#and wind getting yeeted

[soaringbubblegum]

Forgot I had a draft about Bizarro and Artemis' favourite tactical move: grab Jason by the scruff like a feral alley cat and throw him with extreme prejudice against bad guys.

Works every time. lmao

Batman live reaction:

[dumvixerum]

Max should've known better tbh

[syn4k]

hm. what if they landed in ruxomar via the events of Storm

[playingplayer2]

Childhood shenanigans and acts of assholery of mine include:

Vicious Mockery of a teenage boy (our neighbor) who egged our house with his friend while they were cleaning the wall off (punishment decided on and approved of by the adults). I kept going past them on my little baby tricycle (I was maybe 4? 5? I was under 6) and making disparaging comments all the while. Bro looked like he was gonna pop a blood vessel before my mother noticed and shoo-ed me and my sibling away.

Around the same age I spent, like, at least an hour, maybe two, pestering this guy, a bit younger than my parents, at some get together my parents went to w/ their friends (and their friend's friends, of which, this poor dude was). I think I definitely made him seriously consider ever having kids because I was the embodiment of asking "why" and "unwitting adult who had just agreed to be my storytime audience" at that age, poor man was not doing well by the end. I think he may have been the only adult there completely unfamiliar with me, so in my little head he was akin to blood in the water for a shark or smth.

Had whole ass escape plans, down to the minute detail of exactly whose yards to cut through, where to use the back alleyways, and where to use the main streets in case of emergencies (kick-started by my father being an abusive fuck, cemented by our house being broken into one day while said abusive fuck was at work and we (mother, sibling, and me) were at said house). Alas police officers really do tend to poke holes into 7 year olds plans by virtue of longer legs and a willingness to assault small children. (There was a house about two blocks down (veeeeeery long street with multiple intersections) with, like, at least 4 cats and that was the end goal, alas.)

Speaking of seven year olds, clearly, the obvious answer to adults hurting you via enabling an abusive father is absolutely to make snow balled filled with rocks and ice and aiming for the face. I'd know, I did that. Unfortunately a 10-15 foot distance might be a bit of a feat at that age.

Also tricking a class of 9-10 year olds into bowing to a dragon tapestry in the hallway because they Won't Stop Bullying You is always funny, especially when you're the only one in the class who'd know if you're lying or not. (Being Chinese does not, in fact, mean you need to bow to every dragon you see as a sign of respect for the gods, but it sure was funny, and no, the dragon will not curse you for forgetting to bow.)

Very pointedly asking another kid about her crush on one of our classmates a la interview style at lunch because she'd done something similar to me a week prior. (She came up to me and told me it was "for an interview," before asking me point blank "how does it feel that no one wants to play with you any more since so-and-so came back to this school?" Before kind of leading the whole excluding-me-from-everything bit. Which. Was fun... So like a week later after we found out that her crush and friend would be moving states over the summer, I asked her at lunch if she was "ever going to tell blah-blah-blah that she liked him." At lunch. With our whole 3rd grade class. It wasn't my nicest move, but also literally everyone knew, including her crush/friend. But we were also all 9 or 10. So. Yeah.

In conclusion, I was a little shithead.

[tuesziday]

Gonna pull an all nighter despite getting an hour and a half of sleep last night because I need to stay alert until these warnings go away

[solxamber]

How to Tame Your Dragon - Malleus Draconia x reader

Since you and Malleus have gotten into a relationship, you've become a bona-fide dragon soother. But whenever you fumble, the entirety of NRC faces the consequences.

aka the 7 times you cause ecological disasters and the 1 time it works out for you.

this is one of my favorite works i hope y'all enjoy it too

Instance 1: The Unbirthday Party Fumble

It all started so innocently, as most disasters do.

You were sitting on a bench in the gardens with Malleus, who was in one of his "look at my shiny things" moods. He had decided to show you his prized possessions from his extensive, possibly cursed, hoard. Usually, this was an easy gig. You’d nod, say something like “Wow, so shiny,” and then give him a kiss. Easy peasy.

But not today.

Because today, your brain decided to take a little vacation while your body stayed behind, stuck on autopilot.

You were half-paying attention, your focus more on the distant ruckus over at Heartslabyul’s tea party, where Ace and Deuce were most definitely in the middle of doing something stupid. Riddle was probably screaming about proper fork placement, Trey was juggling a thousand responsibilities, and Cater was... doing whatever Cater does.

You could hear the faint sounds of plates clinking and people panicking about the sugar cubes being uneven. It was practically a symphony of disaster waiting to happen.

Meanwhile, Malleus was holding up what looked like a teapot. But not just any teapot—this thing was ornate. Gleaming, intricate patterns, probably blessed by some ancient fae god of beverages. You didn’t notice any of that, though.

Instead, when Malleus asked in his deep, romantic, “I’m-giving-you-a-piece-of-my-soul” voice, “Do you like it, my treasure?” you waved him off like he’d just shown you a half-eaten sandwich.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Looks fine.”

Silence.

Not just any silence. The kind of silence where the air pressure changes and you suddenly realize you might’ve done something very, very bad.

You blinked, finally looking over at Malleus, and oh no. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pursed, and a shadow seemed to fall over him—literally. The sky darkened as if the heavens were in on his mood. His grip on the teapot tightened, and you could swear the wind started to howl.

Oh, no no no.

The moment you realized your mistake, the storm was already brewing. Quite literally. The sky went from clear to “about to smite someone” in about two seconds flat. You could feel the temperature drop, and leaves started swirling around like they were auditioning for a role in a natural disaster movie.

You were in for it now.

Meanwhile, at the world’s most cursed tea party:

Riddle was just getting ready to pour the first cup of tea when the wind decided to yeet the tablecloth right off the table. Teacups clattered, pastries took flight, and the entire garden descended into chaos.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN’S LAWS—” Riddle screamed, clutching a teapot like it was his last lifeline.

Ace, currently dodging a rogue scone, looked over at the sky. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Is this a Malleus thing?”

Deuce, who was using a sugar bowl as a makeshift helmet, shouted over the wind. “It’s always a Malleus thing! Why do I even ask anymore?!”

Cater, hair blown sideways and desperately trying to keep his phone in hand, was trying to snap a selfie in the chaos. “Guys, this is prime MagiCam content—wait, no, my phone’s gone!” He dove after it as it got carried away in the wind.

Riddle, already on the verge of a meltdown, turned to Trey, who was trying to shield a cake from the incoming storm. “I demand an explanation!”

Trey, forever the calm one, glanced up. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say the prefect did something to upset Malleus.”

“OF COURSE, THEY DID,” Riddle shrieked, practically levitating with fury. “Why do we suffer every time they breathe near him?!”

“I don’t know, but we need to fix it before Riddle explodes!” Ace said, dodging a flying plate.

Deuce grabbed Ace’s arm. “We need to talk to them! Make them apologize or something!”

And so, in the middle of the flying teapots and pastries of doom, the group sprinted to find you, dodging airborne desserts and Riddle’s wrath.

Back at the epicenter of destruction:

You were still sitting there, eyes wide as you watched Malleus literally brood so hard it summoned a small hurricane. “Uh, Malleus…?”

He didn’t respond. Nope, he was fully in Pouty Dragon Mode™. The sky darkened even more, the wind howling, the trees bending, and you could faintly hear the sound of Ace, Deuce, and the others screaming in the distance.

Your casual dismissal of the teapot had, quite literally, ruined lives.

Before you could say anything else, the chaos squad came barreling toward you like a human avalanche, looking like they’d been through a war zone.

Ace was covered in frosting, Deuce had bits of shattered china stuck in his hair, and Trey was holding onto what looked like the remnants of a cake stand. Cater was still trying to get a selfie in, even though he looked like he’d been through a tornado.

“FIX. THIS.” Ace wheezed, dropping to his knees dramatically. “BEFORE WE ALL DIE.”

“Riddle’s about to combust,” Deuce added, his eyes wide. “Please. We’re begging you.”

Trey just gave you a calm look. “If you don’t make this right soon, I don’t know if we’ll make it to the end of the day.”

You sighed, realizing there was no escape. You’d have to face the storm—literally—and make things right.

Turning back to Malleus, you slid off the bench and stood in front of him, gently tugging on his sleeve. “Malleus?”

His eyes, still stormy, met yours, but he didn’t say anything. The wind continued to howl, the sky still dark.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your teapot. It’s beautiful, really. I was just…distracted.”

Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the wind died down just a little. Progress.

“I’d never intentionally dismiss something that’s important to you,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “Please forgive me? I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”

The storm finally started to calm as Malleus’s expression softened. The sky cleared up, and the wind turned into a gentle breeze.

He sighed dramatically, though it was more theatrical than anything. “Very well, my treasure. I suppose I can forgive you this time. But you owe me proper attention.”

Relieved, you grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I give you all the attention you want right now?”

That did it. The storm completely vanished, and Malleus’s mood visibly brightened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a possessive, yet affectionate embrace. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head.

Behind you, the chaos squad groaned.

“Oh, sure,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “One cute kiss, and suddenly the hurricane stops. What even is our life?”

“Let’s just never bring up teapots again,” Deuce muttered, shaking bits of pastry out of his hair.

Cater, who had finally managed to get a decent selfie, grinned. “Well, at least we survived!”

You chuckled as Malleus nuzzled into your hair, clearly pleased with your apology. At least for now, disaster had been averted. But something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to apologize for accidentally setting off your dragon boyfriend.

But hey, at least you had kisses to fix everything, right?

Instance 2: The compliment conundrum

It started as one of those innocent slip-ups—the kind that makes you wonder why you even opened your mouth in the first place. You were lounging by the side of the spelldrive field, watching NRC’s teams practice. Malleus, busy handling his own royal duties, hadn’t been able to make it to practice today, so you’d spent the afternoon watching Leona and his squad dominate the field.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were just… appreciating talent, right? And Leona was talented. You couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly dodged tackles, sending spells whizzing through the air with precision. The guy was annoying, sure, but he had undeniable skill.

So when you casually mentioned to Jack and Ruggie, “Man, Leona’s got some impressive moves,” you thought nothing of it.

Until you felt the ground crack beneath you.

You froze mid-sentence, glancing around as a creeping, eerie silence settled over the field. The other players stopped in their tracks, confusion spreading across their faces. The once lush, green training grounds were slowly transforming before your very eyes—the grass yellowing, the soil drying, the sky dimming. It was like nature had collectively decided, Nope, we’re out.

Jack blinked at the ground, then at you, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Did… Did you just—?”

Ruggie, a master of putting two and two together, slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, no. Not again.”

Before you could even ask what was happening, you heard the faintest sound of rumbling in the distance, like some ancient, angry being had woken up from its nap. And that’s when the full weight of your mistake hit you.

You’d praised Leona. And Malleus, who was more possessive than a dragon guarding his hoard, definitely heard you.

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, already starting to backpedal. “Oh, crap, crap, crap—”

The drought spread faster, draining every last drop of moisture from the air. The once-pristine spelldrive field now looked like a scene out of some post-apocalyptic desert movie. Cracks snaked across the ground, the once-refreshing breeze now felt like it was straight out of the Sahara, and the remaining players started wheezing from the dry heat.

Leona, of course, was the first to piece things together. He sauntered over, glancing at the parched earth beneath his feet, then back up at you with a deadly glare.

You tried to stammer out an excuse, but Ruggie was already grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the nearest path off the field. Jack, looking somewhere between worried and resigned, trailed after you.

“Listen,” Ruggie said in a panic, “we gotta fix this now, or the whole school’s gonna turn into a wasteland.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you protested as they half-dragged you across the desertified landscape. “It was just a compliment!”

“You can’t just compliment Leona when you’re dating Malleus!” Jack huffed, sweat dripping from his forehead as the oppressive heat intensified. “You should know better by now!”

You felt a bead of sweat trickle down your temple as you tried to keep up with their frantic pace. “I didn’t know he was that possessive!”

“Oh, he is,” Ruggie muttered, glancing nervously at the sky. “And he’s sulking. You know what that means.”

You groaned. Yes, you did know what that meant. A sulking Malleus equaled world-ending storms, natural disasters, and in this case—apocalyptic droughts.

Leona, who had followed you guys, clearly had enough of this nonsense. He stomped up behind you, glaring daggers. “You’ve ruined my field,” he growled, voice dripping with irritation. “Do me a favor and never say anything nice about me again.”

“Don’t worry, Leona,” you sighed, exasperated. “I’ll only insult you from now on. Promise.”

“Good,” Leona grumbled, adjusting his collar. “Now fix your dragon before I lose my mind.”

By the time you reached Malleus, the situation had reached catastrophic levels. The entire island felt like it was one sunny day away from turning into a desert. The sky was an angry, cloudless blue, and even the birds had fled, probably deciding they didn’t want to risk spontaneous combustion.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, sat your dragon boyfriend, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as you’d ever seen him. His aura was practically radiating misery.

“Malleus,” you called out, panting from the trek across the sun-baked campus.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, but didn’t say a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the pout written all over his face.

Ruggie gave you a light shove. “Well, go on. Apologize before we all die of thirst.”

You shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, you stepped closer to Malleus and knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He huffed, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. “You praised another.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only have eyes for you, you know that.”

Malleus remained silent for a moment, but you could feel his mood softening. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly, the heat less intense, the grass no longer crumbling beneath your feet.

“I don’t like sharing your admiration,” he murmured, still not quite looking at you. “Especially with him.”

“Leona’s not a threat,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “He’s too busy napping to notice, anyway.”

That earned a tiny smirk from Malleus, though he was clearly still in sulk mode. You couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled into his neck, placing little butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Come on… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll praise you for hours if you want. No one is more worthy of my compliments than you.”

That finally did the trick. His stiff posture relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he murmured, turning his head to look at you. “I suppose I can forgive you… this time.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Malleus, now fully basking in your affection, wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head. The sky finally returned to normal, the air cooling down, and the earth itself seemed to let out a relieved sigh.

Meanwhile, back on the now-saved-from-death spelldrive field, Leona collapsed onto the cracked ground with an annoyed grunt. “I swear, if they ever break up, I’m moving to a different continent.”

“Honestly, same,” Ruggie groaned, lying down beside him. Jack just nodded in agreement, too tired to even complain.

But as the world finally returned to normal, and you cuddled up against your not-so-grumpy-anymore dragon boyfriend, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be more careful with your compliments from now on.

…Maybe.

Instance 3: Dinner Downpour

It had started out as an innocent evening. Just you, Malleus, and a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge. You figured it was a good idea—a cozy meal, some quiet time away from the usual chaos. Plus, Malleus had never been to the Lounge before, and you wanted to show him a little piece of what passed for fine dining at NRC.

Everything was going smoothly. The candlelight cast a soft glow over the table, and Malleus seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he occasionally side-eyed the giant aquariums and questionable dishes swimming in ink. You were halfway through your meal when it happened. The moment that would soon be known as The Great Mostro Lounge Flood of the Century.

Malleus, eyes warm and his tone utterly princely, leaned toward you as the waiter left the bill on the table. “Allow me to cover this,” he said, reaching for his wallet—or whatever it was that dragons carry their horde in. “I would like to treat you.”

You, not sensing the danger, waved him off with a smile. “No need, Malleus. I’ve got this.”

Oh no.

If you could rewind time, maybe you would’ve noticed the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. The tiniest furrow of his brow, the faint tightening of his grip on his silverware. But you didn’t. You were oblivious. You, poor unfortunate soul, paid the bill yourself.

And that’s when the first clap of thunder rolled through the building.

It didn’t take long for things to go from zero to we’re-all-gonna-die levels of chaos. The sky outside darkened almost instantly, rain pouring down like the heavens had just decided to empty all their buckets at once. But it wasn’t just rain—oh no, this was a full-blown, hurricane-tier downpour. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shocked faces of the Mostro Lounge patrons as water started seeping in through the windows.

Inside, chaos erupted. The once-elegant ambiance of the Mostro Lounge turned into something out of a disaster movie. Jade was frantically trying to keep the dining area dry with what looked like twenty towels, but the water just kept rising. Floyd was sitting on top of a table, cackling at the sheer absurdity of it all, while Azul was on the verge of a mental breakdown, clutching his ledger to his chest as if it could somehow save him from bankruptcy.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Azul’s voice broke through the chaos as he practically teleported to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a maraca.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, still processing the fact that the place was flooding. “We were just having dinner!”

“Oh, you were ‘just having dinner,’” Azul mocked, his voice climbing an octave as the water level rose past your ankles. “Sure, just dinner—and now I’m watching my profits swim away!”

Jade appeared next, a suspiciously calm smile on his face despite the absolute catastrophe around him. “You didn’t happen to upset the prince of Briar Valley, did you?”

Floyd leaned in, grinning like a maniac. “Yeah, did ya snub him or somethin’? This is hilarious.”

Your face paled. Oh no. You replayed the scene in your head—the offer to pay, your refusal—and realization hit you like one of the lightning bolts currently striking outside. “Oh my god. He’s upset because I didn’t let him pay.”

“That’s it?!” Floyd burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “All this ‘cause you didn’t let him foot the bill? Man, that’s rich!”

Azul’s eye twitched. “Fix. This. Now.”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” you protested, feeling the water slosh against your calves as the storm outside intensified. “I just wanted to treat him for once!”

“Clearly, that was a mistake,” Jade said, entirely too serene for someone standing in knee-deep water. “I suggest you… rectify it.”

