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may-stuff · 12 hours ago

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a friend in need. - fc43

summary: you've been best friends for almost your entire lives. who is he to deny you some help when you need it the most?

warnings: afab!reader, masturbation, oral sex (m), dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie || typos and grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language and I'm a little stupid. also, this isn't great in any way so please don't be mean, thank u.

word count: 6.6k approx.

a/n: please please please, if you read this and you like it at least a little bit, please interact with it. If I don't get notifications I die 🥀

In the loneliness of your bedroom, you can't help but let your mind wander. Surrounded by shadows that seem to whisper his name in your ears, you get engulfed in the reminisce of him and almost every moment you've shared together.

Behind your closed eyes you can see his beautiful face, his hair that smells so good, his hands and those long fingers that have touched you in a friendly way countless times before but tonight, tonight you remember those interactions from another perspective, in a new light.

Not everything is about his physique, though. The brightness of his smile that could light up an entire room, his laugh and the sound of his voice- everything about him is perfect, even the imperfections. You also think of his moody, short answers in the morning when he's still sleepy; you think of his frown and the look in his eyes when he's angry for something or at someone, and even that seems like undeniable proof of a kind of beauty you've never seen before in anyone else.

Your feelings for him, you realise now, go beyond everything; but tonight, in the quiet of your own room and with the knowledge that you'll never be more than his dear, best friend, you decide that setting your imagination free won't hurt anybody. He doesn't have to know, you don't even have to say his name out loud.

Only in your mind. His name echoes in every part of your conscience as you imagine. You imagine him in situations that you're sure you'll never see him in. You imagine him kissing you, both softly and then roughly, as if he were trying to consume all of you. Your mind shows him on top of you, his clothes gone, his lips on your skin and your name coming out of them in a plea.

The visions in your head are so clear that soon your own hands are exploring your body. First, they travel up and down all through your abdomen, making you feel goosebumps at the thought of how good this would feel if it only were his hands on your skin. When you reach your breasts and cup them in your hands under your shirt, you can't help but to moan softly, even more when your fingers pinch your nipples that, in result, become impossibly hard in a matter of seconds. With the image of his beautiful lips wrapping around your hardened peaks, painting them with his own saliva, you feel that familiar pressure in your lower abdomen. That sensation that comes with the arousal that becomes physical and pools in the deepest parts of you, coating your underwear more and more with each second that passes and he's still in your mind, touching you, making you feel better than any man has ever done before.

In the complexity of the mind, a deep feeling of guilt presses onto your chest. You know this is wrong, you know this isn't what you should do when you think of your dearest friend, but you can't help it. You can't avoid the feelings and the images in your mind. It's like a film that won't stop playing over and over; it's a bunch of images of him on top of you, inside of you, whispering the filthiest things right in your ear. It's him telling you how divine you feel around him, how much he loves being buried deep inside of you. It's his voice moaning and grunting, face hidden in the curve between your neck and your shoulder.

It's your hands caressing his back and your nails digging into his flesh every time he moves inside you, the lewd sounds of his cock sliding into your hungry pussy filling the room and, in response, making you more needy.

In the real world, your left hand has already reached your underwear. Your fingers come in contact with the wet spot right above your slit and you moan softly to the knowledge that you've become this wet only because he is in your mind. And as the guilt hits you once again, trying to drift your mind away from the pleasure that the thought of him gives you, you decide to go against it.

He will never know about this.

That thought is decisive. Your shirt and underwear are gone in a matter of seconds, and when you feel the soft air coming in from the window and touching your skin, you shiver. You wish he would be here, his natural warmth engulfing your body and soul, making the sadness and loneliness go away. But you're alone in your empty house- and even if he were here, he wouldn't be where you want him to be.

With the crude reality put in the back of your mind, your fingers finally travel down to where you need attention the most. Feeling your own dampness, you let out a deep sigh. No one has ever made you this wet, not even yourself. All of this is thanks to him, because of him. The fire in your veins, the need to feel pleasure, the need to cum, all of this intensity is due to him and his face engraved in your mind.

That's why you can hear his voice so clearly in your head the moment one of your fingers finds its way inside of you. The familiar intrusion feels good but it's obviously not enough, so it isn't surprising that a second finger adds to the first in a matter of seconds and this time you feel fuller. You feel fuller and needier, because now you're realising that nothing will be actually enough, because what you need isn't a matter of size, it isn't a matter of how and how much; it's about him. It's all about him.

About his face and his hands and his voice. About your own fingers trying to find the right pace as you can almost feel his lips on your skin. It's about you and the need to say his name even though you know that you shouldn't, because if you do, it'll become real. The shameful thought that you want your best friend in ways that you shouldn't, will become true if you say his name out loud.

But you can't help it. Your fingers inside of you feel good enough to make you whimper and mutter words that don't make sense. They're enough to fuel the images in your mind and you can't take it anymore. So, against your will, his name leaves your lips and you feel some sort of relief with it, because now your needs have claimed his name as their own. Your lust has a name now, and you can't stop saying it.

“Franco.”

It comes out in a soft plea at first, loud enough so only you can hear it. But it doesn't take much time or effort for you to continue further, saying it louder and louder each time your fingers enter your cunt again. Soon the room is filled with your pleas and cries that almost sound like you're in pain, because in a way you are, but his name falling from your lips over and over are enough to cover them up. Or at least that's what you think.

You would have heard the front door opening and closing if you were paying more attention to your surroundings. You would have heard the voice calling your name once, twice a second later and then the steps getting closer to your room. You would have had time to cover yourself and come up with an excuse if you weren't so lost in your own mind and body. That's why the only thing that brings you back to the present, to reality, is the light that bathes your face when your bedroom's door opens.

Everything happens so fast that you're sure you won't be able to recall this memory in the near future. Or maybe you will, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life.

Once your eyes get used to the light that has suddenly corrupted the darkness in your room, your heart starts beating fast with horror.

He's standing there, at your door, and the expression on his face is quite difficult to decipher. At his complete mercy, you're fully naked, laying on your bed with your legs wide open and your hands on your cunt; one of them with fingers buried deep inside you while the other is resting a little bit higher, just above your clit. Your chest is rising up and down with the heavy breathing that the pure terror and shame have triggered. Eyes wide open, mouth agape, you're frozen in the spot, unable to say a word, unable to act.

The tension in the room is cut when he says your name, and maybe you're imagining things, but his voice sounds strangled.

Then, after some seconds, he mutters it again, your name. This time you're sure he's shocked with the scene in front of him but not entirely disgusted.

The fear and guilt that had taken over you vanish almost completely when you see the expression on his face. Your eyes have adapted to the shining light coming into the dark room, so now you can see him more clearly, and the strange glint in his eyes is enough to make you think that maybe, just maybe, something good can come out of this situation.

