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ducktoo · 27 days ago

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Who…are you?

LE SSERAFIM’s Chaewon x Reader

Note: dw…it gets weird at the end lol. It's a long ride as well so get comfortable.

And this will be my final fic of 2024! Thank you everyone for liking my stuff and happy holidays! Will be back for more in mid January!

(this is too lethal-)

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment, rattling the picture frames on the walls. You stare at it for a long moment, your jaw tight and your hands clenching into fists at your sides. Another fight. Another evening ruined.

The quiet that follows is suffocating, a stark contrast to the venomous words Chaewon had thrown at you just minutes ago. You drag yourself to the kitchen, barely registering the cold plates of food still waiting on the counter. The dinner you had spent hours making feels like a cruel joke now. You don’t have the appetite to eat it, let alone the energy to put it away.

This is how it’s been lately. Chaewon’s words, once playful and teasing, have turned into weapons. The sharp remarks and biting sarcasm that used to make you laugh now cut you to the core. She gets angry over the smallest things, and somehow, you always end up being the target.

It wasn’t always this way—or at least, it didn’t feel like it.

You think back to a week ago, when Chaewon had been in one of her moods. You had been trying to fix the kitchen faucet, fumbling with the wrench and getting water sprayed in your face. Chaewon had walked in, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature smirk on her face.

“Wow,” she had said, crossing her arms. “Didn’t know I was dating a plumber-in-training. Or are you auditioning for a clown role with that water trick?”

You’d forced a laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Very funny, Chae. Want to help?”

She had scoffed, walking over and peering down at the mess you’d made. “Help? Why would I do that when watching you flounder is so much more entertaining?”

You had shot her a look, and she had just grinned, flicking water at you before sauntering off.

Then there was the time she’d decided to pick on your cooking.

You’d spent hours trying to make her favourite spicy rice cakes from scratch, wanting to surprise her after a long day. She had walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air dramatically.

“What’s that smell?” she had asked, wrinkling her nose. “Did something die in here?”

You’d frowned, gesturing to the pot. “It’s tteokbokki. I thought you’d like it.”

She’d leaned over the pot, taking a cautious sniff before pulling back like it had personally offended her. “Are you sure? Because it looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”

You’d tried to laugh it off, but the sting of her words had lingered long after she’d gone back to scrolling on her phone.

The teasing wasn’t just verbal, either. Chaewon had a knack for finding your weak spots and exploiting them with surgical precision. Like the time you’d tripped over the rug in the living room and spilled coffee all over your work papers.

“Nice one, Y/N,” she had said from the couch, barely looking up. “Maybe next time, try walking like a normal human instead of whatever that was.”

“I could use some help cleaning this up,” you’d said, your voice strained as you crouched to pick up the soggy papers.

She had glanced at you over the rim of her coffee mug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Or you could just not trip next time. Problem solved.”

Despite all of it, you stayed. You told yourself it was just her personality—that she didn’t mean to hurt you. You convinced yourself that the moments of warmth, rare as they were, made up for the constant jabs. Like when she’d fallen asleep on your shoulder during a movie, her hand unconsciously clutching yours. Or the one time she’d hugged you after you’d had a particularly bad day, whispering, “I’m here,” so softly it almost didn’t feel real.

But those moments were becoming fewer and farther between, buried under the weight of her sharp words and cold demeanour.

The hours tick by as you sit at the dining table, staring at nothing. You don’t even hear the buzz of your phone at first. When it vibrates again, more insistent this time, you snap out of your daze and pick it up. The caller ID shows Kazuha’s name.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks, still hoarse from the argument.

“Y/N,” Kazuha’s voice is urgent, tinged with panic. “You need to come to the hospital. It’s Chaewon.”

Your heart stops. “What happened?”

“She got into an accident. Just… get here as fast as you can.”

The hospital is a blur of sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell fills your nostrils as you rush through the corridors, searching for the right room. Your chest feels tight, your breaths shallow. Kazuha meets you outside, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

“She’s stable,” Kazuha says quickly, trying to reassure you. “But she hit her head pretty hard. The doctors are saying she might have some memory loss.”

“Memory…loss?” The words barely register as you push past her and into the room.

Chaewon lies on the bed, her face pale and peaceful in a way that feels wrong. A bandage is wrapped around her head, a stark white contrast against her dark hair. You approach her slowly, your steps hesitant.

“Chae?” you whisper, sitting down beside her. Her lashes flutter, and she stirs slightly before her eyes open. Relief floods through you as you lean closer.

“You’re awake,” you say, your voice trembling. “Thank god. You’re okay.”

Her eyes blink slowly, focusing on you. For a moment, it feels like everything will be fine. But then her brow furrows, and she tilts her head slightly.

“Who… are you?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with confusion.

You blink, frozen in place. Her words echo in your mind: Who… are you?

Kazuha places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Y/N, let’s step outside for a moment. The doctor wants to talk to you.”

Your gaze lingers on Chaewon’s confused expression, and you force a shaky smile. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

She nods faintly, though you can tell she’s unsure why you’re even here. Her eyes flicker to Kazuha for a brief moment before she leans back against the pillows, exhaustion taking over.

Once you’re out in the hallway, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The doctor approaches, a clipboard in hand and a calm but professional demeanour.

“You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Dr. Park. I’ve been handling Ms. Kim's case.”

"Ah yea, evening Doc." You nod, gripping the hem of your shirt nervously. “What’s… what’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s stable,” he reassures you, glancing at his notes. “But as you might have guessed, the head trauma has caused some memory loss. From our initial tests, it appears she’s unable to recall the past two years.”

“T-two years?” You repeat, your voice trembling. You glance through the small window into her room, watching as Chaewon lies there, her face serene and unaware.

Dr. Park nods. “This type of retrograde amnesia isn’t uncommon in cases like hers. The memories she’s lost may come back over time, or they might not. For now, it’s best not to push her to remember. Stress could make her condition worse.”

“Does she know… does she know anything about me?” you ask hesitantly.

The doctor hesitates. “She remembers people and events prior to the memory gap clearly. But anyone she’s met in the last two years, including you… I’m afraid you’ll be a stranger to her.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, but you nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. “So, what should I do? How do I… help her?”

“Take things slow,” he advises. “Reintroduce yourself as someone here to support her. Let her regain her sense of normalcy first. The rest will come with time, if it’s meant to.”

You thank him quietly, your mind racing. A strange mix of relief and uncertainty bubbles within you. She doesn’t remember the fights, the sharp words, the constant tension—but she also doesn’t remember the good moments, the times when you thought there was still hope.

A part of you feels like this is a reset button, a rare chance to start over. But another part can’t shake the hollow ache of being erased from her life so completely.

You take a steadying breath before walking back into the room. Chaewon’s eyes flit to you as you enter, her expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling a chair closer to her bedside.

She tilts her head, studying you carefully. “You… You’re Kazuha’s friend, right?”

You glance at Kazuha, who gives you a subtle nod of encouragement from the doorway. Turning back to Chaewon, you force a small smile. “Yeah. I’m just… here to help however I can.”

Chaewon seems to accept this, though the skepticism in her eyes remains. “Thanks, I guess,” she mutters, her voice laced with tiredness.

As she closes her eyes to rest, you lean back in the chair, letting out a slow breath. A small part of you feels lighter than you have in months. No arguments, no cutting remarks—just quiet. Peaceful, even.

But as you watch her, the weight of her blank stare still lingers in your chest. The person you love doesn’t know who you are. And yet, you can’t help but think: maybe this is a chance to show her a version of yourself she could love all over again.

For now, you let the hope settle, hidden behind the mask of quiet sadness you wear for her sake.

The week passes in a blur. Chaewon’s recovery is faster than anyone expected. Physically, she’s almost back to normal, but the gap in her memory remains. You watch her adjust to this new reality, navigating her day-to-day life with a mix of determination and frustration.

True to the doctor’s advice, you’ve been patient, reintroducing yourself as a supportive figure in her life without overwhelming her. She accepts your presence without question—polite, a little guarded, but far removed from the sharp-tongued firecracker you’ve known for so long.

Her management team decided it would be best for Chaewon to ease back into her idol activities gradually. You accompany her, not as her partner, but as someone who can help with her day-to-day needs. Kazuha and Sakura are visibly relieved to have you there, knowing how well you understand Chaewon’s habits.

On set, Chaewon is a model of professionalism. She’s diligent, respectful, and surprisingly soft-spoken. When she doesn’t understand something—a choreography move, a filming cue—she asks politely instead of figuring it out on her own like she used to.

“It’s weird,” she admits to you one evening, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I don’t remember the last two years, but I still know all the lyrics and choreography. It’s like muscle memory, I guess.”

You smile faintly from where you’re sitting across the room. “That’s a good thing, right? At least it’s one less thing to stress about.”

She nods, her brows furrowing. “I guess. But it feels like I’m walking into someone else’s life. Like, who was I? Was I…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Was I any good at it?”

You hesitate, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. She was more than good—she was extraordinary. But her fiery ambition often bled into her personal life, creating the tension that had defined your relationship. Now, all you see is a softer, more vulnerable Chaewon.

“You were great,” you say finally. “Still are.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for once, there’s no sharp remark to follow it.

You’re there in the background, watching as she joined with her members, laughs softly at their jokes, and engages with fans with genuine warmth. It’s such a far cry from the Chaewon who used to tease you mercilessly or snap when she was stressed.

At first, it’s disorienting.

One afternoon, as you help her organize a stack of photo cards at a fan sign event, she flashes you a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, her tone devoid of the usual edge you once expected.

You nearly drop the cards. “No problem,” you manage, your voice awkward.

She doesn’t seem to notice, already turning back to greet the next fan with her signature smile.

Another day at their practice room, you accompany her under the pretence of helping her settle back in. The truth is, you just want to see this new side of her in action.

Chaewon seems… different. Lighter. She laughs with her members more, her usual sharp edge replaced by something softer. You watch from the corner of the practice room as she playfully ruffles Eunchae’s hair, earning a squeal of protest from the younger girl.

“Unnie, stop!” Eunchae whines, swatting Chaewon’s hand away.

Chaewon grins, her eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “What? I’m just making sure our maknae looks her best.”

The rest of the group chuckles, and you find yourself smiling too. It’s a scene you’d rarely witnessed before, where Chaewon seems completely at ease with herself and those around her.

During their lunch break, Kazuha sits beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her a lot.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Have I…?”

Kazuha smirks. “Yeah. You look like you’re seeing a whole new Chaewon.”

You glance at Chaewon, who’s currently chatting animatedly with Sakura and Yunjin. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly.

Kazuha’s expression softens. “It’s good, right? This version of her?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s… it’s really good.”

By the end of the week, you’re starting to notice the cracks in your own resolve.

You don’t miss the fights—not the arguments or the hurtful words or the way she could turn a perfectly fine evening into a battlefield. What you do miss is the spark.

Chaewon’s teasing, for all its rough edges, had always carried a certain energy. There was a wit to her remarks, a confidence that made everything she said hit just the right spot between infuriating and endearing. You used to catch her smirking at you when she thought you weren’t looking, as if she enjoyed seeing how far she could push your buttons.

Now, she’s… gentle. Easy to be around. And yet, you find yourself yearning for the banter, the fire that kept you on your toes.

It’s a strange contradiction. You enjoy this new version of her, free from the biting remarks and the heavy tension that used to hang between you. But in quiet moments, when she’s busy scrolling through her phone or practicing her vocals, you find yourself wondering if she’d ever smirk at you again.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, you’re both sitting in her apartment. Chaewon is sprawled out on the couch, her hair still damp from a quick shower. You’re at the kitchen counter, making tea.

“Y/N,” she calls out suddenly, her voice soft but clear.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always help me?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

You pause, gripping the handle of the kettle. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sitting up. “You don’t owe me anything. But you’re always here, even when I forget things or need help with stupid stuff. It’s… nice, but I don’t get it.”

Her words catch you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“I just… care,” you say finally, avoiding her gaze. “I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. When you glance at her, she’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity mixed with something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Thanks,” she says again, quieter this time.

You nod, busying yourself with the tea to hide the lump forming in your throat.

Later that night, as you lie awake on the couch, you can’t help but reflect on how far things have come—and how much has changed.

This new Chaewon is someone you could fall for all over again. She’s kinder, gentler, more open in ways you never expected. But there’s a part of you that aches for the old Chaewon too—the one who used to challenge you, frustrate you, and make you laugh in ways no one else could.

It’s a bittersweet thought, knowing you may never get her back the way she was. But as you close your eyes, you remind yourself that this is a new beginning, a chance to love her for who she is now, not who she used to be.

And as you began to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace will last.

The days slip by in a strange rhythm, where you’re never quite sure who you’ll see when you look at Chaewon.

At times, it’s like she’s still the same—sweet, easy-going, even a little shy around you. But other times, the fire you remember from before flares up unexpectedly, like a switch flipping.

You’ve gotten used to the gentle, more compliant Chaewon, the one who asks you for help with every little thing. But when her old personality slips through—when she’s sharp, playful, and downright teasing—it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under you.

One morning, you’re getting ready to leave the apartment. Chaewon is sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone. You make your way toward the door, your keys in hand.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and almost playful.

You stop and turn, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Her eyes glint mischievously as she leans back on the couch, crossing her arms. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered.”

Your stomach does a nervous flip. “What are you talking about?” You laugh awkwardly, glancing away.

She smirks, the old Chaewon you’ve missed suddenly making an appearance. “The way you get all nervous around me when I say things like that. It’s cute. I think I might start teasing you more.”

Your heart races, half amused and half unsettled. “Chae…” You try to act annoyed, but your tone betrays you. “You don’t even remember me. What do you mean by that?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with something you can’t quite read. “Maybe I don’t remember all the details, but I remember you. The guy who’s always around, always hovering, always trying to help. How could I forget you?”

Your breath catches, a flutter of hope igniting in your chest. But before you can respond, she bursts out laughing. “Just kidding, Y/N. But seriously, don’t you get it? You’re like an open book. So easy to tease.”

It feels like an old routine—one you know well. You grin despite yourself, but the warmth in your chest quickly fades into the familiar uncertainty. Was this just a moment of her old self slipping through, or was it something more?

She gets up, not waiting for an answer, her usual carefree confidence taking over once again. “You should get going. I don’t want you to be late.”

And just like that, the teasing fades, and she’s back to the softer version of herself. You stand there, still feeling the aftershock of the teasing and the warmth from that brief return to the Chaewon you used to know.

Later that week, you’re both at a recording studio for LE SSERAFIM’s comeback preparations.

Chaewon is focused on the choreography, her movements deliberate but careful. You’re sitting in the corner of the room, watching her with a quiet sense of pride, when she suddenly stumbles over a step, losing her balance for a moment.

You instinctively stand up, ready to rush over, but she waves you off with a dismissive hand. “I’m fine,” she mutters, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t act like you’re my manager or something.”

Your jaw tightens, the familiar spark of annoyance bubbling up inside you. “Chae, I’m just trying to help.”

She glances up at you, her expression sharp, almost a little… cruel. “Stop acting like I need you to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own.”

You freeze. This is the Chaewon you remember—the one who never asked for help, the one who got irritated when anyone tried to make things easier for her.

For a moment, you forget that she doesn’t remember everything, and your heart sinks. You had hoped this version of her was gone, that the softer, gentler Chaewon would be the one to stay. But here she is, slipping back into her old self, the one who pushed you away when you tried to get close.

“Okay,” you say quietly, masking the hurt in your voice. “I’ll stay out of your way then.”

You sit back down, your hands resting in your lap as the silence stretches between you. Chaewon doesn’t say anything more, but there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

Over the next few days, these shifts continue. Sometimes, she’s the easy-going Chaewon you’ve gotten used to—polite, soft-spoken, even a little shy in her interactions with you. Other times, she snaps, teasing you with a bite in her words that leaves you reeling, or she’ll shut down, acting distant and cold.

You can’t predict when the old Chaewon will emerge, and it’s disorienting. It’s like she’s two people, and you’re not sure which one you’re going to face each day.

But then, one evening, she surprises you again.

You’re sitting on the couch together, both too tired to say much after a long day of practice. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy.

Chaewon’s smile widens, but it’s different this time—not as teasing or sharp. It’s softer, almost tender, like she’s rediscovering something she once knew. She leans back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, her thoughts seemingly miles away.

“I think I’m starting to remember more,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

You freeze, a flutter of hope stirring in your chest. “Remember more?”

She looks at you, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. “Yeah. The old me. The one who used to—” Her words trail off, as if she’s still piecing things together in her mind. “Maybe I was a little too much sometimes… difficult. But I think I’m figuring out who I really am now.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. There’s something almost melancholic in the way she speaks, a quiet acknowledgment of her past, yet also a sense of self-awareness in the present.

You stay silent, watching her closely. There’s no sharp retort, no teasing grin to follow. For a moment, you just exist in this space, caught between who Chaewon was and who she’s becoming.

For a while, neither of you speaks. But you know—no matter which version of her you get, the part of her that’s still here, right now, is still the Chaewon you care about. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe it never will be, but that doesn’t make it any less real. And for now, that’s enough.

It starts innocently enough—a rare free day where you and Chaewon decide to hang out in your apartment. She’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while you’re in the kitchen attempting to make lunch. Everything is blissfully normal until you hear her gasp dramatically.

“YAAAA!” she shouts, the intensity of her voice startling you so much that you nearly drop the spatula.

“What? What happened?” you ask, rushing into the living room, half-expecting to see something catastrophic.

Chaewon’s eyes narrow as she points accusingly at you with her phone. “How could you?”

You blink, utterly confused. “How could I… what?”

Her face twists in mock devastation as she waves her phone like it’s evidence in a court case. “I was looking through old photos, and you were smiling way too much in the pictures we took during my memory loss phase.”

You stare at her, waiting for the punchline, but she looks genuinely offended. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” she says, sitting up and glaring at you, “that you clearly liked her more than me. Admit it!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Chae, you are her. It’s literally still you.”

“But it’s not me!” she insists, crossing her arms and pouting. “That version of me was sweet and soft and totally not me. You liked her better because she wasn’t mean to you, didn’t she?”

“I—what?” you stammer, completely thrown off. “No! I mean, she was nice, sure, but I didn’t like her better! It’s the same person, Chae!”

“Liar!” she exclaims, standing up and stomping over to you. “You probably enjoyed having her dote on you, didn’t you? Bet you didn’t even miss the real me at all!”

You take a cautious step back, holding your hands up defensively. “I did miss you! And I didn’t cheat on you with... you! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Chaewon huffs, her jealousy reaching peak absurdity. “Oh, it makes perfect sense. I leave for a few weeks mentally, and you’re out here having the time of your life with some soft, clingy version of me. Unbelievable!”

She pokes your chest, her expression a mix of irritation and… something else. “Admit it! You liked how she was all shy and asked for help, didn’t you? Bet you enjoyed being the big, helpful boyfriend for once instead of dealing with me!”

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. The whole situation is so ridiculous you can’t take it seriously anymore.

“Chaewon, do you hear yourself right now? You’re jealous of yourself.”

Her cheeks flush, and she smacks your arm. “Don’t laugh! This is serious! I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here.”

“Heartfelt?” you repeat between laughs. “You’re accusing me of emotionally cheating on you with another version of you. That’s not heartfelt—that’s a sitcom plot!”

Chaewon’s pout deepens, but there’s a hint of a smile threatening to break through her faux anger. “Well… maybe I’m a little jealous, okay? You didn’t seem to miss me as much as I thought you would.”

You sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “Chaewon, I missed you every single day. The real you.”

Her glare falters, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she crosses her arms and looks away, pouting. “You’re just saying that to get out of trouble.”

You take a cautious step closer, tilting your head to catch her eye. “Trouble for what? Loving my girlfriend, no matter which version of her I get?”

She glances at you, her pout softening slightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters under her breath.

Just as you’re about to breathe a sigh of relief, she surprises you by grabbing your shirt and pulling you down to her level. Her lips crash against yours in a kiss so sudden and intense that your brain short-circuits.

When she finally pulls away, she’s still glaring, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “That’s so you don’t forget who you really belong to.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you again, her hands tangling in your hair as if staking her claim. “Chae—”

“Shut up,” she murmurs against your lips. “I’m still mad.”

You can’t help but laugh, your hands settling on her waist. “You don’t seem that mad to me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warns, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

By the time she lets you go, you’re both out of breath, and the tension has melted away entirely. She steps back, her arms still crossed, but there’s a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “are we good now? Or should I prepare for another interrogation about cheating on you with… you?”

She rolls her eyes but leans into your chest, her head resting against you. “We’re good. But if I ever catch you looking at ‘soft Chaewon’ like that again, we’re going to have words.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. “Noted. But for the record, I love you—sharp edges and all.”

She looks up at you, her smile softening. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, no matter which version of me shows up.”

Maybe you’ve been accused of cheating, maybe it’s all completely ridiculous, but in that moment, you can’t help but love her even more—especially when she’s acting like her old, impossible self.

You could probably get used to this Chaewon too.

#le sserafim #kim chaewon #chaewon #chaewon x reader #lesserafim x reader #chaewon fluff #kim chaewon x reader #izone chaewon #kpop #x reader #le sserafim fluff #le sserafim x you

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silverskye13 · 3 months ago

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Silver's Care Guide for the Impulsively Inclined:

Hi, did you just receive bad news? Are you one of the many many people who, upon receiving bad news, react with self destructive spirals, or lash out in a need for control? Are you just really fucking sad, or angry, and would like an alternative to hurting yourself and others? Are you just feeling a little manic or impulsive?

