#and he simply wants one without the other sometimes

[shellxrls]

— r. cameron / reader

warnings: DUBCON — rafe roofies and then rapes reader / unprotected PinV / misogyny / mention of drugs (cocaine & roofies) / mention of virginity / inspiration taken from maddy & nate (euphoria)

synopsis: rafe cameron x fem!reader… sometimes rafe needs to slip a girl a little something at a party to get some, and where’s the shame in that if he knows they want him anyway, they’re just too prudish to admit it.

After you’ve successfully been dosed, he makes you sit on his lap for lack of space on the couch so he can rock you on his knee until you’re tired, delirious, and horny enough to be lifted upstairs, legs dangling against his broad back while you hiccup and giggle next to your upside-down view of his chest.

His nose is numb from the coke and his brain heady, one could argue almost as inebriated as you. But the lines make him oversaturated, not cock-dumb like what he slipped you — eager hands already pawing at his zipper and coming to a fumbled close around the metal just before you’re tossed onto a bed, spread aloof like the crumpled sheets.

“You’re sooo nice to me Rafe.. when all the other guys were sayin’i shoulda gone home,” you end with a belligerent nod of your head, slurring throughout and biting your lip in sexless embarrassment, chewing the skin raw enough to reflect your torn consciousness instead.

Rafe simply smirks, chin protruding outwards while his eyes flit between your thighs peeking through your overridden dress and your tits falling out of the frilly décolletage.

“You a virgin?”

“Mhm” you lie, despite the reeling dizziness occupying your headspace. Besides, nobody likes a whore — especially not rafe, uninterested in ‘stretched out pussy’ as you vaguely recall from his earlier conversation crowded around friends.

He approaches closer now, knocking your trembling knees apart with one of his beefy thighs, bulge forward and creasing in his pants as your dialogue gets him hard already, imposing his physicality in all its glory: “What like— you’ve never even been fingered before?”

You shake your head, tousling curls before staring back up at him, “Only my own.”

To that he chuckles, the noise grating and stunted when he uses it as an excuse to adjust himself in his pants, drawing his chest down further until he’s now hovering above you.

“Uh y’know,” he tongues at his cheek, “I could take care of that for you, practically all spread open an’ready huh?”

Like it wasn’t his plan to get you dumb and stuffed by the end of the night, even if it meant bringing out his inner brute, he was taller, faster, stronger — he could do it if he really wanted, but he made it easy for you instead. Could feel the roofie worming its way into your consciousness, jamming rationality and flooding you with hedonistic desire that would trigger your sex endorphins and make it so that you would want this, that he could brag about it without you opening your bitch mouth the next day and claiming ‘rape’; an ugly word anyways, coming out harsh in a spit, nothing like what rafe was doing to you, especially not with the way you were looking at him.

Your mouth opens, then closes, seemingly flailing on confirmation when really your jaw is getting slack and numb, and so you feel encouraged to nod instead, the movement making your thoughts go all bubbly, refracting Rafe’s glinting eyes at your ‘consent’.

He wastes no time with prep, shoving your dress up so it’s tucked over your tits, basal temperature remaining warm and stuffy despite the exposure to cool air. A good indicator though, means rafe can tell it’s working, and just how long he has before you might start struggling.

When he pulls himself out of his shorts it’s surprising, of course, everything about him is pretty, one would expect a tangible reflection of the cruelty on his features but instead, his dick looks cutesy, if not for the intimidating size.

Spit trickles harshly down his palm when he wraps a hand around himself, tugging quickly and using both his legs to split you around his midriff, leaking and achy despite the inattention you’ve received.

“You want this dick so fuckin’ bad huh,” he laughs at the puddle of arousal leaking out underneath you, considers swiping a finger into it to stick into your mouth but he doubts you’d be able to breathe right now if he interfered with the half catatonic features on your face, and it’s not like he’s out for that type of violence anyways (or at least not right now).

When he pushes himself inside you’re silent, pupils retreating in favour of a squeal — ironically a very Rafe-esque trait — while Rafe bites down into his cheek and rolls his palm over your chest to ease the pressure of the fit.

“Thought the roofie woulda loosened you up a bit..” mumbled out while his stomach clenches, now bracing his entire heavy arm across your abdomen and pinching skin when you involuntarily quiver at the weight, “You can take it c’mon.”

He thrusts hard and uncoordinated, fucking like he knows he’s hot, or at least how many more pills he has left in his stash. Knocking against your insides and entirely focused on the way his dick feels, knowing how easily he could move onto another victim, and just how much he wants to enjoy you in particular before it’s over.

Sweat clings to both your bodies, the slick getting louder when each thrust manages to pound a squelch out of you, spattering against the sheets or catching on Rafe’s balls to stick the both of you together with messy tendrils.

You’re pliant, let him move your legs so your ankles entwine behind his back, heavy hand locking them together and giving you both little breathing room; just enough for him to spill obscenities straight into your emotionless face with hot, sticky breath — he laughs, manically and seemingly at his own joke, before deciding to share it with you, “just don’t go running ‘bout me ‘assaulting’ you right. You wanted this, not my fault my cock’s so good the slut has to go dumb hmm?” mocking you with a teasing lilt and a raised brow.

You pat at his swollen chest, it’s all you can manage to do, urgent to get him off you, give you a little space atleast. He only shoves himself in further, lips puckering to sloppily catch yours, saliva straying down your chin and jaw instead.

Your outright discomfort seems to get him going even more, thrusts increasing in increment despite becoming more careless, tip catching your clit when he slips out and hurries to stuff it back in.

When his face pinches up, brows tensed and nose furrowed, you can tell he’s going to cum, the friction between your bodies almost unbearable with the heat that suddenly envelops him.

A slew of curses are hissed out, casual vulgarity being one of Rafe’s favourite expressions of self, and then he’s pulling out and wrapping a fist around himself to paint your tummy white. Ropes shooting watery on your tummy and painting him a proud picture.

He shakes himself off on you a final time before tucking his wet dick back into his briefs, cleaning himself up entirely unbothered by the dissected mess of you laying drugged and fucked out on the bed.

“My head feels funny.”

“Yeah, that’s cause I fucked it out of whack.” He says it serious but you can imagine his upturned lips at his own sick sense of humour.

“Where are you going?” you sit up groggy, chest tight.

“Uhh, back downstairs, got some more yayo I needa lay off— you can stay here or.. wherever, doesn’t matter.”

He has the decency to shut the door fully when he leaves, yet you’re still alone and forced to lay in the waste of one of Rafe Cameron’s nights out.

[aheathen-conceivably]

The tour was going better than even Josephine could have imagined. Despite the melodramatic resignation with which Antoine had gotten in the car the morning they had left Strangerville, or the brooding quiet he adopted on their drives between performances, he was a different person on stage. 

So much so that when Jo watched him perform she knew that this was where he was always meant to be, even if he had tried to pretend otherwise. After all, she had been the one who had been there from the first moment he had ever sat in front of a piano, advocating for him first at the club with their mother and then with men all over town. She had been the one who had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself.

And for whatever cowboy fantasy he may have been living in Strangerville, seeing him like this was like watching him come alive all over again - until finally, it was as though the best of the artist he had been under the heavy weight of the Storyville air had been set free, colliding and enmeshing with some idea of himself he had found on the open mesas.