Franco's eyes are wide open for a few shocking seconds. Then, when his brain processes the image before him, they start roaming your body. Bright green eyes observe your chest, bare tits and hardened nipples that seem to get even harder under his gaze. The valley between your breasts is covered in sweat and, in a strange way, that makes them look even more appealing. Your stomach, then, is a zone that perhaps you feel a little concerned to show too much but his expression doesn't change at any stop his eyes make on your body. He admires every part with the same intensity, with the same look of bewilderment in that gorgeous face.

He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible groan when his eyes reach your lower stomach and your legs, long and thick. His mouth agape when, in a sudden movement full of boldness, you open them a little wider and let him see more. He's standing to your right, so he can't see all of you properly, but he can see enough and, by the expression on his face, he's loving every second.

The absence of a negative reaction on his part emboldens you to act. Your hands, as if they were separated entities from the rest of your body, resume the earlier activities. Two of your fingers find your clit at the same time your left hand grabs one of your breasts. A sigh leaves your lips at the sudden contact and the fact that Franco is watching your every move makes a wave of pleasure hit you hard. You're aware that you're starting to put on a pornographic show for your best friend and, honestly, you're enjoying it maybe too much.

This is the first time you've seen him so focused on something. All those times he told you he struggled with his own attention span, you should've known that being naked in front of him, touching yourself for him, would be all he'd need to keep quiet and focused. That's why you chuckle when your eyes find him again and you see that his gaze is still fixed in your body.

The sound, a mix of a giggle and a moan, make him look at your face.

"Franco." You moan his name for the hundredth time this evening and rejoice when you actually see him shiver at the sound of your voice. "Please, please help me." You whimper, your own fingers pumping in and out of you faster each time. Harder. "I need you."

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and you know that he's fighting against something, against the fact that, if he gives in, everything will change. You will be friends no longer, because friends don't do this, friends don't want each other in such a way. But you do, and both of you know it. You both also know that, if you act on your shared desire, then when the moment is over you'll probably be in a limbo, trying to figure out what comes next.

But Franco actually doesn't care about the after, he almost never thinks too much before he acts. He lives the moment. You know that and your knowledge gets reinforced when he opens his eyes again and walks towards you, closing the door behind him. In response your heart flutters with excitement.

Your fingers leave you and go up to rest on your lower stomach when he reaches your side. He's standing at your right, and this time you realize that he's looking at you in the face, looking for your gaze. When your eyes finally meet again, you can read a question that is answered with a nod of your head.

You want this. You want this so bad.

Franco's left hand caresses your hair first. His long fingers intertwine in your locks and for a moment you close your eyes to enjoy the innocent touch that, in a different situation, would get you to sleep. But the grip becomes a bit firmer and now he's tugging on it so your head can move to the side again, that way you can meet his eyes. As his hand leaves your head and travels to your soft cheek and then your lips, you don't stop looking at each other.

A gasp leaves your throat when his thumb sits on your lower lip, and then he puts it inside your mouth, gently enough to give you time so you can reject him if you want. But you don't, you would never.

Soft lips wrap around his finger. Franco's reaction to the feeling of your tongue against the pad of his thumb in an almost imperceptible moan. The sound is low, coming out from the centre of his chest through gritted teeth, and it is the first time in the night that you feel some sort of pride fluttering inside you. The simple fact that he's reacting like this to the first physical contact with you is enough to make you act even bolder than before, and you keep sucking on his finger while looking him in the eyes.

Franco smiles almost tenderly before the tone of his voice becomes twisted.

“Who would've thought…” he mutters, still looking at you. “That you were such a desperate slut, huh?”

The sound you make in response to his words is almost inhuman. You're desperate and he can hear it in the tone of your moans, that are still muffled by his finger inside your mouth.

“All these years…” he continues, voice feeling like velvet on your heated skin. “You were always such a good girl. Always the one to behave properly, wise beyond her years, or at least that's what all of them said, your family and mine… What would they think of you, (y/n)?” Franco asks, the mocking tone coming back. You squirm on the bed as you take his finger deeper and hollow your cheeks, imagining his cock in its place.

“What would they think of you, (y/n)?” He presses on. This time, you look up at him. “If I told them about this. How I found you naked on your bed, fingers deep inside your soaked cunt while moaning my name like the fucking little whore you are. What would your family say? And mine? Should I let them know how much of a slut you're?”

You almost cry when he takes his finger off your mouth.

“Answer me.” He commands. ��Should I let everyone know?”

“If it pleases you.” You answer, voice sounding a little hoarse because of the previous activity in your throat.

He smiles.

“Is that what you want? To please me?”

You nod, fully conscious that you're making yourself look desperate- and actually you are. His mere presence, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne and the fact that he apparently wants you as much as you want him is enough for you. You're more than ready for him, for all of him, and Franco knows it.

He knows it because it's written in you. All over the expression on your face and the way you open your legs for him when his right hand travels all the way down to your knee, and stays there, not moving back but neither further, torturing you silently.

“Please.” You whisper. “Fran, I need you.”

It's funny, though. You're the one who's ready to please but you also are the one who begs. You've been actually begging him to touch you since the moment you saw him standing at the threshold.

Franco wishes you could read his mind and know that he's waited for this moment for a long time. He's wanted you since the moment you met, all those years ago. First, it was an innocent crush, that was all a child could offer, of course. But since you both grew into yourselves and he started to discover the world and other people- Franco had been with enough people to know that none of them could compare to you, even if he hadn't laid a hand on you yet. Something about you, about your aura, about the strong pull he felt towards you every single time you were in the same room, would assure him that nothing, no one, could compare to you.

And now you're here, right in front of him, begging. The sound of your voice is almost haunting, like you're in deep pain. He could ask himself over and over again if this is the right thing to do, but in all honesty, he doesn't care about that. He only cares about you and the painful desire you make him feel even when he hasn't touched you properly yet.

Besides, if you really need him as you say, if you're in pain as you sound, who is he to deny you his help? Isn't he, after all, your best friend?

That thought is all he needs to vanish his worries to the darkest pit of his mind.

“Are you really sure about this?” His voice cuts the silence once again. The eager nod coming from you makes him smile. “I need words, love.”

“Yes.” You answer almost too fast. “Please, Fran. Please. I can't wait anymore.”

He curses under his breath because he honestly can't believe it. He's amazed by your eagerness and so fucking turned on that he feels like he's going to cum right here and now.

So, to avoid that, Franco doesn't waste any more time. Before you can blink twice, he's undoing his trousers and underwear, pulling them down as his hard cock springs out. You moan at the sight of it. Long and thick enough to make your mouth literally water, standing proud and impossibly hard against his shirt, almost staining the fabric with the precum that pools at the angry red tip. It's beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your cunt hurts with the anticipation of feeling it in you.

