#I love all the tension from seeing the battle from inside his head

[demonslayedher]

Hantengu: As Bad As You Can Get Without Being Muzan

I've touched on this in old meta entries and I'm just going to wind up linking them here, but a friend got me going on this again today, so I'll state it again: Hantengu is one of the most insidious characters in this whole series, if you're going by sweeping themes of self-mastery which Gotouge may or may not have consciously intended.

For starters, I'm going to compare Hantengu to his polar opposite, Rengoku Kyojuro, mostly by referring you this post where I already explained how Kyojuro displays samurai-style idealized virtues of self-mastery, stoicism, and inner peace about death or aging. A common theme in oni lore is how letting one's passions run amok is what brings out the demon any person has potential to become, whether these passions are greed or worry or even joy. Kyojuro is very clearly a passionate person, but he's self-aware enough to know that his passions must be kept in check in order to benefit from them, and that means putting effort into maintaining them. He's seen how that can lead to burn out as in the case of his father, so he maintains his own balance by recognizing and accepting the harsh truths of any situation with as much grace as he can muster, recognizing and taking steps to overcome his own shortcomings, and recognizing and making a choice to "set his heart ablaze" instead of getting lost in frenzy.

Hantengu, on the other hand, lets his passions run so amok that they take their own physical forms, and even then no single one of them is ever consistently powerful enough to be sustained for long before he's spawned something new based on whatever new frenzy he's in. It's his reckless abandon of self-control that made him so demonically powerful.

There are other characters who lack self-control, though--Inosuke and Zenitsu are who they are because they are the perfect agents to introduce chaos to any scene. They gradually take steps to learn self-mastery, however--Zenitsu is hyperaware of his own failings, to the point of rumination, and Inosuke is hypoaware. However, at their core, their desire to do better by other people leads them down paths of self-improvement, a path which keeps them aligned with humanity as opposed to the allure of powerful demons.

Demons in this series display similarly admirable traits, though--Kokushibo and Akaza have striven as hard as any Corp member to improve themselves, for instance. Gyutaro and Daki might have had blatant disregard for others due to a lingering jealousy and hatred for how much better everyone else always had things than they did, but they have always taken active roles in standing up for themselves and trying to improve their circumstances.

If we dive into more loathsome, demented demons, we still see that they know themselves enough to own their faults, whether they see them as faults are not. Douma is quick to recognize his own lack of passion, Enma is unashamed as about what gives him pleasure and uses his underhanded, self-protecting tactics in order to play the long game in his strategy, Gyokko is an artist, and Muzan is perfectly clear and at peace with who he is and what he wants. Muzan's desires are so plain to him that it even opened up a believable opportunity for Tanjiro to feel sympathy for him in their final encounter, though Tanjiro made the choice not to.

Tanjiro never even entertained the notion of pitying Hantengu, though.

I'll come back to Tanjiro, but to borrow from this post about themes in KnY as they relate to oni lore: In many philosophies, even an excess of positive emotions can be detrimental, and people who follow those philosophies are instead encouraged to not given into any emotion too strongly. Likewise, the lack of a virtue can be bad, but an excess of it becomes a vice.

While the Ki-Do-Ai-Raku fearsome foursome represent the danger of unchecked, excessive emotions, Zouhakuten represents an excess of virtue, which turns it into a vice. From an outside perspective, of course Tanjiro was doing the right thing attacking a tiny oni, because this oni will go on killing people if he doesn't, but Zouhakuten focuses so intensely on the injustice of attacking the small and weak that he is ignorantly convinced of his own self-righteousness.

The other demons don't do this, particularly--they justify what they do, like Daki saying how this is just the way the world works that beautiful and powerful oni can do whatever they want because that is how the world works, but she doesn't claim her actions are righteous. Muzan also makes rational points--which Zouhakuten echos--about how the demon slayers drive a lot of the violence due to their own inability to make peace with their lot in life, and going out of their way to attack demons. However, as much as Muzan believes he is superior, he doesn't belief he is a god who can cast moral judgement on others, nor is he interested.

Zouhakuten, taking the form of a deity that fiercely protects the precepts of Buddhism and threatens those who defy it, makes the daring claim that he is just.

The Demon Slayers Corp members, at least those like Tanjiro, are guilty of the same thing. The difference, however, comes back to self-awareness. For example, Tanjiro is confronted with the question of whether Zouhakuten/Hantengu has ever eaten anyone in Tanjiro's life, and as he has not, Tanjiro must at least question if justice is on his side anyway in attacking Zouhakuten. It was an easy answer, but being mortal and easily killed for sticking his neck out by picking fights with demons, it's something Tanjiro continually has to question and reaffirm.

Yes, the answer is always easy for Tanjiro, and yes, there are Corp members who are only in it for the glory or the money (and these characters are not treated as heroes). However, Tanjiro must also continually self-reflect on his own weaknesses and failings. Taisho Secrets tell us he's even reviewing his training and battles in his sleep to analyze and learn from them, and we see his continual efforts to improve no matter how beaten down he's gotten. In the heat of battle he has to keep himself confident and focused. He's got to keep from beating himself up unfairly, and he's got to keep from getting over-confident, it's a balance to maintain and it takes practice to read oneself with clarity.

He's constantly having to practice self-mastery, which means Total Concentration of whatever strength he needs to pull from, including passions like righteous anger that make it feel like his heart and/or forehead are ablaze. It takes him practice to be able to keep rebounding, but he's got humility to be able to learn from others, take criticism, and analyze himself with clarity.

These are the virtues which Kimetsu no Yaiba extols, and which most separates the paths of righteous from the paths of those who who gave into their passions.

As a few other examples: --Nezuko retains her virtues by recognizing her own weakness and focusing on self-mastery --Rui lost himself in a feeling of entitlement, conviction in his own sense of justice, and disappointment in his parents. Or so he thought! That was all the result of running away from a truth about himself he didn't want to face; the fact that he was the one responsible for breaking his family bonds. --The Pillars, with all their human faults, remain righteous because they could easily succumb to their own sorrows, angers, and self-loathing. The fact that they do not--however much these things have messed them up--and they keep striving to better themselves, for the sake of a conviction in something difficult to achieve otherwise.

Zouhakuten, instead of rising above his own shortcomings, is a deeper concentration of, a wallowing in those unbridled passions. Being so convinced of his own righteousness, he does not have any clear self-understanding, and therefore, has no inclination toward self-mastery.

He is, after all, Hantengu.

Hantengu made himself into what he is because he convinced himself of his own lies about his own helplessness, and this utter lack of self-awareness and his unchecked passions are what make him a demon. By doing nothing to improve himself, he grew out of control. And, ultimately, Hantengu is selfish. Everything must revolve around him and how he is the most wretched creature, the most powerless thing to ever have the harshness of the world thrust upon it. Among a cast of relatable demons, made victims of their own poor luck or circumstance or a desire to amend some wrong done to them, Hantengu is the worst because he got himself there for nothing but his own self-centered lie.

While all the demons have relatable traits which have flown out of control, he's the most realistically like someone we all know or have met. He's the most benign and hardest to catch, one whom many philosophical, religious, or therapeutic texts try to warn against for how his insidious fleeing from truth grows into something monstrous.

The scariest part is that the wallowing Hantengu might be closer than we think.

[dovesdreaming]

Breaking point

Summary: Mattheo gets into too many fights and reader has enough and calls off their relationship. However she is still the only person that can get through to him.

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

The tension in the Slytherin common room had been growing for weeks. Whispers about Mattheo Riddle’s temper and the fights he kept getting into were spreading through Hogwarts like wildfire. You had always been the one to pull him back from the edge, the calming voice that stopped him mid-fight with just a touch or a few soft words. But lately, Mattheo had been slipping further and further away from you, consumed by anger he couldn’t control, and no matter what you did, it was as if your voice no longer reached him.

It was a late Friday evening when you found yourself yet again pulling Mattheo away from a confrontation with some Gryffindor seventh year. You could see the rage in his eyes, his fists clenched, ready to throw a punch that would surely land him another detention or worse. “Mattheo, please” you said, stepping between him and the other boy. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “He’s not worth it. Just let it go”. Mattheo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might listen. But then, with a harsh shove, he pushed past you, shouting insults as he launched himself at his opponent. The scene that followed was a blur of yells, fists, and teachers trying to pull them apart.

As you watched him get dragged away by Professor Snape, something inside you snapped. You had been his anchor for so long, always there to soothe his stormy temper, but he wouldn’t even listen to you anymore. You couldn’t keep doing this, being the only one holding on when he was so intent on self-destruction.

That night in the doorway of your dorm room you let it all out. He had come back after whatever had happened seeking your forgiveness like usual but you couldn’t let him back in this time. He was not only destroying himself, he was taking you with him. It had taken a toll on you and you couldn’t carry on like this.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mattheo!” you whisper yelled, your voice breaking as tears threatened to spill. Mattheo’s face fell, his bravado crumbling. “Y/N, don’t-“ “No, Mattheo! I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard to calm you down, to be there for you, but you don’t even care. You don’t care about me, about us!” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. “I love you, but I can’t keep watching you hurt yourself. I can’t keep being the only one trying”.

The whole building seemed to go painfully quiet. Mattheo looked at you with wide, desperate eyes, his anger replaced with a deep, crushing sorrow. “Y/N, please-“ But you couldn’t bear it anymore. Shaking your head, you turned and closed your door, leaving him standing there alone.

The days that followed were miserable. Mattheo barely left his room, and when he did, he was a shadow of the boy you knew, pale, quiet, and heartbreakingly empty. Draco, Blaise, and Pansy tried to get through to him, but Mattheo’s door remained locked, and his mood only worsened. You weren’t much better, you threw yourself into your studies, trying to forget the hurt in Mattheo’s eyes when you walked away. But every corner of Hogwarts seemed to hold a memory of him, his laughter echoing in the dungeons, the way he’d pull you close in the common room, whispering secrets only you were meant to hear.

“You have to talk to him” Pansy said one afternoon, catching you in the library. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle, eyes flickering with genuine concern. “He’s a mess without you. He’s not eating or taking care of himself” Pansy knew it was wrong to ask this of you but there was no one else that would be able to get through to Mattheo. You felt a pang in your chest, your anger giving way to concern. You hadn’t seen Mattheo in nearly a week, and the thought of him alone, suffering in silence, broke your heart. You hesitated, your pride battling against the concern gnawing at your heart. “Pansy, I-“. “He won’t listen to any of us. Not even Draco” she interrupted. “But he’ll listen to you. You’re the only one who can reach him”.

Taking a deep breath, you finally nodded, feeling the weight of what you were about to do. You made your way to the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, knocking softly on Mattheo’s door. There was no answer, just the faint sound of something shuffling inside. You tried again, louder this time. “Mattheo, it’s me”.

Silence stretched on, and just when you thought he wouldn’t respond and were about to turn to walk away, the door creaked open. He looked disheveled, his hair messier than usual, eyes red and swollen. He glanced at you, then away, shame and sadness evident in every line of his face. “What do you want?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. You forced yourself through the crack in the door and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you. “I just… I wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay”. You looked at the ground not really knowing how to go about this. He scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “Do I look okay?”. You sighed, crossing the room to sit beside him on the edge of his bed. “Mattheo, I didn’t break up with you because I stopped caring. I broke up with you because you were hurting yourself. And it was hurting me, too”.

His gaze finally met yours, and the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. “I’m sorry” he mumbled, voice breaking. “I just, everything feels wrong without you. I know I messed up”. You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, Matty. I just need you to try. I need you to promise me that you’ll stop fighting. You don’t have to be angry all the time. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone”. For a long moment, he said nothing, just held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. Finally, he nodded, squeezing your hand tighter. “I promise. No more fighting. I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting. “Thank you” he whispered, pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “For not giving up on me”. You smiled, brushing a stray curl away from his face. “I’ll always be here, Mattheo. Just… no more fights, okay?”. He chuckled, the sound light and genuine, the first hint of the old Mattheo breaking through. “No more fights. I’ve got something better to fight for now”. You knew there was a lot of learning to do but you had faith that Mattheo could work on himself. And as he pulled you closer, you knew that whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

-

Thank you for reading! Please send requests for him!! Also tempted to make a longer version of this with a lot more angst??

[kissyrafe]

sex with rafe but you're taunting him as a trick for him to get more aggressive w it

cw: smut, fem!reader, rough sex, teasing/taunting, jealousy sex, unprotected p in v sex, friends w/ benefits, mirror sex, i think i'm in love with over-the-counter sex, (not proofread!!!)

"i don't know what game you're tryna play right now-" rafe sounded pissed off as he dragged you by your arm into the bathroom. "but cut it out." he stared at you as you leaned against the marble counter, back pressing into the cold stone. he pierced through you with just a look, enough to make your knees weak.

"what game? i don't know what you're talking about." you smiled impishly, playing with the hem of your jean mini skirt. the truth was, you were oh so loving 'the game'. you saw how rafe stared at you the whole night as you flirted with another guy in the group. touching his arms and chest, leaning against him, everything. it was all to get a rise out of rafe, knowing he doesn't like it when you're around other guys; as if it mattered.

to clear it up, rafe and you are not together by any means. from the start of this "relationship", it was apparent that both of you were only looking to relieve yourselves sexually. there were to be no emotional connections. but still, you both can't help but feel slightly jealous when the other one is with someone else.

"cut the bullshit." rafe stepped closer to you, now peering down at your figure. "don't think i didn't see you basically throwing yourself at him." he scoffed, biting the inside of his cheek from frustration. rafe hated seeing you treat other guys the way he wanted only you to treat him. but obviously, he couldn't just come out and say it, that would mean you had something over him, which he hated even more; feeling weak.

"like i said," you adjusted yourself on the counter and stood on your toes, your mouth now leveled with rafe's ear, "i don't know what you're talking about," you whispered softly. rafe let out a small laugh, his voice velvety smooth. his large arms traveled to either side of you, making sure you went nowhere.

the tension and silence were so, very, hot. neither of you said anything as you stared into each other's eyes. this was a battle. swallowing the clump in your throat, you felt rafe's hand travel down under your skirt and to the plush skin of your thigh, inching closer to your core. "do you think he can satisfy you like i do?" he asked smugly, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties.

"oh rafe," you sigh, a smile creeping onto your face "i know he can make me feel so much better than you do."

"wanna make that bet?"

your weak hands gripped the edge of the counter as rafe pounded into you from behind. small moans escaped your mouth and filled the room, along with the sound of light skin slapping. "do you still think he fucks better than me?" rafe demanded, knowing the answer already. but what he forgot was that you can be more stubborn than him.

you nod your head, looking at rafe through the mirror as he frowns. "s-s'. much. b-better." you stutter out as you feel rafe going faster, your eyes shutting. he scoffed, sensing your bluff. his calloused hand came to your neck, squeezing around you tighter with every thrust into your sweet cunt.