“Rectify it,” Azul echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Or I swear I’ll have you and your little dragon both in debt until you’re ancient fossils.”

Floyd, still howling with laughter, gave you a light shove toward the entrance. “Better hurry, Shrimpy, before we gotta start charging people for canoe rentals!”

You rushed outside, braving the storm as the winds whipped around you. The ground was already flooded, rain pelting down so hard you could barely see two feet in front of you. But there, standing in the middle of it all like some tragic figure from a gothic romance novel, was Malleus.

He wasn’t even trying to shield himself from the rain—he just stood there, soaked, staring up at the stormy sky as if summoning the wrath of the heavens. His mood was palpable, the air around him crackling with discontent.

“Malleus!” you called out, running over and nearly slipping in a puddle. “Malleus, wait!”

He glanced down at you, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by his usual regal composure. “I thought… I could treat you. It seems you do not trust me to do even that.”

You winced. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. You should’ve known better—Malleus was always thinking about how to show you he cared, and this was just one more way for him to do that. And you’d brushed him off without realizing the significance.

“Hey, that’s not it at all,” you said softly, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “I just… I wanted to treat you this time. But I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”

The storm rumbled ominously overhead, but you could feel his mood starting to shift.

You squeezed his hands, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t appreciate it. You always take such good care of me.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his posture. “I simply wished to show you how much I treasure our time together.”

“And I treasure you,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “So how about this—I’ll let you treat me next time. Dinner, ice cream, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you replied, kissing him again for good measure. “But for now, maybe we could, uh… ease up on the weather a bit? I think Azul’s about to have a heart attack.”

Malleus chuckled softly, the storm clouds above beginning to break apart as the rain slowed to a drizzle. “Very well. I shall spare them—for now.”

Back inside the Lounge, Azul was clinging to his precious ledger like a lifeline, watching with wide eyes as the floodwaters slowly receded. The place was still a soaked mess, but at least it wasn’t Atlantis anymore.

Floyd, leaning against the bar, gave you a lazy grin as you walked back in, hand-in-hand with Malleus. “Well, looks like you managed to cool down your dragon, huh? Good job, Shrimpy.”

Jade smiled pleasantly, though you could tell there was relief in his gaze. “The Lounge owes you a great debt.”

Azul, drenched and looking like he’d aged ten years, just sighed. “Please. Next time… just let him pay.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Noted.”

Malleus, still holding your hand, glanced down at you with a fond expression. “Shall we continue our evening?”

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his affection, even if he had almost accidentally drowned the entire restaurant. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And as you left the Mostro Lounge, water still dripping from the ceiling and Floyd’s laughter echoing behind you, you couldn’t help but think that for all the chaos that came with dating the prince of Briar Valley, it was worth every second.

Instance 4: Deserted Dreams

It all started with an innocent suggestion over breakfast. You and Malleus were sitting at your usual spot in Diasomnia, peacefully munching on breakfast. Things were nice, calm—Malleus was in a good mood, the sun was shining, and there hadn’t been any catastrophic magical incidents for a solid two days.

But, of course, you just had to ruin it.

"So," you said, casually buttering a slice of toast, "I was thinking… maybe for our next vacation, instead of going to Briar Valley again, we could head over to the Scalding Sands? I heard Kalim raving about the heat and all the festivals, and I thought it might be fun to experience a little warmth for a change."

Malleus, who had been sipping his tea, froze. He looked at you, his eyes wide and a bit too intense. "The Scalding Sands?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you know—sun, sand, maybe a beach or two. Something different!" You smiled, clearly not reading the massive red flags flying in the air. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, Briar Valley is great and all, but we always go there. I thought a change of scenery would be nice!"

And that, was when the Dorms of Scarabia and Diasomnia turned into a hellish desert wasteland.

It started slowly—just a bit of extra heat creeping into the room, making you fidget in your seat. Then it escalated. The temperature spiked dramatically, and before you knew it, the dorm felt like someone had thrown open the gates to the underworld and invited the sun to personally burn it all down. You swore you could hear the sound of sand shifting beneath your feet, though you were still indoors. Indoors, for crying out loud!

Malleus sat in silence, clearly displeased. His usual dark, moody aura was now tinged with the kind of slow-boiling frustration that made you realize: you’d made a huge mistake.

Just as you were about to apologize and backpedal your way out of the desertification of Diasomnia and Scarabia, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by a chorus of complaints.

You stepped out of the dorm and were met with chaos. The whole area around Diasomnia had transformed into an arid, sweltering desert. The grass? Gone. The trees? Withered. The nice, cool breeze that used to blow through? Now replaced by blistering heat waves. Students were dragging themselves around, sweating profusely as the once lush grounds became a scorching wasteland.

At the heart of the chaos stood Kalim, as cheerful as ever, while a very sweaty and very done Jamil stood nearby, looking like he had reached the end of his rope.

Jamil spotted you immediately and marched over, steam practically rising off his skin. “What did you do?!” he hissed, looking like he was five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

"I—" you stammered, glancing at Kalim, who was happily waving a fan like he was at a resort.

"Isn’t this great?!" Kalim chirped, smiling ear to ear. "It feels just like home! Now we can have all the desert parties we want! Thanks for the heatwave!"

You blinked. "Um… you’re welcome?"

"No," Jamil interjected, glaring at you like you’d personally set him on fire. “Don’t thank them! What possessed you to turn Scarabia into a furnace?!”

You grimaced, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not my fault! I just suggested we vacation in the Scalding Sands instead of Briar Valley and—"

"You did what?!" Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. "So because you didn’t want to vacation in Briar Valley, this happens? Do you know how long it’s going to take to get the dorm back to normal? Or the fact that I’m now stuck babysitting Kalim in what feels like the surface of the sun?"

Kalim, still oblivious to the suffering around him, beamed. “You should make up with Malleus! Then maybe we can have two vacations!”

Jamil’s eye twitched.

It didn’t take long before you were escorted (dragged) back to Malleus, courtesy of a very sunburned Jamil and a still-chipper Kalim. They deposited you at the door to Diasomnia, giving you the kind of look that screamed fix this, or we’ll make you regret it.

Sighing, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Unsurprisingly, it was even hotter indoors than it had been outside. Malleus was sitting in the corner of the common room, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he was contemplating the deep mysteries of life—or brooding over your vacation suggestion. Probably the latter.

“Malleus?” you called softly, approaching him carefully as the air around him practically sizzled with residual magic.

He didn’t respond, still looking like a dragon that had just been told his gold stash was getting replaced with copper coins.

You sighed and knelt down in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it’d be nice to see a new place, but if you want to go back to Briar Valley, that’s totally fine. We can go wherever you want.”

Malleus blinked, finally looking down at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You wished to travel somewhere unfamiliar,” he murmured, his voice low. “I should have taken your desires into account. But… the thought of you preferring another land over mine… it unsettled me.”

You blinked. “Wait, is that what this is about? Malleus, I love Briar Valley! I just wanted to try something new, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back. We could go anywhere, and I’d be happy as long as I’m with you.”

He softened even more, the heat in the room fading as his magic began to relax. “You mean that?”

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course I do.”

His arms, once tense, reached out to pull you into his lap, holding you close as if the idea of you slipping away to some other land without him had weighed far too heavily on his mind. You snuggled into him, feeling the last traces of heatwave melt away into nothing but warmth and comfort.

Malleus nuzzled his face into your hair, his voice a soft rumble. “Then we shall go wherever your heart desires. As long as we are together.”

You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Okay, deal. But, uh, maybe we avoid any more heatwave-related disasters? Jamil might actually combust next time.”

Malleus chuckled softly, his mood lightening as he held you close. “Very well. I shall spare them from further torment… this time.”

And as you cuddled into him, the remnants of the desert wasteland outside slowly returning to normal, you couldn’t help but think that as long as you had Malleus (and could keep him happy), the world—weather catastrophes included—would be just fine.

Instance 5: Fashion Fiasco

You and Malleus were at one of Vil’s fashion shows, sitting in the audience with everyone else as Vil strutted his stuff on the runway, looking absolutely flawless as per usual. The lights sparkled, the music boomed, and Vil practically radiated beauty and grace in an outfit that could only be described as something plucked straight from a dream.

"Wow," you breathed, eyes wide as you watched Vil pose dramatically at the end of the runway. "Vil really does look amazing, doesn’t he? Like, how is anyone supposed to compete with that level of perfection?"

Malleus, sitting beside you, went absolutely still.

It didn’t register right away. You were too busy marveling at Vil’s next ensemble to notice Malleus stiffening beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But as the next model waltzed down the runway, you felt a sudden chill in the air. Literally.

You blinked. Was it just you, or was it… colder? You glanced up at the ceiling, frowning as tiny snowflakes started to drift down from nowhere. The air grew icy, your breath visible as the temperature plummeted in mere seconds.

"What the—" You stood up, just in time to see the entire fashion show being transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Snow was now falling heavily, frosting over the runway, the lights, and, most importantly, Vil’s perfect hair.

The shriek that followed was one of pure, unbridled horror.

“No! My HAIR!” Vil screeched, desperately clutching his head as snowflakes clung to his golden locks, which were slowly wilting under the weight of the ice. “This is a disaster!”

Models fled the scene, their designer clothes dragging through snowdrifts that were rapidly accumulating on stage. The music cut off, the audience panicked, and Vil looked like he was about five seconds away from declaring the end of the world.

Amidst the chaos, Rook Hunt stood in the middle of the snowy storm, spinning in circles with glee. “Magnifique!” he cried, twirling with open arms as if he were auditioning for a Broadway production of Frozen. “The raw beauty of nature meets the elegance of fashion—oh, how the world has blessed us with this miracle of frost!”

“ROOK!” Vil screeched again, eyes wide and wild as he tried—and failed—to maintain some sense of composure. “This is NOT a miracle! This is a CATASTROPHE! My show—my hair!”

Epel, looking somewhere between terrified and confused, rushed up to you, nearly slipping on the snow-covered floor in his haste. “We need your help!” he gasped, grabbing your arm and shaking it with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake here. “You have to do something! Malleus is causing the storm!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that this wasn’t just some freak weather event but a full-on emotional meltdown from your very moody fae boyfriend.

“Malleus is… mad?” you asked, finally connecting the dots.

“Of course he’s mad!” Epel huffed, snowflakes clinging to his own purple hair. “You complimented Vil! Now he thinks you like Vil more than him! We’re all gonna freeze to death if you don’t fix it!”

“Oh… oh no.”

It took a few minutes (and a shove from a panicked Vil) to find Malleus, who had retreated to the far corner of the room, looking like a grumpy snow dragon with his arms crossed and snowflakes swirling around him. His expression was dark, brooding, and way too dramatic for someone who was causing a blizzard in the middle of a fashion show.

You approached cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice that was now coating the floor. “Malleus?” you called softly, inching closer. “Are you… okay?”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you were quite taken with Vil’s appearance today.”

You blinked, a bit thrown off by the sheer seriousness in his tone. “Uh, I mean… yeah, Vil’s always beautiful. But, um, you know that’s just how he is. It’s his whole thing.”

Malleus’s frown deepened. “So you find him more beautiful than me.”

Oh. Oh.

You nearly facepalmed at the realization. “Malleus, no, that’s not what I meant!” you rushed to say, waving your hands in a flustered manner. “Vil is beautiful, but you—you’re, like, otherworldly! You know, fae beauty and all that. No one could possibly compare!”

Malleus eyed you warily, his lips pursed. “So… you do not prefer him over me?"

“Of course not!” you said quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I know. No one comes close to your level of magnificence, I swear.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, ever so slowly, the storm began to die down. The snowflakes stopped falling, the icy chill in the air dissipated, and the temperature returned to normal. Malleus’s expression softened, his moody sulk fading as he looked down at you with a much gentler gaze.

“Is that truly how you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course, Malleus. You’re my favorite, always.”

Malleus visibly brightened at that, his usual regal aura returning as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a warm embrace. “Very well, then. I shall forgive this transgression. But only because you have reassured me of your affections.”

You giggled, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll make sure to tell you more often how beautiful you are.”

Vil then walks directly up to you and stares you down. "If you're done wrecking my show, could ypu please keep your dragon in check?"

All you can do is grin sheepishly at him.

Instance 6: Gaming Shenanigans

It all started because of that one last raid. You and Idia were deep in an epic gaming marathon, tackling a boss so difficult that even Idia—self-proclaimed gaming god—had to break out his limited-edition controller. It was all good fun, hours flying by without you even noticing, as you spammed attacks and worked together like the perfect gaming duo you were.

That is, until Idia hit you with a question that made your stomach drop.

"So, uh, aren't you supposed to, like... do something tonight?" Idia asked, mid-battle. His voice was a little too casual, almost like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to figure it out yourself.

You froze for a split second, still pressing buttons but no longer fully paying attention. Something... tonight? What could he—

Oh no.

You had plans tonight. With Malleus.

Specifically, your nightly walks around campus, which had become somewhat of a ritual. Every night, you’d stroll through the darkened grounds, hand-in-hand, talking about anything and everything. It was Malleus’s favorite part of the day—something he eagerly looked forward to.

And you’d… forgotten.

Your eyes darted to your phone, which was lying face down on the desk, completely ignored for the last several hours. You didn’t even need to check it to know what you’d find: missed calls, unread messages, probably a voicemail or two from Malleus, wondering where you were.

"Oh no," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of explosions and battle cries on screen.

"Wait, what?" Idia’s character paused for a second as he glanced at you. "Did you just say 'oh no'? What 'oh no'? Are we talking minor 'oh no' or, like, 'I've-angered-a-final-boss-oh-no'?"

You gulped, heart sinking as you realized just how much trouble you were in. "Um... the second one. Definitely the second one."

Before Idia could even react, the room went dark. The power cut out so fast, you barely had time to process it. The glow of the screens, the hum of electronics—all gone, leaving only the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.

Idia's horrified gasp echoed through the sudden silence.

"No. No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening! We were in the middle of a raid!” His hands flew to his hair, the blue flames flickering wildly as panic set in. "Dude, you forgot your dragon?!"

The color drained from your face as the gravity of the situation fully hit. “I—um—got distracted?”

Idia’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast his chair rolled backwards. "Distracted?! You forgot about your nightly walks with the dragon fae, and now we’re sitting in a power outage caused by his emotional spiral?!”

In the faint glow of Idia’s flame-lit hair, you saw Ortho zip into the room, looking far too calm given the circumstances. “I detected a sudden shift in weather patterns around campus. It seems like the storm has caused a widespread blackout. Should I assume it’s related to Malleus Draconia’s emotional state?”

"YES!" Idia practically screeched, pointing at you in betrayal. "They ditched Malleus for gaming, and now we’re all suffering the consequences! Ortho, tell them to fix it, please! I beg you!”

Ortho turned to you with his usual chipper smile. “I suggest you go to Malleus and make amends before the entire campus loses power. I’ve already calculated a 98% chance that further emotional distress will result in structural damage to the dorm.”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is why you never piss off boss-level boyfriends. It’s just common sense.”

So, that’s how you found yourself trudging through the stormy night, rain soaking your clothes as you made your way to find Malleus. The lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling ominously as you approached the usual meeting spot for your nightly walks.

And there he was—standing alone, looking very much like the picture of heartbreak. His tall figure was framed by the pouring rain, his expression a perfect blend of hurt and brooding. The storm seemed to swirl around him, almost as if it were a physical manifestation of his emotions.

“Malleus,” you called out, rushing toward him, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain. “I’m so sorry!”

He turned slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did not answer my calls.”

“I know, I know! I got caught up in a game with Idia, and I didn’t check my phone, and—well, now we have a blackout.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You left me waiting, and the storm came.”

You winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget about our walk. I love spending time with you—I swear.”

Malleus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.”

“Burden?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, the rain pouring down between you. “Malleus, you’re not a burden. I love our walks. I love spending time with you. I just… lost track of time. That’s all.”

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the ground. Then, to your surprise, Malleus looked away, a faint hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Do you… truly mean that?”

Without thinking, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I do. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, and slowly—so slowly—the storm began to quiet. The rain lessened, the wind died down, and the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the campus lifted. He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if looking for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he finally let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile.

“You always manage to calm me,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You smiled back, feeling warmth spread through your chest despite the cold rain. “I guess I’m just good at soothing dragons.”

Malleus raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

The rain had stopped entirely by now, leaving only a light mist in the air. You let out a relieved sigh, brushing some stray raindrops off Malleus’s cheek before standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’ll never forget our walks again,” you whispered against his lips, earning a quiet hum of approval from him.

“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. “Now, shall we take that walk?”

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. The world felt calmer now, the storm gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Malleus’s mood had lifted entirely, and as the two of you strolled through the now-quiet campus, you couldn’t help but feel content.

And, of course, Idia and Ortho’s screens flickered back to life, much to their relief.

Instance 7: Dessert Disaster

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were about to partake in a picnic with none other than Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Everything was perfect. The blanket was laid out beneath a sprawling tree, food arranged carefully across it—courtesy of Malleus himself, who had spent hours in the kitchen the night before, preparing what he considered to be the pièce de résistance: a pie.

Not just any pie. No, this was a Malleus Draconia-crafted masterpiece. The filling was made from rare berries he’d harvested himself, the crust baked to a perfect golden brown. You could practically smell the love (and maybe a little lightning) that had gone into it.