After taking his shirt off, Franco's right hand travels down to his dick, grabbing it with a firm grip before pumping it a few times, smearing his own juices all over his length, which makes it look even more appetizing.

You wait in your place on the bed, observing the small show of him touching himself for a few seconds until his right knee sinks on the mattress, right beside your shoulder. Then, his left hand goes to your hair, under your head, lifting it and adjusting it in the right way so the head of his dick is now right on your lips. He traces them with it, as if he were painting them.

“So fucking perfect.” He whispers. In response, you let your tongue lick around the head of his dick, coaxing a deep moan out of him. The first contact with his skin is delicious but now you want more, so much more. And apparently he feels the same.

“I'm gonna put it in your mouth. Is that okay, baby?” He asks. You make a sound that it's a mix between a whine and a moan as you nod for the hundredth time in the night. “Gonna suck my cock until I cum down your throat?” You almost jolt in excitement at that. “Yeah? You want my cum?”

Your answer sounds against the skin of his dick, which you keep licking. “Yes. Yes, please.”

That is the last thing you say for a few minutes, right before he presses the tip against your lips again and this time you open your mouth wide enough to take him in. The way Franco moans at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth is pornographic and you thank the Gods for that, the fact that he's always so vocal about everything and this situation is not an exception. Actually, his moans are all the fuel you need to keep going. The taste of him too. Everything about him makes you take him deeper inside your mouth every time he pulls almost all the way back, fucking your face faster and harder as the minutes pass by.

The grip on your hair becomes tighter as the sounds of your throat being fucked fill the room. You gag only two times, when he pushes all the way in and holds his dick in the deepest part of your throat he can reach, your nose pressed against him and saliva falling down your chin and neck. Every time he pulls out, you take a second or two to gather your breath but soon enough he's at it again, and you receive him without any complaint, relaxing your throat all you can as he keeps filling it over and over again.

The intensity and pleasure of it all becomes almost unbearable and soon you're pressing your thighs together, trying to ease the almost literal pain you feel. Franco sees it, attentive to your body even though a great part of his mind is clouded with the sweet abandon of pleasure. So, for a few seconds, he eases the grip on your hair so you can start doing most of the work now, because his right hand travels from your knee to your inner thigh, and it isn't long until you can feel his fingers in your cunt.

Both of you moan at the feeling. You, because the pressure of his fingers on your slit ease the pain you've been feeling; him, because you're so fucking wet that, when he starts massaging your clit, your juices are so abundant that the movements he makes leave a loud, squelching sound behind them.

“You're soaked.” He moans, still inside your mouth and touching you at the same time. “Is this because of me, love?”

The answer is obvious to both of you, but you answer anyway, “Yes.” You say, a hoarse voice can barely be heard above the sounds of your cunt. “Yes, it's because of you. Always.”

Franco smiles, “Do you always touch yourself while thinking of me?” You nod and this time he laughs. It doesn't make you feel bad because it isn't a mocking laugh, it's like he can't believe it. “Same. You have no idea how many times I've made a mess while thinking of you.”

As his velvety voice keeps sounding in your ears, he keeps massaging your clit, faster as the seconds go by.

“I've imagined you in every position.” He mutters. “I've made myself cum so many times, thinking of your sweet mouth and cunt wrapped around me, milking me as many times as we wish.”

He's realized from the first moment that dirty talking is one of your weaknesses, and lucky you, he loves saying naughty things, so he keeps doing it as he massages your clit and smiles triumphant when your legs start trembling and you look at him with an expression on your face that he will never forget. Glassy eyes look up at him as your teeth sinks into your lower lip; your orgasm is close and everything about you says so.

When you try to close your eyes, his hand immediately slows the pace on your clit. You frown.

“What-?”

“You keep looking at me.” He commands. You want to yell at him, but his movements become fast again and the sweet pressure on your lower belly comes back. “You look me in the eyes as you cum or I won't do this again, you understand?” You nod. “Words, (y/n).”

“I- fuck, I understand!” You moan as his fingers keep working you on at an impossible pace.

Not many seconds pass by until the first orgasm hits you hard. Your eyes are still on his; your entire body trembling as the most lewd sounds leave your throat. The simple act of having an orgasm while looking at those beautiful green eyes is enough to bring tears to yours. The pleasure is too overwhelming.

When the best seconds of your life so far end, your body relaxes and Franco pulls both his hands away from you, letting you rest on the bed. The fingers that worked your clit are now in his own mouth as he sucks them clean. The sight makes you moan.

“Delicious.” He says, coaxing a giggle out of you. “What?”

“You're crazy. And so fucking hot.”

Franco smiles and shrugs.

“You know me.”

“Not like this, no.”

“Oh, this? This is nothing, love.”

You frown, “You gave me the best orgasm of my life by simply touching my clit and you call it nothing? It never felt like that before.”

“I mean, it's not my fault that your previous lovers were fucking idiots.”

You smile.

“And you're what, some sort of sex God?”

“That I am.”

A genuine laugh escapes your lips. You laugh at his smug words and at the entire situation. Everything is so- surreal, in a way. It's almost comical. But the sound dies in your throat when you realize the way he's looking at you. He's not mad or annoyed, he just looks like he's discovered something new in you, but if he did he doesn't say it out loud.

Soon, when you've recovered from your orgasm, you realize that Franco's still standing by your side and his dick is still impossibly hard. You remember his previous words, about sucking him off until he's cumming down your throat, and you feel the fire inside you light up once again. Your right hand wraps around his dick without a warning and he hisses, but he doesn't pull you away, instead enjoying your ministrations.

“Not right now.” He says after a minute or two, as if he's reading your mind. You're sure, though, that he's actually reading the expression on your face as you jerk him off. It's clear that you want him to cum. “Not like this, I won't last long.”

You stop. Then, looking into his eyes, you open your legs for him once again.

“Come here, then.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, he's standing at your feet; both hands reach behind your knees and they pull you towards him.

In a silent agreement, both of you take your time to look at each other. He's lucky enough to have you like this- completely bare before him, body glistening with sweat due to the previous activities, pretty face with an expression of utter pleasure as you anticipate what's coming, unconsciously opening your legs further, letting him fully see you. You're out of this world, so beautiful that it almost hurts. And he isn't so far behind- you also think he's the most handsome man you've ever seen, with those eyes scanning every piece of you, his curls sticking to his forehead and, oh, such a pretty face. His body is something else too- the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, the shape of his arms, his hands. You take his hands in yours for a moment, squeezing them, praying this isn't the last time you feel them on you.

You're both so mesmerized with each other that your bodies seem to move with their own consciousness, and that's why you share a loud moan when he enters you for the first time.