"just admit it, y'know you want ta." he smirked, seeing how fucked out you were already. it never took long to make you release and succumb. rafe knew for a fact you'd never find anyone better than him, or at least anyone better at fucking you than him. maybe it was the way you would squirm as he entered you, or your sweet, delicate, moans and whimpers that flowed out your mouth like symphonies.

your walls wrapped around rafe's dick, lewd noises appearing with every push he made into you. at this point you could barely even hold yourself up. he made your whole body weak as you were fucked senseless by him.

it drove rafe mad how you successfully made him jealous, how you had a hold on him. i mean really, the kook king was jealous of some lowly guy who didn't know jack shit about you or the secret places on your body that would make you limp. he knew it was a mistake to just treat you like a fling because he wanted you to just be his.

"you can fuck, but you can't make a girl feel good," you choked out, knowing how to push his buttons. "is that so?" rafe merely took that as a sign to slow down his thrusts, but he only went in deeper. you could practically feel his cock bulging into your stomach from how far he went. your mouth hung open as you moaned, eyes swelling with tears from pleasure. you felt it to your core. "i'm the only one that can make this pussy feel good, yeah?"

you felt your orgasm build from rafe's low thrusts as he hurried his pace again, his orgasm approaching too. "r-rafe, i-i..." you fell incoherent and unable to form any real thoughts. "sweet thing is 'boutta cum all over m' cock," rafe was amused seeing you like this, so raw and flushed from pleasure. "c'mon, show me how this dick feels, tell me." with his hand still around your neck, he made you look at him again through the mirror. "d'ya see how you look? all 'cause of me?"

"c-cumming, rafe! pleaseplease!" you felt your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came undone all over rafe's cock, much to his enjoyment. you felt his thrusts stutter as his seed poured into you, making your body surge with pleasure and warmth.

rafe slowly pulled out of you, making you feel so... empty. he turned you around to face him as he tried catching his breath. you looked at him with tired eyes when his hand went up to your face, holding one of your cheeks softly. "don't ever use a guy to make me fuck you again, or i won't go gentle. alright?"

[bbdeongi]

☆A/N: NSFW Link + A Little Scene

Imagine wooyoung fucking you after a long day of performing and going to the pool… poor boy missed his pretty little girlfriend.. he wanted to give you attention after feeling like he hasn't, due to the tour <3

The door clicked softly behind Wooyoung as he entered the hotel room. His eyes immediately found you sitting on the bed, your damp hair from just showering moments prior. He had spent the day on stage, but now, seeing you here, he couldn't shake the need to be close to you. The distance between you two felt suffocating, and it made something inside of him twist.

"Hi, baby..” he said quietly, his voice low and thick, though his eyes told a different story—a mix of longing, frustration, and need.

You looked up at him with a soft smile. You had missed him all day.. "Wooyoungie! How was your little swim break?

His smile was tight as he dropped his bag by the door, but there was an edge to his voice when he replied. “It was fine, but it wasn’t the same without you,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. His gaze never left you, a silent plea in his eyes. “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow and giggled, a little surprised by the intensity of his words, but it was clear something was off. You could see the way he was holding himself back, his fists clenched as he stood before you, as though he were fighting an internal battle.

“Wooyoung…” you started, but he cut you off before you could say anything more.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his voice rough. “The tour, the distance… I just want to be with you, Y/N.” His hands reached for you, lifting you off the bed and pulling you into him. His lips found yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, urgent, and needy, like he was trying to close the gap between you two that had grown too wide over the course of the day.o

You let out a soft whiny-gasp at the intensity of his kiss, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt like fire, and you could feel the tension in him, the need that was almost suffocating.

“Doll, I need you. I can’t think straight without you," he whispered between kisses, his voice shaky, almost raw. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, love. About how much I want you. About how much I miss you.”

You could feel his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours as his lips trailed down to your neck. His breath was hot on your skin, and you shivered under the intensity of his touch. “Woo..,” you breathed, tilting your head back to give him better access, your voice shaking slightly. “I missed you too.”

His fingers skimmed the hem of your shirt, teasing the edges of your skin, and your breath caught in your throat. You wanted this, wanted him, but there was something else beneath the surface—something that made this moment feel even more urgent. You needed him as much as he needed you.

“Love,” he whispered, his voice raw, “let me show you how much you mean to me. I’ve been holding back, but I can’t anymore.”

His lips found yours again, harder this time, deeper, like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands slipped under your shirt, his touch searing as he slowly lifted it off, exposing your skin to the cool air. You let out a soft gasp as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving hot, searing kisses in their wake.

“Fuck…” he breathed, his voice a growl now. “You’re perfect. I need to remind you how much I love you.”

You couldn’t hold back a moan as his hands caressed your skin, his lips finding your collarbone, your chest, as he moved lower, his fingers working their way up your spine. “Wooyoung,” you gasped again, “mngh...”

The sound of your voice seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. He growled low in his throat, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one more intense than the last. You felt his hands everywhere, roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough, pulling you closer, urging you to respond with the same hunger.

“I love you, doll,” he murmured between kisses. “You have no idea how much.”

The kiss between you and Wooyoung grew more heated by the second. His hands were everywhere—pulling at your waist, your hips, his fingers grazing your skin and the robe you had on. You could feel his bulge press against you and his need to have you close, to show you how much you meant to him after being apart all day.

Without warning, he pushed you gently but firmly onto the couch, your body sinking into the soft cushions. You let out a startled whimper, but before you could react, Wooyoung was on top of you, his lips crashing into yours in a fevered kiss.

His hands were quick as he yanked the robe off your shoulders, tossing it aside as if he couldn’t bear the fabric between you for another second. The cool air hit your skin, but the heat from his body quickly enveloped you, his chest pressing against yours as he hovered over you.

“Doll,” he breathed, voice full of need, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands slid down to the waistband of your jeans. “I’ve been wanting this all day, love. I can’t wait anymore… m’gonna fuck you so good”

You gasped softly, your heart racing as he worked to undress you, his hands moving with purpose and desire. His lips found your neck, trailing hot kisses down your skin as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him just as much.

Wooyoung paused for a moment, lifting his head to look at you with dark, intense eyes. “You’re mine, Y/N. You always have been.”

The world outside the room seemed to fade as he pressed his body against yours, each movement urgent, like he needed to remind you just how much you meant to him. The tension in the air was palpable, the need between you two undeniable.

You didn’t even realize his clothes were already off.. he flipped you over, ao you were on your stomach.. he gripped your hips and without warning, he slammed into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.

“fuck.. Don’t want the others to hear, hm?” Wooyoung chuckled as he clasped his hand over your mouth to prevent any noise. He pounded into you, skin hitting against eachother filled the room.

Your eyes watered as he hit all the right spots.. you tried gripping onto something but you couldn’t. “O- oh fuck.. s- such a good doll.. taking my fat cock so well.” Wooyoung praised you.

“Im gonna fuck you so good tonight, doll..”

you knew you were in for a hell of a ride tonight… and who knows, maybe the other members will hear you.

[girlygguk]

i miss you, i'm sorry | jeon jungkook

my attempt as a hopeless & unapologetic simpy romantic to write angst, drabble, idol!jk x fem!reader, young lovers to strangers to (?), 854 words, jungkook's home, he needs to see you, he finds you, then he wishes he didn't

now playing: gracie abrams—i miss you, i'm sorry

"your hair's shorter."

you stand there, to-go coffee cup in hand, fingers fidgeting around the cup as you try to manage a small smile. your head nods slightly, your hair now brushing just past your shoulders, a little lighter than it was the last time you saw him. "yeah," you say, "yours is longer."

jungkook smiles, his own hair pulled back in a neat bun, the glint of his lip ring twisting under his tongue. "it’s nice. i like it. suits you."

your smile stays on your face, though you feel your heart sink. you blink a few times, fighting a losing battle against the emotions stirring inside you. you never could manage that when it came to him. "thanks, jj."

he nods, his stomach twisting at the way the nickname, once so natural and familiar from your lips, now sounds foreign. he hates that he’s the reason for it.

“bub, i—” his voice trails off. not because you interrupt him, at least not with words. but the way your gaze lifts from the coffee cup lid—chai latte, if he remembers right—catching his with the faintest sadness stops him in his tracks. "i hope you’re well, bub."

you nod, unable to manage anything else. you didn’t have time to grab a sleeve for your cup after hearing the nickname called from behind you as you accepted the hot drink. you knew it was him before you even turned around, the nickname striking a deep ache in the pit of your stomach. nobody’s called you that in five years. nobody else ever had, other than him.

the cup’s heat burns into your fingertips, extra hot as usual, the baristas knowing your order by heart now, and your grip tightens around the tray. it’s subtle, but jungkook notices the tension in your posture. he feels sick.

“i am. hope you are too.” your voice is quiet, honest. “didn’t know you were back in town.”

“you would’ve if you answered my calls.” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t land. your eyes blink at his words, a bit longer this time. “sorry, i—that was… fuck, bub, that was so stupid for me to say—”

“all good,” you reply softly, your smile never reaching your eyes. you try, at least. “i better go, jungkook. it was nice seeing you again.”

jungkook swallows, watching as you step around him to exit the cafe, the familiar scent of your flowerbomb perfume dazing his senses. his body reacts instinctively to the comfort of the smell. before he can stop himself, his legs are moving, following it.

he catches the door of the shop just before it closes, stepping out into the chilled busan air. the sensation is both grounding and unsettling, nostalgia washing over him in a heavy wave. he’s always loved how cold it is here. you do too. at least, he thinks you do. he doesn’t know anymore.

“bub, wait, could i just talk to you for a—” he slows as he takes a step forward, his footsteps catching on the pavement.

you’re standing just a few feet away, the door to your car open, looking back at him with a haze in your eyes. sadness, he thinks. could be pity, too.

his focus drifts to the passenger side door, noticing your hand wrapped around its handle. his eyes trail further, to the driver’s seat. he blinks, unsure if he’s seeing things. he isn’t. sitting in the driver’s seat of a tacky matte black audi is kim chanyeol. only then does he notice the other drink in your hand.

“oh, uh, sorry. i’ll, uh… i’ll see you around, y/n.” he swallows hard, the words rough and thick in his throat as he turns back toward waveon coffee.

he doesn’t look back at the sound of his name, though it’s the very thing he’s longed to hear ever since he’d convinced his managers to give him a week off during their busiest season, just so he could visit his hometown. he’s doing so well. his career is taking off, just like you said it would. you’d always wanted him to succeed, always believed he would. and now he’s made it. but at what cost, bub?

without thinking, he steps away from the cafe, barely remembering why he even came here. he didn’t want anything, not really. he’d only stopped by because when he visited your house, your mom said you weren’t home, and she wasn’t sure where you might be. he checked every one of your old favorite places in the city, wondering if they were still favorites at all. he had to try.

“jj, wait—” he doesn’t stop. he keeps walking down the busy busan footpath, not sure where he’s even going. there’s nowhere for him to go anymore; his family having moved to seoul as soon as he made it big. he paid for it, bought them a house, covered their travel expenses. he’d even offered the same for you, your family too. told you he’d do anything.

you never responded to those offers.

and he understands. he wouldn’t have responded, either. he’d promised he’d never truly leave you.

and then he did.

pov you read this back and realized that you didn’t take into account him being a world famous idol back in the hometown that literally treasures him above all else… so just imagine he gets jumped on by a crazy fan as he walks down the footpath or smth, he deserves it xx

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Everything You Deserve (logan)

Summary: Logan deserves all of your love

WC: 815

Warnings: fluff, logans uncertain.

Read on Ao3!

--

The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the horizon as you stood on the porch of the cabin Logan had brought you to. It was secluded, surrounded by nothing but towering trees and the sounds of nature. A haven, far from the chaos that normally followed him.

You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cool evening air started to settle in. Logan had been inside for a while, claiming he had something to do. You had no idea what he was up to, but knowing him, it could’ve been anything from fixing something in the house to just…needing a moment alone.

You didn’t mind. It was rare for him to be so at peace. Normally, he was on edge, fighting some battle—whether it was with others or himself. But here, there was none of that. Just quiet moments with the man you loved.

The sound of the screen door creaking open broke your thoughts. You turned to see Logan step out, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hair was tousled, and that familiar rugged look on his face was softened by the evening glow.

"Hey," he said in that gruff, low voice of his, though there was a hint of something else there—an unspoken emotion he rarely showed.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, giving him a warm smile. “What’ve you been up to?”

Logan walked over to stand beside you, eyes scanning the landscape for a moment before turning back to you. “Just thinkin’,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Uh-oh, that’s dangerous,” you teased lightly, earning a huff of amusement from him. You nudged his arm playfully, leaning your head against his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

Logan was silent for a long moment, and you could feel the tension in him. It wasn’t the usual kind, though. This was different.

Finally, he sighed, turning to face you fully. His hands came out of his pockets, reaching to take yours. His grip was firm but gentle—another rare thing with him.

“You,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. Logan wasn’t one for grand declarations, but when he said things like that, they always hit deep. “What about me?” you asked softly.

Logan’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, a slight frown tugging at his lips, but not in anger or frustration. More like he was struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t deserve you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he continued before you could.

“I’ve done a lot of things…things I’m not proud of. Hurt a lot of people. Been fightin’ my whole damn life, and I’m just…I’m tired. But you—" he paused, his eyes meeting yours, full of raw vulnerability. "You’re too good for me. Deserve better than some broken-down, fightin’ machine.”

Your heart ached at the way he saw himself, always so hard on who he was, who he had been. You cupped his face gently, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw.

“Logan,” you whispered, making sure he was looking at you, “you deserve everything in the world. You deserve peace, love…me.” You gave him a soft smile, hoping he could feel the sincerity in your words. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. You still care. That’s why you deserve it.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the battle waging in his mind visible in his eyes. But slowly, you saw the walls begin to crumble. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned into your touch.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly, but there was a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips.

You smiled back, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. It wasn’t rushed or heated—just a quiet moment between the two of you, where everything else faded away. When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, the two of you standing in the soft glow of the setting sun.

“You deserve me because you love me,” you whispered against his lips. “And I love you. That’s all there is to it.”

Logan’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “I love you too, darlin’. More than I ever thought I could.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. In that moment, surrounded by the peace of the woods and the comfort of his embrace, everything felt right.

Because he did deserve it. And you were more than happy to give him everything.

--

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

MARVEL PERM: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @late-to-the-party-81 @capsthot @kenzieam @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

LOGAN/WOLVERINE:  @winterslove1917

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

You knew that your friend, Luke, was a tease. What you didn’t expect, was that he was going to be a tease to you.

while I finish writing part two of this story (btw, thank u so much for all the love it’s getting) , I drop this one out here for the wait <3

warnings: teasing, praising, drinking, kinda s3xual tension

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The bonfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the demigods huddled around it. The air thrummed with the low beat of stolen music from a borrowed radio, a symphony of laughter and easy conversation punctuated by the clinking of ice inside your plastic cups. Exhaustion from a particularly harrowing week of monster attacks had finally settled in, driving the older campers to this clandestine revelry deep within the safe haven of the camp's woods.

