eyes; but he looks like when Jayce first met him, if not even healthier. His posture is much better, his leg brace is gone, but he's still using his cane. His hair is longer too, with the blonde highlights he briefly saw before his chest was caved in due to his hammer.

A look of confusion sits on the mans face before a brief look of understanding flashes by. So quickly that if you blinked, you would've missed it.

“Oh my loves, what’s happened?” Viktor quietly asks as he goes to Jayce's other side, completing the goup hug. Jayce has never felt more safe as he has between you two.

“I don't know,” you state, a worried furrow of your brow gives away how scared you are, “I just came into the room and he broke down. Maybe it was a nightmare?”

Viktor nods before looking imploringly at Jayce, “Maybe it could be he’s been bottling everything up and finally reached his breaking point?”

Jayce squirms under the truthful accusation, and looks anywhere but to the two of you, “Jayce! You're allowed to come to us when you need it! I thought we agreed, no more suffering in silence.”

A light shrug is what you get for your reprimand, “Its a hard habit to break.”

You coo and run you hand through his dark hair, his beard tickles your nose when you kiss his cheek, “I know sweetheart, but we’re here for you. How about this,” you offer, “I make your favourite breakfast, Viktor stays here with you and then we all eat together. Sound good?”

Jayce wants to say no. He just got you back, and he can't handle losing you again, but at Viktors look— one he's well acquainted with when he wants to talk in private. He gives in and agrees to your bargain.

You give both of them a kiss on the forehead and leave the bedroom. Keeping the door open so you can hear them if they need anything from you.

Jayce sniffles and looks at Viktor, Viktor looks back at him in understanding. “You weren't expecting this, huh? Neither was I. Luckily for me I had my panic attack last night. I was able to find journals to read to realize where I was.”

“You’re my Viktor?”

“I’m your Viktor.”

Jayce sighs, “Where the hell are we, Viktor? They're alive. We’re in a room I’ve never seen before. You're the healthiest I've ever seen you, and your hair is different.”

“What did you think about before dying?”

A long silence is held before Jayce demurely responds, “A world where the three of us were happy. In the perfect house with our perfect lives. Nothing major has gone wrong, nobodies died, there was no war, Hextech succeeded. You know… the usual.”

Viktor just looks at the man and hugs him tightly, brushing his nose into the crook of his neck, “I thought along the same line. Now we’re here; I guess this is our happy ending? For all the pain and suffering we went through.”

Jayce sighs, he feels a headache forming, “Isn’t this wrong? We’re not… we’re not their Jayce and Viktor. We could be missing years of memories that we’ll never get to know about.”

Viktor chuckles, “We’re scientists Jayce. We write everything down, besides, I got them to tell us the story of how we all got together.”

“We… all… what? Write down— what are you saying?”

Viktor looks coyly at Jayce, “We wrote everything down, like a journal. And for all of us— you two started dating, but really nothing changed. And the things you two did for one another; you did for me too. You came to the hilarious realization that, you love me too.”

Jayce quirked an eyebrow, a little offended, “Hilarious?”

“You burst into the lab startling the two of us and yelled, “ARE WE ALL DATING?!” In a panicked, frenzied tone. They just looked at you and said, “I thought we were all on the same page, guess not.” And you fainted. I almost pissed myself in laughter.”

Jayce sputters, his face going red. He’s not that oblivious, is he? He thinks back on his interactions with you, with Viktor, and with the two of you together; and comes to a startling conclusion.

“Oh… oh no. I’m an idiot. How come I never realized?!”

Viktor pats his cheek in solidarity, “You’re a very intelligent man, Jayce Talis. But that doesn’t mean you’re smart in other areas of life.”

“Oh geez. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two men hear your voice from the kitchen, “C’mon you two, breakfast is ready! We still need to get our formal wear from the tailor for the Distinguished Innovators Competition later tonight. We’re the judges this time, we can’t be late and I want to see what Powder and Ekko invented!

Jayce is gobsmacked and Viktor chuckles at him, “Turns out perfecting Hextech makes us quite famous in the science world. We’re highly sought after guest speakers at the academy, explaining our success in transportation, ventilation, plant-life, and medicine. Our lovely partner is a professor at the academy for all students mandatory English class. Powder and Ekko are their favourite student’s; but they’ll never admit it.”

Jayce feels like crying again, this time in happiness, “This is really real. This is our life now?”

“It’s really real. Now c’mon, I’d rather not get hit with a spatula because I came late to eat.” Viktor gets up, gets his cane and leaves the room. Jayce sits there stunned for a few seconds before following him, getting his mug of coffee of the dresser.

When he sees you standing there, all proud of the food you made for them, Jayce’s heart melts.

He deserves this.

You all deserve this.

And with that, he eats the most delicious breakfast he’s ever had, with two people he adores.

AHHHH!!! This idea was so good! I hope I balanced out the angst and the fluff well. This is so *mwah* love ya ❤️

[nikovraskol]

I'm curious of other members of batfamily reaction to reader's death? Like Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbara?

i was gonna add them to the first part but i lowkey don't have a good grasp on their characters, pls lmk how i can improve them im working on chapter 3 rn yall, it should be out soon so. >:)

if u saw alfreds part no u didnt i forgot he was dead LMAO

masterlist

cassandra isn't sure how she's supposed to deal with the heavy emotions in her chest. she can tell something is wrong the moment bruce walks in, his whole demeanour spelling tragedy. you've died? oh. a heavy feeling settles in her chest, she's mostly confused. the two of you weren't necessarily close, so why? why does she feel such sadness? such agony? she picks her brain, scowering for ever single memory of you -- your mannerisms she picked up out of habit, she'll find herself walking around your room, sitting in the kitchen every morning at the hour which you used to eat breakfast, she looks around every corner hoping to see the small child you were, peeking around with hopeful eyes. she doesn't like the way her heart clenches when she sees nothing but her own shadow.

stephanie is filled with tremendous guilt, she sits in your room, taking in every nook and cranny, every sign of your personality. she's not officially apart of the family, so she understands on a surface level -- the frustrations you felt. she's left with a memory of what could've been, her mind replaying each interaction with you, what she initially deemed as awkward was in fact just you crying out for help. she's supposed to help people, but when you held out a hand for her, she didn't take it, didn't help, how can she forgive herself? how can she move on?

barbara's been there from the start, she remembers when bruce took in a small child, a child who declined the future of vigilantism. she respected that, she's happy bruce has at least one normal child. but now, staring at your cold, dead body -- she's forced to acknowledge that she shouldn't have brushed you off, she should've understood that there is no such thing as a 'normal' child, you were a child, a child who lurked in the corners of the manor. she helps bruce to track down your killers, she slides jason some information about them. she wants vengeance for you, but how can she get it? your murderers can be thrown in a cell, but they're not the ones who made you suffer, not really.

duke is perplexed, the energy around the manor has completely depleted -- and as he stares at your body, he understands why. as the newest member of the family, he didn't understand you. in a family of greatness, there was you. but despite that, he spoke to you a few times, he remembers how you lit up when he complimented your homework, the way your demeanour shifted from gloomy to excited. why didn't he see the signs? he feels a crushing sorrow, but more than that, with your passing, he's able to see the cracks in the family -- he's able to see how your normalcy was the glue that stuck them together.