With every cheer and every show it grew stronger; and even as he might have grown more homesick or quiet with her, something else was growing in him. Away from the stage, she would catch him at all hours of the day and night, huddled with his guitar and clutching a pen, working quietly but furiously on compositions and lyrics.

It didn’t seem to matter how shabby their accommodations were, or that each bed and each view was different but woefully the same as the one before. He only had himself and his guitar, and whether that was enough or just a distraction from the fact that it would never be, she was unable or unwilling to discern.

As the weeks wore on, they fell into a sort of rhythm, one governed by constant movements and brief moments of respite. Antoine would wake when Jo turned on the lights only to know without words that they would have to load up the car to get to their next stop, check in another hotel, unload their bags yet again, play another show, and end up back in the same room by evening. Day after day, the same routine was governed by blurred vistas from a car window, tinged with movement and restlessness, just like Jo's soul had always been.

So it was in those brief moments of stillness that Antoine would just simply sit and write, allowing whatever stained carpet he was sitting on to become home for just a moment. Only Jo could still see it even when she was meant to rest - the freshly paved black asphalt shivering in the ever present sun, stretching out all the way to the Pacific Ocean. It was impossible to ignore, not when she knew what was waiting for her just outside.

So she would tell Antoine that she would be home soon, a quick nod telling her that he had barely heard her. Moments later, she had left the hotel in her rearview mirror. Then, without fail, the feeling of freedom rushed over her as the wind roared past her ears and deafened her to every noise swirling around her, even those coming from inside her own head. She never wanted to stop the car once it got going, the asphalt burning hot under the incessant movement of the tires and the charged touch of the accelerator as it gave way under her heel, finally meeting the metal below as the car groaned under her.

But eventually, begrudgingly, she would realize that she had gone too far to be back home by sunrise, or to know where the nearest gas station was, so she would turn around back to the hotel that she called home for only a few nights at a time.

Sometimes when she returned, he would be asleep, run ragged by the driving and shows that only made her more energized than she had ever been in her life. Other times he was still sitting exactly where she left him, guitar clutched in his hand and seemingly surprised that hours had gone by while she was away. Those nights it was like they had both caught the one another in a daydream, Jo’s mind still racing as fast as the car had been and Antoine’s numbed to the outside world by the lyrics that flowed from it like whiskey.

Only when they met each other's eyes did they realize another day awaited them - one filled with the promise or dread of yet another faceless room and a cheering crowd. Then there was little left to do but sleep with the hope that you had the energy to face it.

When the sun broke through the curtains, it brought with it another drive, another hotel, and another show - another day of the movement that had carried them along like waves for weeks at a time. So Antoine would brush the sleep from his eyes, only half aware even as Jo clasped the pearls behind each ear. Then he would rustle up his papers, slow to fit each shirt back into his suitcase as though it shrank with each stop.

By the time they were back in Val's car, the wind took over for the silence of a long drive, grown more poignant by the fact that part of her knew that he didn’t want to be there, and part of him saw that she would push them forward nonetheless.

Except at the end of every drive was yet another show, softening the tension between them with his lyrics that reinforced to her that this was where he was meant to be all along. He never faltered as he played, reminded that despite whatever had kept him awake the night before, this was always waiting for him. Every song and every note like an outlet for his pain, his feelings free to roam through him and escape from him like nothing else.

All their lives, Jo had watched him hide the words he had wanted to say, or the frustrations he felt. She was proud, and even more deeply, joyful that she had gotten him here. Finally, singing on a stage where people listened to him and appreciated him for the artist he was, even if it was in the corner of some dusty bar in the middle of some desert state. She was smart enough to see that if he just allowed it for himself, this was only the beginning. So when Hosa caught up to them on the last leg of their tour and offered her not one but two more tours, she didn’t even hesitate before saying yes.

[senmiyaazx]

WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH I HAD JUST PLAYED THE NEW UPDATE AND THE BAD ENDING KILLED ME. I WANT TO PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH MY COMPUTER BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE IT'S TOO EXPENSIVE 😭 I'LL NEVER LOOK AT AXES AND CROWE THE SAME EVER AGAIN

sorry for being overdramatic that ending really hurt me and i love crowe 😢

can you write crowe and reader's date after they got together in day 1? let's say Sol didn't find out when crowe and reader kissed so crowe gets to live (not for long tho)

i just wanted a peaceful love life with Jericho Ichabod 😭

CROWE X GN READER

spoilers for the update (bad ending)

a/n: an au where mc remembers all the saves they've done and knowing that they'll never be able to reciprocate crowe's feelings without putting him in danger would make pretty good angst ngl.

cw: slight angst (I'm sorry I couldn't help it). overall very fluffy. i think. reader is lowkey a simp.

bonus fanart at the end!

---------

He's so pretty it hurts. Pretty like the way his braided hair fell gracefully on his shoulders. Pretty like the ethereal glow that kissed his tan skin in the afternoon sun. Pretty, like his sapphire irises that gazed at you with such fondness that it made your heart ache.

Fuck. He's so beautiful and you're sure he's aware of it.

"(Name)? Are you okay?" He asks as if you'll ever be okay when he looks at you like that.

After that night— that one special night that might as well be one of your core memories. It was your first kiss. With Crowe. The guy you thought would never reciprocate your feelings. The man who liked you longer than you did.

Crowe.

And now, it's just you two in your comfort spot. The school garden. After that night he invited you here. For what? A date? Gee, is he trying to kill you or something?

It was already difficult enough to face him after.. well, the kiss. Now he decided to invite you to somewhere private. Just the two of you. Crowe and I.

It's weird thinking like that. It feels weird to put your name beside Crowe, even if you've discreetly written your name next to him with a heart multiple times on your notebook.

And yet you still called yourself a mere 'admirer'. How naive could you get?

Ah, well, it doesn't matter now. You sat next to him on the ground with your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, and you're stiffer than a damn wall.

Don't look at me like that. You think. Don't you dare give me that look. That concerned, caring face he always gave you when you're feeling incredibly warm and your heart is seconds away from going into cardiac arrest. Can you stop being so handsome?

"(Name)," Crowe repeats, bringing you back to reality. "Are you okay?"

You take a deep breath. Maybe you're being too dramatic, acting like a teenage girl with her first crush. Or maybe Crowe just has that effect on you. Can you really blame yourself? He's like a prince for fuck's sake. "Yeah. Don't worry."

His brows furrowed, unconvinced. "Loosen up a little, won't you? You act like we're strangers." His tone takes on a more playful one, hoping to lighten the mood. "We've known each other for a year.. yet you're still so nervous around me." He grinned. His hand reaches out to brush a stray hair away from your face, the warmth from his touch lingering. What a tease.

"Not my fault you're so handsome.." You crossed your arms with a huff. "Seriously. If being pretty was illegal you'd be a criminal." You weren't even aware of what you're saying at this point. You've gotten so comfortable with Crowe that you simply didn't care what you say in front of him.

He blinks, staring at you as you continued to mumble under your breath. Cute. He thinks. You're way too cute sometimes.