Across from you, Clarisse was emerged in a play-fight with his brothers, not truly a good idea based on the drunken state they were in, but who would tell them otherwise? Travis and Connor were huddled together, their whispers punctuated by bursts of laughter that hinted at some upcoming evil plan or prank. You could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Silena leaned towards Katie’s ear, whispering some secret that boys couldn’t know about, her voice barely a murmur.

And Luke Castellan sat next to you, his presence warm and familiar. His profile bathed in the golden glow. You'd known him for years, a bond forged in shared battles and late-night training sessions. But lately, you'd begun to see him in a different light. The way his muscles tensed beneath his t-shirt as he tossed another log onto the fire, the glint in his dark eyes - it all sent a delicious flutter to your stomach.

Reaching for your empty plastic cup, you realized with a groan that you'd polished off your cranberry juice and vodka concoction. Glancing sideways at Luke, you noticed his cup held a suspicious-looking red liquid that gave off a pungent, almost medicinal smell. "Let me have a sip of yours" you declared, leaning towards him without even questioning.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. Your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the fire, were undeniably red. Your lips, slightly puffy and wet, was not something his eyes would miss either. But he'd never admit the effect you had on him, not here, not amongst their friends.

"Not sure that's your thing, doll" he pointed out, looking down at his drink for a second. "You won´t like it"

You knew you were pushing your luck, but the defiance simmering in your blood, thanks to the vodka, wouldn't be ignored. "Come on, Luke" you pout, placing your chin on his shoulder. “If you can drink it, why can´t I?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I don't think you can handle it" he said with a little smirk on his face, the playful challenge in his eyes impossible to miss. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was looking at you, but a spark of competitive spirit ignited within you.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged. “Just watch me, then” you declared, snatching the cup from his hand before he could protest. You were so sure of yourself. The liquid was a fiery red, the strong scent even more potent up close. You took a tentative sip.

It was horrible.

It was like drinking liquid fire infused with cough syrup. A strangled cough escaped your lips, your eyes watering. Luke chuckled slightly. You sputtered, almost spitting the liquid out in disgust.

Before you could fully react, Luke's hand cupped your chin, surprisingly gentle despite the rough calluses that adorned his palm. His eyes held a mischievous sparkle. "Take it all down now, you told me you could handle it"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way his words sent a thrill down your spine, but you were determined not to back down, especially not in front of him. Fueled by a mix of pride, the burn of the liquid fire, and a strange flutter in your stomach thanks to Luke's closeness, you took another swig, then another, determined to finish it. You ignored the way your throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and the fire that seemed to erupt in your gut.

Suddenly, a loud "Chug! Chug! Chug!" broke the silence. Travis and Connor, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, started a rhythmic chant. Silena and Katie soon joined in, their cheers echoing through the clearing. You choked down the rest of the concoction, gasping for air as it burned its fiery path down your throat.

The cheers reached a crescendo as you slumped back, eyes squeezed shut, your head swimming. As the commotion subsided, you dropped the plastic cup with a clatter. You felt dizzy, and your throat felt like someone had lined it with sandpaper, but a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You'd done it.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on your chin startled you. You blinked your eyes open to see Luke leaning in, his gaze holding a playful spark. With his thumb, he brushed away a stray droplet of the red liquid that had escaped your lips during your valiant chugging endeavor.

The simple gesture sent a jolt through you. It was so unexpected that your breath hitched in your throat. Then, in a move that stole the air from your lungs completely, he lifted his thumb to his lips and sucked off the red droplet. Eyes on yours, the whole time.

"Good girl" he murmured.

He turned away then, casually rejoining the conversation with Chris about their upcoming training session. But you couldn't tear your gaze from him. The playful glint in his eyes, the lingering warmth on your chin from his touch – it all played on repeat in your mind.

Gods, you thought, your head swimming from a potent mix of alcohol and newfound desire. You really wanted to be anywhere else right now. Anywhere with him, away from the prying eyes and teasing laughter of your friends. You felt crazy in the matter of just a few seconds. You couldn´t let this slide, you just couldn´t.

You couldn´t deny the wet patch on your panties either.

You stood up, maybe a little too fast for the state you were in, but you managed to look down to Luke, who was already looking into your eyes the moment you stood up.

“I´m going for a walk. Care to join me?”

inspired by this right here, with a little change <3

[heliosunny]

Deception

Yandere!Gojo x Reader

Years ago, Gojo Satoru watched his closest friend—his everything—die in his arms. The grief shattered him, pushing him to become the strongest sorcerer, a lone god among men. But when he unexpectedly sees you—alive, breathing, and unchanged—his carefully controlled world spirals into chaos.

The first time Gojo saw you die, something inside him shattered.

He had always been fast—too fast, but not that day. That day, he was too slow.

One moment, you were standing beside him, teasing him like you always did. The next, blood was pooling beneath you, your body limp in his arms. His hands pressed against the wound, shaking, desperate.

“Stay with me” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this to me.”

But no matter how much power he had, no matter how much he begged, you still slipped away.

And Gojo, the strongest, realized something terrifying that day.

Without you, strength meant nothing.

Years passed, but the nightmares never did.

He stopped visiting your grave. What was the point? You weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. Just a memory, a cruel trick time played on him. No soul left to sense, no cursed energy to trace. Just a void where you used to be.

Then, one night, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, he saw you.

And the world tilted on its axis.

You were laughing softly, eyes bright, standing just a few feet away. The same face. The same voice. The same presence he had lost all those years ago.

His Six Eyes burned as he focused on you—on your soul.

It was you.

Not an illusion. Not a trick.

You.

His breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides. A thousand emotions surged through him at once—rage, confusion, relief—but one thought drowned out the rest.

You lied.

And Gojo Satoru did not take betrayal lightly.

Hours later, you walked alone through the quiet streets, your bag slung over your shoulder.

The night was crisp, and after the farewell party with your friends, exhaustion weighed on you. You had finally left your old life behind. No more sorcerers. No more Jujutsu battles. No more him.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Then, the air changed.

Before you could react, a hand covered your mouth, an arm wrapped around your waist, and the world snapped into darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of concrete and old wood filled your nose. A dim light flickered above you, casting long, eerie shadows. Your wrists were bound to the arms of a chair—tight enough to keep you still but loose enough not to hurt.

A slow, familiar chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Your heart stopped.

Gojo stood in front of you, blindfold gone, Six Eyes glowing as he leaned down, his face mere inches from yours. His expression was unreadable, too calm, too controlled.

You swallowed hard. “Satoru—”

He clicked his tongue. “Toru” he corrected, voice almost playful. “You used to call me Toru, remember?”

You stayed silent.

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, his touch feather-light yet suffocating. “You died” he whispered, his tone soft but laced with something sharp. “I felt you die. And yet… here you are.”

Your pulse pounded against your skin.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured: “Start talking, love. Why did you leave me?”

Your breath hitched. His voice was low, smooth, but it carried an edge so sharp it could cut through bone.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Let me go, Satoru.”

A slow, dark chuckle escaped his lips.

“There it is. That defiance,” he mused, tilting your chin back toward him with two fingers. “I wondered if you��d changed after all these years. Guess not.”

His Six Eyes flickered, scanning every inch of you—your trembling fingers, the tension in your jaw, the way your pulse pounded in your throat. You weren’t afraid. No, this wasn’t fear.

It was guilt.

Gojo’s grip on your chin tightened just slightly. “You faked your death” he said, the words more statement than question. “Why?”

You clenched your teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of the past, of everything you left behind, pressed against your ribs like a vice.

“You needed me to be dead.”

Silence.

Gojo didn’t move, but something in his expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

You took a shaky breath. “You needed something to break you, Satoru. Something to push you past your limits. You needed pain, real pain, so you’d become strong enough to protect everyone else. If I had stayed… you wouldn’t be who you are now.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your own breathing.

Then—

Laughter.

Cold, bitter laughter that sent chills down your spine.

Gojo straightened, running a hand through his hair. “That’s your reason?” His voice dripped with something almost hysterical. “You let me rot in grief? You chose to make me suffer?”

Tears stung your eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be forever! I planned to come back—”

“Then why didn’t you?”

His voice cracked.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Because you had seen it.

The way he had changed. The man who once stood beside you, carefree and untouchable, had become something else. A god among sorcerers. The strongest. A man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You had done this to him. And by the time you realized it, it was too late.

“I was going to” you whispered. “But you didn’t need me anymore.”

Gojo went still.

Then, in a blink, he was in front of you again, both hands gripping the arms of your chair, caging you in. “You don’t get to decide that” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Your heart pounded.

“You think I needed to break?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile. “You think I needed to lose you to become stronger?”

You flinched.

Gojo exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Damn it…” His hands lifted, resting on either side of your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “If you had just told me—if you had just stayed—I still would’ve become the strongest.”

His fingers tightened slightly.

“But at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

For the first time since waking up in this room, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered agony behind his glowing eyes. The pain you had left him with.

You opened your mouth, but he spoke first.

“It doesn’t matter now.” His voice was quieter, but no less intense. “You’re here. And I’m not letting you leave again.”

Your stomach dropped. “Satoru—”

His lips brushed against your forehead—gentle, fleeting. But when he pulled back, the look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“Welcome home.”

[dearest-nell]

homebrew.

j. potter x reader, 3.6k

summary: james wants to do something nice for the reader. best friends to lovers, mentions of reader menstruating, james being a big softie

a/n: this is the first time i've written in a long while, so hi there! nice to be back

It was safe to say that today was somewhat of a write off, at least in your own humble opinion. The familiar blunt pains of your period shook you from an already groggy, restless slumber, cyclically pressing somewhere deep inside you until you were drawn into a terrible state of nausea. You could feel the deep bruised marks hanging low beneath your eyes, hard earned and unwelcome, marring your already paler than usual complexion. You had avoided the mirror entirely, knowing something sallow would be the only reflection waiting. 

It was battle enough to make your way down the stairs from your dorm, your head hanging low as you ghosted your way towards an already raucous common room. Heavy eyes landed on the two familiar figures seated in the corner, and even in your dreary state, you couldn’t keep the small smile that tugged on the corners of your lips. James sat comfortably, splayed across the couch in his usual unapologetic stature, arm hanging heavy across the back, legs parted wide, head tipped back in laughter at something Sirius had surely uttered before your arrival. Sirius seemed much the same in his own right, though you took less pains to notice. James always seemed to snatch your attention, after all. It was his effect. 

You felt no need to greet the boys as you settled slowly beside James, slouching into the crook of his arm with entirely too little consideration, dropping your head to his shoulder with a distracted sigh. It was normal, after all, this kind of thing. James had always been affectionate by nature, and you craved the intimacy he had to offer more than you would ever admit. 

James moved in an automatic response, his arm swiping to encase you in his hold as if that was how it was always meant to be. He couldn’t see the little furrow on your brow, not properly, but he could feel the tension that held each and every muscle in you tighter than a bowstring. 

“Mornin’ there, sweetheart.” He chuckled, squeezing at your side affectionately only to receive a mumbled reply in turn. His brow rose towards Sirius, a silent conversation passing between them over your head. 

Sirius cocked his head. “Didn’t sleep well then, I take it.” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block out the light. Migraines were easily built when you were already in such a delicate state, and the widely opened windows of the tower had played the villain on you this morning. Ordinarily, the sunlight would have been worth a warm welcome, but this morning you had only wished for rain. 

James tutted beside you, his free hand inching to brush back the hair that had crowded your face, the back of it pressing gently against your forehead. James didn’t need to excel in divination to know that something was off with you, you certainly weren’t trying to hide it, but it now had become his own little mystery to solve — a distraction from the rest of his day. There was no temperature, though, so he hoped he could at least rule out a trip to Pompfrey.  “You feelin’ alright there?” 

You breathed out a soft yeah, though neither of the boys were too convinced by the answer.  

“You’re really gonna make us jump through hoops for it, aren’t ya.” Sirius teased, earning a narrowed, piercing glare from your tired eyes. 

“You don’t want to know, Pads.” 

Sirius shrugged, unphased by the response, and leaned back in his arm chair with his usual sort of smugness. 

James tried again a little softer, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. “Try me, then. You wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, love?” 

You were sure James couldn’t have known the effect that little nickname had on you, and you felt the familiar warm tug of your affection towards him slowly water down your reluctance to share. 

“It’s not a secret, Jamie. It’s just that time, y’know? I usually make a stock of potions and I just forgot, so I’m feelin’ a bit…” you trailed off, angling your face up slightly so he could see your queasy expression. “It’s nothing to write home about.” 

“Well in that case,” Sirius emphasised, pushing broad palms into the plush  arms of his chair to hoist himself up, “I’m going to go track down our other little monthly invalid. I’d rather face Moons than this one.” 

Sirius didn’t need to look back to see the vulgar motion you tossed his way, though James couldn’t help the chuckle that rippled from him as he watched you burrow in deeper after. 

“Can I do anything, then?” James queried, rubbing circles into your side with the warmth of his palm. “You look like you really ought to go back to bed.” 

“Can’t.” You grumbled, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. “I promised Dorcus I’d help her with her essay.” 

Besides, you knew this was par for the course. How many people in the world faced the same battle as you and soldiered on — you didn’t feel like it was enough of an excuse when a third of Gryffindor tower was likely menstruating right along with you. Communal living, what a gem… 

“I’m sure she’d understand.” James offered, furrowing his own brow in thought. He didn’t  like there being a problem he couldn’t fix, and more so, he didn’t like you having a problem that he couldn’t fix. You were his little love, after all, his very best friend, it was his job to take care of you whether you wanted it or not. 

How the two of you weren’t in a relationship was anyone’s guess, and a frustration that plagued all of your friends and acquaintances to no end. You never sat like this with the others, never used such darling terms of endearment for the rest of the gang. Yours and James dynamic was something entirely of its own; too sweet and tender to be just friends, and yet never classified as anything more. You wouldn’t argue it, though, not when it allowed you this kind of closeness with him. If this was all you would ever get, then you would take it gladly. 

“She would, but I’m going anyways.” There was a decided tone to your voice that James knew would be a losing battle to argue with, so with a gentle sort of sigh, he focused his attention on a new objective. 

“So what’s the potion, then? Can I go buy you some?” 

You wrinkled your nose at the question, well aware that James was a dog with a bone at the best of times. It was sweet of him to offer, but the last thing you wanted was to feel helpless. You’d survived this long, after all, and the idea of you putting James out of his way was one you wished to avoid.  “It’s okay, Jamie. I’ll make up a batch tonight or tomorrow, or somethin’. You don’t need to do anything.” 

James would’ve knocked your martyr complex right out of you if he could, but that wasn’t his way. Besides, your stubbornness made up a part of you, and he loved all of you too much to ever want to change that, even if it was a pain in the neck. 

“You know I’m useless on my own. Maybe I’m bored and want something to do, hm? You don’t know.” 

He was being cheeky, and he had the shit eating grin to match it. That sort of energy always seemed to ripple off of him, settling a warmth into your bones that eased you somewhat. 