Welcome to my handy guide for alternative (self) destruction! These are alternatives to physical and immediate harm to your person. That does not necessarily mean they are safe, just safer, and they are all things I've done before to mixed results. With that in mind.

Remember the golden rule: if what you're doing cannot be fixed, repaired, or healed within an hour, don't fucking do it. You have one body, and one life, and regardless of what your thoughts say in the moment, that body and life is necessary for your future happiness. Prioritize yourself; harm objects instead.

Alternatives to harming yourself or others:

Kick something loud. A tin can. A plastic bag. Take it to an outdoor space and see how far you can kick it, and how loud a sound you can make. If you have multiple objects to kick, listen to the differences in sound. How one thing sounds hollow and another rattles.

Kick something soft. A pillow. A hackey-sack. Take it to an outdoor space, or kick it against a sturdy wall (I recommend brick or stone). Listen to the sound of the batting, or the beans. See what shapes you can get it to land in, and how deep a divot your foot can leave.

Tear paper. Get a cheap notebook, some old bills you don't need, note cards or old magazines. See how big of pieces you can make. Put several sheets in your hand and see how thick the paper can get before you can't tear it anymore. See how thin of strips you can tear. Experiment with folding it into shapes and trying to tear along the lines.

Do a very small controlled burn. Newspaper, a cheap notebook from the dollar store, a handful of old homework assignments you don't need, a candle, etc. The best objects are ones made to burn such as matches or candles. In lieu of that, focus specifically on paper, as it will have fewer chemicals/fumes that can damage your lungs if you inhale smoke. Take it to a well ventilated place, the floor of a concrete garage, your driveway, an empty lot or sidewalk. If you have a burn barrel or fire pit, use it. If you have no access to any of these things, make the burn very small [less than half a page at a time] and confine it to your sink. If your building has automatic sprinkler systems, don't do this. Light one edge of your paper on fire and watch it curl. See if you can burn small, individual poke-holes in the page. If you are lighting a candle, watch the wax melt. See if you can light one match using another. When a match is used, try and burn what's left of the stick. If you want some extra catharsis, write a person you hate, a source of your angst, or just general thoughts on the paper you're burning.

Throw rocks. Go outside and touch grass -- and look for rocks while you're there. All sizes are fair game, but the bigger they are, the harder they are to throw. I recommend something the size of a marble. Gather a number of rocks and throw them one at a time, trying to hit targets like trees or fence posts. If you can find a convenient body of water, throw them in there and listen to the splash.

Skip rocks. Skipping rocks across the top of the water can also be a fun challenge to use your aggression on. For skipping rocks specifically, you want a stone that is smooth and flat. Hold it between your forefinger and your thumb, and throw sideways in an arcing motion. You are trying to get the rock to spin. The combination of the spin, and the force, and the flat side hitting the water, causes the skip. I average 3 skips per stone. Beat my average. My Papa, who taught me, used to routinely get 5-7 skips. Beat him after you beat me.

Play a violent or fast paced video game. Most people have games on their mobile or console devices these days. Pick something quick, with low investment and high reward. Shoot-em-ups and arcade games. Something with a number that ticks up, and stock zombies you can kill. Try to beat your high score, or aim for an exact number. My lucky number is 13, so I will often try to score a number that's a multiple of 13.

Break glass. This one requires some investment to do legally and safely. Note: I am not telling you to throw rocks at people's windows or vandalize property. This is an alternative to those things. Find or obtain (I buy mine at Michael's for $10) some glass panes. They can be multicolored if you're feeling fun. Cover a pane in an old sheet or the plastic bag you bought it in. With a thick soled shoe or a rubber mallet, smash it. Try to make fun shapes with the pieces. Listen to the crunch. Keep a broom and dustpan ready, and make sure you have dedicated time to clean the mess. There is nothing worse than walking barefoot through a room and cutting open your foot.

Smash pumpkins, guards, watermelon, etc. Exactly what it says on the tin. Grab your murder-able vegetable of choice and a weapon (stick, hammer, sword, axe, etc) and go wild. Make as big a mess as you can. I mean absolutely destroy that fruit. If you aren't covered in the blood of your prey, have you really won? Take a long shower afterwards, and wear clothes you don't mind staining. Too depressed to clean up the mess? It's fruit. The local wildlife will thank you. Though if it's summer, you may get ants/bees.

Switch a tree. Find a switch. If your parents never made you pick your own switch, congratulations. If they did, you know exactly what you're looking for. Grab a stick, something green and flexible and long -- whip like. Go to the tree you wish to switch, and smack the shit out of it. You can also do this to bushes. Try to make the whip-crack noise, listen to the whistle of the branch through the air. See if you can take the individual leaves off a branch. Smack the shit out the tree with your switch until the switch breaks. If you're still feeling angry and impulsive, rinse and repeat.

Alternatives to moping sadly / wallowing in self pity:

Write a list of things you enjoy. This is just to remind you that you do have joy in life, actually. Focus on finding the smallest things possible, the ones that are truly niche to you and you alone. An example for me would be the strange purple-red color your veins take on when bright light is shining through them. I could stare at that color for ages. I'm talking really strange, personal joys. The way a sharpie brand pen clicks. How saying a word too much turns it into not-a-word. Make a list of those things.

Find a favorite texture and run your hands over it. Over and over. Obsessively. If this texture happens to be a pet, all the better! If not, that is also fine. My favorite texture is running my fingers through my hair when I've put hair gel in it. The feeling of detangling it with my fingers, all the sharp brittle hairs loosening into softness again, is the most cathartic in the world. Close second is my fingernails on very cheap construction paper, the pulpy stuff they give to kindergartners. Pass your hands through the texture until it loses its allure. Listen to the sounds it makes when you run your hands across/through it. Smell it, and smell your hands after you've touched it. Rub it on other parts of your body, like your arms or your neck. Try to pick it up with your feet.

Eat your favorite food. I don't give two shits about calories. This is comfort. If you don't have access to your favorite food, or it is too hard to cook with the energy levels you have, get the closest approximation you can find, or get your second favorite. Eat it slowly. Try to pick the tastes apart on your tongue. Make obnoxious noises while you eat, or eat it in a way you normally wouldn't. Eat ice cream with chopsticks. Eat soup with a butter knife. Lick pudding off the tines of a fork. Use your hands I don't care. Slurp out of the bowl like a dog. Pretend you're a caveman. Get stupid and silly. It's food. It's food. It's food. Enjoy every moment of it!

Tell a friend how awesome they are. Pop into their inbox and ask them about their day. Call them and ask for five minutes of their time. Invite them to dinner. You don't have to get super heartfelt if you're scared of being weird. Just say "Hey, have I told you you're awesome recently? Because you are." Be prepared to list at least one reason why.

Go cry about it. Seriously. In the words of my boss, "Sounds like you need to drink a bottle of wine, put on the saddest episode of your favorite TV show, and have a good sob fest." Crying is a releasing of built up chemicals in your brain, which is why people sometimes cry when they're happy or pissed -- you've got too many emotions inside and you need to literally put them outside. So if you're feeling the Miseries and need a quick release, give yourself a reason to cry and go for it. And I'm not talking like, tasteful wife mourning her husband lost to war with a single stoic tear down her face. Get ugly. Sob your eyes out. Scream, and wail, and thrash. Pretend you're an Irish widow who's just lost her child to famine and dirge. Lament. Do that thing in the Bible where people are so upset they tear at their clothes. When you're done, breathe, and breathe, and breathe again. That feels... Better. Doesn't it?

Listen to calming music, or sing/hum a song. This one might just be a me thing, but it is hard to be truly miserable when there's a soundtrack playing in your thoughts. This works best if the music you're listening to has no words, and is calming. We are not looking for sad mixes on YouTube. We are looking for lofi, and orchestra, and rainy mood. Something to dampen thought, not enhance it. I like putting on rain sounds and humming as I walk through my house. It lets me take action while still providing background noise I can rely on.

And that's about it, I think. I hope! My scattering of thoughts can help you! Or at least get you thinking about what works best for you. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments and I will try to reblog them!

Remember: we are prioritizing the safety of self here. This is to curb impulses for self harm, and self destruction, and the harming of others. Above all else, stay safe.

You've got this. I believe in you.

#spazzcat barks #mental health #mental wellness #us politics #impulsive #self harm #mitigating self harm #also for my fellow usamericans who feel like shit today: every day youre alive is a thorn in the side of the people who hate you #dont make their job easier by giving in

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gureumz · 2 years ago

Text

project aphrodite

rating: explicit

member: jungwon

premise: in a post-apocalyptic world, you and jungwon are excellent scientists and are at the relative top of the list of people who are ideal parents for the next generation of this dying world. it's now your job to repopulate this earth so you ask your co-worker to pretty please knock you up.

notes: sci-fi elements, dystopian au, scientist!reader, scientist!jungwon, fem-bodied reader, reader is referred to as a woman, dom!jungwon, breeding, impreg kink (like heavily), dirty talk, platonic (?) breeding, co-workers with benefits (?), idk this is kinda speculative fiction but also suspend your disbelief a bit lol

a/n: first of my 1k follower special! not quite sure what order i'm following here but i hope you stay for the ride nonetheless! enjoy!

it's a strange feeling.

in your line of work, 'strange' is hardly any cause for concern. as a biologist with a concentration in genetics, you've seen all the ways nature does its job. from the familiar concepts almost all people learn about in science class like the basic 'mom-meets-dad-equals-baby' to the eerie methods organisms in the deep sea evolve to survive.

you've learned about it all, pored over each punnett square, stressed over the formulas. so, this shouldn't be anything to worry about.

and yet, you're still worried.

"i mean...what did we expect?" jay speaks up from beside you, eyeing the phone in his hand.

"we're presently some of the world's most brilliant minds so...," he adds, locking his phone before hunching over his desk. to your ears, it sounds as if he's trying to convince himself rather than you.

you scan over the document flashed on your own laptop screen. the harsh fluorescent lights overhead buzz nonstop, going on and on, a background hum all of you in the bunker have grown used to. at this moment, it lulls you into a daydream, vision swimming as you repeat the words in your head.

all government personnel with a status level 7 and higher are recommended to partake in project aphrodite. those falling under level 10 are strictly required. participation at this level is compulsory.

common citizens with a status of 9 to 10 are also required to participate. ample compensation for those successful will be provided.

"you're a level 8. it's not as if you have to," you mutter, fingers digging into your temples.

jay snickers. "how many level 10 government personnel are there in this ruined world? a few hundred or so doctors, another few hundred scientists, even fewer world leaders. that's not taking into account the difference in sex. my information's not up to date but last time i checked, there is a hell of a lot more men than there are women. it's a shitshow waiting to happen."

you turn to meet jay's eyes, not meaning to convey any certain emotion, but the way jay's expression falls leads you to believe that you look way more upset than you're letting on.

"oh shit, yeah," jay curses. "you're a level 10. i forgot."

you sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest of your seat.

"i'm sure they'll release more regulation soon," you begin. "this is just the initial memo. with our world hanging in the balance as it is, no one's gonna let this devolve into some patriarchal anarchy, i hope."

"yeah, of course," you hear jay agree. "most of the proponents of project aphrodite are women, anyway, so i'm sure they'll take extra measures to keep you safe."

you sit up straight, looking at jay once more. "this is the world, huh?"

you and jay pause before sharing a quick chuckle.

"'go make babies, or else,'" you say in a mock radio announcer voice. jay lets out a laugh, his voice echoing off the empty office walls.

the two of you fall into silence, as if retreating to your respective thoughts. all that's in your mind at this moment is your current project, the very thing the few people more powerful than you had assigned for you to do: leading your team in stopping that godforsaken virus ravaging the outside. you've been making steady progress so far, but with the weight of this new responsibility, you're not sure if you could keep the momentum up.

you realize with a passing thought that most of the scientists on your team are level 9s and 10s.

"well," you begin before you could stop yourself. you're suddenly overcome with a feeling of suffocation, the office space seemingly too small and continuously growing even smaller.

"i hope you find someone you'd like to procreate with," you say lightly, pushing yourself off your chair. you quickly gather your things: folders and binders and other loose papers in your arms.

you catch jay looking at you, a pensive look on his face. you stop as you're grabbing your reusable coffee jug.

"no," you deadpan. "not me."

jay's eyes widen, as if realizing he'd said something without really saying anything.

"i—no, wait—i mean...," jay stutters, ears quickly turning red.

you smile, patting jay's shoulder reassuringly. "in case you were thinking about it."

jay's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and you can't help but laugh.

"these are desperate times, but i'm hoping it's not too desperate," you add. without waiting for a response, you turn towards the door, already making your way to it.

"besides, dr. isa lee seems more your type," you say over your shoulder one last time before pushing the door open and stepping out into the hallway.

---

"hey."

you look up from the microscope, tearing your attention away from the specimen you were examining. your eyes readjust to their normal focal length as a tall figure enters the lab, perfectly crisp white coat hanging off his broad shoulders, thin-wired spectacles resting on the bridge of his tall, straight nose. your lips feel strangely parched as he makes direct eye contact with you and you're left with no choice but to moisten them with your tongue.

"oh hi, dr. yang."

the other scientist chuckles, setting down a stack of papers on a desk in the corner. "i've been here for three weeks. please, call me jungwon."

you swallow. "right. jungwon."

dr. jungwon yang was a new import from the seoul bunker, having come to your own area's bunker merely a few weeks prior. he was immediately put under your supervision, an addition to your already elite team of biologists, geneticists, and virologists. off the bat, you could tell he was a man of many talents, coming up with unconventional solutions and arriving at answers quicker than anyone else.

his presence in your lab made your heart swell. in pride, adoration, or desire, you're not quite sure.

"uh, yesterday's results are in that binder over there, in case you want to go over them," you begin. jungwon walks over to your side of the long table, peering over the slide loaded into the microscope.

ignoring the way he brushes ever so slightly against you, you continue. "the director's dropping by later this afternoon, but i wouldn't be too bothered with that. he's just looking for someone to blame for the slow progress at this point. if only they could get us those materials we asked for..."

"have you read the memo?" jungwon asks abruptly, straightening up. he towers over you, his eyes downcast as he stares at your face.

"of course, you've read the memo," jungwon corrects himself, chuckling. "what i meant was...what do you think of it?"

"it's a government-issued memo, it hardly matters what i think," you respond, focusing back on your work in front of you, although all you do is stare blankly at the moving microorganisms, mind unfocused with how much of jungwon's perfume you can smell.

"it's your reproductive health that's on the line. i'm pretty sure your opinion counts for something," jungwon says with a pinch in between his eyebrows.

oh, a feminist. that's even hotter.

"okay, yeah. i appreciate the new guidelines they put out," you admit, looking back up at jungwon. "though it's the bare minimum, i'm glad they're letting us keep the autonomy of choosing who to...boink."

jungwon laughs at that.

"and free fertility drugs for anyone who wants or needs it. oh, also, thank god they didn't have the brilliant idea of putting a time limit on it. having read some crazy speculative fiction myself, the things people are willing to do in fiction are crazy. who's to say they can't do the same in real life?" you continue.

you don't notice the way jungwon's smirk grows as he listens.

"kind of makes the whole thing unsexy, don't you think?" jungwon cuts in, raising an eyebrow. you blink, unsure of what he's talking about.

"i'm surprised they're not monitoring us with cameras and hooking us up to EKGs and shit," he adds.

"oh," you say with a soft giggle, finally catching on. "i'm sure some people are into being watched."

"are you?" jungwon asks.

"am i what?" you answer.

"into being watched."

a pause.

you shake your head. "how about you?"

"oh no," jungwon says. "i prefer to keep what's mine for my eyes only."

"hm. possessive. that's kind of sexy," you mumble under your breath, a sudden surge of confidence coursing through you.

jungwon just stares at you, but you can see his pupils dance in amusement, taking in your whole face and all your features. you might have imagined it but he seemed to have peeked down at your chest for a second.

"do you think it's attractive for someone to be into lego-building? or at least, used to be into it. i'd give an arm and a leg for a complete lego set nowadays," jungwon asks, leaning against the table, and only now do you notice the veins running over the back of his hands.

you think about whether his arms are just as veiny.

"do you think it's a good trait to pass on an offspring? lego-building, i mean," he presses on.

"uh, yeah. good problem-solving skills," you answer, humoring his question.

jungwon nods. "do you think leadership skills are important?"

you smile, leaning against the cabinet opposite jungwon. you nudge his foot lightly. "i lead a team of scientists myself. of course, i think leadership skills are important."

"you and i both," jungwon agrees.

jungwon shifts, placing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

"how about dimples? do you think dimples are cute?" jungwon asks once more, one corner of his mouth upturned. a deep crease on his cheek appears.

a dimple.

"very," you admit.

"i see."

there's a silence that stretches over the two of you, and the weight of uncertainty is daunting as you stare at a spot on jungwon's tie. finally, after a few seconds, you heave a sigh, unable to take the tension any longer.

"this is the weirdest way anyone has ever flirted with me," you declare, looking up at jungwon through your lashes. he's grinning and you nearly shiver at how utterly attractive you're finding him at this moment.

"but it's effective," jungwon says. that was a statement, not a question.

you tilt your head to the side. "how do you know?"

"because you would have blown me off two minutes ago if it wasn't," jungwon reasons, crossing his arms. by doing this, he just made himself appear even wider than he is.

"always so calculated," you say, impressed.

you stretch your neck, easing your head from side to side, watching as jungwon fixes his gaze on the taut tendons of your neck. "are you also this precise in bed, dr. yang?"

jungwon approaches, a large hand resting on your hip. "that's for you to find out."

your breath hitches as you feel his thumb rub through the fabric of your skirt.

"later?" he asks.

"my place or yours?" you reply, fingertips grazing the front of his polo. you can just about feel the slope and ridges of his toned muscles.

"i'd like to be a gentleman, so mine," jungwon offers. "i'll walk you back to your room after."

"i was kind of hoping i wouldn't need to walk back after," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice.

"is that a challenge?" jungwon says, his other hand pressing firmly on your lower back. he pulls you to him and your hands involuntarily reach out towards his shoulders to steady yourself.

a few seconds pass before any of you speak again.

"that's for you to find out," you say.

---

"kind of weird, isn't it?" jungwon asks, panting against your neck.

your back is pressed firmly against one wall of his sleeping quarters, a wide, loft-like room, similar to yours. a luxury offered only to level 10 government personnel, the room gives its occupants enough space and enough privacy.

and boy, did you need privacy.

"what's weird?" you say breathily, fingers threading through jungwon's hair as he kisses down the column of your neck. his fingers nimbly undo the buttons of your blouse and you whimper when you feel him lick at the valley between your breasts.

"coming up to coworkers or friends then asking them to reproduce with you," jungwon responds, tugging your blouse off of your shoulders.

(you both held enough respect for the institution that employed you both, so your work lab coats were neatly thrown over the back of jungwon's couch before anything got too frisky.)

"see, it's the way you say it that makes it weird," you giggle. you pull jungwon back up to your face, kissing him fervently, tongue licking into his mouth.

"oh yeah? how would you say it?" jungwon challenges as he pulls away slightly, his nose grazing your cheek. he licks a stripe on the underside of your jaw.

"please, jungwon," you whimper, playing up the whine in your voice just a little bit. "need you to knock me up. make me pregnant, please."

jungwon grunts in your ear, reaching behind you to rip the zipper of your skirt down. you let the fabric fall to the floor, stepping out of it quickly, revealing the matching red lace panties you had in tandem with your bra.

"yeah? want me to cum inside you so many times that there won't even be the tiniest chance that you're not pregnant?" jungwon says lowly, kneading one of your boobs in his hands.

you nod, hooking a leg around jungwon's hip, pushing your core right up against the bulge in his pants.

"yes," you breathe out, dragging your clothed pussy over his straining cock. "let's be good citizens and have a whole bunch of kids, yeah?"

jungwon chuckles, hands hurriedly working on his belt. you take this time to kiss up his neck, still rutting against him, desperate for any contact.

"come here," jungwon says through gritted teeth as his pants and boxers fall to the floor. he kicks them off unceremoniously, yanking you towards the couch. your eyes briefly catch the flash of white that were your lab coats.

the two of you fall onto the cushiony surface, with jungwon sitting up and you falling a little less gracefully on him. the two of you laugh as you adjust yourself, righting your posture so you could look at jungwon.

"take this off," jungwon commands, pulling at your panties. you swing off jungwon for a moment, pulling off the garment in record time. you reposition yourself over jungwon, his cock standing tall, hard, and painfully red.

"come on, show me how bad you want those kids," jungwon teases, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you roll your eyes. "you gotta help with the diapers."

a second later, you sink down on jungwon, moaning wantonly at how much he stretches you out, filling you up effortlessly. jungwon throws his head back, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.

"i'll quit my fucking job at the lab if this is how good it feels to make babies with you," jungwon groans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

you whimper at his words, rocking back and forth on his lap. you angle your hips a certain way, the tip of his cock kissing at just the perfect spot inside you. you shudder, repeating your movement.

"god, you feel amazing," jungwon praises. "so warm, so tight."

"yeah," you respond. you're gliding up and down his cock, swiveling your hips as fast as you can. you clench down around him, the thought of jungwon cumming inside you your only motivation.

"filling me up so good," you add, watching as jungwon screws his eyes shut, neck shiny with sweat.

you move forward, attaching your lips just below jungwon's ear. you suckle on the salty skin, running your tongue over the spot, savoring the way jungwon lets a moan rip out of him.

"gotta let the whole bunker know this one's mine," you whisper as you let up on jungwon's neck. a faint red spot is left in the wake of your lips on his skin.

in a blink of an eye, your whole world tumbles upside down, jungwon's hands forcing you down on the couch by your waist. in a daze, you realize that jungwon has you pinned under him, his eyes wild with a hungry look in them. he pushes your legs right up against your chest, lining himself up with your entrance.