He leaned in closer, a teasing grin on his face. "You think I'm that pretty?"

You stop mumbling, turning to face him only to be jumpscared because of how close he was. "What the- Of course I do!" You lean away from him, cheeks warm. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who thinks that way. Aren't you aware of the letters you received on Valentine's day?"

He smiled at this, backing away to give you space. "Of course I was." He paused, studying your figure with a warm gaze. "But you know I only had eyes for you on that day."

Your chest tingled, remembering the chocolate you gifted to him. You didn't expect he'd have a gift of his own for you too. Back then, you always thought he'd forget about you one day.

He never did.

"Corny." Yet you couldn't help the smile that crept to your lips, contrasting your words. He let out a chuckle at that to which you responded with a light punch to his shoulder.

A long silence settled comfortably between you two for a while. Simply basking in each other's presence, taking in the peaceful scenery with him. Despite the silence, it was enough for you. Being with him was enough.

And you couldn't help but voice it out loud. "I'm so glad to be with you."

He's caught off guard by that, but quickly regains his composure as he intertwined your fingers together with the softest smile you've ever seen.

"Me too."

Heavens, you love him. So damn much.

So please let this moment last forever.

---------

bonus cuz i love Crowe so much

not the best art I've done but i really wanted to do this to give myself motivation to write:) and also i wanted an excuse to draw him even though i already have a w.i.p of him lol

[soo0hee]

A Teachers Crush

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader

Summary — Falling for your coworker was never a good idea and it was no surprise that at one point things couldn't go on the way it was anymore...

Genre — fluff, angst, kindergarten!au

Warnings — kisses, some cursing

Word Count — 3.1k

Rating — pg-13

A/N — I got it done @tusswrites ! Have fun with teacher!hannie my luv✨️

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

Working with Yoon Jeonghan was delightful and a nightmare all at the same time.

For one, he was an amazing coworker. Reliable, loyal, funny, kind, helpful and so many more things you could name that would probably tale ages if you had to list them all.

He was wonderful with the kids you and him taught together and he was definitely one of their favorite teachers in the entire kindergarten! Watching him play with them left you feeling warm and fuzzy. Butterflies were flying wildly inside you’re your stomach every single time without fail.

On the other hand, you felt like your heart would explode if you stayed in his proximity for to long… What could you say? You were crushing hard on your coworker and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Handing you your favorite mug with little blue snowflakes covering the porcelain surface early in the morning send a small tired smile on your lips.

“Thank you.” You yawned, flipping mindlessly through the book you planned on reading with the kids later in the day.

“Is it time for The Gruffalo again, hm?” Jeonghan snickered at your sighes.

“Well unless you got something better planned for todays morning circle, then yes. It’s time for The Gruffalo.” You shrugged.

It was only 7:24 am, meaning the only teachers who were around were you and Jeonghan, at least for another half an hour and you were sure that the first kid would arrive soon. In fact, you could hear the happy babbling of the first boy with his mom in the hallway while hanging up his jacket and putting on his indoor shoes.

A little did you dread the encounter with the kids mom. Not because she was a rude person, no! But you knew that when this woman started talking, there was no way she would stop soon. Sometimes you really wondered how she got to work on time…

“Good morniiing, Miss y/n!” You almost jumped at the sudden voice of in front of you. You hadn’t even notice that the boy appeared in the group room until he stood right in front of you, waiting to greet you.

It was custom for you that once the kids were inside, they would greet you one by one so you knew that the child arrived and the child in return felt seen by you. It didn’t mean that it always worked, especially if there are a lot of kids arriving at the same time and someone slips past you into the room. But now you did notice.

“Good Morning, Chan! How do you want to say hello? Do you want to shake my hand, fist bump or high five?” you asked the boy who thought for a second about his options.

“High Five please!”

Holding up your hand so he could easily reach it you gave him a High Five and let him go to decide what he wanted to do next.

Chan walked to the small couch you had tucked away in a more quiet corner of the room where there were books on a shelf on the side and a well loved TonieBox with it’s storytime figurines. Soon the theme track of PawPatrol was heard as he calmly flipped through a book about the fire department. He did this every morning without fail, rather choosing to play by himself while waiting for the next kid to come that he could play with instead of playing a game with you or Jeonghan. Some kids simply had their routines they needed to follow to feel comfortable and that was fine with you. After all, you, Jeonghan and the other teachers did the same thing when arriving.

“Does he have his lunch in a box today, or will he be eating with us?” Jeonghan asked, standing behind you, now with his hand resting on your shoulder. It took a lot from you not to flinch in surprise, especially when you felt his thumb gently caressing the skin that wasn’t covered by your sweater.

Feeling significantly warmer by the second at his touch, you shut the book that was still open and set it aside for later.

“Channie has his lunch in his bagpack today and would it be possible to pick him up a bit eralier today? I know you have your pick up times bit we have a doctors appointment later today and it would be really stressful to be on time for that if I come later.”

You nodded. “Of course! Just ring the bell and someone will let you in then.”

The mother put her hands together as a thankful gesture and said goodbye to her son once more. Chan barely registered his mother talking to him as he was absorbed in the adventure of the firemen on his pages. He muttered a quiet, “Bye mommy!” without looking up and his mother was out the door just when as the next girl arrived and the entire spiel started anew.

However seeing the tears spill from Lily’s eyes at the prospect of having to let go of her dad you got up, missing the warmth of Jeonghans hand on you almost immediately, to approach them.

You wiped her tears with a tissue from the box to your left and held out your arms which she willingly fell into while hiding her face in your shoulder.

“She didn’t sleep that well tonight, so she’s a bit grouchy.” Her father sighed sadly.

“Oh, that’s okay. We all have nights like that, don’t we?” you coed at the girl in your arms while running your hand over her back to sooth her little sobs.

Lily nodded hesitantly but evidently calmer then just a moment before.

Knowing that his daughter was okay with you, he said goodbye eliciting a little whimper from the girl.

“Wanna wave…” She sniffeled loud enough so you and her father could hear her.

The famous “Waving Window” was something the kids loved to go to in the morning. It was a window that they could see their parents once more and wave to them while they walked out to their cars.

“Want me to come with you? Or do you want to wave alone?”

“With you...”

Her father nodded in understanding, told her goodbye and left you and Lily to go to the Waving Window.

Together you watched a woman walk by with her dogs, before pointing to the man waiting for his child to wave goodbye.

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest Jeonghan couldn’t help but smile at the sight on the window. Lily was still snuggled into your side but now much calmer and conversing with you and another girl that had just come in about the dogs you had seen.

Ever since you had come to work with him few years ago, he had slowly gotten to know more about you and how you ticked.

To those you didn’t know and who didn’t know you, you could seem standoffish, quiet and desinterested in others, but not long into your partnership he found out just how delightful you really were. Soft, kind, funny, determined, loving. All words he would use to describe you and in quiet moments like this, it showed the most.

Free from the stress of the day you were able to take the time you needed with the girl to bond. Something that sometimes fell through with 25 kids per class who all needed or wanted your attention at the same time.

“Admiring your work wife again, huh?” Soyeon, the teacher from a different class came in and teased at witnessing his star struck face and the male felt his cheeks heat up.