It feels like nothing you've experienced before. You can't decide what is it that makes him so different from other people you've been with, but surely, there's something that makes Franco feel like heaven. He stays still for a few, long seconds because he's just realized that he penetrated you without warning and in a single movement, and even though it's obvious that you're ready enough to receive him, he doesn't want to hurt you.

What he doesn't realise is that you're in pain once again because you need him to move and put an end to this feeling, this primitive need to have him just fucking you hard and deep. And that's what you finally ask from him, without shame, without guilt.

“Please.” You beg once again. “Move. Please, move. I need to feel you.”

You're sure you're about to cry but the tears get stuck in your eyes when Franco complies and starts moving his hips. It's slow at first, like he's testing the waters, but when the only thing you do is moan softly and writhe under him, crying for more, his hands leave yours and travel to your hips. Once he's sure his grip on your flesh is firm enough, he accelerates the pace, and starts pumping into you with a force that has you almost screaming.

Soon you start moving your own hips, meeting him halfway and making the experience a thousand times better, if that's even possible. The feeling of his dick inside you, so fucking deep, is more than anything you've ever felt in your life.

The room is filled with the sound of your skin against his, and the musky smell of sex intoxicates your senses. You've dreamed about this moment for so long that it feels surreal- his hands on your hips, his cock deep inside you and his eyes roaming the entirety of your body, all of it feels so out of this world and you love every second. You love it so much that you feel drunk with pleasure and something else that you can name yet.

Franco grins at the sight of your eyes, glassy with tears that you're soon to shed. A deep feeling of pride fills his chest.

“Look at you.” He taunts, never stopping his movements. “You were made for this, weren't you? You were made for my cock, for me.”

You nod and moan, unable to form a full sentence as his pace becomes impossibly fast and hard- it's almost too much and the thought of asking him to slow down crosses your mind for a split second, until his hands travel up from their place on your hips to your breasts, and your brain almost shuts down.

“Gonna enjoy these later, I promise.” He chuckles as his long fingers start kneading the flesh of your tits. When he pinches your nipples, the moan that leaves your throat is almost too much, but you don't care. It feels too good to hold back.

You relish on the feeling of his fingers on your hard nipples until his right hand stops its ministrations to start roaming the skin of your left side, your waist, all the way back down to your hip and then- then you feel his fingers on your clit again, massaging it with expertise. You can't help but throw your head back as a deep moan leaves your throat.

“Fuck, yes.” You moan, almost hysterical. “So good, so good- oh my-”

Franco chuckles again and then says, in a mocking tone, “You're so dirty, (y/n). You really-” his words are suddenly interrupted by a strangled groan as you tighten your walls around him. Your warmth hugging his dick in a way that has him literally losing his balance and almost falling on top of you, and he would've crushed you if his arms weren't strong enough to keep him hovering over you.

His face contorted in an expression full of sheer pleasure, he looks so good with his eyes closed and mouth agape, desperately trying to hold the moans in.

You're the one who chuckles this time.

“Too good, huh?” You tease him, your cunt tightening around him once again. He groans and hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Can't take it, baby? Too much for you?”

Franco moans again and then you hear him whisper.

“I'm gonna make you- you will pay for this.”

You giggle softly.

“I think I'd like that.”

All resolve leaves him when you make your magic again. The feeling of your cunt hugging his dick so tightly is enough to make him lose his mind and almost all control. His movements become messier as they get faster, you feel him twitch inside you once, then twice. You hum at the feeling, caressing his back and nape, then intertwining your fingers with his messy, wet locks.

“I'm close.” He moans, the sound muffled by your skin.

“I know, baby. Come on, cum for me."

“You first.”

For a moment you think your words are enough, but apparently they aren't. In a second, Franco seems to take back control of the situation when he suddenly breaks away from your arms, kneeling in front of you just like before- his hard, throbbing dick still deep inside of you. You're about to ask him what's going on but then his long fingers are on your clit again, and you answer by throwing your head back in a loud moan.

Franco keeps working on the most sensitive part of your body as he starts moving again, in and out, at a torturous pace that has you writhing on the bed. Your eyes fill with tears again and he smiles.

“Cum for me, love.” He encourages through gritted teeth. You know he's holding his own orgasm back by fucking you slowly, and his will certainly impresses you. “Please, do it. Cum all around my cock.”

How would you deny him? When he looks so good fucking you, working on your clit like this isn't the first time. How would you deny him anything when this is all you've ever wanted?

So you let yourself go. Your second orgasm hits you harder than the previous one, sweet cunt gushing all around him, soaking him and the sheets below you. Your moans are almost pornographic and you feel him twitch inside you at the sound of them.

In the electric explosion that takes over your entire body and mind, you feel him crawling back on top of you, like he was just minutes ago. His face hiding in your left shoulder again as his hips keep fucking into you aggressively, making your climax last longer than expected.

“Look at me.” You moan in his ear and your body trembles with the sound of a deep groan coming as a response. After a few seconds of you repeating those words, he lifts his head to look at you, forehead pressed against yours. “Cum inside of me and don't stop looking at me as you do it.”

He chews on his lower lip.

“I-inside?” You nod as much as you can. “Fuck, (y/n).”

“Please, I need it.” You moan against his mouth, your eyes on his. “I need your cum.”

That last sentence is accompanied by his name and the way you moan it's all it takes for him to finally let go. The sounds Franco makes when he's cumming deep inside of you are never going to leave your memory, and you wish, right here, now, that you have the opportunity to hear them again many times from tonight. The sight of him is beautiful too- brows furrowed, eyes desperately trying to stay open and that pretty mouth shaped in an O form. His cheeks are red and glistening with the sweat that's covering him, as well as the tip of his nose.

As he empties inside of you, you keep caressing his back, leaving goosebumps behind your touch. His skin shivers with the feeling, still making little sounds that will haunt you forever.

He pumps into you two or three times more, still filling you with his release, that soon you start feeling overflowing your cunt, falling down your ass and on the sheets. You wonder if he always cums this hard, and the idea that he might not, that you're the only one that makes him feel like this, it's exciting.

After some long seconds he stops moving his hips but is still buried deep inside of you. His face goes back to the crook of your neck for the second time and you smile as you feel his hot breath on your skin and then a kiss, then his teeth grazing the spot and sinking into it.

“That's gonna leave a mark.” You moan.

“Good.”

You stay like that for minutes that feel like hours, in each other's arms, your skin sticking to his due to the sweat that you both share but you couldn't care less. It feels too good, everything about it feels too good and none of you make an attempt to break away from the other.

Franco knows, as well as you do, that this has been an event that will change everything forever. Some part of you is afraid of what comes next- a hundred questions flood your brain but the main one is the one that haunts you the most. Was this a one night stand?