You managed a small, amused chuckle. “Then I’m sure the boys’ll have plenty to keep you busy today. I just wanted a hug before I was on my way.” 

“Oh yeah?” James’ voice was delighted as he circled his arms tighter around you, pressing you against the heat of his body with expert hands, fingertips massaging into your back and waist with reverent touches. “James hugs makes it all better, don't it.” 

With a scoff at his ego, you allowed yourself a moment to soak it all in – this closeness and intimacy that you wished you could bottle. James was the perfect boyfriend, after all, even if he didn’t belong to anyone. There was never a day where his friends did not feel the weight of his love, of his affection and regard. It felt almost greedy to want more from the man who gave so freely. 

But you did. You always wanted more of him. 

“Yeah they do, you smug bastard.” The teasing lilt was not lost upon him, and it only made James squeeze you tighter. 

“Y’know, I figure maybe I just won’t let you go. Then you’d have to rest right here where I can make sure.” 

You thought about biting him – you really did – just because it was cheeky and you knew it would make him laugh. Your restraint, however, could only be considered admirable, and instead you moved to pinch at his side with a sneaky manoeuvre, one that would unfortunately cut this perfect moment short. 

He yelped in surprise, his grip loosening enough for you to begrudgingly slip out of. It ached a little to see the way he was still reaching for you, trying to pull you back down to his side. Your traitorous, bleeding heart couldn’t help but hope that maybe he craved your touch as much as you craved his. But once again, James had nothing but adoring smiles for you, feeling all too bested in his own game. 

“Careful, love – if they see you moving that quick, I might have competition on the Quidditch team.” 

You shrugged, smiling a little coyly. “It won’t be my fault if they put you out of business, James.” 

He huffed out a laugh, clutching at his chest with enough melodramatics to level the castle. “You’re breakin’ my heart.” 

You tilted your head softly. “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

His soft okay was enough for you to be on your way, though if you had heard his little, woefully mumbled I miss you already, then maybe you’d have turned back around. 

-------✿-------

Dorcus had been supportive enough during your studies, much to no one's surprise, but even she could tell that this round of pains seemed far more severe than usual. You spent the better part of the session hunched over your library desk, legs curled up beneath you in some feeble attempt to ease the pain. The heated pillow behind you helped somewhat, but by the mid afternoon, it was starting to feel like a losing battle. 

Once the bulk of the work was over, you resigned to give in, sending yourself back to the common room with a huff, energy far too spent for you to even consider making another round of potions. Pomfrey tried her best to keep a steady stock at all times, but between unsure first years whose potion making skills were not refined enough for such delicate casting and older students who were lazy enough not to bother, her supplies had once again been depleted, much to your chagrin. 

It left you with nothing to do but burrow deep down into the warmth of your duvet, hooking the blanket over your head as you drifted into another groggy, all too short sleep. Even with noise muffling and light repellant spells, your body could not seem to comply, and within the hour you were back on your feet again, lazily pulling together something warm and cosy to wear down to the common room once more. 

It was only when you opened your door that you noticed the small package at your feet, wrapped up prettily in a crimson ribbon that felt far too festive for something so mysterious. 

There was no note attached, no sign of where the gift had come from, but with a steady hand you unravelled the packaging, opening your gift to discover twelve identical potion bottles stacked neatly in rows, a small card tucked carefully in between that read your name in a scrawled writing. By sight you could identify the contents – the familiar purple tinge was one you had learned to identify from Pomfrey herself – though you were sure she wouldn’t have had the time to brew a new batch from when you last saw her only an hour beforehand. 

Chewing your lip, you pondered the possibilities, hooking the gift under your arm as you slowly descended the stairs to find the culprit. Of course, you were certain there was only one person who might have been responsible. James had been all too eager to help, after all, and far too free on his Saturday to be left to his own devices. The handwriting was unfamiliar, sure, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d attempted to throw someone off his trail that way; he was a prankster at heart. 

Even now you found him perched happily by the fire, wrapped up in his favourite armchair, eyes drifting lazily across the pages of a book in hand.Coming up from behind, you leaned yourself over the back of the chair, elbows holding you up as you watched him examine the box now resting in his lap.

 “So you’ve been busy today.”

Without missing a beat, James rated his head back onto the plush back behind him, smiling up at you with an innocence that seemed all for show. “Me? Well I’ve been trying to read, yes, though I wouldn’t call that busy.” 

“Oh? So you’ve got no idea what these are, then?” Your tone was nothing if not incredulous, but what was the harm in humouring him in something like this. 

James shrugged, passing a quick glance over the box in question before turning his eyes back to you. “Potions? Are they more of the ones you need?” 

Your lips curved as he feigned his innocence, though the smugness that seemed to tug at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He’d never been a good liar, after all. James was earnest to the bone. 

“You know, it’s funny, I couldn’t really say. There’s no labels, you see, and no note, so who is to say what they are.” You paused, gasping softly for a sort of dramatic effect, cupping your cheek with one hand as your eyes widened comically. “Oh no! They could be a nasty prank, now that I think about it. Probably best not to drink them…” 

You watched it live, that flash of regret that passed before his eyes as he realised his mistake. He tried his best to cover it, clearing his throat and adjusting in his seat, eyes blinking up at you nervously. 

“Or it’s just… I mean it doesn’t look all that harmful, does it? Who’d wanna give you a rotten potion anyways.” 

You levelled your gaze at him. “Literally anyone that you share a room with, Jamie. I don’t need my hair falling out or my words coming out in Pig Latin, so I think I’ll pass.” 

James reached up for you on instinct, his fingers curling around the meat of your forearm with a tender sort of touch, his gaze somewhat imploring now. 

“Or you could just drink it, for… fun.” 

“Fun?” You quirked a brow, smile widening at this little game that you were sure to win. “Why would I do that?” 

James huffed. “Yeah, fun. I think they look fine, so maybe you should just—” 

“James.” 

He’d been backed into a corner and he knew it, though his little sigh of defeat did nothing for him to remove his touch from your arm. He spoke with a gentle whine, frustrated that the game was now at an end. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh.” 

“I don’t know why you don’t want to. It’s really sweet of you to find me some, though I don’t know how you managed twelve; the school seems tapped.” 

You shrugged your arm gently, enough to shake him from his grip so that your fingers could settle between his own, locking into place with such ease and familiarity. James’ gaze followed suit, watching the way his hand seemed to dwarf your own. 

“It is. Pomfrey’s out and the girls didn’t have any to spare, so I just made ‘em instead.” 

Your brows furrowed in surprise. “You made them? How?” 

James surely would not have had access to the recipe, and you knew that it wasn’t a quick potion to make. He must have spent hours on it, and the thought made your heart squeeze with affection inside your chest. 

Perhaps your affections were written right across your face, because you watched as his own expression softened to something equally adoring, his smile brightening at your astonishment. 

“I got Mary to show me. Or really she just talked at me for a bit, but I took heaps of notes, and she checked at the end to make sure I’d done it right. Figured killing you with the wrong mix would’ve done nothing to cheer you up.” 

You laughed at that, shaking your head in disbelief. Your breath felt caught in your throat, something large and unavoidable stuck and ready to spill out. “You didn’t have to.” 

James shrugged. “I wanted to. I just didn’t want to make a fuss is all. Didn’t want you feeling like you’d owe me anything.” 

You felt your lip catch between your teeth, already feeling that sense of obligation starting to pool in your gut. You had never been good at accepting gifts, after all, nor compliments – you always wanted to pay things back. James, however, was as stubborn as you were, and the resolve in his gaze was enough to show you that he was unflinching on this notion. 

“Well I… I want to say thanks somehow. This was really kind, Jamie. Too kind.” 

He shook his head, squeezing your hand in his. “You don’t even need to say the thanks part. Just take the potion and I’ll be happy. I hate seeing you hurt, love, I really do.” 

It was an impulse that had you moving, your body bending at the waist until you were lowered down just enough, James’ face angling to meet yours. You stayed like that for a moment, a blip in time spent with the two of you just watching one another, breaths evening out until you moved in sync, a pattern that only you two could follow. You nudged your face slightly, lips brushing tenderly against the scruff of an unshaved cheek, pressing there far longer than ordinarily you might have ever dared. 

You heard the shudder in his breath, felt the way his hand gripped yours as you pulled back, gaze meeting his own in an unavoidable stare. 

“Thank you, James. I really mean it.” 

You watched as he swallowed, that same sort of lump caught in his own throat as he tried to find the words, tried to make himself speak in a way that you would understand. How could he make you see that he would do anything for you, anything at all, whether you asked or not. 

He settled on the one thing he knew he needed, using his grip on your hand to urge you out from behind the couch – behind the wall between you two – guiding you until you settled comfortably in his lap, curled up and safe, just as you ought to be. You didn’t question the movement, just tilting your head curiously at the intense way he seemed to be watching you, tugging your entwined hands into your lap, cocooning his within your own, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. 

James reached for your face with his other hand, deft fingers hooking your loose strands of hair behind your ear, circling at the softness of your cheek and jaw with newfound tenderness. 

“If you want to thank me next time, then you can just let me look after you. It’s all I want to do.” 

His kiss was quick as he pressed his lips to your own, somehow so casual for something so foreign between you both. You’d have almost believed you’d made the whole thing up if you couldn’t feel the electricity it left behind, feel the way such a small thing had awakened so much inside of you. 

“Okay.” 

You could see it in his stare, the way he was reading you, trying to understand if you wanted this as badly as he did. Your soft sigh as you nuzzled into the warmth of his palm was all the reassurance he needed, nodding to himself as he processed the lines he had just crossed. 

“Okay.” He breathed, angling your face to kiss your brow, his touch reverent as he lingered far longer this time, unable to bring himself to pull away until the very last second, that teasing, boyish grin now spread across his features. “Take your potion, then, and sit with me a little while. I wanna make sure it works.” 

It was hard to tell what was changed between you two, but all you knew was that whatever had occurred here in this armchair would linger in the back of your mind for days to come. There was a new intimacy here, one far deeper than had ever been explored between the two of you before, and even without words, you knew James felt it too. 

Maybe it didn’t need words. Maybe it was enough for you to drink the potion and settle against him, your nose pressed against the pulse beating steadily at the crook of his neck, his hand pressing soft circles into the dip of your back. Maybe that was the only step that needed taking, for now. Something felt all too assured in that moment that this was just the beginning, and that was all the both of you needed to know.

[lechrts]

brother's best friend!oscar!!!!!!

Archetype. ✷ Oscar Piastri

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Norris!reader

Summary: When your brother’s best friend finds you stressing out and he comforts you.

Word Count: 2.1k

Disclaimer/s: norris sister reader , fluff ? ish .. idk

Vera’s Voice! BOOF….. I HOPE I DID THIS JUSTICE. i tried but Lmk. hope u enjoy this !!!!! thank u for the request ^_^

The hum of the Silverstone paddock filled the air, mixed with the sounds of rushing fans, tire changes, and radio calls. It was race weekend, and the energy was electric.

Lando was in his element, bouncing around the garage with the kind of confidence and ease that only came when it was home turf.

And of course, being his little sister and all, you were there in support no matter what. Perched on the edge of the chaos, offering quiet encouragement from the sidelines.

It was a proud moment for you as his little sister, but today, despite the cheers, your mind was elsewhere.

You had been in the paddock since early morning, trying to keep a brave face while your mind battled with the stress of university assignments piling up back home.

The constant juggling between being a supportive sister and keeping up with your academic commitments was starting to take its toll.

You had retreated to the sanctuary of Lando’s driver room for a moment of peace, hoping the quiet would give you a chance to center yourself.

With a laptop open in front of you, your notes scattered around, you furiously typed, unable to focus on anything other than the deadlines you were desperately trying to meet.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love the sport or being here for Lando, but the pressure was mounting. Your stomach churned, not from the excitement of the weekend, but from the looming weight of university demands.

The door creaked open, and you didn’t even look up. “Hey—” Your words faltered when you saw who had entered the room.

It wasn’t Lando.

Oscar stood there, his usual quiet demeanor tempered with concern.

You had always known there was something between the two of you.

Ever since Oscar became Lando’s teammate, the tension had been palpable. You had shared laughs, some late-night talks after races, and moments of shared understanding.

You were close, but never more than that. At least, you tried to convince yourself of that.

You both had a way of bantering and making each other laugh, but you’d never taken the leap into something deeper.

It was hard when you were his teammate’s little sister and when Oscar seemed so out of reach.

He, however, was not out of reach now. His eyes softened when they landed on you, hunched over your laptop in the driver’s room. He must have noticed the stress radiating from your posture.

He cleared his throat before taking a step inside.

“Oh, hey you alright?” His voice was warm, as if he knew exactly what was going on in your mind.

You straightened, trying to hide the frustration on your face, but you knew you didn’t fool him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, um, university stuff,” You muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “I just need to finish this. I’ll be fine.”

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, watching you closely. “Have you been here this entire time? It’s mid day..”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, the weight of the laptop heavy on your lap. “Yeah…” You answered. “It’s just that I’m so behind. I’ve got all these assignments due, and I’m freaking out.”

Oscar pushed off the doorframe and walked over to you. “Let me see.”

You hesitated, but Oscar, always the curious one, peered over your shoulder. His presence was calming, the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with the scent of fresh tires and the metallic tang of the track.

He stood close enough that you could feel his warmth, but not too close to make it awkward. You noticed how his eyes darted to your screen, scanning the notes you had scattered around.

“Need a hand?” He asked, his voice still soft but insistent.

You shook your head. “No, I can do it, it’s just… everything’s due at once, and it feels like I can’t catch up.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there in silence, thinking. Then, he reached out and gently closed the laptop. You blinked, surprised by the action. “Hey, no—dont,” you started, but Oscar shook his head.

“No,” He said, his tone a little firmer now. “Take a break. You’re not going to solve this by stressing yourself out here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Oscar wasn’t having it. He reached down and tugged at your wrist, coaxing you up from the chair. “Come on,” He said, guiding you toward the small sofa in the corner of the room.

“Relax for a minute.”

You followed him reluctantly, sinking into the cushions. Oscar sat down next to you, close but not too close. You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of distant chatter from the paddock filtering into the room.

But the stillness was only temporary. The air between you two seemed charged, something unspoken lingering.

You could feel his presence like it was pulling you in, his proximity making your heart beat just a little faster.

Oscar leaned back against the sofa, glancing over at you. “It’s important to take care of yourself,” He said, his voice low, yet full of meaning.

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat as you noticed the way his eyes met yours—steady, almost searching, as if there was something deeper there. A flicker of warmth spread across your chest.

“I know. I’ll be fine,” You muttered, but the words didn’t hold the same conviction as before. “Everything just feels like a lot right now, is all.”

Oscar’s lips twitched into a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the quiet amusement he often wore around you.

But this time, it felt different. More intimate.

He studied you for a second. “Want a hug?” He asked, his tone still gentle, but with that soft sincerity that made your heart stutter.

The offer was unexpected, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“I’m here if you need anything, you know...” He paused. “Me and Lando, yeah.” He quickly corrected himself.