“What? No! I was not-“

The woman raised her eyebrow and Jeonghan fell silent with a huff.

“Oh shut it.”

-----------

The day was surprisingly calm if you were being honest. With the cold weather the season brought with it, quite a few kids were sick and stayed at home and around lunch time, your group of 25 was reduced to 14 in total.

Calm.

While the kids ate their food with Jeonghan helping where he was needed, you went to the other room besides yours where you had a small library to put the book back where it belonged. The giant box on top of the shelf containing some paper you needed to prepare an activity for the next few days mocking you as it was to high for you to reach on your own.

“Jeonghan? Can you come over here?” You called and his face promptly appeared in view.

“Do you need something?”

“Yeah can you get the box down from there?” You pointed to the shelf, pouting that you couldn’t do it yourself.

The man laughed quietly and came in, dogging your weak slap to his shoulder.

“Stop laughing!”

“I’m not, I promise!”

Unimpressed you tilted your head.

“Just help me, you idiot.” You couldn’t stop the smile at his antics and stuck your tongue out at him.

Jeonghan came to a stop and your heart faltered when you realized that he was merely inches away from you, grabbing the box and took it down just to lean even closer.

“Here…”

The words suddenly seemed to be stuck in your throat and for a moment you were frozen as you felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin until-

“Are you going to kiss now?”

You jumped in shock. Riki, one of the older boys stood in the door giggling at the sight of his teachers being face to face like this.

Neither of you had noticed the door slowly closing behind the male teacher just like neither of you had noticed the boy opening it again.

“No!” you squeaked while Jeonghan almost dropped the box in his hands.

“Go back to your seat and eat, Riki Nishimura!” Your coworker rushed out, looking every bit as embarrassed as you felt.

Situations like this weren’t new, for neither of you. They happened all the time and at this point you should be used to it.

After all, for months your kids thought you and Jeonghan were married and it took a lot to convince them otherwise.

“But why aren’t you married?” Mari, one of the younger girls wanted to know, not understanding why you weren’t. You had stammered out a half hearted explanation which didn’t leave them satisfied but they also didn’t ask any further.

The worst however was when even the parents started making little comments here and there.

“You okay?”

“Yeah! Y-yeah, I’m good.” You swallowed and quickly left him standing there. Jeonghan stood there for a few moments longer. Rikis words had shifted something in him, something he had tried to bury deep down within him.

They echoed in his mind over and over again.

“Are you going to kiss now?”

No, but he wanted to.

And he had wanted to for so long already, he wasn’t quite sure when it had started.

Was it when he hot to know you? Or when he saw how much you loved what you did?

Or maybe when he realized just how much your eyes sparkled when he talked to you… how his heart sped up when he heard you laugh about something.

He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts and back to reality. A reality where you had run from him…

---------

You felt awfull.

After having run out on Jeonghan you had done everything you could so you didn’t have to talk with. Way to embarrassed by the realizations that had been kick started. So much so, that you didn’t know how to act around him going forward.

You fell silent every time Jeonghan stepped into the room, avoided looking at him and only spoke to him when you absolutely had too.

It irked the man to no end to see you so quiet. Dull almost.

Want to meet up tonight? Go out for drinks with me, Soyeon, Nayeon and Shua? – received 5:34 pm

Staring down your phone you considered not answering his text. You had done so before and if you had then with short answers only.

The prospect of meeting in private after having avoided him for almost 2 weeks and you missed him. Kind of.

I’ll be there – sent 5:46 pm

The bar was just a few minutes away from your apartment by bus and you were determent to have some fun tonight even if you had to play the game of faces and after a few to many drinks you were sure you could get through the night without to much drama.

It was a fun evening, laughing at what Joshua said, Soyeons dad jokes and Nayeons playful flirting with the waiter. That was until you watched Jeonghan chat with the barkeeper a little to smiley when getting their drinks.

Your eyes were glued to the scene at the bar, not able to look away as you suddenly felt tears filling your eyes.

“I have to go.” You suddenly said, cutting of the conversations your fellow teachers had been having, still staring.

“What? Why? Can’t you stay a bit longer?” Nayeon whined at the prospect of having to let you go already. Joshua on the other hand followed your eyes and understood why you wanted to leave. They weren’t blind. None of the were and all of the had seen the switch in you flip to what ever was happening.

“Will you be safe?” he asked ever the gentleman to which you just nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Joshua helped you up, catching you when you stumbled a bit before wrapping his arms around you for a quick hug.

“Tell him, I promise I won’t go bad.”

“Goodbye Shua…”

With that you were out, walking to the bus station closest to the bar just as Jeonghan came back to the table.

It was cold, only wearing a thin leather jacket over your dress and shivering when you saw the little 11 on the display next to your bus number. You took a deep breath, filling your lung with the cold air cleared your mind and made it fuzzy all at once.

Having seen the barkeeper you knew you couldn’t compare to that. She was pretty, thin, big boobs and a beautiful face and if Jeonghan was as attracted to her as it had seemed like, then you were no match with someone like that.

You didn’t know if you could keep working like that if you had to watch Jeonghan be happy.

Happy with someone that wasn’t you.

“You’re leaving already?” Jeonghans voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, I’m tired. Ready for bed and all…” you hummed out, looking down at your feet and tightening the hold around yourself.

He slowly came to stand by your side. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

“Y/n, please talk to me… what happened to us?”

You swallowed harshly, continuing to avoid his stares.

“Nothing happened. We just didn’t have time to talk much recently.”

The man scoffed.

“We did have time, you just chose not have any and I want- no, I need to know why!”

Turning around to face him you found him staring right into your eyes. Your knees threatened to buckle underneath you.

“Just let it go, Jeonghan. I just want to go home!” you sighed. You weren’t in the mood to talk and you sure as hell weren’t in the mood t look at his soft eyes longer then you had to.

“Not until we talk. Your bus as still a few minutes away and I need to know… Is this about what Riki said? If what he said made you uncomfortable, then I’m sorry. He’s a kid, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not about that!” you said now a bit louder, catching the attention of the people around.

“Then what is it about? Because ei don’t get it! One day we could talk about every thing and the next you wouldn’t look at me. Is the though of kissing me that disgusting to you? Is that it?”

“No! It’s not and that is the problem!”

Shocked by your admission you stepped back, trying to get away as fast as possible.

“What?” Jeonghan stood there, eyes blown wide and looking every bit as beautiful as always.

“Just go back inside. I’m sure the others are waiting for you.”

“I won’t, because when if I heard that right- if I understand what you just said, right… then that would mean that-“

“-I would actually love to kiss you…”

Jeonghan bridged the distance with a few quick steps, cupped your face with his hands and huffed, “Good.” Before his lips crashed into your’s. He knocked the breath out of your lungs and you pulled back only an inch before staring back up at him and surging forward to meet him again.

His soft lips moved smoothly against yours desperate and loving all at once and you knew you didn’t want this moment to end. Hands around his neck, you pressed your body against his, felt his right hand wander to the back of your neck to firmly rest there and his left falling to your waist.

The bus arrived, let passenger in and drove off again.

You couldn’t care less.