Malleus, with a glint of pride in his eyes, carefully handed you a slice. "I hope it meets your expectations, my love."

You eagerly took a bite, eyes widening as the flavors exploded on your tongue. It was amazing. No, better than amazing—it was downright phenomenal. How did he even manage to bake something this good? A prince of darkness and a master chef? This was unfair.

"This slaps," you declared, totally unaware of the impending doom those words were about to unleash.

The moment the words left your mouth, you noticed a visible shift in Malleus’s expression. The proud smile he’d worn just seconds ago faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. His green eyes darkened, clouds suddenly appearing overhead. You could feel the electricity in the air as the temperature dropped.

"I see," Malleus murmured, voice tight. "So… you dislike it."

Wait. What?

You blinked, realization dawning far too slowly. Oh no.

Before you could correct him, Malleus was already raising his hand, a faint crackle of magic sparking between his fingers. You could practically hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as he stared down at the pie slice in your hand, preparing to smite the poor, innocent pastry.

"No, no, no, no—wait!" You waved your arms frantically, standing up so fast you nearly tripped over the picnic blanket.

Sebek, meanwhile, had already leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you insult Master Malleus’s baking?!" he shouted, fists clenched. "His skill is unmatched, and yet you have the audacity to call his creation—"

"Sebek." Silver’s voice, calm but firm, interrupted the impending tirade. He was still sitting, but his eyes were half-open now, watching the situation unfold with mild concern. "They didn’t mean it that way."

Lilia, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Oh, this is too good!" he cackled, practically rolling on the blanket. "I haven’t seen this much excitement at a picnic in centuries! You modern humans and your strange expressions never fail to entertain!"

You shot him a look that screamed, Please stop encouraging this.

Silver, bless his soul, finally spoke up again, this time turning his attention to you. "You might want to explain before the weather gets worse." He nodded toward the now very ominous-looking clouds gathering above Malleus.

Right. Explaining. You could do that.

You turned back to Malleus, who still looked like he was contemplating whether to zap the pie or not. You could tell his feelings were hurt—his brow was furrowed, his lips set in a tight line. And the thought of him feeling like that, all because of a misunderstanding, made your heart clench.

"Malleus," you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. "When I said ‘this slaps,’ I meant it’s really good. Like, insanely good. Amazing. Best pie I’ve ever had."

Malleus’s stormy expression faltered slightly, though the dark clouds remained. "But you said it ‘slaps.’"

"That’s modern slang," you explained, gently squeezing his hand. "It’s a compliment. I promise."

Malleus blinked, the magic at his fingertips dissipating as he processed your words. "So… you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely. You knocked it out of the park with this pie." You gave him your most reassuring smile. "I could eat the whole thing."

The storm clouds began to thin, sunlight peeking through once more. Malleus tilted his head, considering this new information, and slowly—very slowly—a smile returned to his face.

"It pleases me to hear that," he said, his voice softening.

Meanwhile, Sebek was still standing there, sputtering indignantly. "W-Well, if that’s what they meant, then… of course Master Malleus’s pie is the best! I knew that all along!"

Lilia, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand at Sebek. "Oh, calm down, boy. No harm done. Besides, now we know modern slang! What other fascinating phrases do you have, I wonder?"

Silver sighed, finally sitting up properly. "Maybe let’s avoid any more slang for today."

With the situation calming down, you took the opportunity to lean in closer to Malleus, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "I’m really sorry for the confusion," you murmured. "You’re an amazing baker, and your pie is delicious. I meant that, okay?"

Malleus’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the affection, and he gave a small nod. "I believe you."

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you pressed another kiss to his lips, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his hand gently squeezed yours in return. The last of the clouds above you finally cleared, leaving the sky blue and bright once more. The storm was over, and everything was at peace again.

"Shall we enjoy the rest of our picnic, then?" Malleus asked, his voice much lighter now.

You nodded enthusiastically, sitting back down beside him. "Absolutely. And just so we’re clear—your food? Total banger."

Malleus raised a brow, clearly still unfamiliar with the term but now much more accepting of your strange modern ways. "I see. I shall take that as a compliment."

Sebek, still recovering from his earlier outrage, grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t care. Lilia was still snickering, Silver was finally getting comfortable again, and Malleus was happy. Everything was right in the world.

And hey, now you knew—if you ever wanted to spice things up at a picnic, all it took was a little modern slang.

Instance 8: Destruction of NRC (Well, almost)

Crowley’s “magnanimous nature” was, quite frankly, killing you. Whether it was sorting mountains of paperwork, being sent on endless errands, or handling Grim’s regular chaos, you were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached, your eyes had dark circles deeper than any pit, and you were pretty sure you were on your third day of functioning on nothing but caffeine and sheer spite.

Grim, bless his fiery little heart, watched you from his perch on your bed, tail flicking in irritation as you barely managed to drag yourself into Ramshackle after another long, thankless day.

“Ugh, henchhuman! You look like death warmed over,” Grim sniffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “How long do you plan on letting that featherbrained Crowley walk all over you?”

You groaned, flopping face-first into your pillow. “As long as it takes to survive this semester, Grim. No one else is going to deal with his nonsense. Not like I have a choice.”

Grim was silent for a moment, watching you with uncharacteristic concern. Then, in a low mumble, he said, “Well, I’ve had enough. You’re my henchhuman, and I won’t let him destroy you.”

You thought Grim was just being dramatic. But when you woke up the next morning to the sound of distant thunder rumbling ominously across the sky, you had a very, very bad feeling.

By the time you made it to NRC, the situation was in full swing. You arrived just in time to witness Crowley practically on his knees, looking like a man who had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale—barely.

The sky above NRC was pitch black, clouds swirling and crackling with magic as the wind howled through the campus. A storm of epic proportions had descended, and it wasn’t just any storm. This was a Malleus Draconia-grade storm. The kind that didn’t just bring rain or wind—it brought devastation, and everyone was cowering indoors, peeking through windows, afraid to go outside.

Crowley spotted you immediately, rushing over with his cape flapping dramatically behind him as he stumbled, nearly slipping in the mud.

“Please,” he cried, hands clutching your shoulders as if you were his last lifeline. “Please, you must calm him down! I beg of you, prefect, do something!”

You raised a brow, half-expecting some pitiful excuse, but the Headmaster, in all his avian glory, had gone straight to the begging stage. “What did you do this time?” you sighed, knowing it had to be his fault.

“I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! Well, perhaps I’ve… been a little harsh on you, but that’s no reason for him to destroy the entire campus!” Crowley wailed, looking pitiful as a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance.

“I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you an actual wage! I’ll give you a budget to renovate Ramshackle, and I’ll personally sponsor your vacation! Just please—stop him before there’s nothing left of Night Raven College!”

You blinked. Did… did you just get a salary offer? And a vacation? And a renovation budget? This was new.

Before you could process the sheer absurdity of the situation, Professor Crewel passed by with his coat dramatically billowing in the wind. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “about time that birdbrain faced some consequences for his incompetence.”

Professor Trein, walking with his trusty feline Lucius, shook his head gravely. “At this point, the Headmaster deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Do you not see the storm?!” Crowley shrieked, pointing to the lightning that was now dangerously close to striking the bell tower.

Both professors exchanged a look before continuing on their way, Crewel muttering something about how this was Crowley’s mess to fix.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction seeing the Headmaster squirm. But at the same time, NRC was at risk of being blown off the map if you didn’t act soon. And judging by the way Grim was laughing maniacally in the corner, proudly declaring how he “fixed” your problems, this was going to be on you to clean up.

With a sigh, you gave Crowley a nod. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But if you go back on any of those promises—”

“I won’t!” Crowley promised, hands clasped as if in prayer. “I swear on the very foundation of this school, you will be compensated!”

You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel to head toward Diasomnia. The storm seemed to know you were coming, the wind parting just enough to allow you passage. The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the thunder seemed to quiet, though lightning still flashed ominously in the distance.

And there, standing at the center of it all, was Malleus. His expression was dark, eyes glowing faintly as he stared up at the storm he’d summoned. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even with his composed stance, you could sense the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

You approached carefully, calling out softly, “Malleus?”

His head turned slightly at the sound of your voice, though he didn’t fully look at you. “Ah, my love. I see you’ve arrived.”

You moved closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Grim told you what’s been going on, didn’t he?”

“I cannot stand to see you work yourself to exhaustion for that foolish crow,” Malleus muttered, still staring at the storm. “He takes advantage of your kindness. It is unforgivable.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was genuinely upset—for you. But, you also couldn’t let NRC be reduced to rubble, and you needed to calm him down before it got worse.

With a soft chuckle, you stepped in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay. I appreciate how much you care about me, but you don’t have to destroy the school over this.”

Malleus’s eyes finally met yours, the storm above softening ever so slightly. “But you’re suffering.”

“I was,” you admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But not anymore. Crowley’s going to make it up to me—he promised me a wage, a renovation budget for Ramshackle, and a vacation.”

That seemed to catch his attention, the storm clouds above beginning to dissipate. “A vacation?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning up to brush another kiss against his cheek. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me.”

Malleus blinked, his earlier frustration melting into a look of surprise—and then, a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. The storm overhead faded into nothing, the sky returning to its usual clear blue.

“I would be honored,” he said softly, pulling you closer to him. “A vacation, just the two of us. That sounds… delightful.”

You grinned, pressing a final kiss to his lips, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, the storm was over. NRC was safe, and more importantly, you had managed to calm your dragon—and score a well-deserved vacation in the process.

As for Crowley? Well, you’d make sure to enjoy every moment of watching him squirm while you cashed in those promises.

Masterlist

[avocadorablepirate]

hiii!!! i was wondering if you can make a fic with the one piece males dating a short reader with a massive scythe and is actually super skilled with it (bonus points if you add law) you dont have to ofcourse!! i love your work!!

Hello, hello! Of course I can do this and of course I will add Law (wouldn’t dream of leaving him out)! Thank you for requesting and I’m so happy to hear that you like my work :) 💕 I hope you like this as well. I also hope you don’t mind, but I’ve written it as headcanons with a short one shot for each of them.

××××

Tiny But Lethal

Pairing: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace x fem!reader

Summary: Exploring what some One Piece men would be like with a short S/O whose weapon of choice is a scythe.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: reader is kinda made fun of for being short, some light swearing, mentions of injuries, nicknames, Luffy’s is pretty platonic, Zoro’s implies that they’re attracted to each other but not dating (nothing else that I can think of, but let me know if you find anything)

Super excited to write this cause this is my first time writing something for anyone besides Law. I’ve stuck to Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace cause well, they’re some of my favourite OP men. Since this is my first time writing for most of them, I’m not really sure how well I’ve captured their personalities, and some of the headcanons/fics are pretty short, so feedback would be great. But anyway, I hope you guys like it!

Luffy

Outright calls you short as heck when he first meets you. “Damn, you’re tiny!”

Immediately asks you whether you can use your scythe to catch him some fish. He has no clue what it actually does.

Number one hype man. Constantly yelling your name from the sidelines like a proud cheerleader. But also never misses a chance to poke fun at your height.

Zero self awareness, or any awareness for that matter. So if he yeets you across a battlefield, he fully expects you to stick the landing.

Don’t even bother trying to act all dark and threatening when he’s around, man does not care and will not get the memo. “Is my tiny slicer going to pull some moves?”

He doesn’t fear you at all - but every time someone else does? He’s wheezing. “You’re scared of her?? But she’s tiny!”

xxxx

The Sunny rocked gently in the calm sea, the afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the deck. Laughter from the crew filtered across the ship, a peaceful lull slowly setting in. You sat leaned back against the railing, eyes closed as you drifted in and out of sleep.

“Oii Y/N~” came the singsong voice of your captain, followed by bouncy footsteps. “I’m hungry, could you catch some fish for me?”

You cracked one eye open to see Luffy looming over you, arms crossed and that stupid grin plastered on his face. He then pointed towards your scythe like it was a kitchen utensil.

“Luffy,” you deadpanned, “This is a deadly weapon, not some glorified fishing rod.”

“But it’s so big and sharp! You could easily slice a tuna or something.”

You stood up with a sigh and a roll of your eyes. “I’m not using my scythe-”

Before you could even protest, snap. Luffy’s rubber arm shot forward, coiling around your waist.

“Luffy, don’t you-!”

Too late. He launched you like a cannonball, laughing like a madman as he watched you soar across the sea.

You screamed as the wind roared in your ears, the ocean rushing up to meet you. With a quick flip midair, you angled your scythe just right, and dived into the water, blade first.

A massive splash rocked the Sunny - and the crew stood frozen as they watched in anticipation. A rush of bubbles followed, and two seconds later a giant fish, impaled right through the middle, burst from the water. You surfaced behind it - soaking wet and scowling.

Luffy cupped his hands around his mouth, then grinned from ear to ear. “You did it! Coolest fishing spear ever!”

You swam back to the ship, Sanji and Usopp hauling you and your kill up with a rope. From somewhere on the deck Zoro muttered, “Idiot.”

Luffy ran over to meet you, hands on his hips as he looked at you with absolute pride. “Let’s do that again!” he beamed.

You wrung the jacket you had been wearing, glaring at him before you jabbed a finger into his chest. “Do that again, and I’ll use you as fish bait next time.”

Luffy laughed once more, not taking your threat seriously. He never did.

Still…as you watched him fawn over your catch and ramble excitedly about how cool you looked, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Monkey D. Luffy was an absolute menace to society. But somehow - he was your menace.

Zoro

Kinda underestimated you the first time you met. Huge mistake. You called him out on it, and ended up goading him into a duel. Needless to say, the Sunny was nearly cut in half by the end of it.

Now he smirks every time someone doubts your abilities and just takes a step back and watches as all hell breaks loose.

Thinks your scythe style mirrors his own swordsmanship. Loves sparring with you.

There’s something about the way your small frame handles such a massive, deadly weapon that he finds…intensely attractive.

Lowkey think that the dynamic between the two of you would be similar to how things are between him and Tashigi: rivalry, respect and just a hint more of exasperated fondness.

Tries to play it cool, but actually finds it endearing when you’re trying to be ominous. It’s only a problem if you’re threatening him. Then it’s just annoying. And hot.

You once yelled at him for carrying you over his shoulder, he yelled back. “I’m trying to save your life!” The building was about to explode. You had no idea. He had no time to explain because, well, the building was about to explode. You’re still miffed about it though. Ah romance…

xxxx

Some say the only direction Zoro knows how to follow is the one that leads to you.

To those people, Zoro says he’ll fight them if they ever say it where you can hear.

But deep down, he’d agree. Even in the midst of chaos he always finds you. And in this moment with Marines closing in from all sides and the Sunny beginning to pull away from the island’s shore, that unspoken truth was obvious.

Zoro blocked another strike aimed for his side, knocking his opponent’s weapon out of their hands in one clean move. But his attention wasn’t on the fight anymore.

It was on the ship.

Luffy was on the deck.

Zoro’s brows furrowed. He knew that look - that stupid grin. His idiot captain was about to use his rubber powers to grab the both of you and haul you onto the deck without a second thought.

Something both you and Zoro hated.

He turned, scanning the battlefield. And then he saw you.

You were sauntering towards a Marine Captain like they had a death wish, scythe balanced lazily over your shoulder, and the arrogance of someone who knew they could rain chaos down on anyone stupid enough to challenge them.

“Damn it Y/N,” Zoro muttered under his breath, knowing you were not going to like what he was about to do. Still, he couldn’t deny - you were kinda hot.

Zoro didn’t have the time to call out to you. He just moved as fast as he could.

You didn’t see him coming. One second you were closing the distance between you and your target. The next, you were in the air, strong arms casually tossing you over their shoulder. Your anger boiled over when you saw who it was.

“Zoro!? What the hell!?” You yelled, desperately trying to get out of his grip so that you could go take care of that asshole of a Marine Captain who had decided to underestimate you.

“Will you stop wiggling! I’m trying to save your ass!” he growled, dodging the following onslaught that came from the Marines as they noticed the two of you retreating.

“You could’ve given me a warning! Now put me down!” You continued to squirm violently, tempted to use your scythe to make him listen.

“You’re light,” he snapped, glancing back at you. “Now shut up. We don’t have time for arguments. There’s no way I’m getting slingshotted-”

“Zoro~!”

Ah shit.

Luffy’s rubber arm rocketed out, crossing the distance and wrapping around the both of you. Zoro cursed. Your expression turned murderous.

“Luffy I swear to-!” You tried yelling just before Zoro was yanked off his feet and both of you were flying through the air - a blur of limbs, weapons and swear words.

You crashed onto the deck of the Sunny - Zoro landing first with a grunt, instinctively shielding you from the impact. For a second you were cradled in his arms, breath knocked out of you, face way too close to his.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, breath warm against your cheek.

You were blushing before you could stop yourself.

Luffy’s loud laughter then snapped you out of your trance, pulling your attention away from Zoro. You scrambled to your feet, aiming your scythe at the rubber man. “I will end you, you stretchy idiot.”

Zoro stood beside you, cracking his neck and matching your glare. “Not if I end him first.”

“Sorry Zoro, sorry Y/N!” Luffy said with zero remorse, skipping off toward the galley.

You and Zoro exchanged a look - exasperated, exhausted, but also not at all surprised by your captain’s nonchalance. You then sighed, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me again why I joined this crew?”

“Definitely not because it came with free air travel.”