You could feel his gaze lingering on you as he pulled away, heavy with something unspoken. His shoulder brushed yours, and despite the casual nature of the gesture, the touch felt electric.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled at his closeness. “I’m not used to asking for help,” You admitted quietly.

Oscar didn’t reply right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with that thoughtful expression that you’d grown familiar with over the past months.

Then, after a long pause, he let out a quiet sigh.

“It’s okay to lean on others when you need it.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the words hanging in the air, and for a moment, you were lost in the intensity of it all.

There was a weight to his gaze now, something tender, as if he were offering you more than just comfort.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same way you did.

Before you could respond, the door to the room swung open without warning, and in walked Lando. You froze, and Oscar quickly leaned back, putting more space between the two of you.

Lando stepped in, his usual smirk in place, but it faltered when he saw the situation.

“Oh,” He said, his voice rising in playful surprise. “Osc… was just looking for you?”

The aussie raised his brows. “You were?”

Lando’s gaze went back and forth between the both of you. “Yeah… They’re calling us for a quick briefing.. Uh—“ He cleared his throat. “Are you okay? What—what is all this…?” His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows furrowed after glancing at you. His had gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m fine.” You brushed it off.

And Oscar, ever so calmly replied as well. “I was actually looking for you, but I found her stressing a little, so I stayed to make sure she’s alright.”

Lando looked between the both of you again , an eyebrow arched in mild confusion.

The wheels in his head started turning, but before he could say anything further, he noticed the look in your eyes—distant, tired, and a little overwhelmed.

Lando’s expression softened. “Right,” He said, walking in fully now but not pressing the issue. “Well.. You sure you’re alright?” He asked you, his voice more gentle now, a shift in tone from his usual teasing one.

You sighed, rubbing your face with both hands. “Yeah, I’m okay now. Just… a lot going on. School work and all,” You explained quietly, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

Oscar, who had already stepped back to give you some space, gave you a knowing look. “Think she just needed to step back and take a break.” He said, his voice soft with concern as his hand rested ever so near your own.. almost as if he wanted to hold

it. “Think you’ve calmed down a little though.”

Lando’s eyes lingered on you, his instincts as a big brother wanting to make sure you were really okay, but he seemed to read the situation.

He let out a breath and nodded, though his concern didn’t quite fade.

“Alright,” He said, voice still lighter but with a hint of that older brother protectiveness. “Just, you know, let me know if you need anything.”

You gave him a weak smile, nodding. “Thanks, Lan.”

Oscar, sensing it was time for him to step back, gave you a final, reassuring glance. “You’ll be alright here?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, offering a smile that was more genuine this time. “Yeah. Thanks, Oscar. Really.”

Oscar gave a soft nod, then turned toward Lando. “Ready?” He asked, his voice shifting to the casual tone they both shared.

Lando shot you one last look before following Oscar out the door, muttering something about getting back to the paddock.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone again in the quiet room, feeling lighter—comforted not only by Oscar’s support but by the way they both made sure you were okay before leaving.

And as you sat there, the tension between you and Oscar lingered in the air, but now it felt a little less uncertain.

He had been there when you needed it most—and, somehow, you knew he always would be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and just lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[witless-winion1]

imagine Polites was in the courtyard for the last battle of Troy. Imagine he looks up from bandaging a comrade’s injury, and sees his friend. Helmet off, head lowered, face pinched in what could only be described as anguish. Polites would have called to him, but he knows better than to interrupt Ody during his Big Brain Thinking moments.

but then his friend raises something into view over the wall; a swaddle of white, and it’s squirming, enough that Polites could see it from where he stands, now frozen in confusion and inexplicable dread. Odysseus loved kids and babies, he wouldn’t harm one for any reason. Hell, he’d cried so hard when Penelope gave birth to Telemachus that he’d nearly passed out from dehydration. He’d spared every child in every battle in this ten-year war.

but his friend extends his arm, holding the swaddle precariously by the ends of the blanket, over the thirty foot drop onto the solid stone ground. The innocent baby just wiggles unconcernedly.

Polites opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say (because he certainly didn’t know himself) gets caught, and then his friend let’s go.

and Polites can’t turn away as the white swaddle falls, a sudden, tiny cry starting from the hidden infant’s throat, that cuts off when it hits the ground, with a sound that Polites never wanted to hear again, and the white turns red.

Out of every horror he’s seen that night, that’s the one he dreams of when he eventually lays his head down to sleep.

He wakes thrashing, falling out of his hammock, and Odysseus’s hand jerks from his shoulder to his side, catching him before he can hit the ground and aggravate whatever minor injuries he got from the last battle.

Polites has always been a very honest person. Since boyhood, since he told his mother was sick because he ate too much sesamous when he was five, confessed to Odysseus and Eurylochus that he didn’t like hunting when he was nine, told his aunt she was too unkind to the less fortunate then them when he was thirteen.

when Odysseus asks him what troubles him, Polites can’t seem to bring himself to admit the truth.

when they sail for home, he forces himself not to avoid his captain. They’ve all done horrible things in the heat of Ares’ domain. but a baby? whispers his conscious.

Shush, he tells it. There’s a logical solution, there has to be.

and yet Odysseus offers none, and he is too cowardly to ask for it, and gods know he cannot make sense of it no matter how he tosses and turns with the rocking ship.

when they reach the island of the Lotus Eaters, Polites smiles at the funky little guys, adoring their blissful grin. He crouches and strokes it, cooing about how soft it is. Odysseus hums, unfazed, and grumpy. Polites can tell he hasn’t slept well the past few weeks. But he reaches down anyway and picks one up under the arms, studying it from every angle while the innocent creature just wiggles unconcernedly in his hands.

Polites can’t help the urge to gently pull the creature from his hands. He smiles to cover whatever tension there is, and places the lotus eater safely in the ground.

he reminds his friend that there’s no need to constantly be suspicious and prone to fighting; why not default to greeting the world with kindness and open arms? Even though trust may get taken advantage of sometimes, it would at least alleviate the risk of unnecessary blood spilled.

and as Odysseus looks away, Polites sees the pain in his eyes, staring at the Lotus eaters as they tumble around with each other. One drops suddenly from a low tree limb, and while Polites manages to stifle his wince, Odysseus is caught just off-guard enough to flinch when it hits the ground with a thump. The lotus eater got up and ambled off without a scratch.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” Polites says softly, reaching out to grasp his friend by the elbow. “I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart…”

Polites could see as the words hit home, his friend’s shoulders drooping as he looks up at him. His eyes are nearly akin to what Argos’s looked like when their ships sailed from Ithaca’s harbor.

“…so why not replace it, and light up the world; here’s how to start…” Polites gently squeezes his arm. “Greet the world with open arms.”

“Greet the world with open arms…” Odysseus repeated softly, leaning into him. Polites let him hide his face in his chest, wrapping him in his arms and letting him hide from the weight of his not-so-secret sins.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Everything is Blue

Barty Crouch Jr x FWB!Potter!Reader

AN: Are we really surprised? They are all I think about.

Summary: As things escalate with Barty he draws a line in the sand.

CW: Not proof read wrote this on my lunch break sorry yall :(, oxic!Mean!Barty, Toxic!Mean!Reader, Cussing, sexual themes and behaviors, Hair Pulling, rough handling, angsty, hurt no comfort, everyone's the bad guy, Remus being dragged into it (because I'm predictable), {If I'm missing anything please let me know}

WC: 4.9k

The door to Barty’s dorm scraped open with its usual obnoxious grind, the result of a half-hearted transfiguration after a particularly chaotic night. It was too big for the frame, but no one cared enough to fix it. Least of all Barty.

He tossed his satchel to the floor as he stepped inside, a cigarette already between his fingers. The other boys in the room froze for half a second before scattering like startled mice, clearly unwilling to stick around now that they’d heard your voice trailing in behind him.

“I just wish you wouldn’t talk about Remus like that,” You huffed, brushing past the discarded bag without a second glance. There was a sharpness to your tone, even as you moved to sit on Barty’s unmade bed. Arms crossed, you looked every bit the picture of stubborn indignation. “He’s a sweetheart if you’d give him a chance.”

Barty let out a low chuckle, crouching to strike a match against the ruined floorboards. He lit the cigarette with ease, shaking out the flame before tossing the spent match to the carpet and grinding it under his heel. “Hate to break it to you, treasure, but your dear Lupin’s just as bad as the rest of them. Just like your jock of a brother.”

You scoffed, a bitter sound that came with a roll of your eyes. “Jock? Oh, please. And you’re not? Beater.”

He barked out a laugh, straightening as he took a drag. “Touché,” He chuckled, exhaling smoke through the corner of his mouth. “But no need to get your claws out, pretty thing.”

“Don’t call me that,” You snapped, though there was no real heat behind it. You shifted, ready to get up, but Barty stepped closer, his grin growing sharper. Before you could fully stand, his hand pressed firmly against your shoulder, easing you back down.

“Not so fast.” He murmured, cigarette dangling between his teeth. His free hand brushed through your hair, a casual, practiced move that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. “All I’m saying, doll, is your precious Remus isn’t as innocent as you think.”

Your jaw clenched, and you glared up at him, determined not to let him see how easily he got under your skin. But it was impossible to ignore the way his touch lingered, the quiet dominance in the way he stood over you.

It was a cliche if anything; James Potter’s prim, polished sister sneaking off with the resident Ravenclaw bad boy. But whatever this was, it wasn’t romance. Not even close. It was something raw and messy, simmering with tension, much less control. And no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you didn’t hate it.

Suddenly, his grip on your hair tightened at the roots, the sharp tug forcing your head back and drawing a startled gasp from your lips. “Oh, but he does love putting on a show for you, doesn’t he?” Barty’s voice was low, taunting, his words dripping with mockery as he loomed over you.

The sting at your scalp sent a flush of heat coursing through you; equal parts anger and something more complicated. His gaze flicked to your neck, lingering on the faint marks still visible beneath the clumsy glamour spell you’d used to cover his handiwork. His lips curved into a smirk, satisfaction radiating from him as if he’d already won some unspoken battle.

“You’re so predictable,” He cooed, tilting his head as if examining a puzzle only he could solve. His grip loosened slightly, just enough to let his fingers glide through your hair, but the dominance in his posture didn’t waver. “Tell me, doll face, how long are you going to keep pretending this doesn’t amuse you?”

You swallowed hard, your pride demanding that you glare back at him with every ounce of defiance you could muster. But beneath the tension, you both knew the truth- you were caught in his game, no matter how much you hated the rules.

Barty’s grip slackened, his fingers moving from your hair to cradle the curve of your jaw, but the smug glint in his eyes remained. His cigarette hung precariously from his lips, the smoke curling between you in a way that made the air feel heavier. He tipped your face up, tilting his head as he studied you, his smirk growing sharper when you refused to look away.

“Still playing the good girl, huh?” He chuckled, voice low and mocking as his thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone. “It’s cute, really. But I've seen too much of you to fall for it. You want this.”

“Shut up, Barty.” You snapped, the defiance in your tone wavering just enough to make him laugh- a deep, infuriating sound that made your stomach churn. He took the cigarette from his lips, flicking the ash carelessly onto the floor before tossing it into a forgotten corner of the room.

“Make me.” He challenged.

Before you could overthink it, your hands shot up, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to crash his lips against yours. The kiss was rough, almost frantic, and any pretense of control he had disappeared the moment your nails dragged down his chest. His hands gripped your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise as he pulled you closer, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your breath hitch.

The kiss grew heated, messy, both of you lost in the intensity that always seemed to ignite when you were near each other. Barty's hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t get enough. For a moment, you forgot where you were, forgot the smugness that usually dripped from his every word. It was all consuming, fire and chaos in equal measure.

But then his lips trailed to the corner of your mouth, brushing there as he murmured against your skin. “Tell me, doll face, does Lupin get you like this? Or are you saving all the fun just for me?”

The words were like a slap. You shoved at his chest, hard enough to break the kiss, your eyes blazing with anger. “Are you serious right now? Merlin, Barty, you’re insufferable!”

He stumbled back a step, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly unbothered by your sudden shift. “What? Too close to home?” He taunted, his smirk sharp and infuriating. “Or are you upset because you know I’m right?”

You glared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to rein in your temper. “Right about what? You don’t know a damn thing about me, or about Remus!”

“Oh, I know plenty,” He shot back, his voice dropping to something dark, something mocking. He stepped closer again, his presence overwhelming. “I know you like the bad boys more than you’d ever admit. Your precious Lupin? He’s got that little edge you love, doesn’t he? But me-” He grinned, shameless and cocky, as his hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m the one who gives you this rush, doll. I see it every time you look at me.”

“Shut up,” You snapped, your voice trembling with anger. “You’re so full of yourself, Barty.”

“Am I?” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he studied you. “Then why are you still here, hmm? Why not run back to your safe little Gryffindor bubble if I’m so insufferable?”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but nothing came. He was right- damn him, he was right and he knew it. The realization made your skin burn, and the frustration bubbled over.

“Because I hate you,” You spat, though the words sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

Barty’s grin widened, and his hand trailed down your arm, his touch infuriatingly light. “Oh, doll, we both know that’s not true,” He murmured. “You might hate that you want me, but you don’t hate me.”

You clenched your jaw, every muscle in your body screaming at you to storm out of the room. But his hand slid to your hip, grounding you, pulling you back into his orbit. You hated the way his presence made you feel- like you were caught in a web you couldn’t escape.

“Why are you like this?” You hissed, your voice cracking slightly as you met his gaze.

His expression softened for just a moment, the teasing edge fading as he studied you. “Because it’s you,” He said simply, his voice quiet but no less intense. “And because I know you can take it.”

That quiet admission threw you off, and for a second, you faltered. He took the opportunity to lean in again, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Go on, doll face,” He murmured. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. And before you could stop yourself, you were pulling him back to you, your anger bleeding into something just as fiery but far more dangerous.

Barty’s laugh rumbled against your lips, low and triumphant, his hands roamed your back, his touch both grounding and maddening. The kiss deepened again, the tension between you still sharp but now laced with something rawer.

But the moment was far from stable. Barty was never one to let things settle; it wasn’t in his nature. Even now, as his lips pressed against yours with an intensity that should have silenced his need for words, he pulled back just enough to murmur, “You’re addictive, you know that? Bet it drives Lupin mad.”

The mention of Remus again broke whatever fragile truce the kiss had created. Your fingers, which had been gripping the fabric of his shirt, pushed him back with force, your glare sharp enough to cut. “You can’t just keep bringing him up like that, Barty!”

“What, does it hit a nerve?” He shot back, his smirk creeping back into place as he took a step closer. He was relentless, infuriating, the kind of person who thrived on lighting matches just to watch the fire burn. “Or maybe it’s because you don’t want to admit I’m in your head more than he ever will be.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You snapped, your voice trembling with anger. “You’re nothing but a distraction, a-”

“Go on.” He interrupted, his voice low, his eyes gleaming with something almost dangerous. “Say it. A mistake? A regret? Is that why you keep coming back, doll? To fix it, or just to lose yourself in it?”