You were in absolute bliss at the moment. Kissing the man you had longed for so long like your life depended on it until you had to stop to gasp for air. His nose brushing against yours and his lips merely an inch away from your own.

“I hope what ever doubt has been manifesting in your mind is now gone.” Jeonghan whispered earnestly and all you could do was stare.

“And I want you to know that I would love to kiss you again… until you’re so tired of it that you really will run from me.” The smile he gave you made your heart beat 3 times faster.

“Brave of you to think that will be the case.” You teased back followed by a wink.

[maxiroman0v]

Unbroken

Natasha Romanoff sat on the edge of her bed, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains of their small but warm home. It was a Saturday, the kind of day she used to dread when she was younger. Back then, she had no idea what it meant to be free—no idea that there could be a life beyond shadows and bloodstains. But now, with the sound of her two children playing in the next room, her heart beat to a different rhythm. One of peace.

Her wife, Y/N, appeared at the doorframe, a mischievous smile on her face. "I hope you're not planning on staying in bed all day," she teased, crossing her arms.

Natasha smirked but didn't rise. "Maybe I am. You know, it's not every day I get to be lazy."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the air between them filled with a comfortable familiarity. They'd been married for over a decade now, and Natasha was still in awe of how Y/N had stayed by her side, even when she was still piecing herself together. It hadn't always been easy. It had taken years for Natasha to be comfortable with herself, to trust that she was enough.

The world had its expectations. As a spy, Natasha had always been forced to blend into a mold that others created for her—stoic, dangerous, perfect. But there were things even she had kept hidden. Things she had been taught to be ashamed of. Her intersex identity, once a source of confusion and shame, had become a quiet strength, something she had come to embrace with Y/N’s gentle love and unwavering support.

"Come on," Y/N coaxed, leaning against the doorframe, "the kids will be awake soon, and you know how much they want pancakes."

Natasha chuckled softly. "You're right. I'll get up."

They had built this life slowly—brick by brick—learning to love each other not in spite of their pasts but because of them. Y/N had always known, from the very beginning, about Natasha's intersex condition, the quiet truth that had haunted her for years. Natasha had feared rejection, but Y/N had simply accepted her. It was never an issue between them. And when they had children, Natasha had worried again, wondering what kind of parents they would be. But Y/N as always, was the rock, steady and sure. And their children—Lena, a wild, brilliant nine-year-old, and Theo, their curious seven-year-old—loved them both without question.

The kids burst into the room then, Lena with her usual energy and Theo following more slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Mama!" Lena shouted, diving onto the bed. "Are we making pancakes today? Please say yes!"

Y/N laughed, moving to pull the covers off Natasha, nudging her gently. "I think that’s a yes, kiddo."

Theo climbed up beside Natasha, his small hand curling into her own. "Mama," he asked quietly, his voice full of innocent curiosity, "why are we different from the other families?"

Natasha's heart stilled, her thoughts briefly flickering to the past. She could see the way people sometimes looked at them, the questions unspoken, the stares that lingered. But to her children, they were simply a family. They loved each other, and that was enough.

"You know, Theo," she began, her voice soft but sure, "every family is different. Some families have two moms, some have two dads, some have one parent, some have more. The important thing is that we love each other, and we’re always here for each other."

Lena grinned up at her. "And we're the best family in the world!"

Natasha chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Yes, Lena. We are."

Y/N gave her a knowing smile as she gathered the children, leading them out of the room. Natasha remained for a moment, alone, the weight of the world feeling lighter than it ever had before.

She wasn't defined by her past anymore. Not by the shadows of the Red Room, not by the labels the world had tried to give her. She was Natasha, a mother, a wife, a woman who had come to understand that the most powerful thing she could do was be herself, unapologetically.

The door creaked open, and Y/N reappeared, leaning against the frame with a warm smile. "Everything okay?"

Natasha nodded, standing up now, her back straight. "Yeah. Everything’s perfect."

And as she joined her family, she realized that the quiet strength she'd found in herself was the greatest victory she'd ever achieved.

Unbroken.

[dilatorywriting]

I feel we are all super mean to the reader with Siren Vil??? Are they actually stupid or is it just that they can’t understand what’s going on? Which is kinda valid considering their situation?

I mean it has to be hard for them, right? Not only do they have trouble communicating with THEIR world since they are almost 100% deaf, but then you have the extreme cultural differences of trying to communicate with someone who exists in what is basically from a completely DIFFERENT world (part of your world reference anyone?).

I just feel like, while they may not be a genius or anything, it’s kind of mean to be expecting them to know what’s going on when they have so much working against them. We’re calling them stupid for not understanding that the necklace was a courting gift and that the siren would come back for them… why would they think that?

They could tell the necklace meant more to the siren than they thought it should have and it made the siren more friendly, but why would that equate to what is basically marriage and never leaving them behind? And the reader knows the siren wants to get back to his pod really badly. While they became friends and got attached, that wouldn’t mean he would come back to help the reader. Of course the reader is going to see a ship and try to get off of where they were marooned.

As dumb as the reader CAN be sometimes (like when they took a bite of the cooked crab without removing its shell 🤦‍♀️) I really don’t think they’re THAT stupid. They’re just… on the level of someone who was probably an uneducated kid when they snuck aboard a pirate ship and never looked back and now they’re an adult. You mentioned in one chapter I believe that Riddle taught them to read I think? Or something?

I LOVE this story, don’t get me wrong. At all. Ever. I adore it.

The fact that I’m even here hanging out on the author’s blog shows how much I love it - and your other writing. I guess it’s just been getting to me a little how we all seem to slam Siren Vil’s reader so much. Maybe I’m just making mountains out of molehills. Maybe you’re just being sarcastic and I’m missing the cues because I’m neurodivergent and I do that sometimes. If so I’m sorry.

To end on a good note, I’m really happy you’re back and are doing better. I know how much brains can suck. If your demons are too mean to you, just send Reaper Rook after them. He’ll take care of them for you, I’m sure of it! 💚🖤

I think it’s mostly said out of love, like how when you pick up a cat to give it cuddles and call it a stinky lil garbage gremlin even though you would die for that creature. The Reader in this is someone I try to write as having inconsistent levels of intelligence. Great planner, great at setting goals and reaching them, but TERRIBLE emotional intelligence all around. Not just in Siren Language. Just overall is blind to a lot going on around them. And yes, the added layer of communication difficulties certainly don’t help, but this is a reader I fully see as one who even *if* they had super sight, hearing, and intellect would still be missing the point of things simply because they’re stubborn in their perception and lock onto that One Thing rather than being willing to see the bigger picture. Even when the evidence is staring them right in the face. Which is why we lovingly call them a big ol doofus.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

Sorry can't stop thinking abt Stan being Fidds' semi-lobotomized housewife because. Having the power to erase guilt and shame and regret is Not Good but also. Getting into the habit of memory-wiping someone else? Especially a partner????

The first few times it was just about the portal incident, Stan simply couldn't function with those memories - even though all the memories left were foggy as if they were from lifetimes ago, and he still couldn't say a word. They were innocent, justifiable, even Ford relented that it was better than Stan being terrified of him and his house for reasons Ford knew but would not divulge. Stan had started spacing out for hours at a time, but Fidds thought that might be from the portal.