You snorted despite yourself, rolling your shoulders to ease the ache of the landing.

“You sure you’re okay?” Zoro glanced at you from the corner of his eye as he brushed off the dust on his sleeve. You looked at him, catching the way his eyes now scanned you like he wasn’t entirely convinced you were alright.

“I’m fine, Zoro,” you said, softer than before. “Thanks to you.”

He grunted, looking away quickly, “Tch. Don’t get used it.”

You watched the way he lingered by your side a moment longer before heading below deck, and couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because even if Zoro couldn’t follow directions to save his life, he always found a way to you.

Sanji

Instantly smitten the minute he saw you. You were probably holding your scythe like a warning sign. Didn’t work, he’s just fallen harder.

You would expect someone of your height to struggle with wielding a scythe, but you don’t - and in his eyes, the battlefield becomes your stage, where you move with the grace of a dancer.

Cue nosebleed every time you make a clean, graceful strike.

*Hearts in his eyes* “My angel of death!”

Beats up Luffy and Usopp if they make short jokes about you. Only thing worse than imitating Sanji, is imitating you.

Will lug that weapon around for you even if you don’t ask him to. “It’s a gentleman’s duty. I shall hold the murder stick, my love.”

Tries to sneak nutrients into your meals. “There’s still time for you to grow…” You glare. He melts.

xxxx

Nami had made it clear - no run-ins with the Marines. Stay low, get the supplies, and get out.

Simple. Something you had done a hundred times before.

But all that went to hell when you passed a group of Marines loitering near a wall plastered with wanted posters. One of those wanted posters being yours.

“That’s Y/N L/N bounty? Must be a mistake.”

“She’s so short, can she even lift that thing?”

“I bet I could take her. Knock her out while that scythe weighs her down.”

A chorus of laughter followed.

Sanji stiffened beside you, immediately noticing you had stopped in your tracks to listen. He reached out to hold you back, but you were faster.

You spun with the grace of a dancer - one smooth arc, metal gleaming, and then a splash of red. The Marine was on the ground, your scythe pressed just against his ear where the blade had nicked him.

“Still think you can take me?” you murmured, voice cold and steady.

He whimpered under your blade. The remaining Marines were quick to react, drawing out their weapons. You were still focused on the first when one lunged from the side, blade catching your cheek.

Sanji reacted before things could get worse. He grabbed your arm, landed a square kick to the Marine’s chest, and then pulled you into a sprint. Both of you ran back to the Sunny - and from there it was a quick escape accompanied by Nami’s furious yelling.

Later, tucked away in the medbay, Sanji knelt before you, gently brushing your hair back to dab at the small cut on your cheek with some antiseptic. You winced at the sting of the alcohol pressed against your open wound, and Sanji’s brows furrowed.

“You should have let me handle that guy,” he muttered, lower lip jutting out in a pout, irritation edged with concern.

“They needed to see what I can do with a scythe,” you replied casually, watching him as he continued to clean your wound. “Besides, I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he said, pausing to meet your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I like seeing you get hurt.”

You tilted your head, a small smile forming. These were the moments that made you realise just how much he cared.

“It’s just a cut.”

He huffed, clearly very annoyed. “Still. If anyone hurts my beautiful lady like that again, I’ll crush their faces into the pavement myself.”

You chuckled. “Protective huh?”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “When it comes to you? Always.”

Law

Not one to quickly judge, but the sight of you with a scythe caught him off guard. Didn’t except you to wield a weapon that’s almost twice your size. Nevertheless, he is impressed.

Your sparring practice = Law’s secret favourite pastime. He’s standing in the corner, arms crossed, lips twitching.

He knows you’re strong, knows you can handle yourself - but he still worries. If he can’t see you on the battlefield, he’s looking for your scythe. And if that’s nowhere in sight? Then it’s full-on rampage mode. You were actually just behind him. But on the bright side, ten enemies were KO’d in an instant.

Makes you sit in his lap under the pretext of you being “too short” for the table (that’s a lie, the table is the perfect height). But everyone’s too scared to comment on the image of Trafalgar Law and the tiny scythe-wielding menace.

The height difference lowkey kills him. Cause how is someone who’s so short and carries a weapon that’s definitely too big for them, just as intimidating as him??

Internally combusting every time you wield your scythe. But no one can know, cause he’s the Surgeon of Death. A tiny Grim Reaper cannot be having this effect on him.

xxxx

You stormed into Law’s quarters, boots thudding heavily against the floor with purpose. The door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle a nearby stack of books. But Law didn’t flinch. He barely looked up from where he sat scanning some maps he found at the Marine base you had just raided.

“You almost got us both killed!” you snapped, voice low but furious.

Without lifting his eyes, he replied flatly, “We’re not dead though.”

You scowled, tossing your scythe against the wall with a loud clatter. The dried blood on its blade was a reminder of just how close things had gotten. Marching forward, you slammed your fists against his desk, demanding his attention. “That’s not the damn point.”

This time, Law looked up - gaze sharp but unreadable as always. “I’m the captain. I made the final call.”

“Disrupting my fight was your ‘final call’!?” you shot back. “If I hadn’t noticed you in time, that scythe would have had your blood instead!”

He stood slowly, pushing the maps aside, then stepping towards you calmly. He was always composed. Even when you were cracking. “I make better decisions when I can see you.”

You crossed your arms, “Some would argue the opposite.”

He stood in front of you now, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of something. One hand rose, his thumb brushing under your eye.

You flinched.

“How did this happen?”

You blinked. You hadn’t even felt it. Hadn’t even known that it was there. But Law had seen it. Even amidst all the chaos of a battle - he had.

Without another word, he guided you to sit on the bed behind him. You didn’t resist, the fire in you having dissipated, replaced by something quieter. Law crouched in front of you, grabbing the first aid kit from his bedside.

He didn’t speak while he cleaned the wound, careful and methodical as always - dabbing antiseptic, then gently placing a small bandage under your eye. You’d torn through a squad of Marines today, and yet he touched you like you were something that might break.

When he was done, he didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the spot just beneath the fresh bandage. He lingered there - silent and unmoving. Not asking for forgiveness, just holding you for a long quiet moment.

You closed your eyes, breathing out a sigh as you let your chin rest on the top of his head. “I’m not mad, that you made a call,” you whispered. “It just…sometimes it feels like you don’t think I’m capable enough.”

He pulled back slightly, gaze locking with yours. “I know you’re capable,” he said. “You’re precise, lethal, and brilliant. Everyone out there fears you.” A beat. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

You studied him for a moment, then allowed a tired smile to form. “You overthink too much.”

He smirked. “And you don’t think enough.”

The maps lay forgotten now. He nudged you back gently onto the bed, then lay beside you - finally calm. Peace, for Law, was simply being next to you.

Sabo

Pats you on the head after you do something. Doesn’t matter whether you like it or not - it’s happening.

He’s always complimenting you on your scythe technique. Just genuine admiration for you.

Thinks you look adorable when you’re sharpening your scythe in a corner. Everyone else is terrified - as they should be.

You try being all tough even around him, but he sees right through it. You’re his “tiny terror”.

Busting out a laugh every time you’re threatening someone - which totally ruins your vibe. You’re threatening him next. He’s still laughing.

Would also be one to worry if he loses sight of you during a fight. Nobody wants to get in his way then.

xxxx

The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting light over the Revolutionary Army’s camp. A few new recruits were scattered around the area - some fumbling through basic drills, others lounging about. You sat calmly on a tree stump, your scythe resting in your lap as you sharpened its blade. You could feel the stares - half curious, half fear - but your face gave nothing away.

“That’s the one they call the Grim Reaper, right?”

“Her? That thing’s taller than she is!”

You paused mid-stroke.

Your eyes flicked up, locking onto the group of wide-eyed recruits. They froze the moment your gaze landed on them.

“Wanna see what I can do with this thing that’s taller than me?” you asked, voice cold and clipped, driving the scythe’s blade into the ground.

Silence.

Then - laughter.

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound, death glare sharpening as it found its mark.

Leant casually against a nearby tree, was Sabo, clearly entertained. When his eyes met yours he offered a lazy, amused smile - equal parts teasing and utterly enamoured.

He pushed off the trunk and sauntered over to you.

“Trying to scare the recruits again, my tiny terror?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to look up as you continued sharpening your weapon. “What do you want, Sabo?”

He grinned. “Just dropped by to say - you look adorable right now.”

You froze, and slowly turned to stare at him, disbelief clearly written on your face. “Adorable? I’m sharpening a deadly scythe! I should be terrifying!” You gave an annoyed huff and went back to your task.

He crouched down beside you, an almost fond smile on his face before it turned into a cheeky grin. His tone then shifted to one of exaggerated affection.

“You’re so terrifying~” Sabo cooed, ruffling your hair. You shot him a glare, somewhere between exasperated and flustered. He then leaned in, grin widening when he caught a hint of colour creep up your cheeks. “But also, really, really cute.”

You scowled and swatted the top of his head with the base of your scythe, earning a dramatic “ow!” from him even though you barely tapped him.

“Did she just whack the Chief of Staff over the head!?” One of the recruits yelped in horror.

Sabo rubbed the back of his head like it actually hurt, still grinning like a fool. “Think they find you scary now?”

“Keep teasing me and I won’t use the blunt end next time.”

He leaned in even closer, lips almost brushing yours. Sabo stared at you for a while, a soft smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but blush again. “Would be totally worth it.”

You shoved him lightly, and he laughed as he stood and offered you a hand. “Come on, tiny terror. I made lunch. You’re going to need all the energy you can get if you’re going to keep terrifying the newbies.”

You muttered something under your breath but took his hand anyway. And as he led you off - still chuckling at your annoyed grumbling - the recruits watched in stunned silence.

Ace

“Hot damn.” That was his first reaction after you casually decapitated someone trying to sneak up on him. He’s now down bad.

You’re his “travel size Grim Reaper.” Short, lethal, and just for him. You hate it. He says it more.

“You’re dangerous.” he says eyeing your weapon and then you. “You like that, don’t you?” You say with a grin. “I’m crazy about it.”

Came up with a combo move where he coats your scythe with his flames. Insists on calling it the “Fire Reaper Flash”.

Comes to your defence when you’re in an argument with someone, but it doesn’t really do much, you’re far more intimidating than him.

Gets this mischievous glint in his eyes when someone underestimates you, “Want to see something cool?” Cue destruction. Uses the Fire Reaper Flash for extra effect.

xxxx

The battle field was chaos - flames, smoke, pirates shouting and scrambling for their lives. And in the middle of it all, there was you. Short, scythe-wielding and completely unbothered, as you moved through the ruckus as if you were taking a stroll through the park.

Through the smoke, Ace emerged, after knocking out an enemy with a flaming punch to the gut. He spotted you and grinned wide.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, watching with a smirk as you swiftly dealt with a pirate that got in your way. “That’s my travel size Grim Reaper.”

You stopped in front of him, rolling your eyes. “I told you not to call me that in front of people.”

He chuckled, scanning the area around him. “They’re all unconscious, sweetheart.”

“Not that guy.” You pointed your scythe at one final pirate who was left standing - bloodied, furious, and charging at you with all the power he could muster. Someone was clearly mad about losing.

Ace spared him a glance, then looked back at you, completely unphased. He wiped the soot off your cheek, then tilted your chin up like he had all the time in the world.

“Ready for our ultimate couple move?” Ace cackled, eyes sparkling as if he had been waiting all day for this exact moment. Maybe that was why he ‘accidentally’ got caught while trying to raid a rival pirate crew’s base.

You groaned. “Do we have to?”

But he was already charging up, the heat around his body intensifying. Flames curled around his arm, and with a grin full of mischief and pride, he shot it towards your scythe, close enough to singe you, but obviously not.

You watched as his flames wrapped around the curved blade - beautiful but dangerous. It hummed in your hands like it was alive, the metal glowing a brilliant orange. But it didn’t burn you, Ace made sure of that.

The pirate was now fast approaching, shouting all sorts of profanities and how “tiny creatures” didn’t scare him. You didn’t even flinch.

Then you moved. One quick dash, your flaming scythe cutting through the smoke. The moment the blade made contact with its target, fire exploded, the force sending the pirate crashing into the dirt, flames licking at his coat before fizzling out.

Ace let out a low whistle, watching as the fire died down. “See!? I told you Fire Reaper Flash was a sick move!”

“You nearly set me on fire,” you muttered, flicking ashes off your sleeves and scythe.

He strolled over with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “You would’ve been hot - both figuratively and literally then.”

“Shut up.” You tried to scowl, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a smile.

Ace laughed, slipping his arms around your waist in one smooth motion. His hands were warm against your back as he pulled you close, forehead bumping gently against yours for just a second before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek - warm, soft, and just a spark of heat.

“We should come up with another move,” he murmured. “Something that screams us…Hot and Deadly, how does that sound?”

You groaned again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” he said with a wink, fingers intertwining with yours.

Then still laughing, he tugged you along and headed back to the Moby Dick - leaving behind fire, chaos, and one very unlucky pirate crew.

Kinda have a thing for Ace now, I mean who wouldn’t?? 👀

[vampireimiko]

a little help

warnings, none!

note, y'all i cannot make up titles for nothing omfg 😭

"So basically all I'm saying is please help me!" Mark says on his knees, his hands in a praying motion.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing at the site,

"Mark where is all of this coming from?"

Mark groans, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I thought I had everything under control! But then I tried to stop a runaway bus, and, uh… let’s just say property damage might’ve been worse than the actual crash.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How bad?”

He hesitates. “...The bus ended up on top of a donut shop.”

You blink. “How—?”

“I don’t know!” Mark throws his hands up. “But people were screaming, and I kinda panicked, and now there’s a giant tire mark on the roof, and I think the owner wants to kill me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Alright, so you need help not causing more destruction than the bad guys?”

“Exactly! You’ve been doing this way longer than me,” he says, standing back up. “And I know you’re, like, super good at this hero stuff! So… mentor me? And before you say no-”

"Sure."

"—huh?"

"Yes Mark, I can help you, now get up before I laugh even more at you."

Mark quickly scrambles to his feet, looking both relieved and still a little sheepish. “Alright, awesome! I won’t let you down, promise!”

You can’t help but laugh a little at how earnest he is. “We’ll see about that. First things first—let’s get you some training before you cause a nationwide crisis, alright?”

He nods enthusiastically, but then hesitates. “Uh, so, what exactly are we doing? I mean, do I just... go save people and hope for the best?”

You shake your head, motioning for him to follow. “Not quite. You need to learn how to stay in control of the situation. First, we’re going to patrol the city—get you used to keeping an eye on everything, staying aware of threats, and not destroying the surroundings while you save the day.”

Mark seems a bit more nervous now. “Right, okay. I’ll try to be careful.”

You start walking, glancing over at him. “You don’t have to try, Mark. You have to be careful. The goal is to minimize damage while still getting the job done. You’re powerful, but that’s what makes things tricky. The more control you have, the fewer problems you’ll cause.”

Mark looks like he’s soaking it in, but you can tell he’s still feeling overwhelmed. “Alright, no blowing up anything. Got it.”

You give him a half-smile. “No promises on not blowing up bad guys, though.”

As you walk through the city, you hear a faint siren in the distance—a perfect opportunity to test Mark’s skills. “Looks like we’ve got a situation. Ready for your first trial run?”

Mark’s eyes light up, and he straightens up. “Born ready.”

You both take off in the air toward the sound, the wind rushing past as you soar above the streets. Mark keeps up easily, but you can tell he’s itching to just zoom ahead.

“Patience,” you remind him, scanning the scene below. “Assess first, act second.”

As you both hover over an intersection, you spot the problem—a car chase. A sleek black getaway car speeds down the road, weaving recklessly between traffic, sirens wailing behind it as police struggle to keep up.

Mark grins. “Alright, this looks easy! Just stop the car, right?”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Without flipping it into a building, duh.”

Mark huffs. “Okay, okay, I got this.”

Before you can say another word, he zips downward, aiming straight for the speeding vehicle. You follow close behind, ready to step in if needed.

Mark lands in front of the car, arms outstretched, bracing himself. The driver’s eyes widen, and tires screech as they try to swerve around him. At the last second, Mark panics and moves too fast—grabbing the front bumper and accidentally yeeting the entire car into the air.

“INVINCIBLE!” you yell, watching as the car spins midair, the criminals inside screaming.

“I didn’t mean to do that!” he shouts, already flying up after it.

You race past him, calculating the trajectory. You reach out, grabbing hold of the car’s undercarriage and slowing it down before it can crash. With a grunt, you carefully lower it to the ground, right side up, just as Mark lands beside you.

The crooks inside groan, dizzy and disoriented.

Mark rubs the back of his neck. “Sooo… not my best work. But at least we got em!"

You sigh, shaking your head with a small smirk. “We’ll work on it.”

After the criminals are detained, you tell Mark it's time for you to leave and that you can continue helping him tomorrow if he'd like.

“Hey! Uhm before you go..” he says, softer this time. “That was... really cool. You were really cool.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you just realize that?”

Mark chuckles, cheeks a little red. “I mean, I knew, but... I dunno. It just hit me all at once.”

You shake your head, amused. “Come on, rookie. Let’s try again—this time, with less aerial car tossing.”