His words hit too close, cutting through your defenses in a way that made your chest tighten. You hated how easily he could read you, how effortlessly he picked apart the walls you tried so hard to keep in place. But you refused to let him win, refused to let him see how much his words affected you. You hated him.

“Maybe I’m here because I pity you.” You hissed coldly, lifting your chin in defiance. “Isn’t that why everyone keeps you around, Barty? Out of pity?”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, the sharpness in his eyes flickering into something unreadable. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that infuriating grin as he stepped even closer, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive force. “Careful, doll.” He mumbled, his voice soft but laced with warning. “You might just hurt my feelings.”

You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as his fingers slid up your sides, his touch tight with nerve. “You don’t have feelings, remember?” You shot back, but the bite in your words was weakened by the way your body reacted to his closeness.

“Maybe not,” He admitted with a low chuckle, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you seem to like me anyway. Guess we both have our vices.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, silencing whatever retort you had ready. The kiss was more intense this time, fueled by the anger and frustration that always seemed to simmer between you. His hands tangled in your hair, his body pressing against yours in a way that made it impossible to think clearly.

It was a cycle, a maddening, relentless cycle. Fight, kiss, argue, repeat. You knew it was toxic, knew it couldn’t lead anywhere good. But in that moment, with Barty’s lips on yours and his hands holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As the kiss deepened, the anger began to ebb away, replaced by a heat that you both refused to name. Barty’s hands tightened in your hair, his lips moving with an almost desperate energy that mirrored your own. But beneath the passion, there was something lingering, something raw that you couldn’t quite place.

And then he did it again.

“Bet he wished he could touch you like this,” Barty murmured against your lips, his voice low and taunting. His words sent a shiver through you- not from the tease, but from the edge in his tone. “Your precious Remus. Always so bloody polite, isn’t he?”

You froze, your hands stilling against his chest as the realization began to settle like a weight in your stomach. His words weren’t just meant to provoke you; there was something behind them, something that bordered on venom.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, you searched his face for a hint of the usual smugness that accompanied his taunts. But instead, you found something different; something sharp and defensive, hidden beneath the surface. “Why do you keep bringing him up?” You asked quietly, your voice steadier than you expected.

Barty’s smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before he masked it with a scoff. “What, can’t handle the truth?” He shot back, his tone casual, but his grip on your hips betrayed him. It was firmer now, certainly possessive.

You narrowed your eyes, the pieces clicking into place. “This isn’t about Remus, is it?” You whispered, your voice softening slightly. “This is about you.”

Barty’s expression hardened, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t flatter yourself,” the edge in his tone wavered. “I just think it’s funny. You play the good girl for him, but you come running to me when you want to feel something real.”

“That’s not it, and you know it.” You hissed, your words cutting through his defenses. “You’re jealous.”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Barty’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something that looked a lot like anger- but you could see through it now. It wasn’t anger. It was insecurity.

“You think I care about what some bleeding-heart Gryffindor thinks?” He sneered, but his voice cracked slightly, giving him away.

“I think you do,” You said, your voice steady now. “You hate that he’s not like you. That he doesn’t play games, that he’s kind. He's real. And you hate that I see that in him.”

Barty’s grip on you tightened, surely bruising, his breath hitching as you spoke. “Don’t.” He warned, but it was too late. You’d already struck a nerve.

“You’re scared.” You continued, your gaze locked with his. “Scared that he’s better than you. That maybe- he’s what I deserve.”

For a moment, you thought he might push you away, his usual bravado crumbling under the weight of your words. But instead, he surged forward, his lips crashing against yours with a ferocity that stole your breath. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a fight, a desperate attempt to reclaim control, to prove something to both of you.

When Barty finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. But the vulnerability that had flickered in his expression for a split second was gone, replaced with sharp, cutting arrogance. His grip on your waist was still firm, bordering on bruising, as if he were daring you to push him away again.

“You think he’s better than me, don’t you?” Barty murmured, his voice low but laced with venom. “Remus bloody Lupin- he’s exactly the kind of boy your perfect family wants for you, isn’t he? Polite, patient, so painfully good.” His lips curled into a sneer, the mockery in his tone unmistakable. “Bet he’d even ask for daddy’s permission to kiss you.”

You flinched, your jaw tightening as the words hit their mark. “Don’t bring my family into this,” You hissed, your hands pushing against his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“Why not?” Barty pressed, his eyes gleaming with something almost wild. “This is what it’s all about, isn’t it? You sneaking around with me because I’m the opposite of what they want. Because I’m the dirty little secret you can’t bring home.”

“That’s not true.” You snapped, though your voice lacked conviction. Deep down, you hated that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“No?” Barty’s smirk widened, his hands sliding up your sides with infuriating ease. “Face it, doll, Lupin’s everything they’ve trained you to want. He’s safe. Predictable. Boring.” He leaned closer, if he only knew- his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dropped to a whisper. “But that’s not what you want, is it?”

You turned your head sharply, forcing him to meet your glare. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Oh, I do,” He murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a way that made your stomach churn. “You want the thrill. The danger. Someone who doesn’t care what James Potter or the rest of your Gryffindor crew thinks.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how his words stung. “You think this is about rebellion?” Uou shot back, your voice trembling with both anger and frustration. “That I’m with you because I want to piss off my family?”

Barty tilted his head, his grin lazy and infuriating. “If the shoe fits.”

“Maybe I’m here because I see something in you no one else does.” You bit out, your voice sharper now. “But you’re too busy tearing yourself down to notice.”

For a moment, Barty faltered. His smirk wavered, and the confidence in his posture cracked just enough for you to see the insecurity underneath. But he recovered quickly, his walls slamming back into place as he gave a low, bitter laugh.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on me, princess,” He cooed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t need it. And I definitely don’t need saving.”

“I’m not trying to save you,” You sighed, your voice soft but firm. “But you keep pushing everyone away, and one day, you’ll push too hard.”

Barty’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in again. “And yet, here you are,” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “Still coming back for more.”

Your throat tightened, the anger in your chest swirling with something far more dangerous. His words cut, his arrogance infuriated you- but you couldn’t deny the pull between you. And Barty knew it.

“Admit it,” He said, his voice soft but unrelenting. “I’m the one who gets under your skin. Not Lupin. Not anyone else. Me.”

You stared at him for a moment, and you saw it. The slight gloss to his eyes- he was pushing himself. Past what you've ever thought you'd see from him. You closed your eyes and took a small steadying breath. “Yes, you idiot.” You spat. “It's you.”

Barty froze. The smirk he wore like a second skin faltered, his sharp retort catching somewhere in his throat. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he hadn’t expected you to admit it- hadn’t expected you to say anything at all.

And neither had you.

The words hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You could feel the weight of them pressing down on your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Barty didn’t have a comeback ready. His grip on your hips slackened, and his expression shifted, the arrogance slipping to reveal something far more raw.

“Say that again,” He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a challenge there, but beneath it, you heard the hesitation- the flicker of uncertainty he was trying so hard to hide.

You swallowed hard, your breath still unsteady as you met his gaze. “It’s you,” You repeated, quieter this time but no less firm. “You’re the one who gets under my skin. And I hate it.”

Something in his eyes darkened, a mix of triumph and something he didn’t quite know how to handle. His lips quirked up into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You really know how to flatter a bloke, don’t you?” He drawled, though his voice was softer now, lacking its usual bite.

“Don’t,” You snapped, your frustration bubbling to the surface again. “Don’t twist this into some stupid game, Barty.”

“Isn’t it always a game?” He shot back, his smirk widening, though there was an edge to it now- one that betrayed just how deeply your words had cut. “You and me, sneaking around, pretending like it doesn’t mean anything. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“No,” You said firmly, your hands gripping the front of his shirt to steady yourself- or maybe to keep him from pulling away. “That’s your point. It’s never been mine.”

He stared at you, his jaw tight, his breathing still heavy. For once, he seemed at a loss, his usual cocky bravado slipping as he tried to process what you’d just said. And for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat into the safety of his defenses. But instead, he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” He muttered, his voice low and raw, lacking its usual teasing lilt.

“Good,” You huffed, your voice equally soft but no less sharp. “It’s mutual.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, almost disbelieving, and he shook his head slightly. “Why do you keep coming back, then?” He asked, his tone laced with something that sounded almost like desperation. “If you hate me so much?”

“Maybe because I hate that I don’t hate you,” You admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Maybe because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile.”

For a moment, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Barty’s expression wavered, and you thought- just for a second- that he might let the truth settle between you. That he might lean into it, lean into you, and let himself admit that he felt the same pull you did.

Barty stood completely still, his eyes searching yours, his defenses cracking just enough for something real to shine through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the vulnerability vanished, his smirk snapping back into place like a mask he wore far too well.

“Don't-”

“Merlin.” He muttered, stepping back, running a hand through his hair in an exaggerated motion of mock exasperation. “You’re really determined to make this into some grand love story, aren’t you?”

“Barty,” You started, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice, but he was already shaking his head, the teasing glint in his eyes turning sharper, crueler. He sat up off of you, pulling out a cigarette, you followed him up.

“No, seriously,” He interrupted, his tone light and biting, the edge of mockery unmistakable. “What is it you want, huh? A confession? A bloody sonnet? Should I get down on one knee while I’m at it?”

“Stop it,” You said sharply, stepping forward, but he just leaned casually against the wall, his cigarette dangling from his lips as though nothing you said could touch him.

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked, spreading his arms wide with a grin that was far too sharp to be genuine. “I mean, you’ve got me cornered, haven’t you? Time for me to spill my tragic backstory and tell you how you’ve ‘changed’ me. Is that it? Does that get you off, doll?”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep your composure. “Why are you doing this?” You demanded, your voice trembling with frustration. “Why can’t you just be serious for once?”

“Oh, I am serious,” Barty said, his grin fading into something colder, more calculated. He straightened up, his posture lazy but his eyes sharp as they locked on yours. “I’m seriously wondering why you’re still here.”

The words hit you, a blow to the chest, but you refused to flinch. “You’re pushing me away,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less steady. “That’s what this is. You’re scared, so you’re trying to scare me off first.”

“Scared?” Barty repeated, letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Of what? You? Don’t flatter yourself, doll.”

“Then what is this?” You demanded, your frustration boiling over. “Why can’t you just admit that this- us- means something to you?”

“Because it doesn’t,” He snapped, his tone ice-cold. He stepped closer, his smirk twisting into something cruel as he looked down at you. “You’re just a game, sweetheart. A fun little distraction. And now that the fun’s over…” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a deliberate slowness that made your stomach churn. “Unless, of course, you’ve got something else in mind.”

Your breath hitched, and your chest tightened. “You’re disgusting,” you said, your voice low but trembling with anger. “You really think I’d just-”

“What? Sleep with me?” Barty interrupted, his smirk widening as he leaned in closer. “Why not? That’s what this has always been about, hasn’t it? A bit of fun. A bit of danger. But if that’s not on the table…” He shrugged, stepping back and taking another drag from his cigarette. “Well, what’s the point?”

You stared at him, your chest heaving as you struggled to process the sheer cruelty of his words. “You don’t mean that,” You said quietly, but even as the words left your mouth, you could see the glint of triumph in his eyes.

“Don’t I?” He chuckled, exhaling a stream of smoke as he watched you with a detached amusement that made your stomach twist. “Face it, doll. This was never about anything real. You’re just upset because I beat you to the punch.”

“The punch?” You echoed, your voice shaking with disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You were always going to leave,” He said simply, his tone casual, almost bored. “Run back to your safe little Gryffindor bubble the second this got too messy. I’m just saving us both the trouble.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. You hated how easily and effortlessly he could tear you down with just a few carefully chosen words. And worst of all, you hated how much you still cared, even now.

“You’re a coward,” You said finally, your voice low and steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “You hide behind this- this persona because you’re too scared to let anyone see the real you. But guess what, Barty? That’s not my problem anymore.”

You turned on your heel, heading for the door, but his voice stopped you just as your hand touched the handle.

“Go on, then,” He called, his tone light and mocking. “Run back to Lupin. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to play the hero.”

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The tears spilled over as you yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind you, the sound echoing through the corridor as you stormed away.

Inside the room, Barty stood frozen, his smirk finally slipping away as the silence pressed in around him. He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling deeply like it might dull the ache in his chest.

It didn’t. It never did.

[tinytinyblogs]

Aaaa sorry 😱 then for the last request, instead of cheating then they *think* the reader is cheating on them but it's their own paranoia? And how they apologize the reader when find out the truth if possible!

It’s not how I think it is, right?

Yandere Skz paranoia drives them to ensure, in their own way, that you’ll never leave them.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Paranoia consumed him more and more each day, gnawing at his mind until every thought spiraled into fear. He thought too much, overanalyzing every situation, convinced that his world would collapse if he ever lost you. What began as mild overthinking soon grew into deep anxiety, and from there, into wild accusations. Chan’s grip on your hand tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with such force it felt like he might break them. His eyes, bloodshot and wide with panic, betrayed the depth of his inner turmoil. His breathing grew ragged and uneven, and no matter how much you tried to explain, your words fell on deaf ears. He barely heard you, so wrapped up in his own spiraling fears. Anger blazed in his eyes, making him seem larger, more dangerous, and you could feel the power in his grasp—how insignificant you were in comparison. The tears streamed down your face, your quiet sobs filling the room as fear settled deep in your chest. "I told you, you are mine!" he bellowed, his voice booming and harsh.

The force of his words made you flinch, and in that moment, you realized just how powerless you were beneath the weight of his obsession. "And anyone who dares to take you away…" Chan’s voice wavered, anger and unshed tears burning in his eyes as he stared at you, fragile and cornered on the floor. "If you're with someone else…" His words faltered, swallowed by the storm of rage and imagined betrayals in his mind. His fists clenched, trembling with barely contained fury. "I swear, I’ll make you—and them—regret it." His voice dripped with venom, his jealousy threatening to consume you both. After the storm of his anger had passed, you were left locked in your room, the silence almost as heavy as the tension that lingered. When the door finally opened, Chan stepped inside quietly, his movements slow, the rage that once consumed him now gone. He sat on the edge of the bed, visibly drained, his voice low and almost trembling. "I’m just scared," he began, his eyes searching yours, but finding only fear—fear that he had caused.

"Losing you… that’s my biggest fear," he continued, his words soft but filled with desperation. "I don’t care about anything else—nothing else matters to me. Not the money, not the success. Just not you." His eyes were pleading, his vulnerability stark. "I love you so much, it hurts." His voice cracked, and for a moment, he seemed on the verge of breaking. He scanned your face again, but the fear still lingered in your gaze, a reminder of the damage his obsession had done. His confession was full of regret, but also a chilling reminder of the intensity of his obsession. Even as he spoke of love, the desperation in his words revealed how tightly he clung to the idea of keeping you, no matter the cost. Yet, despite all that had happened, despite the fear you still felt, there was something heartbreaking in his vulnerability. For a moment, he was not the angry man who had lost control, but someone terrified of being abandoned, consumed by a love that had turned into something suffocating. "Please forgive me."