"the moment you start showing, no one in this goddamn bunker will have a single doubt who gave you that baby," jungwon counters, thrusting into you. he gives you no time to adjust, picking up where you left off.

you cry out, trying to anchor yourself on anything your hands can find. eventually, you find purchase in jungwon's shoulders. he feels your nails digging in, and he mutters a soft 'fuck', speeding up his movements, the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours so incredibly obscene in the confined space of his room.

"give it to me, please," you say, meeting jungwon's eyes as he continues to fuck into you. his forehead is creased, a look of concentration washing over his face.

"cum inside, fill me up as many times as you want, fuck it deep in me," you continue, cradling jungwon's face in your hands, the tender gesture a contrast to how rough he's bein.

"god," jungwon groans, voice breaking at the end as he speeds up, but then he halts abruptly, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. you feel him twitch inside you and you gasp, clenching down as hard as you can.

"fuck, yes, milk it all out," jungwon says. he starts to thrust up into you again, watching as his cock is slowly coated with his cum spreading all over your cushy walls.

you whine, your fingers finding their way down to your cunt, your middle and ring finger pressing onto your clit. you rub at it ferociously, the idea of jungwon's sticky release inside of you turning you on impossibly.

"i'm getting hard again, jesus christ," jungwon complains but his movements don't cease. he's shaking from the overstimulation but he wraps his arms around you, pulling your limp form up against him.

"rub that pretty pussy for me, babe," jungwon requests, thrusting up into you shallowly.

"make yourself cum while i fill you up for a second time."

---

"so?"

you jump a little at the sudden intrusion. you look up at jungwon through both of your reflections in your bathroom mirror. three pregnancy tests lie in a neat line on the edge of the sink.

"i just started the timer, jungwon," you reply with a laugh. jungwon turns you around to face him, kissing you briefly.

"hm," you say, looking up at jungwon questioningly. "you never kiss me unless you want something."

"well," jungwon begins, hands slipping under your sweater. "we can always kill time while we wait for the results."

you shake your head, but you're already pressing yourself up against jungwon. "you're insatiable, dr. yang."

jungwon winks at you, undoing your bra under your shirt. "you know it."

"plus, you just look too good in this damn lab coat."

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #jungwon smut #jungwon scenarios #w: jungwon

4K notes · View notes

hvnlygrl · 10 days ago

Note

jj and his gf who has really bad sensory problems, especially at night when they're going to sleep her shirt always bothers her and she gets so fusturated but jj always knows what to do for her

or with loud noises!!! i feel like he'd be the type to practically whisper you to sleep at night because he knows sometimes all the noise is just way too overwhelming

it’s all too much (can’t get enough).

pairing — jj maybank x fem!reader

word count — 1.7k

warnings — overstimulated reader, reader has a panic attack, fluff, super comforting jj, talk of diagnoses and doctors, mentions of throw-up. hurt/comfort.

synopsis — when everything gets to be too much for you, jj becomes the only thing you can stand, and the one thing you crave more than anything.

notes — this is such a wonderful request as someone who struggles with this on a regular basis and relies on my own bf to calm me down and be my peace and my center to ground myself. i love this sm! i hope you enjoy <3

you weren’t sure when it started; the constant overwhelming feelings that consumed nearly every waking moment you had throughout the day. one doctor said it was normal for a girl your age, especially given the things you’d been through, another said that it was due to an anxiety disorder, and one (though you knew this one was totally full of shit) tried to blame it on obsessive compulsive disorder with a hint of autism.

you had no clue when it got this bad, but you knew that it was reaching the point of becoming unbearable. being in crowds, or anywhere where the background noise was louder than the noise in your mind, made you feel like you needed to puke. clothes that were too tight or too loose, too coarse or too soft, too thick or too thin, drove you nearly to the brink of insanity. it was, as you described it, as if you were completely uncomfortable in your own body at all times.

hearing people hum, sing, tap, or breathe drove you up a wall, and that was on your best day. it was the thing you hated most about yourself, honestly. you hated that you were so easily agitated, and that you couldn’t help the outbursts that came with it.

throughout your school years, as it worsened, you lost friends one by one, until all that was left were the pogues and your boyfriend, jj. not like you needed anything more than them, but still.

you had no idea how jj could put up with you being this way, especially for so long, but you were extremely grateful for him. part of you, deep down inside your heart, was petrified that one day he would have enough and realize that he could do so much better, but for now you were willing to bask in each and every moment you got to have with him.

jj, however, felt the same way about you; he was terrified that you’d wake up one day and realize how broken he was and how unfixable his soul would forever be.

you were both idiots, admittedly, because each and every one of the pogues could tell just from the way that you looked at each other in docile moments that there was absolutely nothing either of you would take in place of the other.

since your relationship started with jj, your anxiety got significantly better, with fewer outbursts and a generally happier state of being becoming your new normal. he grounded you to reality, kept you sane and helped you accept yourself for what you truly were. with jj, you never had to hide anything, never had to mask any emotions or thoughts (no matter how dark or upsetting they may be). you knew he would never judge you for anything you felt or thought, having dealt with his own fair share of breakdowns during his time alive.

when you were crying to the point of hyperventilating over your crop top shirt being too constricting, he would give you his flannel to change into. when your shoes became too tight around your toes, he would pull your favorite slippers from his bag. when your food was too slimy or too crunchy, he’d swap dishes with you. anything to keep you happy, and anything to let you have as close to a normal experience as possible.

jj was a saint, truly. everything he did, he did through his love for you, never once questioning whatever was bothering you, simply just finding the best fix or alternative to calm you back down. it was beautiful.

however, as much as jj could do, he couldn’t always fix the problem. some things were still too far beyond anything he could ever understand, and in those cases, he would just hold you, doing his best to keep you contained and feeling as safe and comforted as possible.

panic attacks were nothing new to you, a weekly occurrence since you were a small child. they stemmed from severe ptsd from your childhood, you knew that. that knowledge felt like it should be enough to be able to push through them when they happened, but it never was.

a sharp pain in your chest, your internal temperature reaching record-breaking highs, your head spinning and full of loud disturbing thoughts, your breathing becoming erratic and your body trembling. you felt like you were going to puke and pass out all at the same time.

the first time it happened around jj, he thought he was going to have to bring you to the hospital or call an ambulance.

the two of you had gotten into a slight, meaningless disagreement over something completely irrelevant. he got a little too loud and before you knew it you had a hand clutching your heart, panting like a dog at the park as you backed as far into the nearest corner as you could. the walls shifted around you, inching closer and closer with every rapid breath you took. you tried to take deeper breaths, attempting to slow your heart before it exploded in your chest, but you couldn’t. you began crying, eyes wide with a thousand yard stare, seeing everything and nothing all at once.

jj watched you for a moment, in terror as he panicked, completely unaware of what was happening or what he should or could do about it. “y/n? what’s happening, baby?”

“i-i-” you struggled to catch a breath that would reach your lungs, “i can’t-”

“are you-what do i do?” he moves toward you, hands extended out warily, “what can i do, baby?”

you turned your head up toward the sky as you slid down the wall until you reached the floor. your eyes were pinched shut, as tight as you could get them, as if that would be enough to throw you back to reality. your arms wrapped around your knees tightly, one hand gripping the other as they wrung themselves together. “water,” it was a whisper, your vision full of black spots when you opened your eyes. this one was particularly bad for some reason, bringing you to the verge of passing out. “please.”

“water,” jj repeats, immediately jumping at the opportunity to help you, “uh, uh,” he searches frantically for a cup from the cabinet, realizing that all of the cups are dirty in the dishwasher, “shit!” he goes to wash one before remembering that you had put a few bottles to cool in the fridge when you’d gotten home earlier that day. “stupid,” he cusses at himself as he sprints to the fridge, rummaging through it until he finds one, perfectly chilled just for you.

he returns, finding you taking deep breaths while humming to yourself softly. it’s rhythmic, though a song he’s never heard before. it’s the song your dad hummed to you when you had the same attacks as a child, he’d hold you, placing a cold washcloth on the back of your neck as he hummed, telling you to rub at the inside of your palms softly to the rhythm. it was an old trick his own mother had done for him when he was a child, and it worked like a charm for you most of the time.

jj returns with the water, moving slower when he approached you, “i got your water, baby,” he speaks softly, his voice tender yet still slightly panicked. “can i get you anything else? do you want a hug or-”

“can you get me a washcloth, please?”

he nods and immediately moves toward the bathroom.

“wet it with cold water,” you call out to him, just loud enough for him to hear it.

jj follows the instructions, wringing it out in the sink before bringing it back to you. he sits on the floor next to you, mimicking your pose as he watches you intently.

you take a sip from the bottle before you drop your forehead to rest on the tops of your knees, the washcloth resting on the back of your neck. you continue taking deep breaths as you hum the tune once more, drawing shapes and massaging the insides of your palms.

after a few minutes, your breathing returns back to normal, your heart rate dropping back to an acceptable rate again. once you feel alright, you turn to look at jj, his concerned blue eyes tugging at your heart.

“are you okay? did i do something? i’m so sorry-”

“it was a panic attack,” your voice is soft, filled with shame as your gaze flutters between his eyes and his necklace. “i get them a lot. sorry you had to deal with that.”

“no, no don’t be sorry,” he places a ringed hand on your shoulder, “that wasn’t your fault, baby, don’t be ashamed of that. i’m just glad i could help you. i know what to do for next time, don’t even worry about it, okay? i was just really worried about you.”

“i know, i’m okay now though,” you nod, your heart warming at his words, “thanks for taking care of me.”

“of course, y/n,” he scoots closer to you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder, “you’re my girl, i’ll always be here to take care of you, babe.”

you smile, though he can't see it, “i love you, jj.”

“i love you, y/n,” he repeats, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “anything else i can do for you?”

“i could use a nap,” you huff softly, “that took a lot out of me.”

“yea, i’m sure it did,” he affirms, “let’s go take a nap then.”

jj helps you up from the floor, an arm slung over your shoulders as you both make your way down the hallway and into the bedroom. he pulls back the covers for you, turns the fan on, and the lights off. he even brings your water that you forgot to grab from the living room and places it on your nightstand.

jj slides into the bed beside you, allowing you to get comfortable on his chest as he lies on his back. he rubs a hand on your back, humming the tune you sung earlier softly, putting you right to sleep. he silently prays that you’ll rest as much as you deserve, and that for as long as you’ll have him, he’ll be able to help you more than he could today. he also vows to never be the reason you feel like that again if he can help it.

-> back to masterlist

taglist — @rubiehart @ji4ra4l1f3 @baebankz @sarahsangelicdoll

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markrosewater · 5 months ago

Note

Hi mark. It’s me, the guy that was complaining about orphans of the wheat. I wanted to start by apologizing for using the word lazy. I wasn’t trying to say that the people who make this game don’t put a ton of thought and effort and care into it, but I totally get how my wording made it sound like I was trying to say that. I’m genuinely sorry I came off like I was belittling the immense work you all do.

I also want to clarify that I wasn’t trying to say “I don’t like this thing therefore it is bad”. Millions of people play magic, all with very different tastes, and I’m just one weirdo. Everybody is going to have aspects of the game they like and aspects they dislike, my opinion is not objectively correct.

What I was originally trying to get at was that it feels as though a lot of designs that are “based on” something feel like they are getting more overt. Bonny Pall is the example my brain always goes back to because the name is almost the exact same thing as what it’s flavored after, Paul Bunyan. Orphans of the wheat is just a more recent example of this and what sparked me sending my initial message.

A few years ago, I saw a video on YouTube of a speech you made, I think it was your 30 years 30 lessons one. In it you talk about how akroan horse was originally Akroan Lion, and players didn’t get it, but when you changed it to akroan horse, suddenly people loved it and it felt so flavorful. I get that it’s important to make sure that people get the reference when you’re making one. And I get that it’s a delicate balance. Too subtle, and people don’t get it; but too overt, and bozos like me send giant messages complaining.

My qualm with Children of the wheat is that it is an example of a pattern I feel like I’m seeing where you are erring on the side of “gotta make sure they get it”, to the point that sometimes it feels like the reference is being beaten over our head. But I do recognize how that’s just my perspective and other people have different opinions on where the line is for “too obvious”. For example, I think Altanak and say its name are awesome. I like how the art is someone looking in a mirror and if you say its name three times then you summon the big bad monster. But I totally get how someone else might see that and say “well all they did was make Bloody Mary a bug”. And I also totally get how there might be another person who didn’t even get the reference and would’ve needed a card called “mutilated Miranda” to realize it.

This whole *thing* is just my way of saying that designs that are references to something feel like they are more and more often mutilated Miranda or Bonny Pall or orphans of the wheat, and that fewer and fewer of them are getting even one step removed from what they are referencing.

Thanks for taking the time to write back. It means a lot to me. How close we get to references is something we’re constantly reevaluating. We’ve definitely got the note that this year indexes too high on the obvious references.

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megwritesriddles · 4 months ago

Text

Side Effects ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 6 - Wet Dream. Mike tries a new sleep medication and finds it has some odd but pleasant side effects. Soon, Reader will find out too, for better or for worse.

Tags: Wet dreams, Fantasising, P in V, Couch sex, Masturbation (mentioned), Praise kink (implied), Neediness, Sub!Mike, Medical inaccuracies, Use of medication, Embarrassment, Reader is Abby's babysitter (cliché, i know), Way too much backstory for no reason (it's my curse), Set before the movie.

Word count: 3.7k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: I'm not kidding this was supposed to be a blurb because I had a busy day but it turned into this monster because I'm cursed with the inability to jump straight into smut without needless backstory!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Mike was trying out a new brand of sleeping pills. His doctor had some health concerns regarding the dosage he was taking of his previous pills. Mike had tried to dissuade her from worrying, insisting everything was fine and he was keeping healthy, but she had insisted he try out a new medication, with much fewer significant negative side effects. Mike had tried to protest but had shut his mouth fast when she brought up his role as the sole guardian of a minor. For Abby’s sake, she said, he shouldn’t be putting himself at risk of heart issues, even if the risk was relatively slight. Mike found himself having to agree that the idea of leaving Abby alone in this world was a terrible one.

He’d picked up the pills from the pharmacy the next day. The packaging was much the same as the last ones, only with a different name. The pills themselves were smaller, and circular rather than cylindrical. He was sceptical, given the dose was smaller per pill, but he had to give it a try anyway. He decided not to do his usual nightly routine, opting to leave the nature sounds for later, just wanting to see how well he slept with these pills. He lay on his side, pointedly ignoring his ‘Nebraska’ poster, waiting for the pills to kick in. He woke up with a start in the morning, incredibly grateful for this decision. He’d had a wet dream, a vivid one. He hadn’t had one in years, hadn’t let himself, and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself, feeling like a teenager again. He’s flushed and breathing heavily, feeling a sticky mess in his boxers. Rubbing a hand over his face, he headed for the bathroom. He discarded his sticky boxers in the hamper and climbed into the shower to wash himself off. Under the hot spray of water, he allowed his mind to wander back to what he remembered of his dream. You, bent over the edge of his bed, telling him how well he filled you up. He felt his skin flush again, his limp cock stirring slightly to attention at the memory. He shook his head, droplets of water spraying against the shower wall, he could not think of this right now. He forced his mind to stay on clean topics, feeling, with relief, that he softened up again. He’d known he was attracted to you, ever since you’d started babysitting Abby, you were just so gorgeous, with your sweet smiles and caring demeanour. Only, he’d never allowed himself to really think about you like that, other than the occasional fleeting thought. Once out of the shower, he’d checked over the pill bottle closely, finding what he was looking for. “Nocturnal emissions", “increased libido” and “vivid dreams,” were listed as a side effects. Go figure.

That entire day at work his mind kept returning to the fantasy, ashamed at how much he’d liked it. It seemed that thoughts like this about you had been a long time coming, as once the floodgates opened, they didn’t close. Almost every surface he saw at work today, he imagined taking you on. The thoughts were so inescapable that he was forced to quietly and shamefully relieve himself in the employee bathroom. He felt guilty for thinking of you like this, you were so sweet and generous, always giving your time to watch Abby, even for the very low pay he offered, you didn’t deserve to be eroticised like this by his traitorous brain. But, there was no helping it. He’d tried his best to act natural when he’d returned from work, finding you and Abby playing together on the living room floor. If you’d noticed him acting odd, you’d been too kind to mention. The next few days were a tortuous cycle, dreaming of you all night, thinking of whatever his brain had conjured all day. Then having to act normal when he gets home from work to find you in his living room, in various comfortable outfits, smiling in that beautiful way that you do. Things got a little easier, at least concerning you, when Abby returned to school, meaning you didn’t have to watch her all day. He still saw you every Saturday, since he had to work, but at least it was only once a week now. He continued seeing you every night in his dreams. He debated trying to return to his old sleeping pills, which didn’t have these pesky side effects but found himself oddly enjoying the newfound freedom of spending his nights thinking of such pleasant and frivolous things. As agonising as it was to see you and act normal, he felt overall lighter without reliving what happened with his brother every night. He had also started masturbating more, which seemed to relieve a decent deal of tension for him. Among all the other frustrations in his life, he hadn’t realised he’d also been frustrated sexually, although, this much should have been obvious from his complete lack of action for years now. He remained on his new pills, enjoying the benefits they brought, taking the good with the bad.

You’d asked Mike on Saturday if you could come over the following Tuesday while your apartment was fumigated. He’d grunted a tired, noncommittal agreement. You’d asked again at the door, and he’d done the same. You got the pesky feeling he wasn’t listening to you but you’d done what you could. You figured it shouldn’t be an issue, as Mike got Tuesdays off in exchange for working Saturdays, so you wouldn’t be sat in his house alone all day. You knew Mike tended to go back to sleep after taking Abby to school on his days off, so you prepared yourself to have to let yourself in with the key under the plant pot. You’d mentioned this to Mike too and he’d just mumbled an ‘okay’.

So here you were, crouching to retrieve the key from under the plant pot and letting yourself in. The bungalow was still and dark, you flick the light on in the hall, kicking off your shoes and making your way to the couch. You figure that Mike is simply asleep, so you settle in, going to dig in your bag for the book you brought with you. A noise from Mike’s bedroom startles you a little, you look up toward his door curiously. It had almost sounded like your name. Why? Was he calling you in there? It seemed like an unlikely thing for him to do, but your anxious mind conjures images of him injured in there, calling weakly out for help. He had sounded a little choked. You place your book on the coffee table and make your way over. You hear another small noise as you approach, like a moan, which concerns you more. You open the door, only to find him asleep on the bed in the dark. You stand confused in the doorway, gently gripping the doorknob. You were sure you heard your name, but he looks fast asleep, even as his body shifts in an odd way like it’s arching upward. Just as you’re about to leave, you hear it again, your name choked out from between his lips. You turn to look at him, noticing his body moving, almost like his hips are thrusting upward and–. Oh my God, you think in shock, he’s hard. Thoughts buzz around in your mind, connecting the dots way too slowly. When you grasp what’s going on, you quickly leave the room, shutting the door gently behind you so as not to wake him and leaning your back against it. Your mind whirs, another broken whimper of your name being heard from behind the door. You rush back to the couch, sitting down and taking a deep breath. You try to come up with an explanation for what could be happening that isn’t the obvious because the obvious answer is too… complicated. You run a hand over your hair. Could it have been a nightmare? Why would he have been hard… and thrusting like that? He had mentioned his new sleeping pills having some odd side effects which he’d point blank refused to elaborate on, other than that they were fine. Could this have been it? You try your best to return to your reading, but your mind won’t stop wandering. You vow to never mention this to anyone, especially not to Mike, not wishing to humiliate either of you. Your cheeks burn as you reread the same paragraph over and over, unable to retain anything but the memory of his whimpers of your name.

About an hour later, you’re feeling much less overheated but still struggling to focus. You hear a door open down the hall and soft footsteps. Mike. You notice, as he rubs his eyes, that he’s coming toward you shirtless… with a large wet patch on his grey boxers. You quickly look up at his face, just in time for him to lower his hand and spot you there, his eyes widening. You’re shocked by how fast he moves, darting into the bathroom and slamming the door shut in an instant. Quiet descends over the house again for a moment.

“Why are you here?” he screeches through the door, the mortification more than evident in the shake of his voice. You try to play it cool as if nothing is wrong, hoping you can convince him you didn’t see anything to spare you both the embarrassment.

“I told you I was coming, my apartment is being fumigated, remember?” you call back. You hear a thud, Mike thumping against the door in annoyance. “Am I not allowed to be here?” trying to channel your usual easygoing playfulness. He sighs loudly, rubbing at his forehead.

“Of course, you’re allowed here, you always are, okay?” he expresses quietly, uncomfortably sincere for the situation. There’s another loud silence. “Did you… see?” his voice breaks slightly. You continue to pretend all is well.

“What? Mike, I’ve seen you shirtless before,” you laugh, a little too loudly, hoping he believes you. Another silence. “Nothing to be ashamed of… you look… uh… good,” you falter, not knowing why you just said that. It’s true though, he keeps himself in shape, channelling his energy to building his strength, and it shows, pleasantly so. Mike can’t quite believe what he’s hearing you say, coughing slightly, his cock already stirring from just a simple comment on his fitness.