Mark laughs as he follows after you, already eager for the next lesson.

additional note ! i kinda hate this 🧍🏾‍♀️ anon if you see this let me know if you want a rewrite 💔

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[valec275]

Something I like about Dr Stone is that it gives all the main cast something they’re good at and let’s them be weird about it. Like, idk, when we learn about Yuzuriha’s love of crafting I was kinda worried it wouldn’t amount to much, especially since we don’t see her and Taiju for most of season 1, but then we get to seasons 2 and 3 and it’s like no, actually, she’s using her skills to piece bodies back together. She can make 20 shirts in five seconds. When she’s in the zone she’s so intense it genuinely freaks out some of the villagers. Or Ryusui’s abilities as a sailor/captain. He’s crazy good at reading wind patterns to the point that he’s able to just get in the hot air balloon and wing it despite specialising in ships. He got them through a storm by yeeting his hat and following it up. His only fault is being a capitalist

Just. The Dr Stone characters man I love them. I want season 4

[dollyswishingwell]

this is 100% based off my first kiss. the guys have their first kiss with us, right? to their (likely) horror, we just kind of..scream? yells "I NEED TO CALL MY MOM!! (or anyone else, like tara or another parental figure)" and runs away in hysterics, excited as ever ^^

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ He kissed me!

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ can someone tell me if the new dotpoints are too harsh on the eyes or if you guys like the -‘s more? anyways all fluff lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re so excited that he kissed you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

• The kiss was perfect. Soft lighting. Melodrama. Inner orchestra blaring.

• He expected a swoon. A faint. Something cinematic.

• But instead,

• “RAFAYEL KISSED ME. THE RAFAYEL. AND I SURVIVED—”

• You yeet out of there like glitter in the wind.

• He stands there blinking like you just cast a spell on him.

• “I just kissed a goddess.”

• Not even mad.

• Chaos? Hysteria? Screaming into the night?

• That’s his favorite genre.

• Spins. Eats a flower. Grabs a pen for his scrapbook.

• “June 15th – I kissed her. She screamed. It was amazing.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

• He pulls you in with rare Zayne-like confidence. It’s soft, careful, reverent.

• You kiss. It’s breathless. Perfect.

• And then,

• “OH MY GOD—ZAYNE KISSED ME—AHHHHH—”

• You vanish in a puff of squealing joy.

• He stands there blinking like a software update failed.

• “…Did she just—?”

• Checks his own pulse.

• He was gonna hold your hand. Walk you home. Maybe even smile.

• Now he’s alone. Hoodie on. Ears pink.

• “…She’s cute when she’s excited.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

• It’s a dreamy, moonlit kiss. He touches you like you might disappear.

• He pulls back expecting another kiss, or at least a breathless pause.

• Instead,

• “I HAVE TO GO—I CAN’T EVEN FEEL MY LEGS.”

• You dart off like a possessed gazelle.

• Xavier tilts his head.

• “…Was that… good?”

• He touches his lips, confused, but grinning.

• “She ran away like a startled bunny.”

• Later, you get 17 messages:

• “You forgot your phone.”

• “Do you still want to kiss again?”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

• He planned it perfectly. The lean-in. The smirk fading into something deeper.

• He kisses you like he’s sealing a deal.

• Game over. You’re his.

• Until,

• “I GOTTA TELL SOMEBODY—I THINK I JUST ASCENDED—”

• Door slam. You’re GONE.

• He blinks.

• “She ran.”

• She ran??

• The smug drops. He’s personally offended.

• “I kissed her and she… sprinted?”

• Half tempted to kiss you again just to “correct the data.”

• But later that night,

• “Tch. She was glowing like a dumb little angel…”

• Kicks his legs like a menace. Laughing like a psycho.

• “She’s mine. She doesn’t even know it yet.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

• He waited for this. Thought it through. Perfect timing.

• He kisses you carefully, reverently, like you’re a mission.

• You blink.

• And then—

• “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH”

• You trip over your own feet running away full-speed.

• He stands there with his hand still half-raised to tuck your hair back.

• Glitching.

• “…Did I do something wrong?”

• Runs every possible scenario. Did he hurt you? Was it bad??

• Then replays your words.

• No… You were happy.

• You sounded like someone who just won the damn lottery.

• Soft smile tugs at his lips.

• “She’s mine.”

• Starts typing your name into classified Farspace files.

• “Next time… she won’t run.”

[ktownshizzle]

Nerd & Nerdier | Finale

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected (kinda)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: MDNI 18+, overuse of the word fuck, yoongi GOING THROUGH IT!, pop culture references (pokemon, inzoi), drunken shenanigans, second hand embarrassment, unprotected sex (be smarter tho), everybody gets a happy ending

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6k hooray! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: April 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Not a joke! The finale is here!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Yoongi yeets himself out of the apartment. Gets the fuck out of there and walks to the ends of the earth for all he cares.

He stuffs his hands inside his pockets. It’s freezing but the wind feels like a welcome punishment against his face. He needed to be numb.

Shit. He’s already down to his last cigarette, and he’s barely halfway through the block when he lights it with shaking fingers.

The smoke burns. His throat burns.

And still, not as bad as what he saw. And in his own home no less.

Granted he shared it with you and Wonwoo. But that doesn’t give you fuckers the right to….

He stops and knocks his forehead against a lamp post. Twice. Thrice.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’s gonna kill Namjoon for forcing him to go to that songwriting retreat. And Hoseok for sending Namjoon that email invite.

The last 10 minutes stick in his brain like gum—right on the amygdala, where all the worst things like to linger.

The way you kiss Wonwoo like he was it. Like he was the one. Like the last few weeks meant nothing. Like your message yesterday meant nothing.

He doesn’t know why he stood there long enough to register the way Wonwoo touched your face, the way you let him.

The way you said you knew it was him from the beginning. He didn’t wait to hear the rest. 

Didn’t need to. Couldn’t bear to.

Fuck that shit, honestly. Wonwoo wasn’t the only gamer in that house. You played him, too.

After walking around, picking up stuff (alcohol, cigarettes), Yoongi ends up at Genius Rkives.

The place is empty—blessedly, quietly empty as Namjoon is probably just getting settled in his own home. As he should.

The studio smells like incense and a bit like old wood. It’s comforting, in a way. At least this place hasn’t changed even if everything else fucking has.

He slumps onto their old leather couch and stares at nothing for a long, long time. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink (probably).

Just sits there, hoodie over his head, cigarette ashes still clinging to the smell of his skin, contemplating how the hell he got blindsided.

Before he blacks out he does one thing that he’ll regret in a few days. He blocks you.

He spends the next few days in the studio, hunched over tracks he is unable to finish. Everything sounds hollow now. Like someone else made it. Like none of it fucking matters.

He doesn’t eat. Drinks more coffee than water. Doesn’t sleep unless he passes out from sheer exhaustion.

“You look like shit,” Namjoon says casually, tossing a banana on the table. “Eat something.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look up. He does take the banana, peels it, and scarfs down half in a single bite.

Namjoon studies him for a second. “Wanna talk about it?”

Mouthful of fruit, Yoongi exhales a humorless laugh. “Nah.”

And that’s that.

On the fourth night, when the silence is too loud and even his own thoughts start sounding like white noise, he opens Instagram. You’ve posted something a few minutes ago.

Just a dim photo of the living room. One mug on the table.

The photo is accompanied by a single word: Empty

Yoongi stares at it and his throat dries up.

It’s his coffee mug. The same one he uses everyday because he is a creature of habit.

“Shit,” he mutters to no one.

Because he doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if it’s about him. Doesn’t know if he wants it to be.

All he knows is that he hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

About how you said you missed him. (And the fact that he misses you, too. So damn much.)

About how he thought—really thought—he was the one you wanted.

But all he can picture is the way Wonwoo held you like he probably had every night he was gone. 

And now he’s feeling just like your caption.

He hasn’t been getting your texts. But he has been getting Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo: Hyung. Can we talk?

Yoongi stares at the notification.

Nah.

Talk?

Talk about what?

Talk about how he was standing there—hands on your waist, mouth on your lips—the girl Yoongi was in love with?

Yeah, no thanks.

He doesn’t answer. Just slips on his headphones and drowns himself in half-finished mixes until the sky turns pink and the ache in his chest numbs into something dull and half-dead.

The next morning, another message comes in.

Wonwoo: Unblock her

Yoongi scoffs, almost laughs. Who the fuck does he think he is, barking orders like that?

He’s ready to swipe and block his ass too when another message lands.

Wonwoo: She chose you Wonwoo: Not me

That one stops him cold.

He stares at the screen until it fades to black.

He doesn’t reply.

Not right away.

Not until five hours later, halfway through a bottle of Cass, a dull burn crawling up his throat, your voice echoing in the hollow of his skull like some stubborn loop he can’t mute.

He types.

Deletes.

Types again.

And finally hits send.

Yoongi: Didn't look like it

Then shuts his phone off completely.

Because if he sees one more message tonight, he might actually break.

He’s pissed. And hurt. And yeah, maybe Wonwoo doesn’t get to boss him around. But he followed the instruction anyway.

He unblocks you.

And then passes the fuck out.

The moment he opens his phone. A barrage of pings irritates his eardrums. He’s mildly surprised it’s all from you.

You: Yoongi. Are you okay? You: Please come home You: I miss you You: It was a mistake

You: I’m sorry

He wishes he had it in him to hate you.

It would be easier. Cleaner. Simpler.

But all he feels is the ugly twist in his gut. That soft ache behind his ribs. That voice in his head that still wants to believe there’s a version of the story where you picked him first.

He throws the phone across the couch and covers his face with his hands.

His chest rises, falls. Rises, falls.

He breathes like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You’re drunk.

Not a little tipsy. Not that cute, flirty kind of drunk. You’re talking full-blown, slurred speech, bit of drool on your chin drunk.

And the worst part?

So is Wonwoo.

“Where the fuck is he?” you whine from the floor, your head tilted back dramatically against the couch as you shovel cold ramyeon into your mouth with chopsticks.

Wonwoo lets out a groan from where he’s collapsed half-on, half-off the bean bag. “You think he died?” 

You blink at him. “He viewed my Instagram story three days ago.”

Wonwoo nods solemnly. “So not dead. Just dramatic.”

You groan and roll onto your side. “God, he’s such a little bitch.”

“Agreed,” Wonwoo mutters, clinking his empty glass against your half-full one. “Still hot, though.”

Present-you accepts that as a drunken truth. But future-you would look back and wonder—Did Wonwoo just call Yoongi hot?

“Stupidly hot,” you mumble to your drink anyway.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then you both burst out laughing. Hysterical, ugly, half-sobbing laughter. You’re crying into your noodles. Wonwoo is hugging an empty soju bottle like it owes him money.

You sit up suddenly, noodles still hanging from your mouth.

“I’m texting him again.”

Wonwoo lifts his head. “Do it.”

You fish your phone from the couch cushions, squint at the screen, and thumb open your messages.

You don’t even think about your words before hitting send… multiple times. Afterwards, you throw the phone onto the couch like it’s on fire and collapse into a giggling mess.

“I did it,” you whisper, horrified and proud all at once.

Wonwoo lifts his fist for a drunk high five. “You’re so brave.”

The phone remains silent.

But somewhere in the dark, you hope Yoongi is reading those texts—and that maybe, just maybe, he’ll find it in his heart to give you a chance.

Yoongi isn’t drunk, but he is a little buzzed.

The kind of buzzed that makes the edges of his thoughts feel a little cottony, blurry.

He’s sitting on the couch in Hoseok’s apartment—legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a beer, the other lazily scrolling through his phone, until your name pops up. And it’s not one text. It’s… a flood.

You: yo You: yoongi You: yoooooooongiiiiiii You: you crusty sexy neckless bastard You: why did you ghost me You: your flowers are DEAD You: i’m DEAD You: wonwoo’s crying You: not really You: but i am You: pls COME HOME You: i can explain You: im sorry You: IDIOT You: i miss youu 

He groans.

Hoseok in the kitchen calls out, “What’s going on, hyung?”

Yoongi just grunts, because what the fuck.

He reads the messages again. And again. He scrolls up and down like the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to process.

His thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Then pulls back.

Then hovers again.

He should ignore it. It’s drunk nonsense. He can hear your voice in the excess vowels.

But it’s the last one that fucks him up.

He swipes a hand over his face and exhales sharply, the sound catching somewhere in his throat.

Yoongi doesn’t melt easily. He’s not the type. He gets pissed before he gets soft. Gets silent before he gets sentimental. But goddamn you. Goddamn the way your words still manage to punch through the walls he’s put up.

He opens your text thread and coincidentally another message slips through.

It’s a gif. A Pokemon gif of all things. Of Ash throwing a poke ball saying: Pikachu I choose you.

God you are so fucking WEIRD. But saying that did not endear him to you further would be a vicious lie.

He groans. Stares at the blank message and finally types..

Yoongi: you idiot Yoongi: i’m coming home

Then he grabs his coat, slides on his headphones, and steps into the night.

He misses you too. Bad. But he doesn’t say it back. At least not through text.

Yoongi doesn’t expect a grand homecoming when he pushes the door open. But a little groveling wouldn’t have hurt.

Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of you passed out on the couch, limbs tangled in a blanket, lips parted in the softest little snore. Wonwoo’s slumped nearby, equally unconscious, an empty soju bottle balanced dangerously on his knee.

A cornucopia of soju and ramen, and chips lie in the center like it was The Hunger Games and these two lost.

He shakes his head, sighs. He should be angry. But all he feels is that he missed you. Both of you. Being here and being home.

First order of business: get Wonwoo to his room. Yoongi somehow manages it, half-dragging, half-guiding the much taller man down the hall. Tucks him in, even takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the bedside table so he doesn’t roll over them in his sleep.

Then there’s you.

Still curled up on the couch, one sock half off, hair a mess, hugging an unopened bag of shrimp chips like it’s a stuffed animal.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and exhales before crouching down beside the couch.

You’re drooling a little. And your shirt is halfway riding up your stomach. 

He mutters a curse under his breath, hooks one arm beneath your knees, another around your shoulders, and lifts you up—bridal style. You’re actually heavy and your limbs flop like you’re some tranquilized wild animal (in some ways you are), but he grunts and tries his best not to drop you.

You stir slightly as he wobbles toward your room.

Then you blink. And blink again. Before your eyes go wide. “Oh my God.”

Yoongi pauses. “…What?”

“Are you—are you real?” you whisper, voice raspy and full of awe. “Is this really you, Yoongi?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

“You look so gooood in person.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh. “Shut up.”

“Your arms are so toned, oh my god. Did you work out when you were away?”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re hot.” You grin. “I’d totally hit that.”

He mutters a very pained “Jesus Christ” as he kicks your door open.

But he’s smiling. He can’t help it. He’s so fond.

You look up at him with those glassy eyes, and your voice softens, barely a whisper now. “I love you, you know. Like, a lot. I cried every night you were gone.”

Something in his chest squeezes. Almost painfully. Before mild annoyance settles with it. This is not how we thought he would hear those words for the first time. Why are you like this?! But fuck, you love him.

“You’re drunk,” he says again, but this time his voice is lower, shakier.

You nod solemnly. “And honest.”

He lays you down gently on your bed, pulling the covers over you with the same care he gave Wonwoo earlier. 

He disappears into the bathroom for a second, comes back with a warm washcloth, and kneels by your bed to wipe the sheen of soju from your cheeks and the corner of your mouth.

You hum under your breath. “Stay.”

Yoongi pauses mid swipe.

“Stay forever,” you add, breath catching. “Please, Yoongi?”

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

And maybe it’s the way your voice broke when you said his name, or the way your fingers weakly reach for the sleeve of his hoodie, or the way you look so impossibly small and soft in the dim light—but he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not if he can help it.

“Okay,” he whispers.

He climbs in beside you, lets you curl into him without hesitation. Big spoon to little spoon, arms wrapped around your middle like he’s willing to protect you from all kinds of harm.

You sigh. Melt into him like you were made to fit there.

And finally—finally—Yoongi sleeps.

Not the restless kind. The kind he can only get when he’s home.

The first thing you register is the headache.

The second is the unfamiliar weight around your waist.

You blink blearily at the soft morning light spilling through your curtains, your mouth dry as sandpaper and your brain moving at the speed of a buffering livestream. Everything hurts. Your body, your stomach, your eyeballs.

You shift slightly—just enough to turn your head.

Shit.

Yoongi. Yoongi is in your bed.

Your erstwhile missing roommate, Yoongi.

Your potential boyfriend but you fucked it up by getting caught making out with another man, Yoongi.

Yoongi, whose legs are tangled with yours beneath the blanket, one arm snug around your waist like it belongs there.

Mild heart attack. Bile threatening to rise up. You need to get out of bed.

But before you can do that, a deep, groggy voice rumbles behind you. “Stop squirming.”

You freeze like an Inzoi character on pause. You don’t even breathe so you're starting to get lightheaded.

Yoongi inhales deeply against your hair, retracts his arm.

“Drink your aspirin,” he murmurs. “It’s on the table.”

Your eyes flick to the nightstand. Sure enough, a glass of water and a single pill sit waiting. Your hand trembles slightly as you reach for it, trying not to disturb him, which is hard because the bed is tiny and he’s very much in your space.

You wash it down in one gulp. Set the glass back.

“You’re awake,” you whisper.

“No shit,” he grumbles, still not opening his eyes. “You elbowed me in the ribs three times.”

You wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he exhales, the air warm against your nape. “Was worth it.”

Your heart stutters.