Minho

The moment Minho's behavior started to change, you could feel something was off. It wasn’t just his usual brooding or moments of silence that came from him being lost in thought. This was different, darker. He grew unusually quiet, his eyes sharp and glaring, as if constantly battling something in his mind. You could see the wheels turning in his head, overthinking every little detail, but it was more than that—his entire demeanor shifted. What started as silent withdrawal soon turned into something more aggressive. He became harsh, his actions no longer gentle or restrained. Without warning, he snatched your phone from your hand, his grip on it tight as if the device itself held some dark secret he needed to uncover. His grip on your wrist grew harder, the pressure making you wince, but he didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. The tension in the room thickened, and you knew something had snapped inside him. He began questioning everyone around him, paranoia creeping into his voice. "Look at me," he demanded, his tone sharp, his eyes dark and burning with suspicion.

"Tell me who he is." His voice was low but laced with an edge that sent shivers down your spine. He wasn't just asking; he was accusing, as if he already believed the worst. Then, without warning, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into your skin, and his eyes bore into yours, searching for answers in your expression, something to confirm his darkest fears. The intensity of his stare was suffocating, as if he could see straight into your soul, peeling back every layer to uncover whatever he imagined was hidden there. There was no escape from the weight of his suspicion, his paranoia wrapped around you like a vise, tightening with every second. But he listened to your words, barely holding onto control, his emotions teetering on the edge. You could see him trying, struggling to rein in the storm inside him. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a fierce, aggressive kiss, the force of it catching you off guard. His grip tightened, his need for reassurance almost desperate. "Tell me again," he breathed against your lips, his voice raw and demanding, "that I’m the only person you need."

His eyes burned with intensity, searching for the comfort he craved in your response, as if your words alone could silence the turmoil inside him. As the words he demanded slipped from your mouth, you could feel the tension in his body ease just slightly. His grip loosened, and he rested his forehead gently against yours, his breath still a little shaky but calmer now. "I believe you," he murmured, his voice low, laced with a quiet intensity. "So you better remember." His hand settled firmly on your waist, holding you close as if reaffirming his claim. "No one," he said, his tone possessive but softer now, "could ever have you but me." His words lingered between you, a mix of a promise and a warning, as his eyes locked with yours, making sure you understood every bit of what he meant. His thumb traced slow circles on the back of your hand, a subtle yet possessive gesture. "You know," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of warning, "it wouldn’t be fun if I found out there was someone else between us, right?" His eyes held yours, the underlying threat clear despite the calmness in his tone.

Changbin

Changbin’s fury erupted like a storm, a chaotic energy filling the room that made it impossible to breathe. His fist collided with the wall, the sound of the impact reverberating through the space, but he didn’t even flinch at the pain. Blood began to streak down his knuckles, but his rage made him numb to everything except the fire inside him. His eyes, dark and intense, were wild with a mixture of anger and deep-rooted insecurities as he zeroed in on you. You sat on the cold floor, tucked into the corner, desperately curling into yourself as if trying to disappear, hugging your knees tightly, your body trembling. You could feel his presence looming over you, suffocating, every breath you took heavy with fear. His eyes, once so familiar and warm, now felt like daggers piercing through you. He took a step closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over your trembling form, making the small space between you feel like it was closing in. "Tell me," he growled, his voice low but sharp, filled with barely restrained rage. "Who is it?" His tone was cold, dangerous, nothing like the gentle voice you were used to hearing.

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by your shaky breaths. He crouched down slightly, just enough so you could see the full weight of his expression, his jaw clenched tightly, his gaze unwavering. "Who the hell dares to make you smile?" His words were laced with venom, the accusation hanging heavy in the air. His entire demeanor screamed danger, and you could feel your pulse quickening, unsure of how to respond to this side of him you’d never seen before. After doing your best to explain that you hadn’t done what he thought, you could see the shift in Changbin’s demeanor. The rage that had consumed him began to fade, though not instantly. His chest still heaved with heavy breaths, but he stepped back from you, distancing himself. Slowly, he moved to the bed, sinking down onto the edge. His elbows rested on his knees as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, sighing deeply. Minutes passed before he finally rose again and walked over to where you were still curled up on the floor. He lowered himself down, sitting beside you, though this time there was no anger in his movements, just quiet remorse.

"I let my emotions get the best of me," he began, his voice hushed, a stark contrast to the storm you’d witnessed moments ago. "I was overwhelmed. The thought of you being with someone else… it felt like torture. It consumed me." His words were raw, laced with vulnerability, and his gaze flickered toward the floor as if ashamed of his earlier outburst. Then, slowly, he turned to face you, his eyes softer, filled with regret. "Thank you for explaining," he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity, "and… I'm really sorry for doubting you." He searched your face, as if wanting to find something there that reassured him you understood, that you weren’t going to pull away. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should. His eyes traced the details of your face, lingering on every curve and feature as if he was seeing you in a new light. There was a tenderness in his expression now that was missing before. "Remember," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "you are mine… and always will be." He spoke with a hint of possessiveness in his voice, just enough to send a chill down your spine.

Hyunjin

He accused you with almost no evidence, just a small smile that he had blown out of proportion. It was dramatic, the way his mood shifted, seeing something so innocent but interpreting it as something much darker. That smile—meant for no one in particular—had somehow become a symbol of his insecurity. To him, it was everything. Before you could react, Hyunjin shoved you roughly against the wall, trapping you between his arms. His body loomed over you, his hands pressed against the surface on either side of your head, leaving you no room to escape. His eyes, once warm, were now clouded with a raw intensity, his expression twisted with something that looked like betrayal. You blinked, confused, trying to process the sudden shift, but nothing made sense. The look on his face was one of deep hurt, though you had no idea why. You searched his eyes for some kind of explanation, but all you saw was anger and confusion. "Why?" his voice almost cracked, though he hadn’t said anything yet. The weight of his accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, even though you didn’t understand where it had come from.

It felt like he was seeing something that wasn’t really there. "Aren't you supposed to love me?" he asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty as he searched your eyes for any sign of affirmation. His gaze felt almost piercing, as if he was trying to read your very soul. "You should be looking at me only!" The sudden rise in his voice startled you, echoing off the walls with a mix of frustration and desperation. In one swift motion, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with an intensity that was both comforting and overwhelming. It felt as though he was trying to meld you into himself, squeezing you so hard that you could barely breathe. The warmth of his body enveloped you, yet it felt almost possessive, as if he was claiming you in that moment. "Don't smile at anyone else like that," he murmured into your hair, his voice dropping to a softer tone but still heavy with emotion. The words carried a weight that made your heart race, leaving you both confused and touched. You could sense his fear of losing you, his need for reassurance that you were truly his and his alone.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you like a shroud, making it hard to think straight. "Tell me, tell me you are mine," he urged, his voice eager as if the words he craved were on the tip of your tongue. His face broke into a grin, a stark contrast to the tension that had just passed between you, as if nothing had happened at all. "Right," he continued, caressing your hair gently, his touch tender yet possessive. "You said it, and you need to remember it." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. "Sorry for the doubt, darling," he said softly, the warmth of his voice almost soothing. But then, his tone shifted slightly, a playful edge creeping in. "And if I find out you’re playing behind my back, things will get a lot uglier." The smile on his lips held an unsettling promise, a reminder that while he was affectionate now, the depths of his possessiveness could easily turn dark. "Shall we head home?"

[doumadono]

Babyyyyy! Congratulations 💙🧡💙🧡 I am so happy to see you thrive 💗

Can I get some mint and raspberry ice-creams served in a cone, with some maple syrup on top? 😚 (pro hero au with pro hero Dabi)

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!reader, pussy fingering/eating, p in v, dom!Dabi

A/N: thank you very much for your support, sweetheart! I hope you enjoy these headcanons ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA ⊹ Pro hero Dabi - headcanons ⊹ PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO ⊹ Sidekick!Reader - pro hero Dabi headcanons (NSFW)

Dabi, the renowned pro hero, returns home after a day of saving lives and battling villains. His muscles are tense, his spirit is high, and his desire is burning like the blue flames that dance at his fingertips as he get inside his spacious apartment. His eyes are dark and tired at first, but there's a spark that ignites as soon as he looks at you, his lips curling upwards in a wry grin.

You've been waiting for him for hours, eager to provide some much-needed relief. You missed your boyfriend oh so much.

Dabi's strong hands grip your waist, pulling you close. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You can taste the smoky remnants of his quirk on his tongue as it dances with yours. Your hands reaching up to grip his broad shoulders. You break the kiss, panting. "Touya," you breathe, your cheeks flushed.

"Yes, darling?" Dabi's fingers trace the hem of your shirt. He smirks, knowing how much you love it when he takes control. He tugs the fabric up and over your head, exposing your lacy bra. Dabi's gaze lingers on your body, and you feel a thrill run through you.

You rub your thighs together to ease the tension and wetness building within your pussy. "I-I want you," you stammer, your cheeks flushing with desire as you ran the tip of your tongue over your upper lips to moisture it.

He palms your breasts, teasing your nipples through the lace. "Oh, I know you do," he says, his voice dripping with confidence.

You gasp again, arching into his touch. "Touya…"

Dabi's mouth finds your neck once more, leaving a trail of hot kisses that make you tremble. He continues his exploration, slowly unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. Touya's fingers pinch and roll your nipples, eliciting a moan from your lips. His other hand travels down your body, reaching the waistband of your pants. He deftly unbuttons them and pulls them off, leaving you in nothing but your lace panties. Dabi's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. He hooks his fingers into your panties, leans forward and kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue in your mouth as he tugs the panties down, letting them pool at your feet.

You step out of them, feeling vulnerable.

Dabi's hands explore your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch. One of them slips between your thighs and he growls lowly. "Fuck, doll, you're dripping," he claims, bringing his hand up to his lips, licking his index and middle fingers off your juices. He lifts you up effortlessly, like you weighted nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. He lays her down on the bed, his eyes raking over your body hungrily. He removes his own clothes, revealing his muscular form.

Touya positions himself between your legs, his fingers tracing the wetness between your thighs. He teases your entrance, making you squirm with anticipation. He takes his time, enjoying the power he holds over you in this moment, kissing all over your tummy and gradually coming down. Finally, Touya's mouth descends upon your aching core. His tongue flicks and teases your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. He doesn't shy away from sucking your lips into his mouth.

You cry out, gripping his snow-white, spiky hair as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. "O-Oh! Touya!"

Just as you're about to reach your peak, Dabi pulls away, leaving you gasping for more. He smirks, knowing the torture is part of the fun. He slowly pushes one finger inside, then another, stretching you in preparation for what's to come while his tongue flicks your clitoris.

You moan and arch your back, the sensation of his fingers combined with the anticipation driving you wild. "Oh, God!" You whine, rolling your head back to the pillow. "Fuck me already, tiger, I can't wait any longer," you beg, your eyes glistening with tears. "I don't want to come yet, please!"

He likes to take his time to play with you. He loves seeing you whining so pathetically, practically begging for his cock to be stuffed in your little cunt. When Dabi deems you ready, he positions himself above you, his turquoise eyes locked on yours. He smirks, his hand reaching down to grip his cock. He guides it to your entrance, rubbing it against your wet pussy. "Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, his hips thrusting forward. With one powerful thrust, he enters you, filling you completely.

You cry out, the feeling of him inside you overwhelming.

Dabi begins to move, his strokes deep and steady. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you cling to him, desperate for more.

"More, more more…" you plead desperately.

Dabi's hand finds your clit, rubbing small circles as he continues to pound into you. "You like that, don't you?" he growls, his hips thrusting harder.

The combination of sensations is too much, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of release. "Yes, yes, yes," you chant, your body moving in sync with his.

"Come for me then," Dabi growls, his voice low and commanding. A frown crosses his forhead as his cock throbs painfully, so ready to spill his seed deep within you. Soon, his own release is triggered by the feel of you tightening around him rhythmically.

With a final thrust of his, you shatter, crying out his name as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you; your pussy clenches around his cock making it impossible for him to pull out.

Finally, Touya collapses onto the bed, his body spent.

You curl up against him, your body still trembling. "Welcome back home, handsome," you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed.

He smiles, his arm wrapping around you, slowly rubbing the curve of your waist. "Thanks for such a warm welcome."

[batmanlovesnirvana]

‘our love still remains.’

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

ONE SHOT | angst, death, murder, depression, drugs, suicidal thoughts.

synopsis : A year had passed since you died, but grief lingered, clinging to Bruce like the ash of a fire long extinguished.

A/N : This was inspired by this haunting scene between Thomas Shelby and Grace’s ghost. It’s one of my favorite moments—so raw and emotional—and I couldn’t help but feel it resonates deeply with Bruce. The weight of grief, love, and unresolved pain feels like a perfect fit for his character.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes!

WAYNE MANOR had never seemed so empty.

A place once filled with quiet purpose, with the steady rhythm of lives intertwined, was now a mausoleum—a tomb for memories that Bruce could neither escape nor embrace.

You had been dead for a year, and with you, everything human in him had begun to rot.

He was barely functional. No. That wasn't right. He wasn't functional at all. 

A ghost of himself wandered these halls, sat in these rooms, wore his skin, but it wasn't him. 

Not anymore.

The fire in the study crackled weakly, but its warmth never reached him. It flickered, casting trembling shadows on the dark oak walls, as if mocking his inability to burn with anything but guilt.

Bruce sat hunched in his chair, his head low, his shirt disheveled and sleeves rolled up. 

The man who had once stood as Gotham's unshakable guardian, a force of sheer will, was now a fractured thing.

His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, stared into the flames, but they saw nothing. He didn't need to see. He had already memorized the way the world looked without you in it.

The decanter of whiskey shimmered in the firelight, its amber liquid untouched at his side. He had never been one to drink—not before. But since you'd been gone, nothing was the same.

Tonight, though, the glass remained full. Not yet. Not for this. 

He couldn't dull the edges of this particular torment. He had to feel it, let it pull him under, heavy and unrelenting, like a stone tethered to his chest, dragging him to the depths.

His hand hovered over the glass, fingers curling tightly around it, the tension in his knuckles sharp and pale. The tremor wasn't from the cold but from the brutal weight of his own restraint. His mind hissed its merciless refrain, over and over, unyielding:

It should've been me. Not you.

Me. Not you.

Me. Not you.

The glass gave way with a brittle snap, the shards biting into his palm, the sound cutting through the suffocating quiet like a scream. He didn't flinch. The brief sting was insignificant, a pale shadow of the raw, festering wound buried deep within—a wound that time had refused to heal, a wound that still bled.

He craves the burn. Craves the searing pain, the consuming fire that might finally match the inferno raging inside him—the fire that could never touch you the way it's devoured him.

The night presses close, suffocating and merciless, but he doesn't move.

He doesn't patrol. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat.

He simply exists, caught in the liminal space where grief and guilt coil around each other, tightening like a noose. Waiting—for the silence to break, for the weight to crush him, for something, anything, to drag him back from the edge of this endless void.