You're about to gather the courage to ask him when he lifts his head to look at you, forehead against yours again. You look him in the eyes and, for a moment, you think that the green in his gaze gives you the answer you so desperately need. But in case you needed confirmation, he decides to speak it out loud.

“I wanna do it again.” He simply states, and you feel your chest full with happiness. “Like, forever. I really mean it.”

You giggle in response and you feel the tears that you've been holding back slowly falling down your cheeks. Franco kisses them away as soon as he notices them.

“You liked it that much?” You ask as he keeps kissing your face. He stops for a moment to answer, his lips moving against your jaw.

“Yeah. But I like you, all of you.” He says. “And I want you so much it hurts.”

“I want you, too.”

He smiles shortly before capturing your lips with his, and you realise that this is the first time you've ever kissed. People are supposed to kiss before having wild sex, but who cares?

All you care about is Franco and his pretty lips on yours, moving with such confidence and expertise that leave you breathless. You can feel everything in that kiss, it feels like he's trying to say all those things that he thinks it's too soon to say yet, but you answer him with the same intensity, making him tremble in your arms.

His kiss says that he loves you too much to let you go, and you tell him that you feel the same.

a/n2: hope you liked it! pls let me know what you think ♥

#may writes #.#franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto smut #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fic #franco colapinto imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 smut

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promptedwordsmith · 2 days ago

Note

I asked this request with someone else so you mayy or mayy not see the same request somewhere else. Depends on if you or the other person does write my request. It’s alright if you don’t wanna, write want you wanna to write. I just need this idea out of my system 🤣

MC is indicted that she is powerful. Good fighter, powerful evol where she can practically borrow someone else evol and the core in her heart. She much weaker for an unknown reason at the moment. But what if she wasn’t for a brief moment? 👀

What if MC physically fights the LaDS men without holding back 👀 like a scenario where a new wanderer shows up, puppets her or something, forcing the LaDS men to defend themselves. I need the angst and drama 😂 where the men are like “I don’t want to hurt you but you’re going kill me at this rate if I don’t do something.”

This keeps floating in my head, someone save me 🤣

OK soo I hope this is what you meant and it wasn't just me completely misunderstanding but the second I read this I just had to get started omg

I usually really don't like the whole "I'm going to save you by playing on our connection" trope but it suits this sort of story I think!

Caleb

The battlefield was silent. Not the kind of silence that came from peace, but the suffocating, eerie kind—the moment before the storm.

Caleb stood at the center of it, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, violet eyes locked on you. Or at least, the body that belonged to you.

But you weren’t there.

The moment the Wanderer had latched onto you, sinking its unseen claws into your mind, he’d known something was wrong. You had stiffened, your Evol flaring wildly for half a second before your entire stance changed. That was the first warning. The second had come when your gaze lifted to meet his—not with recognition, not with warmth, but with something empty.

And then you had attacked him.

His own gravity turned against him—the weight around his body fluctuating so rapidly that he nearly lost his footing. That alone had confirmed his worst fear. The Wanderer wasn’t just suppressing your will—it was using your Resonance against him.

You had stolen his Evol.

And now, he had to fight you.

But he couldn’t.

Not really. Not the way he fought others.

His hands clenched at his sides as he dodged another blast of gravitational force, feeling the way the air twisted and compressed around him. You were strong. Stronger than he had ever let himself acknowledge.

His mind was at war with itself. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back—to win—but the part of him that had spent lifetimes protecting you? That part was already losing.

Because how could he fight you, when all he wanted to do was save you?

You lunged forward, eyes still vacant, but your movements were clean, precise—yours, but also not yours. You weren’t just mimicking his power; you were enhancing it. His own gravity was being amplified, warped, turned into a weapon against him. It took everything he had to avoid the sudden shift in force, barely managing to stabilize himself before he was slammed downward with bone-crushing weight.

The ground cracked beneath him. His knees buckled.

Caleb grit his teeth.

If this had been anyone else—any other enemy—he would’ve ended this fight by now. But it wasn’t. It was you. And for the first time in his life, he was afraid.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of what he might have to do to stop this.

He tried to speak, voice raw. “You have to fight it.”

You didn’t respond.

You only lifted your hand, and the world collapsed inward.

The force struck fast—so much stronger than he expected, so much more precise. His body strained against the gravity pressing down on him, the weight overwhelming. If he had been anyone else, he would’ve been crushed.

And that’s when the realization hit him—this is what you feel.

Every time you resonate with him, every time you borrow his strength, every time you fight beside him, this is what your body endures. The sheer force of his Evol, amplified within you.

He had never really thought about it before. Never truly grasped just how much you took on when you fought at his side.

And now? Now that power was against him.

His arms trembled as he forced himself up. “I know you’re still in there.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “I know you can hear me.”

Nothing.

His mind raced. He needed to think. He needed to find a way to reach you—not hurt you, never hurt you—but how?

His vision blurred at the edges. The gravitational pull you were using was unlike anything he had ever faced. Not even he had pushed his power to this extent before. His body screamed for relief, his Evol struggling against itself.

But then he saw it.

The slight hesitation. The way your fingers twitched—just barely, but enough.

It wasn’t the Wanderer controlling his Evol. It was you.

Somewhere inside, you were still fighting.

That was all he needed.

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, shoving aside hesitation, pain—everything. His hands shot forward, fingers splaying wide, and for the first time in this fight—he didn’t resist your gravity.

He let it pull him in.

The instant he got close enough, he grabbed your wrist, forcing your Evol to connect with his. Forcing Resonance.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment your Evol touched his, he poured everything he had into it. Not just power. Not just control. But himself.

His memories. His thoughts. The lifetimes spent together.

The way you had always brought him back from the edge.

The way he had sworn to protect you—not just in this life, but in every life.

And then, for the first time, you hesitated.

A sharp breath escaped you, your entire body jolting as if something had just slammed into your mind. Your grip on your own power wavered—just enough for Caleb to take control.

Gravity twisted.

Not violently. Not in a way that would hurt you.

But in the way he always held you.

Steady. Unshakable. Safe.

Your body swayed, your breath stuttering, and then—then—your eyes flickered.

Your real eyes.

Not the Wanderer’s empty gaze.

Yours.

Recognition flashed across your face, confusion, panic—and then the force holding him down snapped.

Caleb barely had time to react before your legs gave out, and he caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you, his Evol still steadying your weight.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your breath was warm against his shoulder, your body trembling in his arms. He could feel your heartbeat—erratic, unsteady, but yours.

And that was all that mattered.

The fight was over.

He pressed his forehead to the side of yours, his grip tightening, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

A shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform. “I…” Your voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No. Don’t.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes burning. “You came back. That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, he realized something—something that had been clear all along, but he had never let himself truly accept.