“Yeah?” he swallows, unable to keep the slightly needy edge out of his voice, praying you don’t notice. He doesn’t wait for your answer, snapping to his senses. “I’m going for a shower,” he squeaks through the door. He scrambles for the shower, turning on the water as a signal to you that he’s no longer talking. He discards his sticky boxers like normal, stepping into the warming shower before burying his head in his hands and letting out a frustrated howl. He doesn’t know if you can hear him, but he doesn’t care, nothing could be more embarrassing than what had just happened. You sit in the living room, staring at the bathroom door and listening to the drumming of the water from the shower. You’re not sure how to proceed, especially after hearing his tone of voice after you’d complimented him. You keep going back to the way he’d whimpered your name in his sleep, hard and thrusting and then emerged with a stain on his boxers, that suggested only one end to the dream. Was he into you? Was this just some weird fluke due to his sleeping pills? You become so engrossed in your thoughts that you have no time to mentally prepare for him to appear from the bathroom. He looks more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him in your life, a towel wrapped around his lower half, his torso dripping water attractively. You stare at each other for a while, like he’s waiting for you to start chastising him. Instead, you decide to try to test whether his dream was a fluke.

“Hey,” you smile in a subtle flirtatious way. You play with your hair, twirling an end of it slightly. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hey,” he repeats shyly. You give an obvious glance down at his bare chest and arms, before returning your eyes to his, smiling and biting your lip. He blinks furiously. “I’m going to go change,” he stutters, rushing off for his bedroom. You purse your lips as you watch after him, not sure if you’ve flustered him in a good or bad way. He returns a little while later, coming to sit on the couch with you, but as far from you as he can possibly get. You notice with a smile that he’s blushing.

“You were sleeping when I got here,” you start, as casual as can be, and he looks impossibly tense. You lean your arm on the back of the couch and then rest your chin on it, smiling over at him. He avoids your eye. “Dream anything nice?” His head whips around to look at you, trying to figure you out. He doesn’t know you’d walked in while he was sleeping.

“Did you–?” he starts but quickly stops himself. He can’t ask if you saw the stain, if you really were just asking an innocuous question, he would completely humiliate himself. You just blink back innocently. He scrutinises you for a little longer. The possibility crosses his mind that you’re a mind reader, and you’re trying to punish him for his thoughts. You reach over, trailing your fingertips over his arm, watching as goosebumps bloom.

“Have we ever been alone together before? Without Abby in the house?” you whisper with a teasing smile. He goes bright red, breathing shakily. You’re flirting with him, you have to be. Why? He looks at you nervously.

“Not sure,” he mumbles. You move closer and his heart pounds faster.

“I only asked about your dream because, well… I heard my name,” you trace a circle on his bicep, just below the sleeve of his t-shirt. He feels momentarily lightheaded when you say this. The unspoken understanding passes between you that you must know more than this, but you’re sparing him the details. He sighs shakily. His shy reactions make you feel oddly confident, you come closer, resting your hand on the arm of the couch, effectively boxing him in, your faces close together. He looks terrified, but he’s incredibly aroused. “Was I on top of you?” you purr, unsure where all this confidence has come from. His eyes shut and he breathes shakily, for a moment he thinks he’s about to faint.

“God…” he wonders again if you’re a mind reader. He opens his eyes and your face is right there, beautiful and seductive and he decides in that moment that you could know anything about him, even the most humiliating things, if it kept you this close. It’s not clear who leans in first, but suddenly the two of you are kissing, desperately. Your lips move with fervour and he moans into the kiss. He hasn’t been kissed in so long and it’s you, the object of all his fantasies. You clamber into his lap to straddle him and he accepts you eagerly, his arms wrapping around your middle tight, gripping at your skin through the fabric of your sweatshirt. Your tongue licks into his mouth and he moans again, each sound he makes going through to your core like lightning. He’s rock-hard under you and the thought makes you smug.

“You didn’t answer the question, was I on top of you?” you demand into the kiss, your hands coming to cup his neck.

“Yes, God yes, you were– ah– riding me,” he pants against your lips, all shame gone now that he has you here. He doesn’t care what he has to say, he just needs you. You hum an acknowledgement, pressing yourself down in his lap, slowly dragging yourself back and forth. He whines desperately, his hips bucking to meet you. You giggle at his desperation and he just whines again, embarrassed but knowing he deserves it. You continue to kiss him feverishly, the kiss becoming sloppier with need. You grind down on him, providing teasing friction, enjoying the way he grips at you tighter, trying to silently beg for more. You disconnect from the kiss and he laments, trying to follow you. You gently push him back by the chest and he looks up at you wide-eyed, lips pink and glossy from kissing. You grin, winking, reaching down and pulling your sweatshirt up and over your head. He groans at the sight of you, hands sliding up your back to pull you back in. He looks up at you, his eyes full of wonder and need, placing gentle kisses along your cleavage. You hum softly, enjoying the soft presses. His fingers splay against your back, tracing just under the clasp on your bra, it’s a question and you nod an answer. He fumbles with the clasp for a moment and he smiles up at you shyly. You chuckle. He manages to free you of the garment, slowly slipping the straps down your shoulders and pulling it away from you. He swallows, lowering his lips to mouth at the swell of your breasts. You feel his hardness twitching under you and you give a soft roll of your hips in return. He groans against your skin. You lean your head back, eyes fluttering blissfully as he showers you with insistent affections. His hands on your back hold you close, making sure you can’t slip away from him like every other version of you has by the morning. You toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck. His tongue traces a path between your breasts.

“Want your cock already,” you purr. You say it just to watch him go crazy, his whole body shivering, eyes falling closer, a small moan escaping his mouth.

“Y-yeah,” he murmurs. You push him back again, enjoying the sweet vulnerable way he looks up at you. You tug his t-shirt over his head, spending a moment caressing at his chest. He’s flushed, muscles tensing as your touch passes over him. Then, you shuffle back a little, just enough to tug at the strings of his sweatpants. His cock twitches eagerly as he watches you do this. You can’t help but giggle slightly and he looks up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m a bit excited,”

“I can tell honey,” you tease. He takes a deep breath and, holding you tight so you don’t fall, lifts his hips so you can wriggle his sweatpants down, along with his boxers. He’s leaking pre-cum, standing at full attention, flushed and needy. You peck his lips as assurance, sensing he’s feeling insecure about something, though you spot nothing to feel that way about. You rise onto your feet, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you like letting you any further would be unbearable. You kick off your leggings and underwear. He gasps at the sight of you, hands sliding down to your thighs as you settle back into his lap. You sit right on his cock, feeling it twitch eagerly under you, another bead of pre-cum rolling free. Mike pants needily, watching as your bare core slides against his length for a moment, making a sticky mess in his lap. He whines, gripping at your waist. You show mercy on him (and yourself), lifting up just enough to align his tip with your entrance. He whimpers in desperation.

“Please, please,” he begs. You lean down to kiss his cheeks soothingly, sinking down onto him. He gasps loudly, his grip tightening on you. His eyes glaze over as you sit motionless in his lap, accommodating yourself to him. He whines softly, hands sliding up and down your body with need. “Please,” he sobs. “I need you to move, please,” you smile, tutting playfully but lifting yourself up slowly. His eyes squeeze shut. “Nngh– so amazing,” you bring your hips down, feeling him dragging against your walls, making you moan. You brace yourself on his shoulders, sliding up and down a few more times. Mike already looks completely gone, staring dreamily at your breasts as they softly bounce, hands exploring your hips and waist, letting out unashamed moans. You remember his dream and lift yourself.

“Fuck me,” you command. He’s confused for a moment, sobbing softly at the cessation of movement, before realising what you want him to do. He’s happy to oblige. He takes hold of your hips and starts to thrust shakily up into you. You let out a surprised gasp as he hits a perfect spot, moaning and dropping your head onto his shoulder. He kisses at your neck as best he can, thrusting up into you with pure desperation. He pounds against you sloppily, whimpering desperately, your moans in his ear only egging him on. He gets off knowing you feel good, thrusting more intentionally against the spot you seem to love so much. He’s rewarded with a symphony of beautiful sounds that has him approaching his release at a rapid pace. “Fucking me so good, Mike,” you moan and he’s done for, the praise going right to his core. With two more harsh thrusts, he’s cumming, his whole body trembling with a whimper of your name. You start to move yourself again, even as he twitches and whines under you, desperate not to get left behind. He sobs shakily with pleasure as you chase your release. Luckily, it washes over you soon after, fireworks exploding behind your eyes. You grip his shoulders hard, your body shaking like his, your head tipped back as you wail his name in return. He watches you, enraptured by the sight of you like this, determined in this moment that he won’t let this be the last time he sees it, no matter what happens. You calm down, mercifully pulling off of him to give him some reprieve from all the sensations. He holds you there on his lap, rubbing your back softly as the two of you come back to earth. He’s blissful, not just from the sex, but from the fact he’s allowed to hold you, that your arms are wrapping around him in return. He kisses your cheek, and you let him and he’s in heaven.

“I guess dreams do come true,” he sighs with a lopsided grin. You look up at him incredulously.

“That’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

#mike schmidt #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt fanfic #mike schimdt x you #mike schimdt smut #smut #fanfic #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #jhutch #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #michael schmidt #x reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf smut

383 notes · View notes

blackenedsnow · 2 months ago

Note

hello i love the way you write shadow. I have request if it is okay? I have it a bit hard lately and um shadows my comfort character..anyways for my request may i have shadow with a reader who well just found out they have adhd and just isnt handling it well. Because of well family and a fear it makes them a freak compared to them..and their friends because of how much they bave been bullied throughout their life. Shadow notices that the reader, his love starts to be quiet and hide away a lot and shadow just gets them down..lets them cry and just..lets them know he accepts them and loves them no matter what? Thank you if you do get around and see this and write this. Your writing is amazing and i hopd your doing alright.

always here

WARNING: Emotional struggles, mentions of bullying and family-related stress, self-doubt.

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Hello! I poured a lot of care into this and hope it feels as warm as you deserve. Sending all my love your way—please take care of yourself, okay? You matter so much <333

SUMMARY: Shadow notices you, his love, withdrawing after a difficult ADHD diagnosis.

Lately, Shadow had been noticing changes in you. Small things at first—quieter moments, fewer shared smiles, an odd hesitance in your words. But then, it shifted to something deeper. You started staying in your room more often, skipping meals, brushing off his offers to hang out with a faint, “I’m just tired.”

Shadow wasn’t the type to push immediately. He believed in giving space, letting people come to him on their terms. But this was different. Days turned into weeks, and the light that usually filled your presence seemed to dim. That’s when he decided to act.

“Hey,” Shadow’s voice was soft but firm as he entered your room without knocking. He found you curled up on the bed, the curtains drawn. The dim light highlighted the tension in your face, the way your shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Shadow? I—I thought I told you I was fine.”

“You did,” he said, crossing his arms. “But we both know that’s not true.”

A lump formed in your throat. You’d been trying so hard to keep it together, to not let your messy, swirling emotions spill out. But there he was, unyielding and steady, his red eyes softening as they met yours.

“I…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Start anywhere.” Shadow pulled a chair closer, sitting down beside the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words tumbled out in fragments at first—your recent ADHD diagnosis, the feelings of inadequacy, the way your family’s offhand comments had cut deeper than they realized. You admitted how much you feared being seen as “different” or “broken,” or “too much” how the memories of bullying still haunted you, and how you worried even your friends might think less of you.

“I just feel like…like I don’t belong anywhere,” you finished, tears streaming down your face. “Like I’m too much and not enough at the same time.”

Shadow listened without interrupting, his usual stoic demeanor softening into something achingly gentle. When you finally stopped, he leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on his knees.

“You’re not too much,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. “And you’re not alone. Do you know how strong you are for facing all of this?”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like I’m drowning.”

“That’s because you’ve been trying to do it all by yourself,” Shadow said. “You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

Shadow moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hesitant, as if testing the waters, he reached out and placed a hand over yours.

“I’ve been where you are,” he said quietly. “Feeling like the world doesn’t make sense, like there’s no place for someone like me. It took me a long time to realize that I didn’t need to ‘fix’ myself to be worth something.” His gaze met yours, unwavering. “And you don’t either.”

The dam broke. All the emotions you’d been holding back—the fear, the frustration, the sadness—came pouring out. You sobbed openly, and Shadow stayed right there, holding your hand like an anchor in the storm.

When the tears finally subsided, leaving you drained but lighter, Shadow handed you a tissue.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.

He gave a small nod. “Anytime.”

Over the next few weeks, Shadow made it his mission to remind you of your worth. He encouraged you to learn about your strengths alongside the challenges. He stood up for you when family or friends made careless remarks, calmly but firmly setting boundaries you’d struggled to enforce yourself.

Most importantly, he never let you feel alone. Whether it was sitting quietly with you on hard days or celebrating small victories, Shadow’s presence was a constant reassurance.

“You’re not a freak,” he told you one evening as you sat together under the stars. “You’re you. And that’s more than enough.”

You leaned against him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. For the first time in a long time, you started to believe it.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog fanfic #shadow x reader #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #x reader #ask #fanfic #request #oneshot

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

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Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands.

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely.

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach.

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place.

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within.

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin.

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes.

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit.

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.”

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp.

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.”

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads.

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!”

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.”

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching.

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?”

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.”

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?”

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.”

“I do not know, lady,” you answer.

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.”

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.”

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.”

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded.

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies.

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!”

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings.

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.”

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--”

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.”

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--”

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!”

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries.

“Father, please, is it a husband?”

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.”

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.”

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.”

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa.

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?”

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.”

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.”

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.”

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.”

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.”

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner.

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers.

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment.

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s.

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt.

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost?

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow.

“One of ya,” he grits.

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women.

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate.

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows.

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance.

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia.

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top.

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces.

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it.

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...”

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--”

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you.

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.”

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.”

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight.

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?”

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor.

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down.

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #au #medieval au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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improbable-outset · 15 days ago

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📄 𝐀 𝐙𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: very slow burn, flirting, unresolved romantic tension, open ending, Zaun and Piltover dynamics, light angst

𝐀/𝐍: Ok I know I said no more tumblr, but I had to share this…if it reaches the Arcane audience, cool. If it doesn’t…ah well at least my moots see this

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As a Zaunite inventor, you don’t trust uninvited visitors in your sanctuary, especially from Piltover Councillors. But Jayce Talis isn’t like most people. Persistent, curious, and infuriatingly charming, he keeps showing up to your workshop, refusing to back down. And neither are you…

An earthy tang hit the back of your throat as you swept the concrete floor, each stroke of your broom sending swirls of dust in the air. The dust particles caught the setting sunlight spilling through the open doorway, casting a golden glow inside your workshop.

It wasn’t a huge space, but it was yours— clattered with shelves of spare parts, half finished projects, and various tools.

The main door stood propped open, letting in the faded sunlight and occasional cool breeze.

The wind slowly brushed past you as you continued to sweep, the sound of the wind charm that hung outside of your property tinkered in the air. Its delicate sound was a contrast to the mechanical hum that usually filled the space.

Your routine was as steady as the machines you built. Each day was just as predictable as the last. Sweep the dust, sort out spare parts, tinker with inventions that no one would use— or buy.

Most of your work came from the Chem-barons, commissions for complex weapons or gear that promised devastation in the right hands.

They didn’t visit often, but their demands could keep you busy for days. Then, when the work was done, the stillness returned.

No one came unless they needed something done, and you prefer it that way. The fewer interruptions, the fewer chances for someone to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

And everyone seemed to respect that.

You paused mid-sweep, the broom still in your hand, as you felt a prickle run up the back of your neck.

The air in the Undercity was always thick with pollution and smoke, but now it felt heavier— like the weight of a storm waiting to break.

The usual hum of your machinery seemed muted, and even the wind chime faltered, the tinkering notes faded into the background.

You told yourself to ignore it, brush it off like it was nothing more than a stray thought. But then you heard it again— a faint shuffle, just outside.

It sounded too deliberate to be from the wind, and too hesitant to be a usual runner.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the alleyway, stepping into the dim light of your workshop. It didn’t take long to figure out who it was— his attire was too clean for this side of the bridge.

He moved with purpose, pausing a few metres before your doorway like he’d stumble upon something precious.

You didn’t flinch, broom still in your hand, watching. You’d learn that speaking first was usually a mistake— it only gave the other person the upper hand.

The man looked at you, his stare caught somewhere between admiration and the detached curiosity of someone staring at an animal behind glass.

His height and physique could naturally draw attention. But even without that, his clothes did most of the talking.

The gold trim on his suit caught what little light filtered through the smog. His boots polished to a shine and echoed softly in the quiet streets— just loud enough to announce his arrival.

“You lost, Talis?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

Your property wasn’t exactly on the map, it was tucked away in the maze of the alleys. Only locals could navigate these paths.

That’s why seeing someone from Piltover standing outside your doorstep caught you off guard.

His name had the desired effect, setting alarm bells in him. His posture stiffened, his expression flickered with surprise with his eyes darting back to yours. “You…know who I am?”

You leaned your broom against the wall and crossed your arms.

“Everyone in Zaun knows the Golden Boy from Piltover.” Your tone was flat, like you were stating a fact. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Exit’s that way.”

“I’m not selling anything,” he said quickly, his hands coming up in a half-hearted gesture of surrender. “I just came to see your work.”

“My work? Why?”

Jayce Talis— a name rang out in both Piltover and Zaun. His face was everywhere— on posters, merchandise, and in carefully curated photos plastered across every surface in the city.

You always knew the pictures were crafted to perfection. They had to be. The Man of Progress couldn’t afford a single flaw.

Still, seeing him in person was…something else. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but the pictures didn’t exaggerate much.

His hair was slick back just enough to look effortlessly polished. His thick brows and light stubble framed his features that were far too symmetrical to your liking.

And then there was his outfit— his crisp white jacket with gold pieces tailored so perfectly it felt like a statement itself.

It wasn’t overly tight, but it clung in the right places, hinting at broad shoulders and accentuating a physique that made heads turn. Each time he shifted, the fabric pulled slightly against his muscles, as if barely keeping itself together.

Even his eyes seemed to sparkle more up close in the low light, a reflection of his boundless confidence and a sign that he didn’t belong here. Not in your space.

“I’ve heard words about you going around and I was curious.”

“So what? You’re gonna give me a gold star? Show off my work at the Piltover parties?”

“No, no. I mean—” he hesitated, the words fumbling for footing. “People say you’re brilliant, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Brilliant. Of course. You’ve heard that compliment being tossed around before, along with other sweet talks from people trying to butter you up before hitting you with some impossible demand.

But he wasn’t fumbling entirely, there was still a smooth air about him. One that came naturally to someone that’s used to speaking to a room full of people hanging onto every word.

Even so, there was something different up close. Was he trying too hard? Nervousness beneath his charm?

“You think I’m gonna perform for you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice dipping lower to a more soothing note.

You narrowed your eyes, holding back a scoff. So he thought a change in his tone would win you over? Clearly, he hadn’t met enough people like you.

But the real question still nagged at the back of your mind. How had he found you? It still baffled you. Your workshop wasn’t the kind of place you could just stumble across— it was hidden by design

So how had Jayce Talis done it? Had he bribed someone for directions? Pulled strings with someone that owed him a favour?

Or had he stubbornly worked his way through the Undercity on his own, pretending to look harmless?

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. He looked glaringly out of place. And yet, he stood there, looking like he genuinely cared about your answer.

Not that it mattered. You learned not to trust a nice tone or an earnest expression.

Before you could tell him to get lost, his eyes flickered past you. He stepped forward, just slightly, but enough for the air between you to shift.

“Is that…a chem-powered stabiliser?” Jayce asked, pointing past you.

You froze, following his gaze to the machinery perched on the workbench. He even had the cheeks to step closer and peered through the doorway to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen one so compact before. How did you—”

“Don’t touch that!” you snapped, stepping in to block out his view. “These aren’t for you to admire.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, fingered curling to his palm, but his eyes were still glued to the device.

“Is this some sort of new hobby? Charity work for the poor Zaunite researchers? You think you could waltz into the Undercity, slap a few compliments, and go back feeling good about yourself?”

You see him deflate a little, genuinely taken back by your words. For the first time, you saw his brows furrow as your words seemed to sting. “That’s not why I’m here, I just—”

“Then why are you here? I don’t need your approval, councillor.”

The title landed a sharp jab, but instead of retreating completely, Jayce straightened his posture.

“Fine, fine— I’m going.” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But your work is incredible, even if you hate me for saying it.”

His expression softened, his gaze flickered between the stabiliser and you. For a moment, he looked like a wounded animal, retreating quietly but with a trace of stubborn determination in his eyes.

“Don’t come back, Talis.” you called sharply, already turning your back to head inside.

“Can’t make any promises.” he smiled faintly, disappearing back into the shadows of the alleyway.

The muted hiss of the soldering iron filled the quiet. Your hands worked with precision, the glow from the tool casting flickering light across the delicate gears in front of you.

It had been almost a week since Jayce’s unsolicited visit, and you haven’t had a single visitor after that. Days like this weren’t unusual— visitors were rare, and you were accustomed to that.

Despite the chaos of the Undercity, it always felt distant here, muted by the walls and your deliberate isolation. Your workshop was designed to block out the clamour of the outside world.

The only sounds were the occasional clink of metal and the crackle of circuitry.

You adjusted your position, leaning closer to your work, and ran your tongue over your slightly chapped lips as you steadied the gear. The solder melted, releasing a soft wisp of smoke that carried a sharp metallic scent.

With the rare visitors and social interactions, your tools were the only thing keeping you company. They didn’t have any demand explaining or carrying expectations. They only required patience and precision.

The silence gave you room to think— sometimes too much room. After days without a single visit, you felt the weight of it begin to press on you. It wasn’t something you dared to admit to anyone— not even yourself— but you felt the toll of it.