And then—

“Holy shit,” you whisper, panic climbing in your throat as some memories start to flood back in–lots of junk food and soju with Wonwoo, laughing and then crying, Yoongi’s face close to yours, telling him you love him. “Did I—what did I say last night?”

Yoongi’s silence is a little too smug, and he shifts to roll away from you.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, trying to turn him, but he is immovable.

“You were drunk.”

“I know. I mean, did I—” You bite your lip. “Just tell me what I said.”

A beat passes.

“You said I was hot.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Please tell me that was it.”

“You also said you’d totally hit that.”

“Oh god.”

“And,” Yoongi continues, drawling now, “you confessed your undying love.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He chuckles. “Nah.”

He shifts to face you back and this time you’re the one to pull away but the weight of his arm around you sinks in. You’re both lying there, warm, drowsy, tangled up in the morning haze.

“…You stayed,” you whisper.

He hums. “You asked me to.”

Your fingers curl into the edge of the blanket. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just presses a gentle kiss against your clothed shoulder, his breath slow, steady.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk later.”

You want to ask what later means. Want to know where this is going. But for now, your head is pounding and Yoongi’s body is warm against yours and it feels like the safest place on earth.

So you let him hold you.

And you close your eyes.

You must’ve dozed off again because the next time you wake, Yoongi’s no longer spooning you (sad)—he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

He looks like he’s been sitting there for a while.

“Yoongi?”

He doesn’t look at you immediately, just rubs a palm down his face. When he does glance your way, his expression is hard to read—tired, maybe. A little wrecked around the edges.

“We should talk,” he says quietly.

You sit up, pulling the blanket around you like armor. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches for a few seconds.

Yoongi looks down at his hands.

“I saw you,” he says. “The night I came back.”

Fuck. You knew this fact, but shame pricks at you anyways as he says it.

“Wonwoo.” His jaw clenches. “You. In the living room. You were saying things to him.”

Your stomach sinks.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and fast. “You said you loved me. But what was that?”

You bite your lip. Hard. “Yoongi…” You move forward, reaching out—slowly—until your fingers graze his wrist. “I didn’t pick him.”

His eyes flick to you, guarded.

“I know.” You nod, guilt curling tight around your ribs. “I know what it looked like. And I don’t blame you for leaving.”

You swallow hard, gathering the words you’ve been holding back.

“He asked me to pretend. Just for a second. Just to know what it felt like to be loved back. And I—I should’ve said no. But he looked so hurt, so I just… I should have said no.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“It was wrong,” you continue. “It wasn’t fair to you. Or him. But I swear, that night, and even before that, I already knew it was you. I was just waiting for you to come home to tell you. But yeah, that happened, and, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi is quiet. Too quiet. His face was unreadable. God you royally fucked this up.

You shift closer, your voice softer now. “I love you, Min Yoongi. It’s not a drunk confession, it’s not a mistake. I wanted you from the start. I still want you. And I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

You hold your breath. Wait.

Then—

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, running both hands through his hair. “How do you say shit like that and expect me to stay mad?”

You let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you.

He turns to face you fully now, his gaze softer—still raw, but softer. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

You blink. “Obsessed?”

“Biblically,” he deadpans, lips forming a straight line.

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it.

Yoongi leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t do that again.”

You shake your head.

Then he kisses you, just lightly, before pulling you back into the cushions with a grumble, “if Wonwoo ever asks to roleplay as me again, you tell me and I’m gonna kick his ass.”

You snort, settling into his arms. “That feels fair.”

“Damn right it is.”

And with that, Yoongi wraps you up like he’s never letting go again.

It takes a couple days.

Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to avoid Wonwoo—but he doesn’t go out of his way to talk to him either. They move around the apartment like polite strangers. It’s getting super awkward and depressing. You almost wanted to start scheduling the bathroom in shifts.

But you give them space. Let them figure it out. Because before you came into their lives, they were good friends, almost brothers even. And you know they’re both good men whose love for each other runs deep despite their stoic facades.

Sometimes you’d leave Yoongi’s favorite album quietly in the background whenever you’re in the living room, because you know Wonwoo still lingers near the door when it’s on. You know he misses him too.

The truce finally comes on a Wednesday.

You’re out grocery shopping—on purpose—when it happens.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen, a mug of black coffee in hand, when Wonwoo walks in wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and the face of someone who’s been up editing for twelve hours straight.

They stand in silence for a second.

Then Yoongi gestures to his mug. “You need this more than I do.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Hyung...”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively.

Wonwoo’s fingers finally close in on the mug, bringing it towards his lips. “…Thanks, hyung.”

Yoongi hums, looking out the window.

Wonwoo hesitates. “I’m sorry. For… all of it.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at him. Just stares into space. “I know.”

Wonwoo exhales. “Shoulda taken the L like I promised. But I just—liked her. I thought maybe I had a shot. Thought I could handle it. But I didn’t expect to care about you both this much.”

Yoongi finally glances over, eyes tired but not unkind. “Big mad I had to see that shit, though.”

Wonwoo cringes. “Yeah. I know.”

“You kiss sloppy.”

“I was crying, hyung.”

Yoongi smirks. “I’m just saying.”

They stare at each other for another beat.

“We good.” Yoongi tells him, and the stress on Wonwoo’s shoulder eases tenfold. 

Wonwoo grins, “good.”

And just like that, the tension breaks—fragile but real. Not erased. Not forgotten. But healing in the way only true friends can.

When you get home an hour later, you find the two of them huddled over Yoongi’s laptop, arguing about which 8-bit sound effect is better for Wonwoo’s Youtube channel’s opening beat.

Yoongi looks up briefly when you step in, bags at hand. “Why do you take forever in Olive Young?”

“You two are talking again.”

Wonwoo motions you to be quiet. “Shhh. Don’t jinx it, noona.”

Yoongi just shakes his head, clicking away.

“Chimaek, tonight?”

Two thumbs ups.

Ah. It feels good to be finally home.

One month later…

Wonwoo’s already at the table, sipping his coffee. His hair is still damp from a shower, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through something on his phone.

Yoongi’s plating up some eggs, bacon already looking crunchy and so good on another plate on the counter.

You glance between them, heart tugging at the sight.

It feels almost like the early days again—before all the mess and the pining and the rap battles and the ghosting. Just three roommates, slightly chaotic, mostly functioning.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “So… I have some news.”

You and Yoongi both look up.

“I, uh—so my channel’s been blowing up.”

You smile. “I know…”

Wonwoo nods, lips twitching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. One of my compilation clips hit a million views. Then two. It’s a little crazy that I’m getting millions of people watching my streams. And now this creator house in Osaka, they’ve reached out. They want me to join them full-time.”

Silence.

You blink once. Twice.

Yoongi’s egg slides off his chopsticks and hits the table with a soft splat.

“You’re moving?” you ask quietly.

“In two weeks.”

The words hang heavy in the air, like steam that won’t quite dissipate.

You swallow. “Wow. That’s… amazing, Wonwoo. Really.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah. I’m still trying to process it. But I think—I think I want to go. It’s a big opportunity. They’ve got a deal with Netflix and everything. It’s wild.”

Yoongi doesn’t speak. Just stares down at his bowl, jaw set.

Wonwoo looks at both of you, his expression soft. “Also… I think it’s for the better.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs lightly, but there’s nothing careless about his words. “You two need space. Real space. I’ve seen how careful you’ve been around me—like you’re always tiptoeing, trying not to… like, I get it. But it’s okay.” He smiles then, genuine and a little bittersweet. “I don’t want to be the third wheel anymore. I want to see you guys figure this out for real.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right. You have been walking on eggshells around him.

Yes, you and Yoongi have had the talk, have shared the quiet moments and the whispered promises—but living with Wonwoo meant holding back. Kisses stolen in the hallway. Frantic touches under the covers. Making out like teenagers afraid to get caught by their parents. You haven’t even fucked—not properly—because you don’t trust yourself to stay quiet. And the last thing you want is to make things more uncomfortable than they already are for Wonwoo.

You sigh, reach for his hand, squeezing it. “We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you both, too. But we’ll still game. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Thank god,” you say. “I need someone to carry me in Valo, ‘cause this one’s useless.”

Yoongi still hasn’t said a word even as you maligned him. But when you glance at him, his head tilted toward his bowl, you notice the way he lifts a hand—just briefly—to brush beneath his eye. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

You don’t call him out for it.

Instead, you quietly nudge your foot against his under the table.

He looks up, finally, and you offer a soft smile.

He exhales, then lifts his head, trying to school his expression. “Congrats. You deserve it.”

Two weeks later, Wonwoo’s bags are packed. Two suitcases by the door, gaming headset carefully wrapped in a hoodie and tucked into his carry-on. His favorite mug is still in the drying rack. You hope he forgot it, just so you can have something to hold onto.

He’s still coming back in a month’s time to wrap up everything else he wasn’t able to box or sell before he flies out. Some equipment he won’t need because they’re giving him a new system, plus a couple of odd items here and there. There’s still his bed, some clothes, old games, some extra cameras—it honestly still feels like he lives here and has just gone away for college.

You walk him to the door.

He turns to face you, lifting his brows like he’s expecting a lecture.

You step closer, fixing the strap on his backpack. “Keep up your Duolingo streak. Get that English sharp. The fans are gonna eat it up.”

“‘What’s up, guys, it’s your boy, Wonwoo, welcome back to the stream,’” he deadpans in a flat accent.

You snort. “Exactly.”

For a moment, you both just stand there, silence pressing in around the edges.

“I know hyung will take care of you. Probably even better than I could.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it once. “You’ve taken care of me more than you know.”

He smiles—small, sad, but grateful. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Oh I am sure you’ll forget me what with all your new fangirls… what do you call ‘em? Your baby chocolats?”

He laughs, a short, bright sound that makes your throat sting a little. Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And with that, you step back and let him go.

You go towards the window where you see him meet up with Yoongi on the street, helping the driver lug his boxes on the compartment of the SUV.

You don’t hear what’s said. Don’t try to.

But you do see them stare at each other for a second too long, then—awkwardly, almost reluctantly—move into a hug. A real one.

Two introverts. Two non-huggers. And still, there they are, arms around each other, no jokes, no snark.

Just something soft. Something understood.

Damn. You never thought you’d see the day.

When the car finally drives off, Yoongi looks up and your eyes meet. There’s sadness in it but there’s also something else.

Like something new is finally about to begin.

Roommate Rule #5: Always check for blinking lights… you’ll know why…

It was weird at first when Wonwoo left.

It was the lack of him being there between you and Yoongi. Because no matter how close you and Yoongi had gotten, the space between you was always padded with caution.

Too careful.

Too considerate of the younger one in the house. You loved Wonwoo, and Yoongi loved him too—in the gruff, brotherly, could-murder-you-but-won’t kind of way. But the care you had for him, the quiet hesitance of not wanting to hurt him, made everything feel just a little restrained.

Now, with just the two of you, it’s different.

Better.

There’s a fluffy kind of freedom in being able to kiss Yoongi whenever you want. To drape yourself across his lap on the couch and whisper the dumbest shit just to hear him chuckle against your neck. To argue about which records to play, who left the light on, how many mugs he’s used and not washed. You fight more. You make up more. You say what you feel. You say it often.

And tonight? Tonight, you finally said you wanted him. 

Really wanted him. 

Like inside you. 

Bad.

So now here you are, stumbling into the apartment after a romantic dinner, laughing between messy kisses, giddy and tipsy and so stupidly in love it’s honestly embarrassing.

You yank his silly leopard hat off somewhere near the entryway.

“Wait,” you murmur breathlessly, lips brushing his jaw. “Where?”

Yoongi, already halfway out of his shirt, pants, and possibly his mind, blinks at you.

“My room?” he offers.

You hesitate. “Your bed’s too far from the wall. I can’t brace myself if we’re—”

He stares at you, smirking. “You’ve thought about this.”

You don’t deny it. You also don’t even justify why your feet take you to Wonwoo’s room.

“Neutral ground?” Yoongi says, tilting his head.

You shrug. “Yeah. Feels… fair.”

You don’t talk much after that. Because Yoongi, goddamn him, is rendering you speechless. The way his mouth trails kisses along your neck, breathing softly against your skin. You arch into him, fingers curling into his hair, his shoulders, wherever you can touch and pull and hold. 

Yoongi lays you down on Wonwoo’s bed gently. His mouth never leaves yours, just soft kisses turning messier and dirtier as the tension finally, finally unravels between you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps into your neck, trailing his tongue towards your earlobe. “Been thinking about this for so fuckin’ long.”

Your hands tangle in his dark strands, tugging lightly, and he groans—rough, needy. The sound of it punches heat straight through your core.

More clothes come off in a haze of giggles and curses, until you’re naked, flushed, and sprawled beneath him. Completely exposed. Completely his. But you don’t feel shy. You feel… safe. Because that’s how he has always made you feel.

Especially when Yoongi looks like he’s staring at the fucking Mona Lisa. His eyes rake over your nude form, before he exhales a soft “fuck,” and lowers himself to mouth at a taut nipple. He swirls his tongue over the bud before giving it a long suck, encasing it between his teeth with a slight tug.

“Shit,” you arch your back, electricity surging from your chest.

When his hands slide between your thighs and his fingers slip inside, your head falls back with a gasp.

“Yoongi—”

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

And he does. 

You’re already shaking when he finally slips it in, filling you inch by inch as he whispers praise against your ear.

“Fuck,” he mutters, warm breath seeping into your moist skin. “You feel—God.”

He moves like he’s laying down the beat of his life. Every roll of his hips perfectly in sync with your ragged breaths, every soft moan you make dragging curses from his throat.

Your nails make crescents into his milky skin. Your legs wrap tight around his waist like a vice grip.

And when you come, it hits you so hard you think you’ve gone blind. He groans your name desperately and follows right after, buried deep, falling apart against you with one final buck.

You lay there after, chest to chest, sticky and hot, your heart pounding..

He brushes your hair back from your forehead and plants kisses all over your face. Butterfly kisses that leave you emotional at how gentle he is. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours.

You smile, boneless. “I love you, too.”

He hums low. “So we’re doing that again. Obviously.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you confess.

He smirks. “That’s how you know it was good.”

You swat at his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re… welcome.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, staring up at the ceiling, smiling at nothing.

Until—a soft blinking red light catches your eye on the corner of the room.

You frown. “Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“…Is that—?”

You both sit up, squinting at the CCTV camera that’s starting you down like an evil eye.

Your stomach drops. “No. No fucking way.”

Yoongi squints. “That better be off. That better be—”

Your phone vibrates. Then Yoongi’s.

Both of you freeze. You already know what it is. Actually, you already know who it is.

And there goes the single message in the “Roomies” group chat to confirm your suspicions.

Wonwoo: Thanks for the nudes 😉

The End (Or is it?)

A/N: And another K series done and dusted. I am gonna miss these 3 honestly. They’ve been such a joy to work on. I loved being in their world and writing this unhinged and chaotic plot line that all started because I wanted to write a silly little rap battle.

Thank you so much for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

Serve safe and serve well, Wonwoo my baby chocolat! <3

Let me know in the notes what you thought! A reblog would be an amazing gift if you enjoyed reading :) Love you, guys!

Permanent Taglist: (the rest to follow in a reblog)

@wonh0oe @woozuzu @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

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@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[loveaurapearl]

Hey, I saw the new episode of Wild Life and it was amazing. I love how personal these choices are, even though Grian himself didn't choose who got what power. But seriously, it feels like all the powers were personally picked for each player. I've seen people analyze each ablity and their connections and I wanted throw my hat in the ring. (Okay, update. Watched Grian's video and it's clear that Grian did personalized the powers. He has a list of all the people who have what powers, he just didn't realize how dangerous some of these powers are with red names. He mentioned regretting giving Scar the sit command the first time Scar sat on him so yeah. Unlike the randomness of Soulmates in Double life, these powers aren't random. Just want to clarify that.)

The first one I want to mention is Joel's ability since it's the one that has stumped everyone. I mean, after all, what does triple jumping have to do with Joel? Well, at the beginning of his episode, he mentioned that he hears a slime sound effect when he uses his ability. I think his superpower was chosen because of the slime shop that Joel forgot to create for most of Season 10 of Hermitcraft. Now what do Slimes have to do with triple jumping? Well, slimes are bouncy and create momentum. Also, I think Grian put it in because it sounded like a cool power. Also, Also, it allows Joel to do a lot of PARKOUR! Which Joel is obsessed with.

Rendog got the power of masking himself as other people. This is amazing because he masked as Tango in Secret Life and the guy's an actor. He's always putting up masks like the Red King, the King of Hermitcraft, the Guard Dog of the Fairy Forte, and being part of the Gigaverse.

Gem has Astral projection which was given to her because she hates using freecam so it was a punishment to her for being so too good at the game. However, she was given the ability to give her more control over people since she was able to snoop on everyone. Kind of like a Watcher. (Or Listener in some people's headcannons. I've seen evidence for people to think this is a Watcher power or Listener power. I'm leaning on Watcher Power.)

Cleo was given the power to raise the Dead because she is a Zombie.

BigB is the power of the Creaking which is fitting since he became one of them thanks to living in their forrest.

Bdubs has the power of time because of his obsession with clocks and the power of sleep because the man is obsessed with sleeping in Hermitcraft.

Etho is an loof and sneaky man who likes to keeps his distance. He's also a coward so a quick escape plan by yeeting yourself with wind charges helps. Also, he did Frogger in Minecraft and that's a lot of jumping around.