You weren’t just his partner.

You were his equal.

And no matter what, no matter how hard it got, he would always pull you back to him.

Rafayel

The battlefield was ablaze.

Not with fire, but with chaos.

The air was thick with smoke and embers, Rafayel’s flames flickering and dancing wildly across the ruined ground. Yet, despite the searing heat, his hands trembled. His chest ached—not from exhaustion, not from injury, but from the sheer horror of what was happening.

Because it was you standing against him.

And it wasn’t you at all.

Your eyes, usually filled with warmth, were void of emotion. Your stance, once fluid and graceful, was rigid—unnatural. The Wanderer who had taken over your body had turned your Resonance against him, amplifying his flames, twisting them, making them stronger in ways he never intended.

And now, that power was aimed at him.

A burst of fire roared toward him, faster than he could react. The heat seared his skin as he barely managed to throw himself to the side, landing hard against the dirt. His breath came out ragged as he quickly pushed himself up, his eyes locking onto you once more.

"Damn it..." he whispered, swallowing hard.

He couldn’t fight you.

But you—no, the thing inside you—had no such hesitation.

You lunged. Faster than he expected, stronger than he remembered. And maybe that was the worst part. He had always known you were powerful, but now? With your Evol fully unleashed against him, amplified in ways he never thought possible, he realized just how devastatingly strong you truly were.

And he had never feared your strength before.

Not until now.

You moved like fire itself—wild, relentless. Each attack forced him to retreat, to defend, to dodge, rather than strike back. He couldn’t. Even as his instincts screamed at him to fight, to survive, his heart refused to let him lift his hands against you.

"Come on, Rafayel," a voice that wasn’t yours taunted from your lips, hollow and mocking. "Is this really all you’ve got?"

Another wave of flames erupted toward him, this time crackling with an intensity that made his stomach twist. He barely managed to counter, his own fire surging up to meet yours, but the moment the two collided, yours consumed his completely.

His eyes widened.

His own fire.

It didn’t even stand a chance.

"Shit—"

The explosion sent him flying backward, slamming into the side of a crumbling building. He gasped, pain shooting through his ribs. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the helplessness clawing at his chest.

He had to think. Had to find a way to get through to you.

But how?

If he tried to burn the Wanderer out, he’d be burning you.

If he held back, he’d die before he got the chance to save you.

He gritted his teeth.

No. There had to be a way.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto you again—his love, his muse—possessed and wielded like a weapon against him.

His hands clenched into fists.

"I know you’re still in there." His voice was hoarse, desperate. "I know you can hear me."

But you didn’t answer.

The Wanderer tilted your head, smirking through your lips. "That’s sweet," they mocked. "But pointless."

And then you attacked again.

Faster. Stronger.

You disappeared in a flash of heat—only to reappear behind him. He barely turned in time to block the hit, his forearm crashing against yours. The sheer force of it made his bones rattle. Then came another, and another—strike after strike, relentless.

And Rafayel could do nothing but defend.

Not because he wasn’t strong enough.

But because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt you.

Think, damn it!

The answer came in a flicker of memory.

Your Resonance.

You borrowed the power of others, but it was a two-way connection. If he could reach that part of you—if you were still in there, buried deep beneath the Wanderer’s control—then maybe, just maybe, he could pull you back.

But he had to get close.

Close enough to touch you.

Close enough to take a direct hit.

It was a gamble. A stupid, reckless gamble. But he was running out of time, and there was no way in hell he was going to lose you.

So, he let go of his defense.

Dropped his guard completely.

And when you lunged at him again, aiming straight for his heart—he didn’t move.

The moment your hand made contact with his chest, he reached out. Not with his fire. Not with his fists.

But with his Resonance.

A connection.

A tether.

Through the blinding heat, through the searing pain of your touch, he focused on you—the real you, trapped beneath layers of someone else’s will.

"Come back to me," he breathed. "Please."

For a moment—just a flicker—something changed.

Your body froze.

The grip on his chest loosened, fingers trembling against his shirt. The flames flickering in your eyes wavered—just for a second.

And in that second, he poured everything into the link between you.

Your Evol, your power, the resonance that had always bound you together. He reached for it. Pushed his own power into it. Made it something bigger, brighter, than the darkness that held you captive.

"You’re mine," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours despite the heat. "Not theirs."

The Wanderer shrieked.

The connection between you burned.

And then—

A scream tore through the air. Your body convulsed, and suddenly, the fire turned inward.

Not his. Yours.

Flames erupted around you, swallowing your form in a wild blaze—brighter, hotter than anything he’d ever seen. And then—

Silence.

When the flames finally died, you collapsed against him, body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps.

But your eyes—

Your eyes were yours again.

"Rafayel..." Your voice was weak, hoarse, but it was enough.

His breath hitched, arms tightening around you as he pulled you close, pressing desperate kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he could reach.

"You scared the hell out of me," he whispered, voice shaking. "Don’t you ever do that again."

A weak laugh left your lips as you buried your face against his chest. "Not exactly something I planned, you know."

He let out a breathless chuckle, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

You were back.

And he would never let you go again.

Sylus

The night was warm, but Sylus felt nothing but cold.

He stood across from you, his crimson eyes narrowed, his breath steady—but his heart pounding.

You weren’t you.

Not really.

A Wanderer had taken your body, stolen your will, and twisted it into something unrecognizable. The way you moved—precise, calculating, almost inhuman—was proof enough. Your usual grace had been sharpened into something unnatural, something colder than he could stand to see.

He had fought countless enemies before. He had cut down traitors, eliminated threats, and broken those who dared to stand against him. But this?

This was the first time his hands trembled before a fight had even begun.

You raised your hand, palm out, and Sylus braced himself. A flicker of energy crackled around your fingers—his energy, twisted by your Resonance Evol.

The Wanderer inside you smirked.

“Your hesitation is touching, Sylus,” they said, your voice not quite right. “But it will be your downfall.”

Then, with a flick of your wrist, the world ignited.

A blast of pure, searing energy surged toward him—his own power, amplified and turned against him. He barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side as the ground where he once stood erupted in a violent shockwave.

Damn it.

He knew your Evol made you powerful, but now—now—he was realizing just how dangerous it was. With your Resonance, you weren’t just using his ability. You were enhancing it. Making it faster. Stronger.

Making it better than he ever could.

Sylus exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself.

“Darling,” he said, his voice calm despite the ache in his chest, “if you wanted a fight, you could’ve just asked.”

The Wanderer inside you laughed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You were always going to lose.”

You lunged.

Sylus barely dodged in time, his coat billowing as he twisted away. Another blast of energy, another near-miss. He felt the heat graze his cheek, singeing his skin. Tch. That was his power. Amplified. Used against him.

And worse?