Fidds assumed they would be taking the portal apart after then, but Ford hesitated. He had seen what it did to Stanley but he still hesitated. So Fidds stormed out, determined to never work with him again. That day he went home and he told Stan that his brother couldn't be reasoned with. Stan said he wanted to go talk to Ford himself - the wipes were starting to hold better, by then, he was almost who he was (with a few more gray hairs). But the conversation went bad, terribly, Ford had been awake for 3 days by then and sitting on the couch next to his brother just calmed him down so much he fell asleep on Stan's shoulder.

Fidds got a call from Ford later that Bill had done something with his sleeping body, and Stan had locked himself in a closet and Ford could see the blood on the handle but Stan wouldn't open the door.

Fiddleford erased that interaction from Stan's memory, too - said he got the bump on his head and the scratches on his arms from a bar fight. Stan didn't believe him, but he learned that questions only brought him migraines. It didn't take as many memory wipes to stick, that time, because by then Ford wasn't seen at all. Fiddleford bought a book on Hanukkah and celebrated it with Stanley in their new shared apartment. Stanley called his Ma and she said he sounded sick but Stanley laughed it off.

Then Stanley woke up from a nightmare - he'd spent a good deal of time on the streets before he had reconciled with Stanford in their early 20s, and every peek Fidds got into that life made his stomach twist. All those memories ever did was burden Stan, and it was just so easy for Fiddleford to hold Stanley's cheek with one hand and the memory gun with the other, erasing the pieces that hurt Stan - selling himself at seventeen, almost freezing in the back of his car, those six months in that prison, the attempts by both criminals and police to kill him. Without them, Stanley was never paranoid, or burdened. He was happier. Fidds had made him happier.

So why stop? Fidds had already made a group for others dedicated to caring for those burdened by the disturbing creatures of gravity falls. Stan was so much happier when he wasnt worried people would short-change him or turn on him - cutting away the last strings tying him down was almost Fidds' duty. Something Fiddleford said scared him? Wiped clean, Stanley didn't have to know about the society of the blind eye. He didn't like what his Ma told him the last time he called? He doesn't remember what she said to him. He misses his brother? He doesn't have to remember Ford. Sure, Stanley had been a lot more submissive lately - almost vacant - but surely that was just because he knew what Fidds did was always for his best interest and he trusted him so implicitly.

Then Fidds came home from his meeting and saw Ford in his livingroom. Ford slammed him into a wall, demanding to know what he was doing to Stan. Fidds said he wasn't doing anything but helping him. Ford said he'd been here for two hours and Stan. Hadn't. Moved. Fidds said he was just having one of his spacing-spells and he would be fine - he was right there. Ford said Stan had soiled himself an hour ago and didn't notice. Fidds said he did that sometimes - probably from the trauma of the portal. Ford started throwing punches, so Fidds made him forget he had a brother.

[aebinspa]

tell me somethin' i don't know

PAIRING: gunwook x y/n reader

GENRES: fluff, gunwook is your brother's best friend (of course gyuvin is your brother), reader is a bit shy, they are the same age, reader is bad at math and gunwook is actually the solution to her problems!

WORD COUNT: 0.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: english is not my first language! i wrote this very short part about gunwook on the train and it will be the last thing i post for a while! i have already started to use my time to write a medium-length fic about karina that i hope will be better than the others i have written :) have a nice day!

The room of Gunwook, your brother's best friend, was strangely clean. Even after looking for several minutes in every corner, to then accuse him of something, you couldn’t find anything. The room was small but welcoming and on one side there was the enormous desk, with the books you would need for revision.

Sure, you didn’t hate Gunwook, but finding yourself suddenly, from one day to the next, at the house of one of Gyuvin’s most popular friends wasn’t exactly relaxing. Your brother Gyuvin certainly had everything a woman or a man could be interested in, but once you got to know him you couldn’t help but notice that he was missing something: a bit of tact.

“Y/n, you’re already here, ah” Gunwook, surprised, entered the room and closed the door behind him. Gunwook was popular, too popular for your tastes. You were the same age, you attended the same school but not the same section. The desperate sighs and screams you heard when you passed in front of his classroom, always surrounded by fans, made you turn on your heels every time.

If you had to describe your relationship with him, perhaps you would have reduced it to those greetings you sometimes exchanged when your eyes met. Nothing more. Except for one small detail: you too, like many others, found him extremely attractive and, on several occasions, he had shown you that he was kinder than Gyuvin’s other friends.

“Mathematics doesn't really get into your head, does it?” a bright smile almost made you regret not being very good with numbers. “Yeah. And Gyuvin decided to make my problem your problem, too,” you said, emphasizing the “your,” and the young man laughed. “We’ll show Gyuvin that the two of us are better than two Gyuvins.” This time it was you who laughed. “We are, without a doubt.”

Gunwook spent the next three hours explaining to you in detail everything you didn’t understand and, when necessary, he stopped to let you take a break. Sometimes your hands would touch and your breathing would synchronize; you tried desperately not to make it obvious that you weren’t indifferent to that closeness. Once you finished reviewing all the notes you had brought with you, you thanked Gunwook with a weak “thank you” to which he responded with a huge smile full of warmth.

“Well, Gyuvin didn't do anything wrong in calling me to help you.” “Sometimes he knows how to make himself useful!” you replied a little too enthusiastically, immediately ending up embarrassed by your own words. “Y/n, whenever you want, I’m always willing to give you a hand” “You don’t have to” You accidentally met your gaze in the nearby mirror and noticed the redness on your cheeks. What an idiot I am.

“Let me put it this way.” Gunwook settled back in his chair and took your hands in his, causing you to yelp a little, to which the boy responded by tilting his head and laughing, whispering “How stupid you are.” “Um, tell me.” “Next time, let’s go to a nice coffee shop to study or the library. Anywhere you like. I have an overwhelming urge to take you out on a date.” Your head was spinning a little, so you held his hands tighter as if seeking support.

“Maybe you got the wrong girl” That toothy smile didn't seem to leave Gunwook's face. “I don’t think that’s possible. I, well,” Gunwook ran his hand through his hair, “I need to get to know you better. Every time I talk to you or simply look at you my heart does flips. I don't know how I got through today's lesson without kissing or touching you."

"Oh, okay" “Is it a yes, Y/n?” Gunwook was now closer than expected. “Yes, I feel the same so how could I say no to you?” You were the same color as a tomato. Gunwook came closer and closed the distance between you by giving you a chaste and sweet kiss. You responded with a huff.

“You’re good with women” “Tell me something I don’t know, Y/n”

[sashaasreads]

Love n' London

Harry Styles x Fem Reader

A/N Apologies for the delay! I’ve been busy, but I’m finally getting to upload again. Still no smut—I’m working on finding the right approach to write it without it feeling awkward. Thanks for your patience!

_______________________________________

Y/n grew up dreaming of living in London. Ever since she was a child, the city had fascinated her its vibrant art scene, the music, the historic architecture, and the countless little cafes. So, after graduating from art school, she packed her things and moved to the city, full of ambition and excitement.