Tango's ability is to flee like he never fleed before. Aka being a coward and also annoy people. (Someone mentioned the icewalker ability could be reference to Decked out 2. Also flee with extra flee.)

Ldshadowlady (Aka Lizzie) is just focusing on the shadow in her user name. It also represents her time falling in the Void in Secret Life. The void energy engrained in her.

Jimmy got invisiblity because the man is always sneaking around and the fact that Jimmy doesn't get this far normally. Normally he's not even alive at this point. So the narrative is kind of representing his unusual position. Also it feels like a very Listener kind of superpower.

Martyn's power is literally the power to LISTEN to people. Very Listener power.

Impulse's power is to swap places with people. It kind of represents how much of a flip-flopper he was in Third Life. Yeah know, traitor Impulse. Also, Enderpearl satis cambers and using weird glitches to find diamonds in Third life references.

Scott's ability of Animal shapeshifting is not only a cruel twisted torture made up by the Watchers because they hate Scott, seriously, it's the worst superpower, but it also represents Scott's kind and gentle nature. While the guy knows how to fight, most of the time Scott is a nice chill guy. He's friendly and charming like a passive mob. He does his best to support the team and he will sacrifice himself for the team. The guy is also soft with animals. Remember the cow and the pufferfish in Third Life? What about the Axolotos in Last Life? Also, the guy likes to get pets in Empires.

Pearl's ability to fly is the fact that she and Grian are Skyblings but also a more subtle connection to the watchers. After all, Watchers do have angel wings.

Grian's ability to mimic everyone else's powers is so Watcher-coded it's not even funny. It's like he's purposely making it clear to everyone that he's a Watcher now. And the fact that he made this Wild Card to get Skizz and Mumbo back is just icing on the cake. He just never realized how bad his wish to bring his friends back would bite him in the back so hard. Ah Grian, not thinking your plans ahead and thinking about the consequences. Just like always.

And finally Scar. Scar has wanted Super strength all season. He mentioned it in episode one and he's been testing it out every time a Wild Card has been activated except for when his teammates were on red. The guy loves the classic power to punch people and to yeet people off cliffs. It fits his namesake. And the power to sit on everything is just genius. Not only does it allow some very funny moments but it fits Scar's cowboy aesthetic. It's also the perfect fit for Scar because at first you think it's harmless. After all, you just get yeeted a bit and Scar rides on you. All fun and games. But once the fighting begins, this power shows how scary Scar actually is. Now you can't get Scar off you because he's sitting on you and you can't knock him off or hurt him. Sure he can't hurt you back, but it just means he's waiting his time. And the yeeting becomes more scary once your falling to your doom off a cliff. It's also a very protective power since he can make foes fly a million miles away from him, out of sword range and now the only way to hurt him is with a bow. A bow which Scar is way more skilled at using. After all, he is the HotGuy. Also he did mention HotGuy in his episode when he was trying to hit Tango. It's just that he missed it since Tango's so fast. (Oh yeah, I almost forgot, Scar got Thorns as part of his power set. Not only is it another defensive weapon since it makes people not want to hit him because they would be hurt back even with range attacks, but also it represents his connections to the earth. He is a terraformer. It also represents Double life since it kind of mimics the gimmick of if you get hurt, I get hurt of being soulmates. Just wanted to add this in.)

Anyway, I hope you like my analysis.

[dxrlingluv]

Hermes x Modern Reader pls! Gn is fine but can reader be like totally Gen Z coded?

If I’m stuck here with you

A/N : Oh well. Hermes getting the view of what the future would be like with the help of the Reader? Count me in. Hermes art is from Zieru!

WARNING : Mordern!Reader, Hermes doesn’t know how to get back to his own time. Generally Platonic.

Word Count : 2k

The first sign that your Tuesday was about to go completely off the rails wasn't the ominous rumble of thunder from a cloudless sky (you lived in a city, weird weather was basically a bi-weekly subscription). No, it was the fact that there was a dude. In your living room. A dude who definitely did not have a key, and whose fashion sense screamed "lost my way to a Renaissance Faire, but make it ✨divine✨."

You were mid-scroll on TikTok, a half-eaten bag of spicy chips balanced precariously on your chest, your brain pleasantly numb from a curated stream of capybara videos and questionable life hacks. One minute, it was a golden retriever struggling with a lime, the next, a faint shimmer of gold light near your IKEA Kallax shelf, and then him.

He was tall, lean, and exuded an aura of someone who probably thought "running errands" meant literally running. His chiton (you vaguely remembered the term from a history class you mostly slept through) was an impractical shade of white, edged with gold, and he had these little winged sandals. Like, actual wings. On his shoes. And a staff thingy – a caduceus, your brain helpfully supplied, probably from the same dusty mental archive as "chiton."

You blinked. The capybara video was still playing silently on your phone.

"Uh," you started, eloquently. "Did my landlord finally decide to hire a really extra singing telegram to tell me my rent's overdue? 'Cause my guy, the gold lamé is a choice, but the message could've been an email."

The man turned, his movements fluid and impossibly fast, like a hummingbird on an espresso bender. His eyes, a startling shade of gold, widened slightly as they took in your state: pajama pants with a questionable stain, an oversized band t-shirt, and the aforementioned chip situation.

"A... singing telegram?" he repeated, his voice smooth and melodic, like wind chimes but with more bass. He had a slight accent you couldn't quite place, but it definitely wasn't from around here. "I am Hermes, messenger of the gods, son of Zeus, herald of Olympus!" He struck a pose, staff held aloft. It would have been impressive if he wasn't standing next to your wilting houseplant, Bartholomew.

You slowly sat up, chips cascading onto your duvet. "Okay, werk. And I'm Y/N, purveyor of lukewarm takes and existential dread, child of... well, my parents. We good?" You paused. "Wait, Hermes? Like, the Hermes? Greek mythology Hermes? Bro, are you for real?"

He frowned, a slight furrow appearing between his perfectly sculpted brows. "You address a god, mortal. And yes, the Hermes. Though I confess, this realm is... unfamiliar. One moment, I was delivering a decree to Hades—a rather tedious affair, he’s been so broody since Persephone started her ‘self-care season’ topside—and the next, a blinding flash, and… this." He gestured vaguely at your collection of Funko Pops. "Is this a new wing of the Underworld? It's surprisingly... cluttered. And smells faintly of artificial cheese."

"Rude," you muttered, brushing chip dust off your shirt. "This is my humble abode. My crib. My legally-distinct-from-a-cardboard-box apartment. And you're telling me you, like, actually yeeted yourself from ancient Greece into my living room?"

Hermes tilted his head. "Yeeted?"

"Teleported. Poofed. Arrived unannounced like my Aunt Carol when she smells free food."

"Ah. Then yes, I suppose I 'yeeted'." A faint smile played on his lips, and you had to admit, even if he was completely delulu, the guy had charisma. Like, an unhealthy amount of it. The kind of rizz that could convince you to invest in beachfront property on Mars.

"No cap?" you pressed, narrowing your eyes.

"Have you not seen my cap, mortal?" Hermes said, looking genuinely confused while tapping his winged cap. “Though I have seen some... interesting headwear in my travels through the ages.”

"It means 'no lie,' my dude. For real?"

"For real," he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am as bewildered as you are, perhaps more so. This… technology." He gestured to your phone, which was now showing a makeup tutorial. "It glows. Does it contain an oracle?"

"Nah, fam," you said, picking up your phone. "It contains crippling social anxiety, cat videos, and the definitely not useless knowledge of humanity, mostly used for arguing with strangers. Same diff as an oracle, basically." You swiped away the tutorial. "So, you're a god. A literal, actual god. From the myths. Currently chilling in my less-than-mythical apartment."

Hermes nodded, his golden eyes scanning your room with a mixture of curiosity and faint disdain. "Precisely. And you, Y/N, are my first point of contact in this… vibrant, yet perplexing era."

"Vibrant is one word for it," you snorted. "So, what's the tea, Hermes? Why are you here? Did Zeus get lost on his way to another 'swan-related incident' and send you to find him?"

Hermes winced. "Father's… avian escapades are a subject best avoided. As for my presence, I believe it to be an accident. A magical mishap, perhaps. Or maybe Loki’s pranking me across pantheons again. That guy owes me big time."

You processed this. A god. In your apartment. Because of a magical oopsie. Your Tuesday was officially off the leash and running wild in a field of pure, unadulterated chaos. And honestly? Low-key, you were kind of living for it.

"Okay, so, Mr. Messenger God," you began, swinging your legs off the bed. "First things first: wardrobe. No offense, but the chiton and winged kicks are a bit… much for a trip to the bodega. You're gonna get so many weird looks. People will think you're doing some avant-garde performance art."

Hermes looked down at his attire. "Is it not… fashionable?"

"Buddy, it's iconic, it's a serve, it's giving 'legendary artifact chic.' But for blending in? Not so much. Unless you're trying to start a new trend, in which case, go off, king." You rummaged through your closet, which was a chaotic explosion of band tees, thrift store finds, and at least three hoodies you'd "borrowed" indefinitely. "Right, let's see. You look like a medium? Or are gods, like, universally sized?"

He watched, bemused, as you pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. "These… simple garments?"

"Trust the process," you said, handing them over. "The bathroom's over there. Try not to smite my rubber ducky, he's emotionally fragile."

While Hermes was wrestling with the concept of denim, you frantically tidied up, shoving stray socks under the couch and stacking dirty mugs in the sink. If a god was going to be your unexpected roommate, even temporarily, the least you could do was make the place look less like a goblin's nest.

He emerged a few minutes later, looking… surprisingly normal. The modern clothes fit him well, though he looked slightly uncomfortable, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. The winged sandals were still on, though. Baby steps.

"Okay, not bad," you said, circling him. "The shoes are still a statement piece, but we can work on that. You clean up nice, Speedy Gonzales."

"Speedy Gonzales?"

"Never mind. Pop culture reference. You'll pick it up. Or not. It's fine." You grabbed your keys. "Right, mission one: acquire sustenance that isn't artificially cheese-flavored. And maybe figure out how to un-yeet you back to Olympus before Zeus starts blaming me for his missing messenger."

The trip to the local grocery store was an experience. Hermes was fascinated by everything. Automatic doors: "Sorcery!", the sheer variety of packaged foods: "So many choices! Do mortals truly consume these brightly colored squares?", and the self-checkout: “A mechanical servant that demands tribute! Astounding!". You had to physically restrain him from trying to "liberate" a pineapple he claimed was "too majestic to be confined."

"Dude, chill," you hissed, pulling him towards the cereal aisle. "You can't just 'liberate' produce. That's called shoplifting. And trust me, the mortals who run this place? Way scarier than Hades on a bad day when it comes to their five-finger discount policy."

He looked genuinely contrite. "My apologies. Old habits. On Olympus, if one desires a golden apple, one simply… acquires it."

"Yeah, well, here, acquiring gets you a talking-to from a guy named Kevin who peaked in high school and takes his job way too seriously. Now, do you want Froot Loops or existential dread in a box, aka Raisin Bran?"

Back in your apartment, Hermes watched, captivated, as you made instant ramen. "You boil water… with lightning trapped in a metal box?" he asked, peering at your electric kettle.

"It's called electricity, my divine dude. Kind of our version of Zeus's party trick, but less likely to incinerate you." You handed him a bowl. "Slurp carefully. It's hotter than Hephaestus's forge."

He took a tentative bite, his eyes widening. "Remarkable! Such complex flavors from a desiccated brick and powder!"

"That's the magic of MSG, baby."

As the day wore on, you found yourself in the bizarre position of explaining modern life to an ancient god. You showed him how to use your laptop: "This glowing tablet… it shows me the world! And so many cats!", introduced him to the concept of memes: "So, these are… illustrated jokes? Often self-deprecating? Mortals are a curious species.", and even tried to explain TikTok trends, which mostly resulted in him looking utterly bewildered but gamely attempting a few dance moves with a grace that was frankly unfair.

"Your 'vibes'," he said at one point, after you'd used the term for the fifth time, "are they a form of emotional aura?"

"Basically, yeah. Like, your vibe right now is 'ancient deity trying to understand a modern gremlin.' It's a whole mood."

He chuckled, a genuine, warm sound. "And your vibe, Y/N, is… surprisingly patient and amusingly irreverent."

You felt a weird warmth spread through your chest. "Hey, someone's gotta keep the gods humble, right? Can't have you all thinking you're the main characters all the time." Though, you had to admit, Hermes had some serious main character energy.

Later, as dusk settled, painting your small apartment in hues of orange and purple, a comfortable silence fell between you. Hermes was staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"This world is… loud," he said softly. "And fast. And filled with so many fleeting things. Yet, there's a certain… tenacity to it. To your kind."

"We're stubborn little weirdos, that's for sure," you agreed, leaning against the doorframe. "We make a lot of noise, collect too much stuff, and spend way too much time looking at glowing rectangles. But, y'know, we try."

He turned to you, a soft smile on his lips. "You, Y/N, are more than just 'trying.' You navigate this chaos with a strange sort of… grace. And an unending supply of peculiar phrases."

"It's a gift," you said with a shrug, though your cheeks felt a little warm. "So, any closer to figuring out how to get you back to your regularly scheduled god-duties? Or are you stuck being my platonic, mythological roommate for the foreseeable future?"

Hermes sighed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair (how did he do that?). "I confess, the way back eludes me. The energies here are… different. Scrambled. It's like trying to find a specific whisper in a hurricane." He looked at you, his golden eyes surprisingly earnest. "But, if I am to be… stranded, for a time… I cannot think of a more… entertainingly perplexing guide than you."

You grinned. "Aw, Hermes, you old softie. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Or we'll just teach you how to play Mario Kart and order pizza. Either way, it's gonna be an adventure." You paused. "Just, uh, try not to accidentally smite anyone, okay? The paperwork would be a nightmare."

He laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly in your small living room. "I shall endeavor to restrain my divine impulses, [Y/N]. For now, at least."

Maybe having a god crash on your couch wasn't the worst thing that could happen on a Tuesday. It was definitely going to make your next "what I did this summer" story a lot more interesting. And who knew? Maybe you'd even get him to ditch the winged sandals eventually. Or, better yet, get a matching pair. That would be a lewk.

No cap.

[bluelotuswrites]

2024 fic rec list :)

So here's a list of fics/authors that I read in 2024! A lot of them are Batman-related, and Jason-centered :P

Six Degrees of Separation by @oliocelottafanfics. It's a Criminal Minds crossover with Batman, where Penelope Garcia is the one to find Jason after his resurrection and adopts him. This is one of those fics where I didn't know I needed it until I saw it, and now it's stuck in my brain.

The Right Substitution is Key by Addicted Apple. A fun what-if story where Batman and Nightwing go missing, so Robin recruits Red Hood to fill in as Batman while completely oblivious to the fact that Red Hood is Jason Todd.

Five Reactions to Pepper's New PA by @gladdecease. Short, but Bucky ends up becoming Pepper Potts' personal assistant. It's very funny and wholesome.

@cdelphiki's Three Terrors Cinematic Universe is a top fic that many probably already know. Talia tried to escape the League with Jason, Damian, Anathasia, and Mara al Ghul. She didn't make it, leaving Jason to be the one to protect them.

Along with that is cdelphiki's The Time Before. Jason got sent back to the past by Black Mask, who wanted to kill him before he became Red Hood. Jason goes to Bruce for help and ends up healing and learning more about Bruce.

A League of Her Own by @comebackolivia. Immediately after the UtRH, Talia finds Jason in the rubble, kills to Joker, and takes him back to the League, where they try to take over and rebuild it with Nyssa. Jason becomes one of her generals. You might recognize them for their work on Not-So-Outlaw :)

VermillionFlame is another more recent author that has been working on Arkhamverse Jason. For Want of a Savior and Hold Fast (Don't Let Go) are two of my favorites.

For Want of a Savior has comic Jason wind up in Arkhamverse, and saves AK!Jason. He then helps him heal and the Batfam is in a panic after realizing Jason may be alive.

Hold Fast (Don't Let Go) is another AU where Jason shot Deathstroke while working on his revenge plan that would be seen in Arkham Knight. He then shows up at Wayne Manor for protection, throwing the family's peace into chaos as so many things come to light and people butt heads.

Echoes of Future Past by orangesky37 on AO3/ @kindlingkeen. Immediately after Jason's throat got slit in UtRH comic, he gets yeeted back to the past and is found by authorities. James Gordon brings Batman onto the case, not realizing Batman is Bruce Wayne. He gets protective of Jason when he tells Gordon that 'his dad did it.'

Going Down Like the Titanic by @sunnylighter A shortish Arkhamverse AU where Joker succeeds in getting Bruce to succumb to the Titan virus by showing Jason still alive in Arkham Asylum.

Bruce Wayne Must Die by @reginalusus. Jason wants to kill Bruce, only to find out that he's missing. He teams up with Harvey Dent to find him, and there's father-son bonding vibes between Harvey and Jason.

Do Unto Others by @romiress. Arkhamverse again (listen, I'm a sucker for that storyline when it comes to Jason. It's maximum angst potential). Khalid Nassour (Doctor Fate in DC comics) worked at Arkham Asylum under the payroll of Joker, albeit reluctantly. He was brought on to fix up Jason, and eventually he sneaks him out to help him heal.