He still couldn’t bring himself to attack you.

Because even though your body was moving against him, even though you were fighting with deadly precision—it was still you.

And the thought of hurting you was the first thing in his life that truly terrified him.

But this was no longer just about him.

He had to get you back.

Sylus moved with purpose, dodging, analyzing. He needed a plan—a way to break the Wanderer’s hold without breaking you.

But the problem was you were making it impossible.

You weren’t just strong—you were devastating. Every attack came faster, sharper. His own Evol, when amplified by yours, was far more than he could handle. It was overwhelming, relentless.

A pillar of energy surged forward. He braced, crossing his arms as the impact slammed into him, forcing him back. He barely stayed on his feet, his boots skidding against the cracked ground.

You’re too strong like this.

And that realization—it shook him to his core.

He had always known you made him stronger. Had always known that together, you were an unstoppable force.

But now? Now that you were standing against him instead of beside him?

He wasn’t sure if he could win.

And worse—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“Come on, Sylus,” the Wanderer taunted through your lips. “You always plan for every possible outcome, don’t you? You must’ve thought about this scenario.”

He clenched his jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

A smirk. “Oh? You really mean to say you never once imagined what would happen if your pretty little Resonance Evol turned against you?”

Sylus said nothing.

Because the truth was—no.

He had never imagined this.

Because in every scenario he had ever planned, in every possibility he had ever considered—

You were always with him.

The next strike was the closest yet.

A blast of energy—too fast, too precise. He barely managed to counter, the force sending him stumbling back. He could feel the bruises forming beneath his clothes, the sting of burned skin where your attack had hit.

And still, he hesitated.

“Why won’t you fight me, Sylus?” the Wanderer hummed, tilting your head. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said simply.

The Wanderer clicked their tongue. “Oh, but I’ll hurt you.”

You raised your hand again.

And Sylus knew—this time, he wouldn’t be able to dodge.

But at the last second—you hesitated.

It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Sylus saw it. A flicker of recognition. A second where your body tensed—but your fingers curled inward, as if trying to resist.

You were still in there.

Sylus inhaled sharply. That’s it. Hold on, darling. Hold on just a little longer.

If you were still there, he could reach you.

He just had to risk it all.

So, instead of dodging—

He stepped forward.

The Wanderer sneered. “Giving up already?”

Sylus didn’t answer.

He just closed the distance—and grabbed your wrist.

The moment his fingers closed around your skin, he poured his energy into you.

Not to fight.

Not to hurt.

But to resonate.

If your Evol worked through Resonance, through matching the energy of those around you—then all he had to do was flood you with something stronger than the Wanderer’s control.

And there was nothing in this world stronger than his need to bring you back.

Your body stiffened. The energy in your hand faltered, flickering unsteadily between raw power and something uncertain. Your breathing hitched.

Sylus tightened his grip.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, his voice commanding. “I know you’re still in there.”

For a second—nothing.

Then—

A sharp gasp.

Your eyes, wide and yours again for just a moment, locked onto his. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A violent shudder wracked through your body.

Sylus didn’t let go.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice a whisper, but carrying the full weight of his soul. “No one else gets to have you. Not them. Not anyone.”

A strangled cry tore from your throat. The Wanderer fought—but Sylus was stronger.

Because he knew you.

He knew your energy, your heart, your soul.

And no matter what—nothing could ever make him let you go.

The moment the Wanderer’s hold snapped, you collapsed against him.

Sylus caught you immediately, cradling you against his chest, his arms locking around you like a vice.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, weakly, you whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

Sylus let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You should see yourself, darling. You made quite the mess.”

You gave a weak chuckle. “Guess that means I won?”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

Then, softer—

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You nodded against his chest, and Sylus knew—

No matter what happened next, you would never fight alone again.

Xavier

The world around you spun. The cold, sterile air of the facility clung to your skin, and your heartbeat pounded against your chest as though it wanted to break free. You could feel the weight of your body, but it felt distant, as if you were no longer fully in control of it.

Your breath quickened as the world distorted, everything around you slipping out of focus. The pain in your temples only made the sensation worse, a sharp jolt of nausea sinking into your gut. It was as though your entire being was split in two, and one of those halves was being pulled in a direction you didn’t want to go.

You fought it, clenching your fists in an attempt to regain control, but it was no use. The foreign force inside you took hold with an iron grip, seizing every inch of you, weaving itself into your core until it became you. The invasive presence swirled within, a dark, malicious energy.

There was a flash of movement—Xavier. His silver hair caught the light, and his blue eyes found you with a look of deep concern. His steps faltered as he came closer, his gaze narrowing, confused. But the moment you met his eyes, the clarity of what was happening hit him all at once.

“No,” he whispered. The word trembled from his lips. “No, no, no…”

It was you. It was your body, but not your mind. Not your will. You weren’t in control anymore.

You were a prisoner inside your own skin.

“Xavier!” you tried to shout, but the voice that came out of your mouth wasn’t yours. It was cold, detached, and devoid of all warmth. A hollow echo of what you had once been.

Xavier’s eyes widened as his instincts kicked in. He knew you. He knew you, and this was wrong. This wasn’t the person he’d fought beside, laughed with, shared so many quiet moments. This wasn’t the person who’d trusted him with their heart, body, and soul.

But you weren’t completely gone. He could see it in the way your lips trembled, the subtle flicker of emotion beneath the cold mask the Wanderer had woven over you. But it wasn’t enough.

You were still trapped, still in that dark corner of your mind, but the Wanderer’s will was too powerful.

The presence inside you stirred, pushing against your resistance. Xavier took a careful step forward, his hand raised in a calming gesture, as though trying to reach the real you beneath the enemy’s control.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Just fight, okay? Fight it, please. I’ll find a way to get you back, I swear.”

But you didn’t respond—not with your words, not with any recognition of him. The enemy within you was far more cunning, pushing you forward, taking control of your every movement. You could feel it sinking deeper into you, exploiting the part of your mind that resonated with Xavier’s light. The resonance you shared, once a source of strength, now became a weapon against him, turning his own power into something he had to fight against.

It was then you saw it: the horrible realization in his eyes as he looked at you. He couldn’t bring himself to harm you, not even to defend himself, not when he knew what you’d become.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands, but you saw the struggle in his gaze. The anguish was raw, suffocating. He was trying to figure it out. He was trying to find a way to save you both.

The resonance between you and Xavier, the bond that had always strengthened you both in every situation, now felt like an anchor pulling you deeper into a sea of chaos. You could feel his power around you—surging, lighting up the space—but now it was a threat. A threat that made you feel like you were suffocating.

“No,” you whispered, fighting with every ounce of your being to reach him. “Don’t… hurt… me…”

But the Wanderer inside you wasn’t willing to let go. It twisted your body, forcing your hand up, and you could see Xavier’s eyes flicker with the realization that you were about to hurt him.