The door sighed as it swung open, the faint creak swallowed by the oppressive stillness.

Alfred entered, a silver tray balanced in his steady hands, its polished surface catching the flickering glow of the fire. Every movement was deliberate, quiet, as though the room itself demanded reverence. He set the tray down with a soft clink, his weathered face composed, but his eyes—sharp and searching—betrayed the concern he could no longer contain.

"Master Wayne..." His voice was soft, hesitant, like stepping onto fragile ground.

Bruce didn't stir. His gaze remained fixed on the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes like ghosts of battles fought and lost.

Undeterred, Alfred took a step closer, his measured footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "I thought you might need something to eat. It's been... some time." His tone was calm, but beneath it lay a quiet plea.

The silence stretched, vast and unyielding. Bruce remained a statue, motionless, unhearing—or perhaps unwilling to hear.

Alfred lingered, his hands clasped behind his back. He studied the man slumped in the chair, once an unshakable force—a sentinel against the darkness, a man who bore the weight of Gotham like it was his birthright.

But now?

Now, he was something hollow.

A shadow consumed by grief, its edges blurred, its substance eaten away until nothing but silence remained.

"No patrol tonight, then?" Alfred asked, though he already knew the answer.

Bruce's hands trembled faintly—not from the cold, nor from the blood still drying on his knuckles—but from something far deeper, raw and unrelenting.

The old butler sighed.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a small glass vial and placed it on the tray with deliberate care. The gesture was quiet, pointed—a subtle admonition wrapped in concern.

"I'm worried, sir," Alfred said, his voice thick with the weight of restrained emotion. "About the medicine. You've been relying on it too much."

Bruce's eyes flicked to the vial, his fingers curling involuntarily, but his lips remained sealed.

His gaze turned distant, unfocused, as though he were retreating into some unreachable corner of his mind. The flicker of firelight played across his expression, but it gave nothing away. The silence, though, spoke volumes.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth feeble against the icy void that seemed to envelop the room.

"She wouldn't want this," Alfred ventured at last, his voice trembling at the edges. The words came haltingly, heavy with pain. Saying them was a struggle; even he found it difficult to speak of her. "I know it's hard, but—"

But he faltered.

What could he say to a man who had lost so much? To a man who believed the one constant in his life—the one light in his endless night—had slipped from his grasp because of him? What comfort could Alfred offer someone who carried the unbearable weight of guilt and grief and punished himself for it, day after day?

Not even the ever-thoughtful Alfred had answers for that.

He lingered for a moment longer, his weathered gaze heavy with unspoken worry, before letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. Stepping back, he retreated as softly as he'd entered, unwilling to disturb the fragile stillness any further.

The door closed behind him with a muted click, leaving Bruce alone once more in the oppressive quiet, the firelight casting shadows that danced like ghosts around the room.

Bruce didn't move. The tray remained untouched, its polished surface glinting dully in the flickering firelight. The room seemed colder somehow, emptier, as though the flames themselves were losing the will to fight against the encroaching dark.

The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating.

His hand moved slowly, hesitantly, reaching for the vial. His fingers trembled as they closed around the cool glass, the faint quiver betraying the storm raging beneath his impassive exterior. He held it up, watching the liquid swirl under the amber glow of the fire. For a moment, he hesitated—then tipped his head back, letting the bitter contents slide down his throat in one unbroken motion.

The burn was sharp. Familiar. Almost comforting.

But it fixed nothing.

The ache inside him remained, raw and unrelenting. He stayed rooted to the chair, unable to move, the weight of his grief pinning him down. His eyes drifted to the shards of glass scattered across the carpet, their jagged edges catching the firelight like cruel reflections of his fractured soul.

With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the empty vial into the flames. It shattered on impact, the fire greedily consuming the fragments until nothing remained.

His head dropped into his hands, shoulders curling inward as though trying to shield himself from the crushing weight of everything he couldn't escape. The room fell silent again, save for the crackle of the fire, each ember rising like a ghost of what once was.

And then, it happened. Just as it always did.

The impossible.

You appeared.

Bruce's cold, detached eyes flickered, his breath hitching as the warmth of an illusion—one he neither welcomed nor could let go—took shape before him.

You were perched on the edge of the canopy seat by the window, your silk pajamas catching the soft firelight in a way that felt achingly real. One leg was tucked beneath you, the other dangling lazily, your toes grazing the rug in that familiar way that sent a sharp pang through his chest.

Your hair spilled loose around your shoulders, soft and untamed, just as it had on those stolen nights when dawn would catch you both mid-conversation, the rest of the world forgotten.

And then there was the smile. That quiet, tender smile—the one that had unraveled him every time, breaking through walls he hadn't even realized he'd built.

The billionaire swallowed hard, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "What now?"

Bruce's bitter smile wavered as you tilted your head, amusement flickering in your eyes like embers in the fire.

"What am I, a genie?" you teased, your voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken. Your gaze darted to the flames, where the shattered remnants of the vial had disappeared. "Summoning me with your little bottle of dope?"

His laugh was dry, almost inaudible. "I take it for the pain," he murmured, the words heavy, fragile, as if they might shatter under the weight of his grief. His eyes found yours, softening in a way that made him feel utterly exposed. "To keep warm."

You moved then, gliding across the room with that effortless grace he had memorized, your bare feet soundless against the carpet. He stiffened when he felt your fingers ghost across his shoulder—a touch too warm, too tender to be real. Yet he didn't pull away.

"Is that what it's for?" you asked, your voice wrapping around him like a balm for a wound that would never heal. "The warmth?"

Bruce closed his eyes, his head dipping forward slightly as if trying to catch just a moment more of the phantom sensation. "The warmth," he echoed, his voice breaking. "All this time..."

You moved again, slipping into the space beside him on the couch, your presence as vivid as the firelight dancing in his peripheral vision.

He turned toward you, and for the briefest, most treacherous moment, it felt real—your scent, your nearness, the way you looked at him like you could see straight through to his soul.

He leaned in, his breath catching as he inhaled the memory of you, his eyes fluttering shut in the desperate hope that he could hold on just a little longer. Just a little longer.

But deep down, he knew.

It wasn't real.

It never was.

The realization struck like a knife twisting in his chest, but he clung to the illusion all the same. He would take anything—anything—to feel you again, even if it was a cruel lie conjured by his own fractured mind.

To touch you. To kiss you. To lose himself in you, the only solace he had ever known.

Since your death, there had been no one else. No empty arms, no fleeting connections. He didn't want anyone else. Couldn't. It was always you. It would always be you.

"I know," you whispered, your hand brushing his cheek in a gesture so gentle, it nearly broke him. His breath hitched, a tear slipping free.

"Our love still remains," you said, your words a quiet promise in the suffocating silence.

And you were right.

Because no matter who tried to step into his life, none of them could ever compare to you.

Bruce's head bowed, his shoulders trembling as he pressed his forehead to the illusion of your hand.

He didn't speak, didn't dare. He let the hallucination linger, let it fill the gaping void inside him for as long as it would. When it faded—and it always did—the cold would return, and he would be alone once more.

They lingered in that fragile silence, heavy with the weight of unsaid words, the room echoing with everything neither could bear to voice.

At last, you broke it, your tone steady yet tender. "But you have to listen, Bruce. To the voices you hear. To what they're telling you."

His brow furrowed deeply, his eyes squeezing shut as if to block out everything but you. "There's too much to do," he whispered, his voice trembling, breaking under the strain. His breath hitched unevenly. "The kids... the city... it never stops."

When he finally opened his eyes, they met yours, glassy and filled with unshed tears. "I need to say goodbye," he confessed, his voice a raw whisper, hoarse and fractured.

He rubbed his face with trembling hands, weary to his bones. "I need to sleep... just for a little while."

Your hands cradled his face again, grounding him in the moment, as real to him as the warmth of the fire. "Then think, Bruce," you urged, your voice a mix of unwavering love and quiet strength. "Think about what I would tell you. About what you need to do."

A tear slipped down his cheek, his body trembling as he leaned into the phantom touch. He tried to form words, but they came out as fractured pieces of his anguish. "It's too much... I can't... I should've..."

His voice cracked and faltered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've protected you. I should've saved you."

"You don't need to apologize," you said softly, your voice cutting through his despair like a light in the dark. "I was never angry with you, Bruce. I never could be."

His chest clenched painfully, a fresh wave of tears spilling free. "But I failed you," he choked out, his voice barely audible.

"You didn't fail me," you replied, your words sharp yet soothing. "But you're failing yourself."

You moved in closer, kneeling in front of him, your hands lifting his face so his eyes met yours.

There was a love in your gaze that steadied him, but also something more—a heaviness, a truth he couldn't yet name. "This isn't the way, Bruce. I won't let you destroy yourself like this."

His grief overtook him, his entire frame trembling with the force of it. "I can't let go," he admitted, his voice breaking as fresh sobs racked his body. "Not of you. Not yet."

Your smile returned, soft and filled with sadness. "Then let go of the pain," you said gently. "Let go of the guilt. Let go of the past. I'm here, but I can't stay. Not like this. Not while you're lost in the dark."

His heart shattered again, the pieces cutting deeper, but he couldn't deny the truth in your words.

"Please," he whispered, his voice raw, pleading, desperate. "Please don't leave me. I can't do this alone."

But you were already slipping away, your warmth dissipating like smoke, fading from his grasp.

He reached out, his hands trembling, but there was nothing there—nothing to hold onto. The room grew colder, your presence vanishing into the shadows, leaving him alone in the silence.

The fire crackled softly, its flames flickering weakly against the oppressive darkness. The emptiness of the room settled over him, pressing down with a weight he couldn't bear.

"I'll never let go," he whispered, his voice fragile, a shattered promise he knew he could never keep.

But you were gone. And the silence consumed everything.

Bruce's hand lingered on his cheek, still warm from where you'd touched him, but it too began to cool, slipping away too quickly.

Long moments passed before his voice cracked through the stillness, breaking the silence like glass. "I'll think," he murmured into the void. "I promise."

Even as the words left his lips, they felt empty—hollow echoes in a room full of nothing. 

As hollow as the man who spoke them.

go check [ TU’BURNI (Bruce Wayne fic) ]

Little thing while I write the next chapters of TU’BURNI :)

I’ve been considering publishing one of my Tommy Shelby fics, so if anyone’s interested, please lmk.

[bookwormjust]

Shadows and Remedies (established relationship with Azriel, you are a healer who go to some formation to multiplied your skills because their is new poisons in Prythian)

The days had become longer since you began your healer training, specializing in poisons and their antidotes. It was important work—critical, even. Poisoning had always been a threat in Prythian, and new, deadlier toxins were constantly surfacing. You’d taken it upon yourself to deepen your knowledge, learning how to manipulate and counteract the poisons that could harm your people. It wasn’t just for strangers, though. It was for your mate, Azriel, and for everyone you loved in the Inner Circle, who so often found themselves in dangerous situations.

But it meant long hours.

Your classes stretched late into the evening, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to be completely exhausted by the time you finished each night. The intricate work of studying toxins was mentally taxing, and there was always something new to learn—a more potent poison, a subtler symptom, a more complex cure.

Tonight was no different. The clock had just struck past 8pm, and the quiet halls of the training center were dimly lit, the day’s lessons weighing heavily on your mind. You stretched your sore muscles as you gathered your things, thoughts drifting to the townhouse where Azriel was likely waiting for you. You hadn’t seen him all day; both of you had been swept up in your respective responsibilities.

As you stepped outside, the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, soothing the tension that had built up in your body. The stars twinkled overhead, but your focus was on getting home, seeing Azriel, and just… unwinding in his arms.

The walk through Velaris was peaceful, the Sidra shimmering nearby as you made your way back to the townhouse. Despite the long days, you felt fulfilled. Your training was important, and you knew it could make a difference—not just for the soldiers and spies who faced poisons in battle, but for anyone who might fall victim to such a cruel fate.

As you approached your home, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, leaning casually against the front door. Azriel. His wings were tucked neatly behind him, his hazel eyes gleaming softly in the dim light. He was still dressed in his leathers, though his stance was relaxed, and there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you approach.

"Hey, you," you called softly, a tired smile spreading across your face.

Azriel straightened, walking toward you with that fluid grace he always carried. "You’re late," he teased gently, though his voice was full of warmth. His eyes swept over you, assessing whether you were okay—whether the long day had taken too much of a toll on you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand as he came close. “Classes ran long,” you said, squeezing his fingers. “There’s always something new to learn about poisoning. I swear, they keep coming up with new ways to kill people.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, but he pulled you closer, his wings extending slightly to shield you from the chill of the evening. "Which is why you’re doing this," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "You’re going to save lives."

The sincerity in his words sent a warmth through your chest. Azriel had always been your biggest supporter, and it meant everything to you that he understood how important this was. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest for a moment, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the lingering tension in your body.

"Let’s get you inside," Azriel said softly, pulling back just enough to brush a kiss against your forehead. “I made dinner. It’s waiting for you.”

You looked up at him in surprise, a smile blooming on your face. “You cooked?”

He shrugged, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I tried. Don’t get your hopes up—it’s edible, at least.”

You laughed, the sound lifting the weight off your shoulders. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

Inside, the townhouse was warm and inviting, the scent of whatever Azriel had made filling the air. You kicked off your shoes and let Azriel guide you to the dining table, where two plates were set out—simple, but thoughtful. As you sat down, Azriel poured you a glass of wine, his eyes watching you closely as you took a sip.

The evening passed in a blur of quiet conversation, the two of you catching up on your day. Azriel shared some of the details from his latest mission, though he kept the more dangerous parts vague—he never wanted to worry you unnecessarily. And you told him about the new poison you’d studied today, the rare herbs required for its antidote, and how you’d practiced creating the cure in class.

But as the night wore on, Azriel grew quieter, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual.

“What is it?” you asked softly, setting your glass down as you noticed the way he was looking at you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes. “I just… I worry about you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re learning all these things about poisons, and I know you’re doing it to help others, but… I can’t help but think about the risks. About how dangerous it can be.”

Your heart squeezed at his words. Azriel was rarely this open about his fears, but you could always sense them. His protectiveness over you was fierce, but it was also rooted in love.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand. “But I’m careful. And I’m doing this so that if—no, when—someone needs help, I’ll be able to give it. I’m doing this for you, too, Az.”

His gaze softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “I know. I just… I can’t lose you.”

You stood up, moving around the table to slip into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms immediately came around you, holding you close as you pressed your forehead against his. “You won’t lose me,” you murmured. “We protect each other, remember?”

Azriel nodded, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll always protect you,” he promised, his voice fierce with determination.

“And I’ll protect you,” you replied, brushing a soft kiss against his lips.

For a long moment, you just held each other, the world outside fading away. In the quiet of your home, with the warmth of his body against yours, you felt safe. No matter how long your days were, no matter the dangers that came with your work, you knew you had this—Azriel, your love, your bond.

And that was all the protection you needed.