The lack of noise sharpened your senses, as if your ears were always straining to fill the void. You heard every creek of the floorboards beneath your feet, every shift of machinery in the room, every distant echo from across the streets.

Sometimes you could even hear the faint thrum of your pulse in your ear.

And that’s why you heard them before you even saw him.

Boots.

Not the mismatched kinds that the locals wore. These sounded like it came from a clean sole that didn’t stick to the streets. A confidence that you didn’t hear often.

You paused mid-solder and tilted your head slightly, listening carefully. The sound grew louder, sharper, and irritably more familiar. It was the same stride you heard a few days ago.

Placing the iron down, you turned towards the doorway. A shadow lingered in the dim light before a figure emerged.

And there he was, flesh and blood.

Again.

“Still not lost this time,” he announced.

He carried the same easy warmth, light but steady, that seemed to sweep into the room and disturb the peace you cultivated.

Except now, it was more infuriating than the last. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” you asked, glancing at him briefly.

“You did,” he admitted, unfazed. “I have a habit of not listening.”

Your gaze dropped briefly to his boots, taking in the faint sheen leather material that hadn’t been scuffed by Zaun’s grime.

“You really got some nerves, Talis.”

Of course he hadn’t learned. Why were you even surprised? Of course he thought he was entitled to walk back in here, as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“What do you want, Talis?” Your voice was a blade against steel. “You don’t belong here.”

“What, and you do?” He arched his brow, as though he caught you in a contradiction. “Doesn’t seem like you get a lot of visitors.”

“I like it that way.”

Usually, your words were enough to send someone packing. Your cold indifference was a shield, and most people didn’t push past. But Jayce didn’t flinch.

Instead, his expression softened, giving you a steady gaze. There was no mockery. Just…patience.

You didn’t know what to make of that, like his warmth stonewalled your annoyance. You stared, half expecting him to make some sort of patronising comment. But he didn’t.

It dawned on you that he really wasn’t going to give this up.

You opened your mouth and closed them again, struggling to find the words before you finally hear yourself speak again.

“You might as well come in since you came all the way down here…again.”

The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. Part of you wished you could snatch your words back, but it was too late now.

Jayce had already stepped closer, his broad shadow loomed across the threshold. His boots scraped against the uneven floor. His steps felt measured, like he was testing how far he could go without setting you off.

The workshop always felt just the right size when you were alone— a perfect balance between cramped and cozy. But now it suddenly felt stifling. The creek of the floorboard under his weight and his shuffling steps sounded amplified in the quiet. His height alone made the walls feel closer.

Even his presence had some volume.

The glow lamps casted a soft light around the room. The workshop area had a few overhead lamps with exposed bulbs that threw harsh lighting over the workbenches, drawing attention to every imperfection.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a light teasing to it, “most people are at least a little polite to unexpected guests.”

“You’re in Zaun. Niceties get you robbed,” you shot back.

“Good thing I’m not carrying anything worth stealing.”

“Those boots say otherwise, Councillor.”

You didn’t wait for his resort, turning to glance around your workshop. To an outsider, the area probably looked like a disaster— grease stains on the wall, loose screws and scraps of metal littered the workbenches, and half finished work lay abandoned in various states of progress.

But to you, it’s an organised chaos. Everything had its place. You could locate a specific bolt buried under a pile of blueprints in seconds.

If anyone even dared to call it a mess, it wouldn’t bother you. Their opinions didn’t matter.

However, you’d never have a Piltovern in here. Not until tonight.

You didn’t have to look at him to imagine the look of disdain he must feel. A poorly lit workshop that reeked of oil and soldered metal wasn’t part of his orderly world.

Surely the grime and chaos would send him scurrying back to his prestigious lab in Piltover.

But when you turned to face him, the look in his face stopped you short.

Jayce leaned casually against one of the shelves, carefully avoiding anything breakable. His eyes scanned the room like he’d just stumbled upon a treasure trove. The faint glow of the lamps reflected in his eyes.

It only made you stiffer. Was this real awe, or just another layer to whatever act he was putting on?

People didn’t come here to admire your work. They came with demands and offers, often laced with ulterior motives.

His sincerity didn’t fit. It was foreign and dangerous. You weren’t used to it and you weren’t sure if you wanted to be.

And you certainly didn’t trust it.

“You made this?” he asked, picking up the small contraption with surprise care. The device whirred softly in his hand. Despite the scrubby appearance, the mechanism was fine and intricate, every piece deliberately placed.

You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you always just reach for anything that fascinates you?”

“Sorry I just—” he set the device down, as if it burned his skin. “I guess I got too curious.”

His sheepish tone irritated you more. It was easier to deal with people that were openly arrogant.

He turned his attention past you to the wall-mounted shelves stacked with material. Tools hung from hooks in neat rows, their placement a product of necessity rather than decoration.

Space was limited, so you had to think vertically, every inch of the walls serving a purpose.

Jayce stepped closer, his movement slower and more mindful. His gaze was glued to the tools, taking them in as though each one was a masterpiece.

“These tools look amazing, I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“Well, I’d hope not. Because I made them.”

“You made them all yourself?”

“Most of them.”

The words came out clipped, but his reaction wasn’t what you expected. If he was fazed by your snarky attitude, he didn’t show it. Maybe he braced himself this time, expecting your hostility, or maybe he found it amusing.

“How long…how long did it take you?” he asked softly.

“Depends on how complex it is.”

“It’s incredible,” he said. “People back in the Academy spend months trying to get this kind of precision…and even they don’t come close”

For a moment you faltered, your eyes twitched at his words. His praise sounded genuine, and you knew it. And that’s what nerved you.

Compliments always came with strings attached.

You quickly deflected. “Flattery won’t work. I’m not one of your lapdogs.”

“Good, I don’t want lapdogs,” he replied, his grin disarming. “I like inventors who can outthink me.”

The casual delivery of his words struck you unexpectedly, leaving a hairline fracture in the armour you’ve built around yourself. It was a small blip in your radar. You didn’t know why you trusted him enough to stretch the conversation this far.

For now, you allowed the unfamiliar feeling to linger, watching as he wandered through your sanctuary.

Jayce’s gaze combed through the shelves and your unfinished project with childlike wonder. At this point, you truly couldn’t decide if this was an act of not.

People didn’t come in here to admire your work— they came to collect it. Usually they would mutter a few pointers about what needed tweaking, toss their payment on the nearest bench, and leave without so much of a second glance.

You were used to that rhythm— content with it.

But, now you weren’t sure.

Having someone appreciate your work felt foreign, and the way he handled your creation with care left an uncomfortable knot in your chest.

You silently cursed yourself for noticing the subtle curve of his smile when he discovered something particularly interesting.

It was only his second time here and for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was already threatening to throw you off balance.

A week hadn’t past before you heard his footsteps again, cutting through the tinkering of the wind chimes, as familiar as the beat of your own pulse.

“Is this going to be a routine now?” you asked, arching your brow inquisitively.

He stepped closer, his voice almost teasing. “As long as you allow it.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead you turned, stepping back into the workshop without looking back. You knew he’d follow; given his last visit. Though you never made it easy for him.

But despite the lack of warmth in your welcoming, the air between you was different now. No hostility, no tension. But no comfort either.

It didn’t take long for Jayce to settle into the rhythm that grated your nerves in the worst way— calm and unhurried. It wasn’t just that he was an inventor, too. It was how he saw things with such fresh eyes, as if the clutter was all just a puzzle for him to piece together.

But there was still an odd feeling that tugged at the back of your mind.

Piltover men didn’t linger; they demanded, bargained, gloated. Then left without looking back. They didn’t come back three times, and they certainly didn’t waste their time applauding your work like it came from some exhibition.

It made you bristle. Not because he was here, but because you couldn’t figure out why.

You’ve already cycled through the possibilities, and none of them made sense. If he was scouting for talent for Piltover, why not send an envoy? If he wanted to commission something from you, surely an assistant could’ve handled it. And why three separate visits, at irregular intervals?

Your thoughts spiralled tighter, refusing to pinpoint and answer that fit. Then, a thought you didn’t dare to acknowledge emerged.

It couldn’t be that, could it? The possibility— absurd, offensive, ridiculous— settled in your mind like a splinter.

Your throat tightened, a heat rising up your neck. You shouldn’t entertain it. But the only way to gain some clarity was to confront him about it.

“You’ve been sulking around my workshop for the third time now…” your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t regret it.

You let him linger around in your threshold once already, and this time, you were determined to figure out what he wanted.

“Yes..” his tone was annoyingly steady. “I just wanted to see your work.”

“Please. I know men like you. You act interested, then expect me to fall into your lap.” You stepped closer, crossing your arms over your chest. The next words edged with frustration. “If that’s what you’re here for, you can save both of us the time and get lost.”

The word tasted bitter, even when you said them. You weren’t sure why you mind went to that possibility. But it felt like the only way to shatter the weird tension that you were feeling when he was around.

Jayce froze. And then his face grew flustered at your words, like you’ve just crossed a line he hadn’t even considered.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked softly, before his voice gained conviction. “I don’t care about…that. I wouldn’t be that selfish. I wanted to see what you’ve built because it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t have an ulterior motive, I swear.”

You wanted to snap back, to call him out on what you assumed was an elaborate excuse, but you couldn’t find the words. You felt embarrassment cross your form.

The moment of stillness filled the space, the absurdity of your accusation sinking in. A Councilman slinking into a Zaun for…something improper. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

He’d never once cross a boundary. His posture was careful and his steps were measured. His gaze on you was momentary, but it never strayed too far from your workbench.

“Hmph…you’re persistent I’ll give you that.” You muttered, your voice far quieter now. “Most people don’t make it past the first visit.”

The corner of his lips quirked up to a bashful smile. “So I’m not most people?”

Your lips twitched before you quickly smothered it, fixing him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Golden Boy.”

Despite the harshness in your tone, you felt the lingering awkwardness pressing at the edge. Your accusations made your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, not that you ever tried before. But now it felt different.

Jayce, on the other hand, redirected his attention back on your workbench. He offered a few offhanded comments, his tone deliberately casual. You could tell he was trying to smooth out the tension, though you barely registered his words.

Just a few weeks ago, you’ve done everything in your power to push him away. Sharp words, cold stares, anything to make him leave and never come back. All proven futile.

But now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to ruin…whatever it was between the two of you.

Having someone like him around brought a spark of something you hadn’t realised you missed.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. His broad shoulders seemed almost out of place in your cramped workshop— like an elephant in a china shop. But his presence didn’t feel intrusive now.

His eyes scanned over your blueprints and half-finished projects with genuine interest. There was a strange sense of pride that washed over you, one you tried to ignore.

Knowing that someone like him valued your craftsmanship, took the time out of his day to see your work, was almost unsettling. And you didn’t want to think too hard about why.

“This joint,” his voice cut through your reverie, drawing you back to the present, “it might seize under pressure. Have you considered a pivot here?”

You blinked, following the direction of his finger on the diagram. “It works fine as it is.”

“I’m sure it does, but it could work even better.”

He wasn’t backing down. His voice wasn’t condescending or dismissive. But something else that made you tense, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He continued to offer feedback and suggest adjustments, but you weren’t fully listening. His words were slipping through your focus, weaving around you. You were too distracted but his voice. The way he said things. The way his presence seemed to fill the room.

You felt your heart stutter, and you realised you hadn’t heard a word from him for the past minute. All you could focus on was how close he was, making your skin feel tight, his hands moving over the blueprint.

“You know,” you said, leaning back slightly, “you’re kind of cute when you ramble.”

“What?”

“I said you’re cute,” you repeated, shifting your weight and hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush creeping to your face. “You’re not deaf, are you?”

“I— uh— I’ve never had anybody describe me as ‘cute’ before.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You know, I’m a councillor. You are aware of what that status means, right?”

“Being a councillor doesn’t spare you from being cute. Or are you implying that councillors are above compliments?

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, letting out a chuckle to conceal something deeper— maybe nerves, perhaps. “I guess it’s a change from the more…superficial compliments I get.”

“Superficial?”

“I get a lot of ‘handsome’ and ‘charming’ and all the usual words.“

“That’s because they’re boring.”

A small shift seemed to pass over him— maybe he hadn’t expected that response. His gaze lingered before he looked away, as if your words had an effect on him more than he let on.

You hadn’t known Jayce for long— not personally, at least. But the more you were around him, the more you realised he wasn’t as unreadable as you first thought.

You’ve seen glimpses of him, like fitting together different parts of him that made him who he was.

The defeated look he wore when you first shut him out of your workshop. The awe that lit up his face when he stepped inside and took in your projects for the first time. The stunned silence after your accusation, as if the words had thrown him off balance.

And how he was flustered— caught completely off guard. His mouth twitched into a hesitant smile, and he quickly covered it with his palm, as though trying to shield it from you.

This was your favourite expression by far.

Something about watching him internally stumble, seeing him stripped off his usual poise struck a chord in you. It wasn’t just satisfaction— but something softer. As if you weren’t the only one out of your depth for once.

After a few heartbeats, Jayce cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence like pebble tossed in water.

“Well, I should probably let you get back to it,” he said.

His usual confidence faltered as he turned to the door, muttering something along the lines of “cute” under his breath. The door opened to reveal the darkness of the night, with the flickering glows of the street lights.

You rolled your eyes and suppressed a grin as he stepped outside. “Don’t get used to the hospitality, Talis.”

He glanced back with a smirk, a mix of shyness and mischievous. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”

Then he was gone, disappeared into the night, leaving you alone again with your tools.

#★— ayrus writes #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis x gender neutral reader #arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis arcane #jayce arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane jayce talis #jayce x reader

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fazedlight · 1 month ago

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Limbo (Lena & Alex, when Kara is in the Phantom Zone)

She thought she had been alone in the Tower.

She knew she had had too much to drink. But it hadn’t mattered - she’d be sober by the time the team returned to the Tower tomorrow afternoon, to try yet again to devise a way to find Kara and bring her home. A mission that seemed increasingly hopeless…

All she wanted to do was drown and numb her fears for a night, but she didn’t anticipate Alex coming back. “Brought you Belly Burger,” the former agent said.

Lena tried to keep the exasperation and drunkenness out of her voice. But, frankly, Alex’s actions didn’t make a lot of sense. “You should hate me,” Lena muttered.

Alex shrugged. “I kind of do.”

“Then why are you bringing me food?”

“Because we’re going to get Kara back,” Alex said matter-of-factly, “And she’d kick my ass if I didn’t look after you in the meantime.”

Lena let her eyes raise up to Alex’s face - noting the stress in every line, the grim determination staring back at her. Somewhere in Lena’s grief and anger, she felt a flare of jealousy. You have someone to go home to, she thought.

Slowly, she reached for the bag of food.

---

Their attempt the next day failed. Lena thought she was safe getting drunk at home.

But Alex, annoyingly, showed up at her door, carrying containers of Chinese food. This is embarrassing, Lena thought, letting her in, watching as she unpacked the food in the kitchen. “Why are you really here?”

Alex grinned to herself, pausing to pull another takeout box before she answered. “Kelly is making me.”

It drew a laugh from Lena. As much as Alex might be noble about what Kara would’ve wanted, her second answer made far more sense.

Lena took out her scotch, pouring the two a drink. She wondered for a moment if Alex might push back - Lena was drunk enough as it was - but it seemed Alex was smart enough to let it go. So they ate their food and sipped their alcohol in relative silence.

Neither could touch the potstickers.

Her mind flit between mental images of the blonde - smiling, or weeping, or with her arm thrown comfortably around Lena’s shoulder. It brought back the twisting pain, aching for Kara to really be there, for this to be a game night or a movie night rather than a solemn mourning between her and Kara’s sister.

Lena glanced up, taking Alex in again. Her mind wandered to the incident in the Fortress - words that made her realize that she didn’t understand everything when it came to Kara’s identity.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alex asked.

“You didn’t tell Kelly,” Lena said, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t know.”

Alex frowned, leaning forward to grab another box. “Turns out Kelly had figured it out before I told her. I don’t know which of you knew first.”

Lena felt her jaw tense, though she tried to relax it again, taking a centering breath. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Alex shrugged. “The fewer people that knew, the better.”

---

This time, it was on purpose. Lena invited both Kelly and Alex over, and remained decidedly undrunk for the evening.

Kelly arrived first, after work, noting that Alex would be there soon with the Indian takeout that they had ordered. “Sorry I keep stealing your wife in the evenings,” Lena said.

“I think she needs this as much as you do,” Kelly replied honestly, “It’s hard, not having Kara here.”

Lena laughed sardonically, feeling the craving of the liquor in her cabinet. Kara would be here if I weren’t.

“Lena?” Kelly nudged.

It was in Lena’s nature to bury things seven layers deep. It was in her nature to hide, and lick her wounds, and keep her thoughts to herself until they were needed.

But something about Kelly’s gentleness - and knowing that Kelly hadn’t been invited to the party either, so to speak - was somehow disarming. “If Alex had killed me at Mount Norquay,” Lena said, struggling to hide her overwhelming guilt, “We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Kelly shook her head. “She didn’t want to kill you.”

“She should’ve,” Lena scoffed, feeling the self-hatred bubble within her. For all that she blamed the superfriends for so much, she could only feel guilt for this. “I was trying to brainwash the world. It was the greater good.” I wasn’t worth saving.

Kelly reached over, giving Lena’s hand a tight squeeze. “It would have killed you. It would’ve destroyed her. It would’ve destroyed Kara, too.”

Lena bit at her lip, fighting the tears that were starting to threaten her vision. I don’t want to feel this, she thought, thinking again to the liquor in her cabinet.

But she remained seated, breathing in slow breaths as she regained her composure, Kelly sitting patiently next to her. Kelly’s warm hand was still on her own. Somewhere, the thought bubbled up: While she didn’t have Kara back… she was starting to realize she wasn’t alone.

A knock came at the door, and Kelly gave Lena’s hand one last squeeze, before rising up to let Alex in.

---

Alex came alone the next night. Lena only poured them each one drink.

Truth be told, she thought she’d need more liquor to ask the question that had been itching at her mind for months. But it was surprisingly easy that night - in a time when she could no longer summon the biting betrayal that had once consumed her. “When we were working on the harun-el together,” Lena asked quietly, not sure if she actually cared about the answer, “Why did you act so suspicious of Supergirl? Was it just to gain my trust?”

Alex turned to her with wide eyes, before leaning back into the seat. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I never thought- I didn’t think-” Alex turned again to Lena, her eyes darting around Lena’s face with a twisted sadness. “Colonel Haley was trying to find out who Kara was,” Alex said, “So I had J’onn erase my memory, to keep her out of danger.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know.”

---

Sometimes, there was laughter - sometimes, there were the lopsided grins and the aggravating disbelief of how the blonde held the secret all these years.

“I miss this,” Alex said, “I miss her. Without the superhero stuff.”

“Without the superhero stuff?” Lena asked.

“Just her,” Alex said, “So few people know her as just her.”

Alex’s words tugged at Lena’s heart. Just her, Lena mulled. What had the kryptonian said on Pulitzer night? “But you still loved Kara. I just kept thinking, if I could be Kara, just Kara…”

Where once she had assumed she knew only the mask, she was slowly realizing that perhaps it was the other way around. “I tried so hard to stay away from her,” Lena murmured.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“Supergirl,” Lena explained, “I didn’t want to be my brother. I wanted to show her that we could work together without me trying to find out anything about her. That I knew her identity wasn’t my business…”

Alex sighed. “You didn’t know you were getting close to her anyway.”

“I was trying to do everything right,” Lena said quietly, “And then…”

“And then?” Alex asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

“And then I fell in love with her,” Lena confessed.

---

The Tower was abuzz that morning as everyone made their final preparations. Gone were the thoughts of the simple mission to transport Kara back in moments. This would be a voyage - into the phantom zone, facing nightmares unknown, hours in a fight to get Kara back.

Hope bloomed in Lena’s chest, watching as the team ran through checklists, making final preparations. This is really happening, Lena thought, this is our chance.

She wasn’t alone. “We’re going to see her today,” Alex affirmed, “I can feel it.”

Lena swallowed, feeling the tinge of nerves in her excitement - both for what lay ahead, and for what Alex knew. “Are you going to tell her?” Lena asked quietly, “What I said?”

Alex shook her head. “That’s your secret. When you’re ready.”

Lena smiled softly. “You think I should tell her.”

“Yup,” Alex agreed, “But I know you guys have a lot of other shit to work out first.”

Lena let out a small breath, glancing over to the station that she would take for the flight, turning back to Alex. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “C’mon,” Alex said, stepping towards the mainroom, “Let’s get my sister back.”

Lena smiled. “Right behind you.”

#alex danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #mel writes ficlets

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zoloteh-volossya · 5 months ago

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BG3 Fanfiction Statistics, Part 2

Welcome to part 2 of my BG3 AO3 fanfic statistical analysis! In part 1, which can be found here, I discussed general fanfic data for the fandom and took a look at pairing trends for the player character, Shadowheart, Karlach, Lae’zel, and Minthara. In this section, I will discuss pairing trends on AO3 for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin, then compare all 8 main characters and talk about pairings more broadly.

Please note that the data for this analysis was gathered between July 21, 2024 and July 24, 2024. I gathered data for the top 300 ship tags in the BG3 fandom, and due to time constraints did not look at pairings with fewer than 5 fics.

I will try and be as transparent as possible when discussing how I obtained and processed this data. A copy of my spreadsheet can be found here and contains all of the tables I will be discussing for anyone who wishes to take a closer look at the data. If you don’t care about the numbers and/or my thoughts about them, feel free to skim through this post and just look at the charts!