She found a job as a curator’s assistant in a small gallery in Soho. It was the perfect job, really she spent her days surrounded by paintings and sculptures, getting to know local artists, and learning how to put together exhibitions. It wasn’t glamorous, but Lena loved it.

One grey October afternoon, y/n was at her usual spot in the gallery. She had just finished adjusting a painting, making sure it was perfectly aligned, when the bell over the door chimed, signaling a visitor. She glanced up to see a figure in the doorway, his frame silhouetted against the dim light outside. He was tall, with a tousled head of curls peeking out from under a beanie, a coat draped over his shoulders.

As he stepped inside, Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. The face beneath those curls was unmistakable Harry Styles, the singer she had admired for years. She had seen him in interviews, photos, and music videos, but nothing compared to seeing him in person.

Harry caught her looking and gave a small, shy smile. She blushed, quickly looking away, pretending to adjust her clipboard. But Harry approached her, offering a charming, friendly "Hello."

Y/n stammered out a greeting, her cheeks flushed as she tried to act calm. "Can I help you with something?"

“Actually,” he said with a little laugh, “I’m here to see some art, but I’d love a guide if you’re available.”

It turned out Harry was in town with a few days off between tour stops and had been wandering through London, exploring its art scene. Y/n walked him through the gallery, explaining each piece. She was passionate about her work, and he seemed genuinely interested, asking her thoughtful questions. They talked about art, music, and their favorite places in London.

After their tour, Harry surprised her by inviting her to a late lunch at a small café nearby. Still in shock, she accepted, and they spent the afternoon laughing and talking as though they’d known each other for years. Y/n found herself opening up to him in a way she rarely did, talking about her dreams, her childhood, and the strange mix of fear and excitement she felt about living in London.

Over the next few weeks, they continued to meet. Harry would drop by the gallery whenever he was free, sometimes bringing coffee or flowers. They would spend hours talking, sharing stories, and discovering new corners of the city together. Y/n soon realized that Harry, for all his fame and glamour, was remarkably down to earth. He seemed genuinely fascinated by her, by her art, by her life. And she, in turn, found herself falling deeper each day.

One crisp evening in November, after a quiet dinner in a little Italian restaurant tucked away in a side street, they found themselves walking along the Thames. The lights of London sparkled on the water, casting soft, dancing reflections. They walked in comfortable silence, fingers occasionally brushing against each other’s.

Harry stopped, turning to face her. His green eyes held a softness that took her breath away.

“y/n ,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This might sound crazy, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Y/n felt her heart pounding. She wanted to say something, but words seemed too small to capture what she felt. So she simply reached out, taking his hand in hers, and they stood there, the world fading away around them.

As the weeks turned into months, Harry’s tours took him to different cities, but he and y/n stayed in touch, talking late into the night, sharing stories, and sending each other songs and sketches. The distance was hard, but their bond only seemed to grow stronger with time.

Whenever he was back in London, they would pick up right where they left off. They explored every hidden gem in the city together, from art galleries and vintage bookstores to secret gardens and rooftop views. Harry introduced her to his world, taking her backstage at his concerts, letting her experience the thrill and energy of his performances. y/n introduced him to hers, taking him to underground art shows and showing him her latest work.

Their love story was a quiet, steady thing, like the pulse of the city itself. They were each other’s inspiration. Y/n's paintings became infused with new colors and emotions, and Harry’s songs took on a deeper, more soulful tone. She was his muse, and he was hers.

One rainy evening, a few years after they’d first met, Harry surprised her with a visit to the gallery. He was holding an umbrella and looked every bit as dashing as the day she’d first seen him. She was setting up a new exhibit and hadn’t expected him to come. But there he was, standing there with that familiar smile, his eyes shining.

“Harry!” She ran over, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, his voice warm and full of excitement. He led her outside and down the street, and before she knew it, they were at a small, empty theater. Inside, a grand piano stood on the dimly lit stage.

He sat down at the piano, motioning for her to sit beside him. Then, he began to play. It was a song she’d never heard before, gentle, heartfelt, each note weaving a story of love, devotion, and all the golden moments they’d shared.

When he finished, he looked at her, his face softened with vulnerability. “I wrote this for you, y/n. You’ve changed my life in ways I can’t put into words.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took his hand, squeezing it. They didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke louder than words ever could.

That night, in that quiet, empty theater, with only the faint glow of city lights around them, they knew they had found something rare, something lasting. The kind of love that was more than a moment it was a lifetime, etched in songs and sketches, laughter and quiet glances, memories, and dreams.

In each other, they had found a piece of themselves they never knew was missing a love that was as deep as the city they both called home.

[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life—the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

[imaginepostingonmain]

"..."

"...Aye."

"I sp'pose it is."

[skunkes]

i dont like when character being blunt/having no filter = character just being Mean, and im trying to find a good balance with that for Talon. I guess it's not that hard since he's not an (active) overthinker and I have drawn him saying things he considers neutral that seem rude to others...I guess I have to find a way to show the opposite, too

[camgoloud]

i simply feel that if you burn shit in your roommate’s skillet you should then feel the obligation to be the one who scrapes it out and cleans up

[rowarn]

afab!reader, no prns, praise, edging, wet&messy, könig using ur clit as a fidget toy <3

könig, a trained lethal soldier, who suffers from anxiety. you would never know if you didn't know what you were looking for.

his biggest tell, for you, is the way he fidgets. with you.

you're like his own personal little fidget toy. his hands are always on you, kneading and squeezing your skin. most times you don't mind, you rather like having him touching you — your thighs, your waist, your butt, wherever he can get his hands honestly.

but sometimes...his hands wander. it's mindless, truly.

his eyes fixated on the tv playing some random show he decided he wanted to watch. but you couldn't pay attention, not when one big hand was shoved up your shirt groping your breasts and the other was haphazardly stuffed into your sleep shorts and under your panties.

he's toying with you so mindlessly, callused fingers sliding over your clit that has grown increasingly slippery with how wet you've become. occasionally he dips down to prod at your slick entrance.

his movements have no rhyme or reason. he's not even moving very fast. just sloppy back and forth flicks and occasionally he simply taps his fingers against the little bud that has grown so sensitive from his playing. sometimes, when something interesting happens on tv, he stops completely until the desire the fidget returns to him.

you're sitting with your back against his chest, situated between his spread legs sprawled cozily on the couch. he can't see the heated, dazed look on your face from the come-and-go pleasure he inadvertently gives you. he's edging you without even realizing it, full attention still focused on the damn tv. he isn't even hard.

that thought alone is enough to make you clench around nothing. he's really just playing with you like a little toy and that thought is so hot to you. it makes you cheeks burn in embarrassment as you continue to leak into your panties.

if you listen close you can hear with wet clicking noise that comes with his movements. your eyes roll back in your head as that sound alone has your back arching but you quickly settle yourself down, not wanting to tear his attention from the tv — he so rarely had time to settle down and just enjoy tv, you didn't want to disturb him.

the episode he's watching ends and you cast a hopeful glance up at him but he's waiting for the next episode to start and it makes you whine against your own wishes. but your clit is so hard and twitchy from being edged that it's actually hurting and you're so wet now that your panties are uncomfortably sticky.

it's your whine that gets his attention, pretty blue eyes flicking down to your face where he finally sees the desperate way you're looking at him, teary eyes and swollen lips from biting them to keep quiet. you can see in his eyes when he registers how soaked you've gotten his fingers and he has the audacity to look sheepish.