Don't Let Them See You Cry by @daisyapples. Oh my god, you guys. Let me tell you. This series is vibrates in my brain to an insane degree. Shortly after Bucky breaks free from his Winter Soldier programming, he finds Jason and adopts him. It's so good, y'all. I literally drop everything to read this whenever it updates.

The Glue by sleepynarwhal. Daredevil is the one to mentor Spiderman instead in the MCU and it's very adorable how much Matt goes from reluctant mentor to embracing it, as well introducing him to the other Defenders.

the road home by @drakefeathers. Jason is homesick during his Lost Days Era world murder-tour and ends up returning home.

I'll Catch a Break Someday by @victory-in-the-skye. Fullmetal Alchemist crosses over with the MCU. It has Fem!Ed, which might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it definitely contributes to the story in a way that makes it interesting. The author does a fantastic job of capturing Ed's voice, even in first person! It's a series, but it hasn't been updated in a while and I hope the author is doing okay!

Arkham Compendium by @lananiscorner. If you're a fan of Arkhamverse, I cannot recommend this series enough. Focusing on Jason before, during, and after Arkham Knight, the author does a fantastic job of delving into Jason's psyche during the course of his life. Ill Weeds Grow Apace is my favorite of the series, focusing on Jason healing after Arkham Knight, and slowly reconnecting with his siblings. Lanani also has many other fantastic fics in DC, especially with Jason. While the author might not be in the fandom anymore, I will always be grateful for the fics that were written because they are masterpieces.

(If you're one of these authors on the list and I missed your tumblr @, let me know and I'll edit them in!)

[nanamineedstherapy]

Ooga Booga Battle Royale

F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji & Ryomen Sukuna)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies fighting over you? With grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication? Say less.

Trigger Warnings (May contain spoilers for the story): Fighting, Crack, Non-Graphic Violence, Maybe some death but not in a gruesome way-more in a comedy way.

You exist.

That is the problem.

In the grand, majestic, bacteria-infested wilderness, you—a Homo sapien woman—have committed the ultimate sin by having the audacity to be alive in the same vicinity as five of the most terrifying Neanderthal men to ever grunt their way through existence.

And worse? You smell good.

Which, in prehistoric terms, means war.

A cool wind howls through the valley. Birds scream. The grass shudders like it knows something stupid is about to happen.

Then—

THWACK!!!

A rock, massive, heavy, probably could kill a mammoth, lands near your foot. You blink. A club follows, barely missing your toe.

You look up.

Gojo.

Tall. Built. Filthy. Covered in mud, scratches, and an ego the size of a glacier. He grins, sharp teeth flashing, pointing at you. Then at himself. Then—slowly, dramatically—drags his fingers down his chest, smearing dirt as he flexes his pecs in the most unhinged display of caveman peacocking.

Translation: See muscles? Strongest. Best mate. Come cave.

You blink. Slowly shake your head.

Gojo pouts. He actually pouts.

Then—

SNAP!!!

A stick breaks.

Golden hair slicked back. Precise hunting scars like he personally invented caveman Botox. He sighs ( caveman sighs, deep, judgmental ), picks up a rock and chucks it at Gojo’s head.

Gojo barely dodges, screeching.

Nanami doesn’t even grunt. Just turns to you, lifts the biggest kill you’ve ever seen— some prehistoric beast that probably had a name —slung over his shoulder, and points to his cave, all very matter-of-factly.

Translation: I provide. You come.

Gojo throws another rock. It misses. But unfortunately—

BONK!!!

It hits a third caveman.

A low, dangerous growl.

Geto.

Emerging from the literal shadows, draped in feathers, hair long, eyes dark like he’s seen prehistoric horrors and survived. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t grunt. He stares. Tilts his head. Lifts a finger—crooks it.

Translation: Come. I put pretty thing in Cave.

Gojo screeches. Nanami physically exhales rage.

You take a step back.

Bad.

Very bad.

THUD!!!

Something—someone—drops from the trees above.

Toji.

Bigger. Meaner. Shirt? Doesn’t exist yet . Scars on scars. Wearing the fur of something that had fangs and regrets. He cracks his neck, flexes, and lets out a deep, primal, guttural noise.

Translation: Mine.

He already claims you.

The tension is lethal. One grunt away from Caveman Hunger Games.

Then, the worst thing happens.

A chuckle reverberates. Low. Menacing .

From the mountains.

Sukuna.

He doesn’t walk. He stalks . Covered in war paint, a necklace of teeth—probably human—and more muscle than necessary for survival. He doesn’t even look at the others.

Just at you.

Then he smirks.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t peacock.

He just cracks his knuckles.

Disarray!!!

Gojo lunges for you—Nanami intercepts, yeets him into a tree like he’s taking out the trash. Geto sweeps in, silent, precise, fingers inches from you—but Toji body-slams him into the dirt so hard the Earth quakes.

Sukuna? Laughing his ass off. Arms crossed, enjoying the primal disaster unfolding before him like it's his personal gladiator match.

You? You run.

Because no matter what happens tonight, one undeniable truth remains:

You are getting bonked and dragged into a cave.

And frankly, you haven’t decided whose cave you actually prefer.

Gojo, incapable of losing with dignity, screeches like a rabid pterodactyl and launches himself at you again, arms wide—fully committed to scooping you up like an overgrown saber-toothed tiger carrying off its prey.

But—

BLOCKED!!!

Nanami moved with the speed and efficiency of a man who did NOT wake up for this bullshit today. One massive arm swings—and Gojo goes flying Into another tree.

Gojo blinks. Sulks. Pouts. Contemplates his life choices.

Nanami does not have time for this. Adjusts the massive chunk of fresh kill slung over his shoulder—a clear and undeniable sign of superior mate potential—then looks at you.

Steps forward. Expression serious.

Message clear: Come. Cave. Now.

You consider it.

Then—

Geto.

Unlike the others, he does not fight for dominance. He does not lunge. He simply stands there.

Watching. Waiting. Silent as death.

His violet eyes flick between Nanami and Gojo before settling on you. He does not gesture. He does not speak.

Translation: You will come to me.

Unfortunately for him—Toji doesn’t do patience.

BOOM!!!

Toji body-slams Geto into the dirt. The impact is hard enough to shake the ground.

Geto grunts, visibly irritated, but Toji is already moving. He snarls at Nanami and swats a distracted Gojo aside like an irritating cave-fly, and then grabs your wrist.

Bad.

You react immediately, twisting away, but Toji’s grip is like iron. His eyes gleam with primal amusement.

He likes this. Likes that you fight. Likes that you are difficult.

Thinks he claimed the right one.

You will birth strong cubs.

Then the world grows impossibly quiet.

A deep, amused chuckle from the mountain path.

Sukuna is still not looking at the others.

Just at you.

He smirks and cracks his knuckles.

Danger. Immediate. Imminent. Inevitable.

Gojo, pulling himself up from the dirt, grunts.

Nanami exhales through his nose. Already done. Over it.

Geto, dusting himself off, glares.

Toji grins.

Gojo lunges. Arms wide, absolutely determined to be the one who drags you home like a victorious cryptid.

BLOCKED!!! AGAIN!!!

Nanami intercepts and swings his hunting club with the force of a father disappointed in all of humanity.

Gojo ducks, cackling—only for Geto to casually trip him with a well-placed foot.

Toji, sensing an opening, grabs you.

Bad move.

You bite him.

HARD .

He yelps. Actually yelps . Stares at you, deeply offended.

Sukuna, bored of watching, finally moves.

The air shifts. The others freeze. Then he snarls—a guttural, earth-rumbling sound that promises death.

They all turn on him at once.

You take the opportunity to run again. Sprinting through the thick foliage, heart pounding like a war drum.

Behind you pure, unfiltered male ego gone feral.

Gojo swings from tree to tree like a prehistoric monkey, whooping and laughing. “OOGH! OOGHAAA!” This is the best day of his life.

Nanami moves with hunter efficiency, gaze locked on you like you’re the most troublesome prey he’s ever pursued.

Geto is nowhere to be seen, which is worse because he is waiting, plotting. Probably already set a trap.

Toji’s laughing. He thinks this is a game.

And Sukuna is gaining.

You hop over a fallen tree trunk. Panting. Twisting. Dodging.

A hand grabs your ankle.

You kick it.

Hard .

Gojo yelps. “OOGH?!”

Suddenly—Geto’s arms snake around your waist. Secure. Steady. You barely have time to react before—

Toji, out of nowhere tackles him. Like a rival apex predator.

You fall —

Right into Nanami’s arms.

He sighs. Shakes his head like you’ve personally disappointed him on a spiritual level. Then, without a word, swings you over his shoulder.

“ Hmph .”

Gojo screeches. Sukuna grins. Toji growls.

The fight is not even close to be over.

Because the only thing stronger than a Neanderthal is his ego.

You are smart. You bite Nanami’s ass.

He gets startled and drops you.

You are fast. You immediately run.

You are not going down without a fight.

But the problem?

Nanami is faster.

You weave through trees. Vault over logs. Chuck random rocks behind you in a desperate attempt to slow the brute down. You dive into a bush, hoping to vanish like an endangered species.

Then—a strong hand grabs your ankle.

“OOGH.”

Translation: Bad Woman!

You shriek, kick, bite—anything to get away.

Then just swings you back over his shoulder like you’re a misbehaving sack of mammoth meat.

Not again.

“BOOGA.”

Translation: Come Cave, Baddie.

You screech. Twist like an eel. Sink your teeth into his shoulder.

Nanami does not flinch. He has suffered worse.

You grab his hair, yank —

He grunts. Approvingly .

Before you could grimace, Gojo, having recovered from his previous embarrassment, swings in from a tree like some kind of prehistoric tarzan.

Again.

“OOGA BOOGAAAH!”

Nanami side-steps.

Gojo slams face-first into a boulder.

(Instant death? Maybe. No time to check.)

Geto appears from the shadows, attempting a silent takedown.

Nanami, without looking, swings his club backward.

CRACK!!!

Geto crumples like a defeated cave possum.

Toji, the bigger problem , lunges in, all muscle and violence.

You cheer. “OHUAOFF!!”

Translation: Yes! Kill each other!

Nanami, unfazed, puts you down and ducks Toji’s first punch, sidesteps the second, then grabs his wrist and yeets him into the river.

Toji does not resurface. Natural selection.

Then, just as you think you're free—a new challenger approaches.

Sukuna’s eyes lock onto you. Hungry. Territorial.

Sukuna snarls, lunges—

Nanami does not argue; he simply knees him in the stomach mid-air.

Sukuna chokes on his own grunt, stunned—but he does not give up.

They brawl. Fists flying. Bodies colliding. Dirt flying as prehistoric dominance reaches its final showdown.

You, watching from the sidelines, are in awe.

Then—

Nanami grabs a massive rock and smashes it over Sukuna’s head.

Silence .

Sukuna drops. Unmoving.

Rocked out of existence by Nanami’s sheer caveman dominance.

One victor.

One mate.

You blink. Nanami dusts off his hands.

You take this moment to run.

Nanami sighs, like he expected this. He lets you go for a solid five seconds before simply jogging up behind you and grabbing you again. He holds you by the waist—grip unyielding, muscles flexing like they’ve been carved from stone.

“AUGHH.”

You start screaming. Flailing. Kicking, biting, pulling out all the stops. You summon every ounce of Homo sapien intellect you have left to escape this prehistoric grip.

You poke him in the eye.

Nanami grunts. Blinks once and gives you a single disappointed look.

Then, without hesitation—the club comes down.

BONK!!!

Slamming against your head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Darkness.

You, unfortunately, have lost. To the superior Neanderthal.

You wake up in Nanami’s cave. Wrapped in Nanami’s furs. With Nanami’s large, muscled arm trapping you in place.

You blink at the fire crackling nearby.

Nanami, victorious, is already roasting meat over the fire like he didn’t just commit mass homicide for your affection.

He looks down at you.

And smirks .

“Booga.”

You groan. You have lost.

But what’s worse than losing?

The fact that Nanami smells really good.

Like, really good. Like moss and firewood and a hint of leather that somehow makes your brain forget all the reasons you hate being in his cave in the first place.

And as Nanami effortlessly flips the meat over the fire, his muscles glistening in the warm glow, you become acutely aware of just how broad he is—and suddenly, you realize:

It’s throbbing for him.

A/N: And there we have it! You survived the cavemen chaos! 🦖💥 This came to me while I was showering for some reason. I hope you enjoyed watching these ridiculously over-the-top Neanderthals fight for your attention. If you made it this far, you're either a true JJK brainrot survivor or just really into prehistoric aggression & questionable decisions (same). 😏 Don’t forget to leave a comment if you’re still laughing at Gojo’s tree-swinging antics or if you, too, are secretly falling for Nanami's primal charm. Also, who would you pick—cave buddy-wise? I’m personally Team Nanami, but we can all dream about the chaos of having them all, right? Reverse modern day patriarchal society by Reverse Herem, anyone?? Catch you in the next wild ride—maybe with fewer rocks to the head... or not. 🤷‍♀️ Stay strong, stay ridiculous, & remember: you’re the real apex predator here. 😈🖤

Next Chapter because ya'll loved it so much - Ooga Booga Gojo tries to Court you (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[mahalachives]

Part 2: Plot Twist: You're All Fictional

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Genre: crack humor, drabble, minor az x reader (bcus why not)

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

You had been in Prythian for exactly one week, and it was time to address the most pressing issue of all.

These people didn’t know they were in a book series.

You discovered this terrifying fact over dinner, when you accidentally let it slip that Feyre’s “entire life arc” hit harder than your student loan debt.

Feyre paused mid-bite. “My what?”

Cassian looked up, suspicious. “What did you say?”

You blinked. “Uh. Your... life arc. Like, the plot. The narrative. The emotional beats? No?”

Nesta slowly set down her fork. “Why does she sound like Gwyn when she’s two poems deep into a wine night?”

So naturally, because you had zero impulse control and no concept of self-preservation, you decided to fix the situation.

By holding a book club.

You gathered the entire Inner Circle in the House of Wind library and dramatically unveiled the stack of ACOTAR books Mor had helped you recreate with a little Illyrian smuggling and Helion’s glamour spells.

“Welcome,” you declared, arms outstretched, “to your unsolicited literary awakening.”

Rhysand eyed the books like they were cursed. “You’re telling me someone… wrote down our lives?”

“Multiple someones,” you said solemnly. “And then sold them. Worldwide.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked. “So strangers know... everything?”

You nodded. “Everything.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning. “Even about-”

“Yes, Cassian,” you interrupted. “Even that.”

He fist-pumped. “Nice.”

Feyre picked up A Court of Mist and Fury, frowning as she flipped through the pages. “Why does this make me sound like a YA protagonist with trauma and a painting fetish?”

“Because you are,” you said helpfully.

She blinked.

Nesta grabbed Silver Flames and skimmed a few pages before muttering, “Well. This is uncomfortably accurate.”

Cassian peeked over her shoulder. “They really wrote that scene? That scene?”

Nesta smirked. “Word for word.”

Rhysand was halfway through A Court of Frost and Starlight when he scowled. “Why does this one feel like filler?”

“Because it is,” you and Nesta said in perfect unison.

Mor, gleeful, held up Wings and Embers. “Wait-does this mean Cassian is officially a simp?”

“Yes,” you said. “Certified. Trademarked. Embossed in gold.”

Cassian threw a pillow at you. “And what about you? Are you in these books?”

You shrugged. “Sadly, no. I am but a humble interdimensional interloper. However…” You dramatically pulled out a custom-made novella cover with YOU x AZRIEL: Mating Bond Mayhem printed on it in shimmering Night Court silver.

Azriel stared at it like it personally offended him.

“Please tell me that isn’t real,” he muttered.

You winked. “It is in my heart.”

Rhys flipped open A Court of Thorns and Roses, reading aloud. “He was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen.’”

You leaned in. “Yes. And that’s Tamlin. Remember him?”

Rhys dropped the book like it burned. “Unclean.”

Feyre giggled.

Nesta snorted.

Even Azriel’s shadows flared like they were trying not to laugh.

Then Elain, who had been quietly reading in the corner, finally looked up.

“I like this version of me,” she said softly.

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “You… what now?”

Elain held up A Court of Silver Flames, pointing to a scene where she verbally eviscerates Lucien. “I like that I get mad. That I have feelings. That I say things.”

Cassian whispered, “Oh gods. She's awakening.”

Azriel looked genuinely alarmed.

“Elain,” Feyre said slowly, “you’re always allowed to say things.”

“I know,” Elain replied, deadly calm. “But now I have dialogue.”

Mor cackled.

Nesta looked like she’d been waiting years for this. Rhysand leaned over to Feyre and whispered, “Do we… encourage this?”

You stood and raised your hands. “Friends. Fae. Chaos incarnate. I have one final proposal.”

Cassian perked up. “Does it involve more books?”

“No,” you said gravely. “It involves us starting a book club.”

Rhys groaned. “We live the events already, why would we-”

“Because,” you interrupted, “it’s different when you know spoilers.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Spoilers?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know who your mate is?”

Everyone froze.

You turned dramatically toward him. “Spoiler alert: It’s me.”

Azriel turned and walked away.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled after him, “I HAVE FANFICS TO PROVE IT.”

He didn’t stop.

But Elain, flipping through A Court of Mist and Fury again, murmured, “Wait… what’s fanfic?”

And you smiled.

Because Prythian wasn’t ready.

And neither were they.

To be continued.