I will be referencing the “PC” a lot in this section. See part 1 for an explanation of my methodology, but basically I combined Tav, Dark Urge, Original Character, Reader, and You into one Player Character (PC) supercategory while filtering to prevent double counting. This makes it clearer who each character is typically paired with. It also drops the number of ships from 300 to 162. Throughout this essay, I will use “ship tags” to refer to the original 300 ships that I gathered the data for and “pairings” to refer to the 162 ships that remain when I condense the player character down.

CHARACTER PAIRING STATISTICS, CONT.

In part 1, I went through Tav, the Dark Urge, Shadowheart, Karlach, Lae’zel, and Minthara and took a look at who they are shipped with and their fic category (F/M, M/M, F/F, Other, Multi) breakdown. In this continuation, I will look at Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin.

ASTARION

Astarion was included in 50.2% of all fic pairings (the number of fics tagged Astarion/PC + the number of fics tagged Astarion/Gale + the number of fics tagged Astarion/Halsin and so on, divided by the total sum of all fic pairings). This percentage increased to 53.9% when otp:true was applied. This means that over half of all shipping content for BG3 on AO3 involves Astarion!

Astarion is in 7 of the top 10 ship tags and 64 of the top 300 ship tags. When I condense the pairings with the PC down, he is in 7 of the top 30 ships and 40 of the 162 total pairings. The loss of 24 ship tags comes from me having to condense down not only all his ship tags with the PC but also all his threesomes and foursomes and moresomes with the PC.

Notably, Astarion was the only BG3 character to have race specific ship tags – Astarion/Tiefling!OC (68 fics), Astarion/Half-Elf!OC (27 fics), and Astarion/Drow!OC (9 fics). These all got condensed down into the Astarion/PC supercategory as well.

Astarion/Gale is #4 and his next pairings with a non-player character are #8 Halsin and #9 Wyll. Pairings #1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10, and 16 are all just him with different tags for the player character. Condensing down all the player character tags yields us his top 20 pairings.

As expected, the player character dominates his pairings with 11,756 fics. His biggest non-PC ships are with Gale with 2,431 fics (of which an unusually high proportion are otp:true – 1,752 – almost three quarters of all his fics with Gale), Halsin with 848 fics, and Wyll with 582 fics. Ignoring the PC, he mostly seems to be shipped with men – the first canon woman to show up is Karlach at #8 with 157 fics (an order of magnitude less than Gale). He has four threesomes (Halsin/PC/Astarion, Gale/PC/Astarion, Karlach/Wyll/Astarion, Wyll/PC/Astarion) in his top 20 ships. I was surprised at how high Cazador (#6, 387 fics) was at first, but a lot of that is likely from Astarion’s backstory.

#20 was Astarion/Astarion with 15 fics, which means that Astarion is following in the proud tradition of tumblr sexymen like the Onceler before him.

As expected from looking at Astarion’s pairings in general, he has slightly more M/M (8,923 fics) shipping than M/F (7,996 fics) shipping. M/M pairings have an unusually high rate of otp:true fics – that’s mostly from Astarion/Gale. Oddly, there’s a small number (51) of F/F otp:true fics – these are either genderbends or mistags.

Looking at the pattern of pairings with the PC only, a different pattern emerges.

This time, there’s significantly more M/F fics (6,910, 58.8% of Astarion’s fics with the PC) than M/M fics (4,182, 35.6%), though the numbers are closer when you look at otp:true (46.7% M/F vs 37.6% M/M). We can infer then that it is more common to ship female player characters with Astarion than men. The Other category is significant (1,601 fics, 13.6%) and likely was used for a tag for nonbinary player characters. There’s still a bizarre 38 otp:true F/F fics.

GALE

Gale is in 19.7% of all pairings and 26.5% of otp:true pairings. He has 33 ship tags in the top 300, which drops to 23 when I condense all the player characters into “PC.”

Unlike Astarion, whose chart was completely dominated by his pairing with the PC, Gale has almost as many fics with Astarion as he does with Tav. The top pairings for Gale are primarily with the player character – #1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 are all just different tags for the player character (Gale/You and Gale/Reader are synonymous and so have pretty much the same number of fics). Condensing all that down yields the following chart.

There’s a stark drop off after the player character and Astarion – an order of magnitude decrease in fics (#4 Shadowheart/Gale has 111 fics, a massive drop off from 2,431 Astarion/Gale fics). And #3 is just a threesome with both the PC and Astarion. I’ve commented on it before, but Gale/Astarion has a truly unusual proportion of otp:true fics – something that indicates that there are no background pairings in most of that ship’s activity. I would not be surprised if many of those fics are modern AUs or post game fics that don’t feature the other BG3 characters much if at all.

The quartet of Astarion-Gale-Halsin-PC is prominent in Gale’s top 20 ships. All permutations of that multiship are present: #1 Gale/PC, #2 Astarion/Gale, #5 Halsin/Gale, #3 Astarion/PC/Gale, #6 Astarion/Halsin/Gale, #11 Gale/Halsin/PC, and #15 Astarion/Gale/Halsin/PC. Towards the bottom of his top 20 we start getting into his multiships with most or all of the main protagonists. This’ll be more common with the other companions – there are only 11 Astarion / Gale / Wyll / Shadowheart / Lae’zel / Karlach fics, so when these show up the list is descending into very low fic count pairings.

Looking at Gale’s fic category breakdown, M/M predominates with 3,859 fics to M/F’s 2,938 fics. Given the very high proportion of otp:true fics, we can assume that most of that is Astarion/Gale. Indeed, when we look at Gale’s ship with the player character (his only other substantial ship), we see a very different picture.

Gale’s ship with the player character has much more M/F content than his general ship content and also than Astarion. M/M content drops from 57.1% of all his fics to 30.5% of his ships with the player character, while M/F content rises from 43.5% of all his fic content to 68.1% of his fic content with the player character. ‘Other’ shipping is about 9.6% of ship content with the player character. Looking at otp:true content, a little more than half as many male player characters are shipped with Gale as female player characters.

There are, for some reason, 16 F/F otp:true fics for all of Gale’s ships and 7 otp:true F/F fics for his ship with the player character.

WYLL

Wyll is featured in 5.2% of all pairings and 5.7% of otp:true pairings, a truly stunning drop from the ~50% of Astarion and 20-26% of Gale. He is in 24 of the top 300 BG3 ships, a number that drops to 18 when I condense all the player characters into one category.

Interestingly, Astarion/Wyll outpaces Wyll/Tav as Wyll’s most popular ship. Like with Gale/Astarion, the proportion of otp:true fics for that pairing is unusually high.

When we condense all of Wyll’s player character pairings into one category, it (barely) edges out Astarion/Wyll, with 588 and 582 fics respectively (also note that no Wyll pairing has thousands of fics, unlike Gale and Astarion before him). What also happens when we condense the player characters is that Wyll does not reach a full 20 ships – he drops to 18 pairings. He has more than this, of course, but my methodology ignores all pairings with fewer than 5 fics. Therefore, Wyll’s 19th and 20th most popular pairings have 4 fics or fewer. I have represented these missing pairings with little :( emojis, because this is a sad state of affairs.

Karlach is by far Wyll’s most popular ship after Astarion and the PC, with 327 fics. The otp:true proportion is low, so it is likely often a background ship or has background ships. The next highest pairing is #4, Gale, with 54 fics. The numbers rapidly drop from there – by #6 Wyll/Lae’zel we are at 26 fics and by #14 Wyll/Karlach/Shadowheart we are down to only 10 fics.

Wyll’s pairings, like all of the male characters, tend towards M/M, with 1,010 total fics. F/M follows up with 794 and Other with 162. Much of his M/M fics come from Astarion/Wyll, as we can see when we look at Wyll’s ships with the PC.

Like Astarion and Gale before him, the proportion of M/F rises when we look at Wyll’s pairings with the player character specifically. Unlike Astarion and Gale, though, no category even comes close to breaking 1,000 fics. M/F has 357 fics (or about 60.7% of his fics total) and M/M has 224 (38.1%). With otp:true applied, M/F is 56.3%, M/M is 40.7%, and Other has 13.3%. These numbers add to more than 100%, so even on otp:true fics people are evidently tagging multiple categories. This is likely due to “Reader” fics with a generic reader.

HALSIN

Halsin is featured in 9.7% of all pairings, almost twice Wyll’s proportion. This drops to 7.9% though when you apply otp:true – a much larger drop than pretty much anyone else other than the PC. It’s likely because Halsin has a disproportionately high number of fics with threesomes, which eliminate a fic from otp:true if the threesome subrelationships are also tagged.

He is in 31 of the top 300 ship tags and 21 of the top 162 pairings.

Like every other man in this essay, Halsin’s ship with Astarion is very prominent. The first canon woman to show up is Shadowheart at #15.

As expected, Halsin/PC is easily his most popular pairing, with 1,637 fics. Astarion and a threesome with Astarion and the PC follow with quite decent fic counts of 848 and 456 respectively. The otp:true proportion for Halsin/Astarion is abnormally high. Gale and Shadowheart seem to be his other major ships. Gale/Halsin is #4 with 106 fics and Gale/PC/Halsin is #8 with 19. Shadowheart/Halsin is #6 with 36 fics and Shadowheart/Halsin/PC is #10 with 17.

The Astarion-Halsin-Gale-PC quartet shows up prominently in Halsin’s top pairings. In addition to the ships previously mentioned, Halsin/Astarion/Gale is #5 with 92 fics.

What’s notable about Halsin’s fic categories is the abnormally large number of fics tagged Multi – 1,257 fics, or 37.4% of the total. Given that he’s the poly companion, this makes sense.

Looking at Halsin with the PC specifically, the typical pattern appears. The percentage of M/M drops and M/F rises. Unlike the other characters and like his general shipping situation, the percentage of Multi fic is quite high – 32.7%.

CHARACTER COMPARISON

Now that I’ve looked at all the main characters individually, let’s take a look at how they compare to each other across a variety of metrics.

FIC RATINGS

In my individual character discussions, I didn’t talk about their relative rating proportions much, even though I was carefully tracking it. This is because all rating plots look just about the same until you compare people against each other directly.

Taking a look at all fics, I noticed a couple of things. First of all, Wyll is the companion with the least amount of horny fic written about him, with 33.4% of fics that include him in a pairing being rated Explicit. Halsin is the horniest, no surprise, with 52.8% of fics that include him in a pairing being rated Explicit – over half! Astarion has 41.2% Explicit fics while Gale has 43.6%. Amongst the women, Minthara has the highest percentage of Explicit fics (47.8%) while all three other women are within 38% – 40%.

Interestingly, the percentage of fics rated Mature remains within 22% – 26% for all companions except Minthara, who has 27.8%. The proportion of General fic is between 9% and 11% for Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, and Karlach. Wyll has more than that, with 11.4%, while Lae’zel and Minthara have less than that with 8.4% and 5.6% respectively.

The situation does not change appreciably when I only look at fics with the otp:true condition.

FIC CATEGORIES

I have been talking about the percentage of M/F, M/M, F/F, Other, and Multi fics for each of the main characters. It’s interesting to compare them with each other. Please note, though, that in the individual character sections the percentages given were the percent of all fics for that character, and so the percentages added up to more than 100% because many fics tag several categories. In this section, the percentages given are a percent of all pairings. They therefore all add up to 100%, but it also means that fics that tag multiple categories are counted multiple times in that 100%.

The men all have more M/F than the women do (Astarion and Gale have the most while Lae’zel and Minthara have the least). Halsin, unsurprisingly, has the most Multi fic while Minthara has the least. Karlach has a surprisingly low proportion of F/F fic.

An interesting note is that the men all have less F/F fic than the women do M/M fic. This means that women are in background pairings to M/M ships or have background M/M ships in their focus fics proportionally more often than the men have background F/F ships or are in the background of F/F fics. The exception is Wyll, who has a F/F percentage close to the percentage of M/M fics in the womens’ fics.

Looking at ships with the PC specifically, some interesting patterns emerge.

Astarion, Gale, Wyll and Halsin have significantly (by more than 10%) more M/F content and less M/M content in their ships with the PC than their ships in general. Lae’zel and Minthara see a slight (less than 5%) increases in M/F and decreases in F/F as well. Shadowheart mostly stays the same. Karlach, on the other hand, sees a moderate (between 5% and 10%) decrease in M/F and increase in F/F in her ship with the PC specifically.

But remember, all these values include background pairings, and we have no way of knowing what proportion of each category actually contains the character we are interested in. So, what happens when we strip background pairings out of the equation by applying otp:true?

Wow! What a difference! Now, these values aren’t necessarily representative of all their pairings – just the ones that authors like to focus on without any background ships. Recall from the individual character analyses that often the second most popular ship after the pairing with the PC had an unusually high otp:true ratio. So we can assume, for example, that a large proportion of the M/M fics for Astarion and for Gale are from Gale/Astarion.

Every woman except Karlach is gayer than all of the men. Surprisingly, Karlach is the straightest companion by this particular metric.

Applying otp:true to ships with the PC specifically yields very different results.

Like what we saw with all ships, ships between the PC and men have significantly more M/F content than the mens’ ships generally. In this case, every man except Astarion jumps to around 50% M/F, and Astarion still jumps from 24.3% to 42.9%. The consistent pattern is that when looking at otp:true fics, M/M is preferred unless the pairing is with the player character, in which case M/F is more popular.

The conclusions for the women are not as clear cut. Karlach has more F/F and less M/F when looking specifically at ships with the PC, while Lae’zel has almost twice as much M/F when you look at her ship with the PC than her general otp:true fics – almost certainly due to the loss of Shadowheart/Lae’zel. Shadowheart experiences a significant (>10%) decline in the proportion of F/F fics, while Minthara sees a smaller one (~5%). What remains true, though, is that the majority of the player character shipping for the women is F/F.

The green bars in the chart are for the Other category, an expansive category that includes a lot of nonbinary PC shipping. You can therefore estimate how popular it is to ship each main character with a nonbinary Tav. Karlach has the most (18.6%) while Lae’zel has the least (5.2%). Everyone else is between 10% (well, 9.8% for Gale) and 12% except for Astarion who has 13.6%.

PAIRINGS

Most of both parts of this essay has been spent looking at each main character in relative isolation. But if you plot all pairings next to each other it paints a very interesting picture about each character’s relative popularity.

Astarion shows up 7 times in the top 10 ship tags and 12 times in the top 30 ship tags. The first non-Astarion ship is #4, Tav/Gale. There are no canon women in the top 10 ship tags – the first to show up is Shadowheart, at #14. Wyll does not appear until #18, in a pairing with Astarion. His pairing with Tav is #25. Lae’zel’s ship with Tav does not even make it onto this plot, at #38. Minthara is in an even worse situation – she first shows up at #60.

The results when I condense all the player character tags into “PC” are... stark.

Astarion dominates the BG3 fanfiction sphere in a way that is very surprising for a piece of media with six strong main characters. In fact, in order to actually be able to see the teeny tiny bars representing everybody else, here's a second graph with Astarion/PC excluded.

Astarion/PC is far and away the most popular ship, with 11,756 fics. Gale/PC is the second, with 3,500 – less than a third as many. Next is Astarion/Gale (2,431 fics) with an unusually high “otp:true” ratio, which indicates that it is frequently being written without any background ships. Surprisingly, Gortash/PC is fourth with 1,891 fics, followed by Halsin/PC with 1,637. Shadowheart/PC is the first woman to show up, at #6 with 980 fics. This is still 657 fics less than Halsin/PC and 911 fics less than Gortash/PC, which means that Gortash/PC is almost twice as popular as Shadowheart/PC. Astarion/PC has 12 times as many fics as Shadowheart/PC.

Karlach follows Shadowheart at #7 with 890 fics. Of the main cast, Lae’zel is next at #10 with 694 fics, and unlike every other Origin character her most popular ship is not with the PC but with Shadowheart. Wyll/PC does not make it into the top 10 ships, coming in at #11 with 588 ships. Notably, Raphael has more fics with the PC than either Lae’zel or Wyll, coming in at #9 with 745. Astarion/PC has a whopping 20 times as many fics as Wyll does and Gortash has over three times as many fics with the PC as Wyll does.

Lae’zel/PC finally shows up at #16 with 348 fics. Rolan/PC has more fics (#13, 477), and Astarion/PC has 33 times as many fics. Minthara/PC, meanwhile, is all the way down at #23 with 234 fics. Raphael, Rolan, Zevlor, the Emperor, and Haarlep all have more fics with the PC than she does. Halsin/PC has 7 times as many fics as Minthara/PC.

If you add up all the pairings each main character is tagged in, you get the following chart.

Astarion is far and away the most written about character in the BG3 fandom, followed by Gale and Halsin. If you divide these numbers by the total number of pairings, Astarion is in 50% of pairings, Gale is in 20%, and Halsin is in 10%. No other character breaks 10% - Shadowheart is in 7% of pairings, Karlach in 6%, Wyll in 5%, Lae’zel in 4%, and Minthara is in 1%.

Out of curiosity, I tallied up the numbers for Gortash as well. He appears in 6% of all pairings and 7% of otp:true pairings. This means that Gortash breaks even with Karlach and appears in more pairings than Wyll, Lae’zel, or Minthara, and if you look at otp:true he beats all the women and Wyll. This is despite Gortash having very few ships with characters outside of the PC, unlike most of the main cast who have notable secondary ships like Shadowheart/Lae’zel.

PAIRING ANALYSIS

Why am I focusing so much on pairings? Mostly because BG3 is an ensemble game – many fics will tag characters who show up for any significant length of time, even if just in the background. Therefore, if a character is tagged that is indicative that they are being included but not necessarily a sign that they are being focused on.

AO3 is a largely romance focused site (only 12% of all BG fics are categorized as General) and so characters in a pairing are more likely to be a focus of a fic. Of course this is not a hard rule, as in-depth character studies may have no pairings tagged at all or may tag a pairing that shows up in the background – but I have no way to distinguish these fics from a fic that tags a character because they show up for one paragraph. There is also the problem that many pairings are background pairings that are tagged but show up only briefly. To try and avoid that, in the following conversation, I will often be focusing on ships with the PC specifically. Fics pairing a character with the PC are especially likely to be focusing on that character and their romance and are much less likely to be a background ship than other pairings.

Looking at the data, the four most popular characters to ship with the PC – Astarion, Gale, Halsin, and Gortash – constitute the majority of fan works. Astarion, Gale, and Halsin in particular are shipped in all the possible configurations and these pairings are comparatively popular. Astarion/Gale is #3, Astarion/Halsin is #8 (above any Wyll or Lae’zel ships), Astarion/Halsin/PC is #14 (above Lae’zel/PC and all Minthara ships), Astarion/Gale/PC is #26, Gale/Halsin is #33, and Astarion/Gale/Halsin is #34.

So I did a little experiment. I went through my data and counted all the pairings that contained ONLY Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Gortash, and/or the PC. Then, I went through and counted all the pairings that weren’t in that group but did contain at least one of Astarion, Gale, Halsin, or Gortash.

Pairings containing ONLY a combination of the PC, Astarion, Gale, Halsin, or Gortash constituted 66.9% of all fic pairings in the BG3 fandom and (in a neat coincidence) also 66.9% of otp:true fic pairings. Adding in fics that involve at least one of these men with someone else ups the numbers to 73.3% of all fics and 75.0% of otp:true fics. Which means that only about a quarter of pairings do NOT include one of these four white men.

Now, it isn’t unusual for a couple of people to dominate a fandom like this. Many fandoms’ creative output primarily consist of only a couple of popular characters and their associated pairings. What is notable, though, is that BG3 is an ensemble game with 6 strong and nuanced main characters, three of whom are women, and two additional strong side characters, one of whom is a woman. But the four primary objects of fandom’s focus are 2 of the main characters, one of the side characters, and a villain.

This discrepancy is especially notable for Shadowheart and Lae’zel. For ages, when I’ve seen people bring up the relative scarcity of women in fanfic, the rejoinder is that the true culprit is the source media. Stories just don’t feature complex, interesting women with fully realized arcs, people say. There’s no narrative meat to for fandom to sink their teeth into.

This is not the case in BG3.

Both Shadowheart and Lae’zel have excellent narrative arcs that are well embedded into the game – Lae’zel has two game areas dedicated to her plotline (the creche and the astral plane) and you literally cannot progress the game past act 2 without interacting with Shadowheart’s dedicated area. The characters grapple with crisises of faith, culture clashes, and important decisions throughout the game – and who they end up becoming changes depending on the player character’s actions. This is great stuff! But it does not translate into fanfic popularity.

Lae’zel in particular is underrepresented. It’s notable that she is main character who is integrally tied into the plot and yet she is only tagged in 16% of fics – even including all the fics that merely tag her as a background character. She only appears in 4% of pairings. Her pairing with the PC comes in at #16, with 355 fics. But hey, her largest ship is with Shadowheart, so let’s look at the total number of pairings she shows up in – 1,319. Gortash/Dark Urge has 1,594 fics – that single pairing has 275 more fics than all of Lae’zel’s pairings added together. Gortash’s total pairing count is 2,052 and exceeds Lae’zel’s by almost 700 fics. Halsin’s total pairing count is over 2.5 times as large as Lae’zel’s at 3,346 fics total. Gale’s total pairing count is over five times as large, at 6,760 fics total. Oof.

Shadowheart is a bit better off – her pairing with the PC is the most popular woman at #6 with 980 fics. But this is still 657 fics less than Halsin/PC and 911 fics less than Gortash/PC, which means that Gortash/PC is almost twice as popular as Shadowheart/PC. When you take Shadowheart’s other pairings into consideration, things improve a little bit. She has 2,418 pairings total, which is about 400 more than Gortash’s total, though still over 900 fics less than Halsin’s total. But any Shadowheart/Lae’zel fan can tell you about sifting through their fics and finding that many only feature them as a background pairing for Astarion/Tav or some other more popular pairing. So let’s take a look at the otp:true numbers. Looking at otp:true fics only, Shadowheart has 765 fics and Lae’zel has 495 fics. Meanwhile, Halsin has 858 and Gortash has 800 – more than Shadowheart and much more than Lae’zel.