"ah, my sweet..." he whispers, ears tinged pink, "i-i'm sorry, i did not realize..."

he moves to pull his hand out of your panties and you whine again, grabbing his wrist with both hands to stuff him back down. your nails bite into his skin and he stops trying to pull away, instead pushing his hand back down and it's then that he fully resisters how wet you are.

"don't stop, please...i-i've been so close..." you pitifully beg and he takes pity on you. how precious of you, he thinks.

"i'm sorry, my love," he coos, fingers starting to work once again — properly this time with quick little circles on your clit, "i'll make you cum for being so good for me."

you can't even formulate words, instead nodding and spreading your legs even further apart, your feet on either side of his legs. he hums softly in your ear, chin hooked over your shoulder as he watches his hand move under the fabric of your shorts.

he spreads your sticky folds apart and begins to swirl messily around your clit, occasionally lightly tapping against the bud just to watch the cute way your thighs twitch at the feeling. you reach back and clutch his t-shirt in your fists to ground you. his cock throbs, churning up quickly, at the loud, wet noise of him playing with your cunt.

it doesn't take long at all before your stiffening against him and twitching in his lap as you cum with a cute little gasp of his name. he moans softly in your ear as he feels your clit throb under the pads of his fingers. you let out the loveliest moans that has his cock hardening fully against his thigh.

when you slacken against his body, aftershocks making you twitch periodically as you pant, he's tempted to stop but the fact you had sat there so sweetly and let him practically torture you while he watched his show made him want to make it up to you.

he sees the excitement in your eyes when his fingers dip lower and begin to press into you and he can't believe just how sweet you are. your so sticky and wet with the amount of cum he worked out of you with such ease.

"let me really make it up to you, my little one..."

[sttoru]

‘satoru hates arguments. even more so when your conflicts cause your baby daughter to be upset as well.’

☀︎｜tags. (girl) dad!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. mention of arguments between parents. comfort & happy ending, though!

satoru hates having arguments with you. he hates it whenever an argument turns into the silent treatment. he apologises and apologises — yet nothing helps to change your mood sometimes.

ever since you got married and had your daughter, you were a bit more sensitive to the smallest of things than usual. it wasn’t like satoru despised you for it; in fact, he understands that motherhood was and is stressful. that man was nothing but supportive to you.

though, your little arguments were indirectly having an impact on the mental state of your baby. you didn’t even know an one year old could sense the tension between her parents.

“mama, mama!” your daughter appears out of nowhere, waddling over to you standing in the kitchen. she had barely just learnt how to walk. her tiny hand reaches for yours and she points at the doorway with her other, “go, mama, go.”

you curiously let your little girl lead you towards where she was pointing at, only to arrive at the living room. satoru was sitting on the couch, idly staring at the ceiling, other hand fiddling with one of your daughter’s toys. he seemed deep in thought. even exhausted and clearly not his playful self.

“mama, go! mama go papa.”

satoru’s head turns to the side at the cute sound of his favourite little girl. he smiles brightly at her return to the living room, only for his smile to fade just for a second at the sight of you next to her. he isn’t mad at you—more like sad that you still seemed upset with him.

your daughter tugs at your index finger. she apparently wants you to go to her dad—wants you to interact or talk with him. her big eyes were staring up at you with a pleading look in them.

you were in a dilemma. of course, you wanted to put your daughter’s mind at ease. you could just fake interact with satoru—or actually just make it up—but there was still a small part of you that needed time alone. you weren’t yet mentally ready for another confrontation. you needed time to think it out.

however, part of you also knows that your earlier argument was kind of silly. you don’t even fully remember what it was about, that’s how irrelevant it was to your brain.

“c’mon, pumpkin. ‘tis not nice for you to bother mama while she’s cooking.” satoru’s soft voice startles you back to reality. he had already gotten up and crouched down to pick your daughter up in his arms, kissing her chubby cheeks to distract her; “mama’s busy, ‘kay? let’s go play with papa.”

even satoru knew that your argument had caused your little girl to feel some kind of stress. she didn’t fully comprehend the situation, though she was clearly uncomfortable by the fact that her parents were not acting nice and lovey dovey like they usually would.

“no, papa. mama!” the baby whines and points at you and then at satoru, her little legs kicking. it absolutely broke satoru’s heart — shattered it into pieces. oh, how he wishes to never fight with you again. the sight of his little bundle of joy trying to mend things between you two with all she could was simply too much.

satoru looks down at you and notices the way you look at your one year old as well. the same way he did; with guilt and sadness. he sighs softly and without further thought, wraps his free arm around your shoulders and brings you close to his body.

“c’mere,” satoru murmurs as he holds both your daughter and you to his chest, “let me hold my two girls, yeah? may i, sweetheart? please.”

your husband asks for your consent. if you were okay with this—even when he needs it desperately, to hold you again in his arms and to make it right to you—your comfort comes first. if you weren’t ready yet to make up, he’d let you go. even if it’d hurt him immensely.

you don’t answer with your words and instead let your actions do the talking. you wrap one arm around satoru’s torso, the other cradling your daughter closer to both you and him.

it was like nothing mattered anymore in that moment, except for your little family. your worries, stress and anxiety about everything and anything had vanished into thin air as you felt the embrace of the two people you held dear.

your daughter finally giggles—a sound satoru and you had greatly missed. you close your eyes and just rest against your husband’s body.

“mama papa, wuv!” the little girl squeals in happiness as she excitedly babbles on, causing both satoru and you to laugh as well. the white-haired sorcerer leaves a big peck on the baby’s forehead before doing the same to you.

“mhm, papa loves mama veeery much.” satoru hums and kisses your forehead again, solely because he missed being affectionate to you, “papa loves his sweet little angel too.”

you can’t help but chuckle along with your one year old—who seemed to be extremely content in her parents’ loving embrace again. this is how it always should be.

“mama also loves papa very much.” you reply, causing your husband to regain his usual big grin. he finally got what he longed for; to have you look and talk to him with love. your silence may have lasted only a few hours, but it felt like it had been a couple cruel months to the sorcerer.

your eyes meet his again and all was well. you smile at him and he smiles back before leaning in to kiss you gently on the lips. satoru’s arm that was draped over your shoulder moves down to curl around your lower back, pulling you as close to him as your bodies would allow.

he pulls back after a few seconds and just lovingly stares at your face again—eyes holding an affection only you had ever been able to witness. your eyes told the same story; nothing could separate you two. ever.

“waaaaah! mama papa, me, me!”

the romantic air between you two suddenly gets interrupted by your daughter’s excited demands. she was demanding kisses as well, puffing her cheeks up as she got ready for it.

“ohh? seems like our angel wants some kisses too.” satoru laughs and nods his head at the baby in his other arm whilst looking at you, “shall we?”

you giggle and nod back—not able to refuse your little girl any longer.

it was not long before the living room fills with the sounds of your child’s laughter, which was caused by the continuous kisses and tickles she was receiving from both satoru and you.

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)