Neither Gortash nor Halsin really have arcs in game, though both of them do have implied arcs that happened before it. They’re interesting characters, sure, but undoubtedly Shadowheart and Lae’zel have more going on, more narrative meat to chew on. And yet, they’re completely overshadowed in fandom.

Speaking of being overshadowed, let’s talk about Wyll. Wyll is the only man in the main cast who is not particularly popular. He does not even make it into the top 10 pairings! He has fewer fics than Shadowheart or Karlach. Notably he has far far fewer fics with the PC than any other major male character and even several male villains. Gortash/PC has over three times as many fics as he does, Halsin/PC has 2.78 times as many fics as he does, and Astarion/PC has a whopping 20 times as many fics as he does. Even Raphael/PC has more fanfic! Even taking total pairings into account, Gortash still has more pairings than Wyll’s 1,770 total, while Halsin has almost twice as many.

A counterpoint that is commonly raised in this fandom is that Wyll is a boring character with less content than other Origin companions. Now, I disagree with this assessment of Wyll’s comparative boringness (I find him more interesting than Gale and much more interesting than Halsin, personally) but for the sake of this argument let’s not dispute this. The fact of the matter is that even if Wyll’s arc is half baked, Halsin has no arc at all and much less content in game. Gortash has even less content, with any potential past entanglement with Dark Urge being merely implied. Raphael doesn’t even have the implications of a past relationship with the PC, is never in a position to be in a relationship with the PC, and is canonically bad in bed to boot. And yet these men have far more fanfic with the PC than Wyll does.

I cannot help but notice that Astarion, Gale, Halsin, and Gortash are white men and Raphael presents himself as a white man.

What’s also notable is who doesn’t show up. Many minor non-player characters have quite sizable followings with a significant number of ships. Rolan, for instance, has 586 fics across 9 pairings. Zevlor has 393 ships, Dammon has 257, Kar’niss has 131, and Abdirak has 112. Other male characters that showed up on my list include Ansur (110, all with Balduran/the Emperor), Blurg (69, all with Omeluum), Vellioth (55, all with Cazador), Rugan (54), Kith’rak Voss (49), Sebastian (47, all with Astarion), Orpheus (40), Geraldus (29), Nere (22), He Who Was (21), Yurgir (18), Loroakkan (15, all with Rolan), Aradin (12), Danis (11 with Bex), Barcus (9 with the PC, not Wulbren), Petras (8 with Astarion), Guex and Ikaron (8 with each other), Franc Peartree (7 with Gortash), Lump the Enlightened (6), and Cal (6).

Meanwhile, if I eliminate Aylin and Isobel (not really “minor” NPCs), the first female minor NPC to show up in my list is Alfira with 58 fics. Nocturne follows with 57, Lakrissa with 34, Bex with 11 (all with Danis), Councillor Florrick with 8 (all with Minthara), Duke Stelmane with 8 (all with the Emperor), Kagha with 6, and Cerys with 6 (all with Rolan).

Councillor Florrick is notable because she has as much of a role in acts 1, 2, and 3 as Rolan, Zevlor, and Dammon yet she has no fics with the PC that showed up in my dataset; her only appearance is as part of a ship with Minthara. Ulder Ravenguard – a notable NPC from act 3 – never shows up at all, while Geraldus – a very minor NPC from act 3 – does. Rugan shows up but his boss Zarys never does. Neither does Roah Moonglow, who has a role in acts 1, 2, and 3 while Rugan only shows up in act 1. Araj Oblodra does not show up, but Sebastian does. Cal and Rolan show up in my dataset, but their sister Lia does not. Petras is the only vampire spawn to have over 5 of a pairing – Dalyria, who is present in all scenes where he is, does not. Alfira has the same presence in the story as Rolan (if anything, she has more), yet she shows up in less than a tenth as many fics. Vellioth, who never shows up at all, has 5 times as many fics as Viconia, who does.

The fandom has a definite trend for who gets written about, and it’s not women or Black people.

I’m not writing this to try and shame or guilt anyone. I have a dear friend who absolutely adores Astarion, and fandom acquaintances who I respect that are deeply invested in Gale, Halsin, and Gortash. And I don’t blame anyone for seeing a minor character and being intrigued enough by him to write fic. It makes sense that people are drawn to these characters – they’re really well written characters with engaging storylines. But all of the main characters in BG3 are well written, and who fandom chooses to focus on and prioritize says things about whose stories, whose lives, we pay attention to and care about.

I don’t expect this essay to change anything. Honestly, it’s mostly a primal scream of annoyance, broadcast to tumblr in hopes that other people who are annoyed by this phenomenon can find it. But it’s also a cold hard repudiation of any claim that the reason that women or Black people are underrepresented in fandom is solely due to the source material being lacking. BG3 proves that false.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #fandom #shipping #ao3 #statistics #data visualization #astarion #gale #wyll #halsin #lae'zel #shadowheart #mine

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hannieoftheyear · 2 months ago

Text

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post! (minors or ageless blogs won't be added)

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him.

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?”

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.”

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.”

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.”

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.”

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?”

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.”

“Are you being serious?”

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss.

“Dead serious. I promise.”

A year before…

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors.

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information.

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening.

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd.

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover.

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?”

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.”

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips.

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose.

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.”

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it.

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

#wonwoo au #seventeen au #svt au #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines

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leahrintarou · 4 months ago

Note

HELLO GIRL HOPE YOU'RE DOING GOOD 😊

i wanted to request for dabi x fem!villain!reader. she loves dabi but he's a brat to her just like himself, like with everyone. and after one mission reader goes somewhere and drinks fuckload of alcohol and she's super lightweight so she's out after one/two shots. and that night she gets like tons of alcohol. so she's obviously drunk and she has no idea what she's doing and she calls dabi. and he cares for her he's just acting this way (i severely believe that he's the guy who falls for someone and IMMEDIATELY had a pushing away mechanism going on because of his past and stuff). and he comes to pick reader up and she's not even able to stand straight. like she's pretty fucked AMD SHE'S A BABY WHEN DRUNK, LIKE LITERALLY WHINING CRYING AND BEING A CUTIE. and he takes her with him and she has few more bottle hidden somewhere with her, and she keeps drinking and he's concerned because she's extra lightweight. but she keeps getting those bottles so he throws one of them out of the moving car window😆 and she's like why would you do that it was a great whiskey (or whatever she can drink). but she's not sad for long because she takes out another bottle, and he does the same thing. and after that she starts crying because it was her last bottle and he's so mean. AND then at night she gets sick because of all that alcohol she has earlier so she's having a huge fever, she feels like dying, so she whines a d cries about her feelings and him rejecting her and she confesses to him and says a lot of stupid things how pretty he it and how good he looks shirtless and stuff like that. AND then next day when she wakes up he teases her about it and she's embarrassed af, but it ends up fluff with him confessing back😊😊❤️❤️❤️

I'M SORRY IT'S SO LONG BUT I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS GOING ON IN MY HEAD AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SHORTEN MY THOUGHTS🤣🤣 I'M SORRY 😞 but i still hope you'll write it🥺

✩₊˚.⋆ RELUCTANT HEARTS - dabi/touya todoroki

CW: y/n is drunk, alcohol intoxication, communication issues, y/n's in love but dabi is being dabi, he doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, swearing, reader with she/her pronouns, non-detailed mentions of throwing up, fluff, some angst if u squint tbh.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: (i'm doing well, anon! :p) i hope you guys enjoy reading! it came out a bit longer than i was planning but oh well lol. leave a like or reblog to support!

the bitter warmth of alcohol lingered on y/n's tongue as she downed yet another shot. she'd long lost count after the eighth, the need for a chaser fading as the taste softened, dulled by her numbing senses. "ma'am, we'll be closing soon," one of the bartenders murmured, the same one who had filled her glass every few minutes without fail.

she nodded, her vision doubling with the motion. nausea crept up on her, and she sighed at the inevitable. a lightweight by nature, she usually capped her nights at fewer than ten shots when drinking alone, but tonight was a different story.

her solo mission had been successful, but not without needless resistance from heroes who showed no mercy. shigaraki had barely scolded her, while dabi took the opportunity to belittle her inefficiency. it wasn’t like her to slip up so badly, but dabi never missed a chance to hold her mistakes over her—so long as they bothered her, he’d never let her forget.

despite her hating the fact that she had to, y/n fumbled with her phone, squinting at the blurry screen before finally locating dabi’s number. her thumb slipped as she pressed call, the dial tone ringing painfully loud in her ear.

“what?” dabi’s voice was sharp, instantly irritated.

“touya…” she slurred, her words tumbling lazily. “i need… i need you to come get me,” she mumbled. there was a pause, then a scoff. “what the hell? you sound trashed. where are you?”

“uh… somewhere,” y/n mumbled, blinking as she tried to get her thoughts straight. “i’m just… out.”

“out? where’s ‘out,’ y/n?” his voice was flat, but she could hear the growing annoyance. “you’re not making any sense.”

“just… come get me,” she groaned, frustration bleeding into her slurred words. “i can’t… i can’t even walk straight.” she glanced down at her lap, where her free hand rested as she twisted the singular ring at the base of her index finger.

dabi snorted. “no shit, you’re drunk off your ass. what are you doing, wandering around aimlessly?”

“not wandering,” she mumbled. “i’m sitting.” a bit of annoyance crept into her voice. apparently, liquor couldn't stop dabi from pissing her off so quickly. “okay, sitting where?” he asked, now sounding both amused and irritated. “what? did you pass out in an alley or something?”

y/n rolled her eyes, which only made her dizziness worse. “ugh, no. i’m in a… bar.”

dabi paused, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “of course. a bar. you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“just come get me, touya,” she grumbled, her voice slurred but laced with irritation. “unless you want me to blow chunks on someone's shoes. your call.”

he clicked his tongue, clearly frustrated but now understanding the situation. “you’re such a mess, y/n. fine. send me the address.”

“yeah, yeah,” she muttered, fumbling to type it out. “thanks, touya.” she smiled to herself. "knew you'd come through even if you're a dick about it."

"don't push it," he snapped before hanging up. even though he'd put on an act like he didn't care, she knew he'd show up. and, despite himself, so did he.

---

it wasn’t long before the rumble of a car engine cut through the night air outside the bar. y/n groggily looked up as dabi stepped inside, his usual scowl firmly in place as his eyes swept the room. the second he spotted her slumped over in the booth, he shook his head and made his way over.

“seriously?” he grumbled as he stood in front of her, arms crossed. “this is the state you’ve gotten yourself into?”

y/n glanced up at him, her head spinning as she tried to focus. “don’t… don’t start,” she mumbled, her words slurring together. “i’m not in the mood for your shit.”

“too bad. you’re in no position to make demands,” he shot back, leaning down to help her up. he wrapped an arm around her waist, feeling her lean heavily against him. “let’s get you out of here before you make a scene.”

“hey, i can walk,” y/n protested half-heartedly, but the moment she tried to stand, her legs buckled beneath her. dabi’s grip tightened, and he half-dragged her toward the exit.

“yeah, sure you can,” he said dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “you’re a real lightweight, you know that?”

“shut up, touya,” she grumbled, though the annoyance in her voice was overshadowed by a hint of affection. “you’re not my dad.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, pushing open the passenger door of his car and easing her inside. “but someone has to make sure you don’t drown in your own stupidity.”

“whatever,” y/n muttered as she settled into the seat, her head resting against the window. “i could handle myself fine… if you weren’t so annoying.”

“annoying, huh?” he shot back, sliding into the driver’s seat and giving her a sideways glance. “you know, you called me. but hey, if you wanted my attention, this wasn’t the way to go about it.”

“because you’re the best at picking people up from bars,” she replied, a slight smirk on her lips. but then her expression faltered, and she turned serious. “i… i really appreciate it, you know?”

“don’t get all mushy on me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “it’s not like i’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. i’ve got a reputation to uphold, and rescuing your drunk ass is just good PR.”

“you’re such a brat,” y/n shot back, though her heart fluttered at his teasing. “i’d like to see you handle it better.”

“please, i wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” he replied, his tone dripping with disdain as he pulled away from the curb. “besides, if i didn’t show up, who else would have to deal with your mess? i’ve got a reputation to uphold, remember?”

“right, because you care so much about your reputation,” she said sarcastically, turning her gaze to the window, watching the city lights blur past. “you’re just here for the free entertainment.”

“entertainment? you think this is funny?” he replied, glancing at her with an eyebrow raised. “watching you stumble around like a newborn deer isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“well, at least i’m amusing,” y/n shot back, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “you should thank me for keeping your life exciting.”

“exciting, huh?” he scoffed. “more like a headache. i’d rather face a horde of heroes than babysit you in a bar.”

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “you secretly love it.” y/n reached into the pocket of her hoodie, pulling out the smaller bottle of alcohol she bought earlier.

“love it? not even close,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “you’re lucky i have a soft spot for lost causes.”

“lost cause, huh?” she challenged, feeling a rush of emotion she couldn’t quite suppress. she lifted it to her lips, taking a singular swig before it was snatched from her hands. a bit of it dripped down her chin, and dabi rolled his window down before throwing it out. the sound of the glass shattering against the pavement echoed a second later.

"what the hell, touya!" she yelled, using her sleeve to wipe the liquor from her face. "that was mine!" she fussed.

"not anymore," he said flatly, glancing at her before his eyes returned to the road. "you're not drinking any more tonight. it's a miracle you were even able to walk back there."

"you don't get to decide that," she snapped, a flash of anger igniting in her chest as tears pricked her eyes. but deep down, a familiar wave of emotions washed over her, stirring something fragile. "you're such a-"

"a what? a what?" he challenged, cutting her off. "a responsible person? you think i want to see you hurt yourself more than you already have?"

"you don't get it," she said, her voice trembling as her frustration morphed into something more vulnerable. "i don’t want to get it, y/n. stop doing this to yourself if you don't want to paint that image for your name."

“i’m not that bad.”

“keep telling yourself that,” he said, glancing at her as they hit a red light. “but here you are, drunk and needing a ride home.”

“yeah, well…” y/n started, but the warmth of the alcohol mixed with her frustration made her voice waver. “at least you came.”

“you really think that highly of yourself, huh?” he shot back, though there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. “just be grateful i did.” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “i am grateful, you jerk,” she said, her voice suddenly small as she looked down at her lap, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “you’re the only one who shows up when i need help.”

“yeah, well, don’t go getting all sappy on me,” he warned, trying to maintain his usual bravado, but the way his eyes softened gave him away. “it’s not like i’m doing this for the accolades.”

“sure, keep pretending you don’t care,” she replied, feeling the warmth of vulnerability creeping in. “but i see through your tough-guy act.” she shrugged.

“whatever,” he said, pulling into her driveway and turning off the engine. “let’s get you inside before you throw up in my car.”

“you just want to get rid of me,” she teased, but there was an undercurrent of something more serious beneath her words.

“you’re not wrong,” he said, smirking as he opened the door for her. “but it’s not because i don’t want you around. it’s just that your idea of a good time and mine are clearly on different planets.”

“how sweet of you, really,” she said dryly, though with a tone of sarcasm. “you’re lucky i’m feeling generous tonight.”

“generous? is that what you’re calling this?” he laughed, helping her out of the car and steadying her as she swayed slightly. “more like a recipe for disaster,” he retorted with a snarky tone. “shut up, touya,” she said, her voice softer now as they walked toward the door. “just… thanks for being here.”

“don’t mention it,” he replied, his tone lightening a bit. “but if you ever do this again, i’m leaving you to fend for yourself.”

“noted,” she said, a little too aware of how much she wished she could reach out and grab his hand, the feelings simmering beneath the surface threatening to spill over. “but you’re going to be there. i know it.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched her fumble with her keys. “just don’t go falling for me or something.”

her heart raced and she stayed silent, making dabi give her a glance that showed him trying to read her expression. she made sure to turn away from him, especially when he called her name. “gonna try to get some sleep,” she quickly said, using the guardrail to get upstairs and to her room.

y/n felt the wave of nausea wash over her as she laid on her bed, the world spinning around her. the bitter warmth of the alcohol still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the night’s escapades. she groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to block out the throbbing in her head. as the room tilted and swayed, she pushed herself up just enough to pull the blankets over her body, seeking comfort in their warmth.

it wasn't long before she heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open. dabi stepped inside, his usual scowl firmly in place as he leaned against the doorframe. “what a sight,” he muttered, glancing around her room. “you look like you’ve been through a blender.”

“thanks for the compliment,” y/n mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. she felt a bit of embarrassment wash over her as dabi sauntered over and sat on the edge of her bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through it. a part of her wanted to feel grateful, but the way he acted—like he was doing her a favor—was hard to ignore.

---

half an hour ticked by, the silence punctuated only by the sound of his scrolling. but y/n's nausea began to build again, the urge to throw up clawing at her insides like a feral animal. she bit her lip, feeling the heat rise in her throat as she fought against it, but it was no use.

"touya," she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaky. he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "hey, you alright?" he asked, but his tone was more sarcastic than concerned.

"not really," she muttered, clutching her stomach. before he could retort, she stumbled toward the bathroom, barely managing to reach the toilet before the contents of her stomach surged forth.

"nice going, genius," dabi called after her, his voice dripping with mockery. "you're really winning at this whole 'not throwing up' thing."

y/n heaved, feeling the world tilt precariously beneath her. the bitter taste of the alcohol mixed with the remnants of her dinner assaulted her senses, and she groaned, tears brimming in her eyes.

dabi was right behind her, his cool presence both annoying and comforting as he knelt beside her. "just breathe, y/n," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "try not to make this a regular thing, okay? i’ve got better things to do than babysit you."

as she gasped for air, she could feel his hand resting gently on her back, and despite his snark, there was a genuine concern in his touch. leaning into his hand, she felt a flicker of gratitude amid the chaos.

finally, the wave of nausea receded, leaving her breathless and trembling. dabi stayed close, waiting until she could lift her head and look at him. "feeling better?" he asked, his tone still laced with sarcasm.

"yeah," she whispered, her voice thick with sleepiness.

y/n felt like a train wreck as she sat hunched over the toilet, the remnants of her night swirling in her stomach like a storm. the bitter warmth of the alcohol lingered, and each heave felt like a betrayal to her body. just when she thought she was done, another wave hit her, and she groaned in frustration.

"seriously?" dabi’s voice cut through the haze, low and unimpressed. he leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. "you’ve got to be the worst drunk i’ve ever seen."

"thanks for the encouragement," she managed, glaring at him with half fury, half exhaustion. "what are you doing here, anyway? i thought you didn’t want to babysit me."

"don’t flatter yourself," he shot back, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his eyes. "i just didn’t want to deal with you throwing up in my car. that’s a real hassle."

"nice to know my well-being is your top priority," she replied sarcastically, but the dizziness made it hard to keep up her bravado. she stumbled back into her room, leaning against the wall as she caught her breath.

dabi followed, eyeing her critically. "you didn’t answer my question earlier, you know. when i said, 'don’t go falling for me,' you totally dodged that." his tone was light, but there was a seriousness in his gaze.

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to brush it off. "what do you care, anyway? you’re always so mean to me!"

crossing his arms again as he leaned against the wall "you don’t get to deflect now. just tell me, why didn’t you respond?"

"maybe i didn’t think it was worth addressing," she replied, her voice shaky, but his intensity made it hard to dismiss him. "really? because it sounded like you were trying to avoid something," he said, narrowing his gaze.

she let out a frustrated huff, flopping onto her bed. "i don’t know, touya. you make it hard to breathe sometimes. i get that you think you’re being helpful, but your sarcasm feels like a shield. and it hurts because i—"

"what is it, y/n?"

"i can’t help but feel something for you," she blurted out, exasperated. "even though you’re mean and a total brat, i… i like having you around, even when you act like you don’t care. and that just makes me feel more frustrated, like i’m some lost cause."

"y/n," he began, but she wasn’t done.

"you push me away, and i don’t understand why. you’re so pretty and infuriatingly attractive, and i hate that i’m drawn to you, but here we are." she sighed, the weight of her confession pressing heavily on her. "and i’m sorry for being a mess. i really am, but sometimes it feels like you’re the only one who sees me. even if it’s from a distance."

dabi watched her in silence, his expression shifting from annoyance to something deeper. "you think that’s what i’m doing?" he asked finally, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "pushing you away?"

"maybe," she admitted, feeling the heaviness of the alcohol wrapping around her thoughts. "i don’t know. i just… i feel like every time i try to get closer, you shut me out. it’s like you want to keep me at arm’s length."

he was quiet for a moment, and she could see the gears turning in his head. "and you think i want you to feel like shit?" he asked finally, his tone softer now. "you’re not some joke to me, y/n. you’re just… complicated."

"complicated, huh?" she snorted, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. "that’s one way to put it. you’re so busy being an asshole that you don’t see how much i wish things were different."

"different how?" dabi asked, genuinely intrigued, and for a moment, it felt like she had his full attention.

y/n fidgeted on the bed, her heart racing as she tried to gather her thoughts. "different as in… sometimes i wish you could see me for more than just a nuisance," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "i get that i can be a mess, but it feels like i’m always just… your project to fix."

dabi shifted his weight, an unreadable expression on his face. "you really think i see you that way?" he asked, his tone surprisingly soft.

"i don’t know," she replied, frustration creeping back in. "you’re always so wrapped up in your own world, and it makes me feel like i’m chasing after you for attention. i guess… i just wish you could let me in. i want to be someone you want around, not just someone you tolerate."

he remained silent, watching her with an intensity that made her heart flutter and ache all at once. "you’re not just a project, y/n." he finally said, his voice low. "but you’ve got to understand that i’m not great at this stuff. i’m not the guy who knows how to make things easy."

"yeah, i get that. but…" she sighed, struggling to find the right words. "it’s hard not to feel something more when you’re the one who shows up for me, even when i’m at my lowest. it’s like i can’t help but want you to be part of my life, in every way. and that scares me."

dabi opened his mouth as if to respond, but then fell silent again, letting the weight of her words hang between them. y/n could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to show that kind of vulnerability. "i’m such a dumbass," she mumbled, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. "i shouldn’t be pouring my heart out to you when i’m like this."

"y/n—"

"no, really, forget it," she interrupted, her voice cracking. "i just… i don’t want you to think i’m some lovesick idiot or anything. it’s just hard to ignore what i feel when you’re right here, acting like you don’t care. i’m sorry for being such a mess."

dabi let out a sigh, unable to speak, and only shook his head in frustration. y/n wasn’t the only one at a crossroads. he too knew that there was something up with the way he felt. he always felt it, but the feeling only got stronger when he was around y/n. the feelings brought him confusion, and dabi hated that feeling, hence the reason why he took it out on y/n anytime they were in the same vicinity of one another.

right now, he was failing to realize his true feelings. he failed to point out what it was exactly. he hated the feeling, and as he stared down at y/n, whose eyes were gradually heavying with sleep as stray tears dried, it only worsened.

he knew something was there, and it killed him since he didn’t know what.

---

as the morning light streamed through the curtains, y/n slowly stirred awake on her bed, the remnants of last night flooding her mind like a relentless tide. the dull ache in her head reminded her of the shots she'd had-and the impulsive confession she'd made to dabi. she sat up, rubbing her temples, and glanced around her room, half-expecting to find him sprawled beside her. but the bed was empty, and a wave of relief washed over her.

after a moment, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cool against her bare feet. y/n took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts. she stood up, feeling slightly unsteady, and made her way to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and brush the taste of last night's mistakes from her mouth. the cool water helped, but did little to erase the embarrassment now gnawing at her chest.

once she felt somewhat human again, she headed downstairs, the house settling into its usual stillness. glancing into the living room, y/n was surprised to see dabi lying on the couch, still fast asleep. the sight of him made her cringe, her mind replaying fragments of last night's disaster. she sighed, scolding herself as she stepped into the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove.

the kettle's whistle was loud, painfully so, and she cringed, knowing it might wake him. grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, she placed them on the counter, her mind swirling with thoughts of how to navigate the morning ahead. she wanted to avoid him, but the temptation to face him and clear the air was stronger.

while the memories of the night were hazy, she recalled enough to feel mortified-her indirect confession, the sting of tears, and the bitter taste of regret. she felt like a mess, and her pounding headache only confirmed it.

y/n rubbed her eyes, trying to shake the weight of last night's events, but dabi's voice cut through her thoughts.

"morning."

she poured hot water over the tea bags she'd placed in the mugs, nodding in response as she turned to hand him one. his hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and the remnants of sleep lingered in his eyes. "morning," she muttered quietly.

just as she was about to leave the kitchen, his hand caught her wrist. "what are you doing?"

her gaze avoided his, her usual confidence nowhere to be found until he spoke up again. "about last night-"

"forget about last night," she interrupted, her voice wavering. "i was drunk. didn't mean to say all that bullshit. i'm sorry."

"why are you apologizing?"

"because last night was a complete shit-show. i can't handle my liquor, and i don't even know why i drank so much, but i regret it. i put us in an awkward situation, and i'm sorry for that." she spoke in one hurried breath, not giving him a chance to respond before continuing. "i'm not expecting anything from you out of pity for feelings i know can't be returned. i just... i'm sorry."

she tried to pull away from his grip, but he held her in place. "touya, it's fine. let go. keeping me here, forcing me to face you, is torture."

"you done whining?"

"i'm not whining." her brow furrowed as she finally met his gaze with a glare. he set his tea down on the counter, and before she could react, his hands were on her cheeks, pulling her in close.

"touya..." she whispered cautiously.

"don't freak out."

and with that, his lips were on hers, warm and firm, leaving no room for doubt. it was a rash decision on dabi's part, driven by a feeling he didn't fully understand. but it was real, and for once, he wasn't running from it.

there was no hesitation, no second thoughts, just the warmth of the moment. y/n's hands instinctively gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as their lips moved in sync. dabi's hand slipped to her waist, tugging her toward him until their bodies were pressed together, a sigh escaping his lips.

the kiss broke suddenly, leaving y/n breathless and dabi smirking slightly. "i think that went better than your confession. i win."

"shut up, touya. it's not a competition."

"oh yeah?" he teased, but his voice softened as he let out a deep sigh. for dabi, apologies didn't come naturally. he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze as he leaned against the counter. "look," he began gruffly, "i'm not good at this. feelings, whatever. you already know that, so don't act surprised."

y/n remained silent, her eyes focused on him, waiting.

"i didn't mean to make you think i didn't care," he continued, clearly struggling with his words. "i just... don't do all the emotional crap. alright?"

the silence between them was palpable, her gaze heavy on him as he clenched his jaw in frustration.

"i don't know what the hell i'm supposed to say. i didn't even realize i was feeling... anything until recently. and you think i know how to handle that?" he laughed dryly, rubbing a hand over his face. "i'm not used to it. but i don't want you thinking i don't give a damn."

finally, he met her eyes, his expression more serious than usual. "i want to be with you. i don't know how to say it right, and i'll probably mess up again, but... i'm not blowing you off. this is just... new for me."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, half-turning as if he were done, but then muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear, "i care, y/n. more than i thought i could. so... there. happy now?"

it wasn't the most graceful confession, but for dabi, it was as close to vulnerability as y/n had ever seen. and she accepted it, even if she couldn't resist teasing him.

"wow, touya," she said, crossing her arms. "that was almost... cute. maybe you should write a book on feelings. 'how not to apologize 101."

"oh, fuck off, y/n."

with a sudden pull, dabi wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the couch. "what are we doing?" she asked, stumbling slightly. "barely got any sleep last night because of you," he grumbled, settling back and pulling her onto his chest. "so, we're fixing that." he sighed. "what if i don't want to sleep?"

"you do realize talking to me instead of sleeping is like asking a cat to fetch, right?" he groaned, pulling her closer.

"fine."

"thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes. "and y/n?" his voice was soft now. "hmm?" she questioned.

"i'm shit at communication so i know i don't have the right to say this, but promise me it won't take you getting wasted to tell me something that important again."

"deal."

"no. say you promise."

"i promise, touya."

with a kiss on her forehead, silence fell between them-this time, it was peaceful, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the night before.

got a request? send it in and i'll write it :D

Taglist: @nemoo888 @delicatexmoonchild @flowerpjimin @tedcruzumakii @sugacor3 @selysixn @mitsuyas-version @matchaismylove @cyberrthegreat @ivydoesit23 @riririntaro @ilovechickfilasauce @sincerelyzee @daydreamteardrop @satorusluvrgirl @tired-jaz

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dietpitt · 4 months ago

Text

💚🎃Green Is Definitely Your Color🎃💚

Stan Pines x AFAB!Reader Explicit | 2.8k words Tags: Gender-Neutral Reader, Reader wears a dress, Halloween Costumes, Trick-or-Treating, Sexual Roleplay, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink, Voice Kink, Stan is a Leg Man, Body Worship, Marking Kink, Reader Plays Bride of Frankenstein

In which body paint and Stan's mouth save the day (but ruin a perfectly good costume).

{Read on AO3}

Author's Note: Originally posted 2020 on AO3, but I wanted to give it a proper tumblr post. I'm very proud of this one except I didn't know how to end it and it shows lol

Thankfully, there are only a few things you and your boyfriend don’t see eye-to-eye on. Stan takes his coffee black (old habit from the days of shoddy motels and a life on the run), while your own brew of choice is iced (lasts longer and doesn’t get cold since it already is). He thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to scare a baby every now and then, and proceed to laugh in their pudgy little tear-streaked face. You? You told him he’d be the one bawling if you ever caught him pulling that in your periphery again.

Tonight, though? Tonight is the perfect example of just how good you two are together. Because tonight, you weren’t scaring babies. Tonight, on Halloween, you were scaring kids. And that was worlds apart from wreaking havoc in the grocery store, which happened the majority of the remaining 363 days of the year.

Sure, Stan always goes all-out for his beloved Summerween, but October 31st is when his freak flag really flies. It makes sense-- Fall brings less tourists than usual, and shorter daylight hours means fewer parents letting their kids come out to the woods to trick or treat, making every opportunity for a scare count.

With the Mystery Shack trading its typical kitsch for spooky ephemera-- fully decked out in giant spiderwebs, ghoulish figures, and angry jack-o-lanterns-- it’ll truly be a dramatic sight to behold.

But, for all the elaborate planning, special effects to make the eyes pop out of his skull and the bolts on his neck to spark and smoke, Stan still manages to miss a few spots needing body paint.

“Alright, alright, I think y’got it,” Franken-Stan fake-grumbles up at you from his seat in front of the full-length mirror.

“Will you relax? You’re gonna sweat, and I’ll have to do your makeup all over again,” you scold, though your painted lips curl into a fond grin despite yourself.

Though the kids will start coming any minute, you’re set on completing the finishing touches, if for no other reason than to keep Stan from further grumbling later.

… And most certainly not because you also love the opportunity to dote, holding him close in ways he’d otherwise be too shy about. Not at all.

“Are you going to wear your glasses?” You ask, getting his ears nice and green with the sponge brush.

He gives it some thought. “As much as it hurts the spook factor, I can’t really scare anybody if I fall on my face.”

Another, final once-over at your work and you’re satisfied, stepping back and raising your arms in the air triumphantly to steal yourself for your best mad-scientist cackle. “My creation! It’s aliiiive!”

Stan laughs, quickly standing and caging you with his arms against the wall. “Damn right. Alive as ever.”

You shoo both him and the remark away, looking over your white “dress” (old sheet) to check for any green that may have made its way onto your costume. “I thought you were in a hurry, hmm? There’s no time for a touch-up. Now, be a good ‘husband’ and carry the train.”

Stan’s eyes roll as he lifts the gown, following your lead downstairs. “Yes, honey.”

Trying very carefully not to trip, Stan helps you down the stairs. “I still think it’s dumb that The Bride of Frankenstein doesn’t get a name, though. Sure, she’s in it for all of three minutes, but she gets the movie named after her and doesn’t even get a line?”

“Nah, she just screams,” Stan laughs, dropping your dress as you meet the front door. “Like it hurts to exist.” He swings the door open and the both of you speak in unison.

“She gets it.”

You share a small laughing fit at that, making your way outside into the crisp autumn air, giddy to begin the festivities. A few to last-minute adjustments and tech checks, and The Shack will be ready.

“Seriously though-- why can’t she be, like, Victoria or something?”

Over by the skeleton crawling out from under the porch, Stan snorts. “Victoria? Why?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

“Touche.”

It’s finally the tail-end of the second hour, and you’re in position behind the semi-trapdoor mechanism on the porch, hidden behind a dark and stormy castle standee. You’re high on the energy so far, after making some kids scream-squeal in delight. Although, you did manage to terrify a toddler on accident without even trying-- the poor thing burst into tears at the mere sight of you walking out normally from the porch.

Maybe it was the semi-realistic stitches on your flesh? Who knows. All that’s clear is you felt awful, but Stan was very clearly amused-- and jealous, you’d wager.

But now that it’s past bedtime for most little ones, it’s time to up the ante with some added special effects-- and the fast-approaching gaggle of baby teens seem to be the first that’ll enjoy them.

Always on top of it, Stan lets out a Frankenstein-like groan, marching further from the end of the porch, arms raised in cheesy classic style. The kids stop in their tracks as he clears his throat roughly to give the spiel he’s practiced all night, an extra ~spooky~ lilt to his otherwise mostly-normal voice:

“Foolish humans! You daaaare demand gifts, when your hubris created me from cursed flesh, and your hatred ensured my demise?!” He’s truly in his element as his neck bolts flicker for emphasis, making most of the middle schoolers jump and gasp.

The one at the front of the pack though, doesn’t budge, instead holding their pumpkin bucket out with an overall look of disinterest. “Yeah, duh. Trick-or-treat, old man. Hand over the candy.”

“Rude little shit,” you frown, not even needing to see Stan’s face to know he’s going to enjoy this particular scare very much.

“Hold it, kid, ” Stan sneers, continuing his introduction, “if you want anything good to eat, you’ll need to ask the most blood-curdling-- ”

You flip the switch for the fog machine, and bellows of grey creep in around the Shack--

“--The most SPINE-TINGLING, repulsive monster of us all--!”

You quickly step on the nearby button, and lightning flashes across the house as thunder sounds--

“ --MY WIFE! ”

At his signal, your spring forward, eyes crazed as a horrendous banshee screech leaves your throat and white tendrils wave in the wind.

The rude kid screams-- and while Stan bursts out laughing and you smile evilly, you miss them reflexively reach into their bucket, pull something out, and chuck it right at you before scampering away.

With a dull thud, the projectile lands on your head with a muffled thud, sending you off balance and toppling off the platform in a second. You hear Stan’s barks at the hoodlum, but soon he’s up the porch at your side, just as surprised as you are.

“The hell-- you alright, babe?”

Stan helps you up as you glance around for the offending object that’s left your head and the arm that broke your fall aching. “I-- what the fuck was that?!”

A large, off-white sphere rolls along a groove in the deck, moved by your shifted weight. It hits the edge of your shoe, and you pick it up to find it’s…

A popcorn ball.

A really fucking heavy, rock-hard popcorn ball.

With a splotch of white from your forehead smeared across it.

Stan’s bursts out laughing, though he doesn’t let his supposedly helpful grip on your waist go. “Who the hell gave that thing out?? They must’ve been saving it for last century-- ”

It’s funny. Like, really funny. Comedy freaking gold.

But your head hurts and you fell, and shit, your wig’s messed up…

Your own laughter breaks suddenly, and before you even know it you’re tearing up.

Franken-Stan blanches the soon as it hits him. “H-hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry-- are you alright?”

The comforting hands on your shoulder, the concern in his voice breaks the dam, tears spilling out despite your mind knowing better, and wanting to continue laughing it off like you should-- like you want to.

“I’m fine Stan, I’m fine, I-- I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I really don’t,” you laugh, dabbing at your eyes with a bandage-covered hand. “That was too perfect.”

“Don’t apologize, that kid’s an asshole.”

“An asshole with a hell of a pitch,” You laugh, finally meeting Stan’s eye.

“Wanna go inside? It’s gettin’ late anyway,”

“No! No, are you kidding? We just got started with the lightning! I’m fine, I promise--”

He raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“Really, I am. I’m the most horrifying creature of them all, right?”

“Hah! Sure are, sweet thing, sure are.”

“Then let’s get back to scaring. I’ll be ready to duck this time.” You laugh, elbowing Stan before getting back into place, and Stan follows.

11:27pm

There hasn’t been a kid in nearly 30 minutes, and with another hour under your belt, the pair of you are content to turn in for the night for some movies and the Halloween goodie bags left behind by scared trick-or-treaters.

Flopping down on the bed, your tired body practically sings. “Goddd, that kid really got me good.” The hands on your face muffle your words, but Stan gets the idea.

Taking pity on you, he pulls up the nearby chair and starts unlacing one of your boots for you. “Happens in the line of duty sometimes. Shoulda seen what one fairy princess threw at me one year-- actually, I don’t even wanna know what it was.” He jokes(?), tossing the shoe aside and beginning on the other.

“Knocked me down at the top of my game…” you mutter, twiddling with the end of a splayed-out strip of your garment.

“Hey,” Stan drops the other boot to the floor with a thud, quickly peeling off the striped sock that lay underneath. “Don’t forget, you scared the absolute shit out of that brat.”

You let out a hum, then chuckle. “Triggered his fight and flight.”

"Exactly,” he replies definitely, sling-shotting the second sock in the air. It lands on your chest, but you quickly toss it over to nowhere in particular.

“I don’t know if I can even get back up. Just let me die here,” you groan, only half-joking as the strenuous activities of the day catch up to you. “I’ll be a corpse for next Halloween.”

“Well, yer already halfway there in that getup,” Stan shrugs off the jacket of his costume and lets it fall on the chair. A glance across your form reminds him of the “bolts” attached to his neck, which he peels off with a wince. “And I’m not far behind ya.”

“I’ll be lucky if I look this good when I’m dead,” you laugh, adjusting to get more comfortable and fully prepared to just pass out, wig and all.

Stan’s eye catches on the bare skin of your leg that’s revealed when you shift, the stark white of your gown falling to the side as it bends at the knee and the other still hangs off the bed uselessly. He hums, appreciative of the sensual view of you before him: limbs draped out, black eye makeup smudged...

Your eyes fly open at the feeling of Stan’s large hand on your knee, and you’re met with a familiar mischievous grin on Stan’s still-green face. “Mmm, you’re already bewitching, babe.”

That look always manages to send a pang through your gut. “Oh, stop it…”

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined the night ending, but don’t mind all that much if it’s headed where you think it’s headed.

“‘M serious,” Stan chuckles. “Yer right about The Bride too… never appreciated enough,” His thumb rubs a circle on the soft flesh on the inside of your knee, and you can’t help but sigh at the nice pressure.

Your stomach nearly flips when he slides to his own knees, grip moving down your calf and lifting your leg to place a playful kiss to your ankle. His name falls from your lips in a whine, equal parts warning and pleading, for exactly what you can’t decide. You’re answered nonetheless by another peck just above the previous, then another with the slightest bit of teeth that makes you gasp and prop up onto your elbows.

The sight is absolutely ridiculous -- Frankenstein’s monster himself between your legs, smiling dumbly as he nips at the neglected one before he pushes excessive fabric up and off to reveal more of your form. “Stan, we-- oh my god--”

It’s when he pulls you forward on the bed that you see it: the splotches of deep green coloring the trail Stan is continuing up your thigh with a knowing look.

You laugh at first, starting to push him away so you can properly remove your dress, but he tuts, gripping your hips instead and curling an arm around your thigh, slinging it over his shoulder with an in-character groan: "You go nowhere.

You’re torn between teasing him about the fact that he’s really roleplaying as fucking Frankenstein right now, and the shudder that rolls through you as Stan noses your center through the cotton, saying: “Mine .”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say when his mouth meets between your thighs, teasing your folds through the fabric with a brazen tongue. You let yourself go then, leaning into the anticipation as after a moment Stan tugs the garment down and off, though it catches on your foot and is left dangling there uselessly.

“You’ll be screamin’ for me, don’t you worry,” he says, breath ghosting over your core before fully tucking in.

There’s no energy left in you to scream, but the needy whimpers and moans that escape as he ushers you up towards pleasure are melodic, a siren song that urges Stan to keep delving into your cunt, to hold your thighs open with a possessive grip.

“F-fuck,” you cry, reaching down and threading your fingers through his mop of black-sprayed hair between your legs. He groans mid-lap at your clit, and you gasp as his hands join in on the ministrations, caressing and petting from your hips to your stomach.

It’s when he starts sucking that you start to really writhe, tugging roughly at his locks to push him deeper. He slurps your arousal right up, the sound mortifying yet helping thrust you closer to the fast-approaching peak.

“C’mon, honey,” Stan says, thumb maintaining a rhythm on your clit. “Come for me, darling.”

The foreign pet name does it, sending a rolling orgasm that hits you in waves, crying out Stan’s name and other sweet nothings before going limp.

After a moment he sits back, more than proud as he wipes his mouth and watches you twitch and moan through the lingering pulses.

“Wow-- what was that all about?” You manage to pant out, made curious again as Stan stands suddenly, walking over to the mirror on the far-side of the room.

“Check it out,” he says, bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed and leaning against it with a self-satisfied grin.

Sitting up, your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and glowing-- with a prominent mess of green smeared along your skin, practically outlining each and every touch that made you come undone. A few complete hand prints are even visible, on the backs of your knees, on your hip-- even a comically clear outline against the stark white of your covered chest.

Your face burns hot as you can’t help but laugh in disbelief, both at what you see and the unexpected thrill of it; it’s delightful, and silly, and sexy, and overall just an image you think won’t leave your head for a while.

Stan chuckles at your reaction, pleased. “S’a good look on ya-- damn near electrifyin’ , some might say.”

“Come here,” you ask, arms out to beckon him forward. He does, and you don’t miss the prominent bulge in his trousers as he walks over.

Pulling him down by his shirt, you lock him into an appreciative kiss, raking your nails across his scalp and practically pulling him on top of you to continue the makeout, bed size be damned.

Needing air, you finally break away, glancing back at the mirror to see green now decorating your mouth and cheeks. “You’d missed a spot,” you inform Stan, pointing to the new addition to your face.

He hums, ducking down to nip at your neck and clavicle, painting them just the same. “Could think of a few more spots needin’ a touch-up,” he growls, rolling his hips.

Snaking your hand into the band of his pants, Stan lets out another groan at your touch and when you say lightly into his ear:

“Looks like you could use some white with that green, hmm?”

Happy Spooky Season!! 🎃💚🎃

[Masterlist]

dividers by @strangergraphics and @firefly-graphics

#my writing #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines #grunkle stan #stanley pines #gravity falls reader insert #gravity falls

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