With a sudden surge of power, the resonance inside you flared to life—Xavier’s own Evol, manipulated by the enemy, twisted around you, harnessed into a blinding ball of light. The space around you erupted, and Xavier was forced back, his own power ripping through the air to fight against yours.

“Xavier—!” you screamed again, but the voice that came out of your mouth was filled with malice, not your own.

You didn’t know if he could hear the real you anymore. You couldn’t even feel the pulse of his Evol flowing into you as it used to. He was too far away now. He was so far away.

But Xavier didn’t back down. Even as the ball of light surged toward him, he didn’t flinch. His Evol blazed brighter, trying to counteract the resonance that had been corrupted. He didn’t understand it entirely, didn’t realize the full depth of what was happening—but he could feel you. He could feel that you were still somewhere in there, buried beneath the surface.

The battle raged on, your body moving against your will, fighting against Xavier. Every strike he blocked only caused him more pain. His own power—the very light that had once been his most treasured ally—felt oppressive, draining. He was fighting with everything he had, trying to reach you, but you were so far gone.

Xavier’s voice cracked with pain. “Please… come back to me.”

In that moment, everything froze. Time seemed to stretch as you felt the pulse of his light reach out, gentle yet forceful, like a lifeline in the storm. He wasn’t giving up. He refused to give up on you.

Somewhere deep inside, something inside you stirred.

The Wanderer’s control over you flickered, just for an instant. And in that moment, you were able to reach him.

You couldn’t speak, but you tried—your hand, shaking and weak, reached out toward Xavier. You were trying to call him back, trying to fight the darkness that had consumed you. But the Wanderer still lingered, still pressing down on you.

Xavier saw it—he saw the fight in you. He saw that you were still there.

And that was enough.

“Hang on,” he whispered, his voice full of promise and pain. “I’ll get you back. I swear I will.”

His Evol flared one last time, combining with the resonance that had always existed between you. This time, your light—the one that connected you both—fought back the darkness with a power neither of you had ever felt before.

The battle raged between the two of you, but this time, Xavier’s light pushed through the darkness, finally forcing it back. Your own resonance fought through the haze, giving you control once again.

And as you regained yourself, breathless and broken, you saw Xavier before you—his blue eyes filled with relief, but also the weight of everything he had just fought against.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he pulled you close, holding you tightly as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. But even through the pain, there was nothing but tenderness in his touch.

Zayne

Zayne could feel the cold creeping up his spine long before he saw you.

The battlefield was a chaotic mess of fractured ice and broken stone, an eerie quiet hanging in the air. You had been acting strange earlier—off, distant—but he never could have predicted this. Never could have anticipated what was coming.

Your eyes were distant now, completely blank as you stood across from him, an uncharacteristic stillness in your posture. A thick chill hung in the air, and the normally comfortable bite of his ice Evol now seemed like something far more dangerous—like something hostile.

“Y/N…” His voice was tentative, unsure. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew you. Knew you better than anyone else. So, why were you standing there, so calm, so detached?

You didn’t respond.

A dark energy, one Zayne couldn’t quite explain, pulsed beneath the surface, swirling through the air like a storm, wrapping around you. It wasn’t your power—he could sense that. But what came next? That, he hadn’t expected.

You raised your hand. Your own power—Resonance—flared to life, but it wasn’t the soft, gentle way it usually did. It wasn’t amplifying his power, it wasn’t supporting him like it always did. No. This time, your Resonance vibrated in sync with Zayne’s own ice, amplifying it and twisting it to your will.

And with a sudden burst of energy, Zayne watched in horror as his own ice began to materialize around you—not as defense, but as a weapon.

It was his Evol, the one he had honed and perfected for years, the one he trusted more than anything. And now, it was being used against him. His own creation.

“Y/N!” He yelled, his voice strained with both disbelief and desperation. But you were too far gone, the energy in your eyes too overwhelming.

Without warning, you thrust your hand forward, and the ice surged at him with the force of a tidal wave. Zayne barely had time to react, his body moving on instinct as he threw up his own defenses, sending a surge of ice to block the incoming attack. But it wasn’t enough.

You were using his own power against him. Every movement, every strike was amplified by your Resonance, making the ice you conjured stronger, faster, sharper. He barely managed to dodge one attack as the ice flew past him, slicing through the air and leaving deep gashes in the ground. His heart raced.

“I won’t hurt you…” Zayne muttered to himself, his hands shaking as he summoned more ice to defend himself. He could barely keep up with you now. It wasn’t just the power, it was the control. His Evol had always been something that was intrinsically tied to his soul, his emotions, but now, in your hands, it was alien, a force completely out of his control.

And worse—he didn’t know how to fight you without hurting you. The thought alone tore him apart.

You stepped forward, the ice swirling around you like a storm. It rose from the ground, wrapping around your body like armor, and you moved toward him with terrifying speed, your eyes fixed on him with a distant, eerie look.

Zayne didn’t want to fight you. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

With a cry of frustration, Zayne shot a beam of ice at you, but you deflected it effortlessly, sending shards of his own ice right back at him. One piece grazed his arm, leaving a trail of blood beneath the frozen surface. He winced but didn’t let up, his gaze locked on yours as he took another step back.

"Please," he whispered, voice ragged with emotion. "You have to fight this."

But you didn’t respond, didn’t show any sign of recognition. You just continued to move toward him, the ice in your hands growing more elaborate with each passing moment. A large block of ice shot at him with blinding speed, and Zayne barely managed to dodge it, but he was starting to feel the weight of the battle. His own powers were being turned against him, and he couldn’t keep up.

His breath came in shallow bursts, and his mind raced. There had to be something he could do, something to stop you from using his own Evol against him. He needed you to break free from this—needed you back.

His eyes searched the ground for something—anything—that could help, but all he could see was the snow and ice he had created. Your resonance, your amplification of his ice, was making everything around them feel like a frozen prison.

Then it hit him.

You were using his ice, yes, but you were still you. There was still a trace of your presence beneath the surface, beneath the coldness and the power you now wielded. The way your movements weren’t just about destruction, but about something else—something familiar.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: He could still reach you.

Zayne closed his eyes for just a moment and focused, pulling at the ice around him, not in anger or fear, but with something deeper—something he had never relied on before. He wasn’t just using his Evol for defense. He wasn’t trying to trap or fight you.

He was trying to connect.

A wave of ice rippled through the battlefield, but it wasn’t just a defense. It was a gesture, a soft and delicate thing, like the ice seals he had carved for you when you were children. He called upon the memory of that moment, the warmth in the act, the love behind it.

Slowly, carefully, he shaped the ice into something, a symbol. A seal. A small ice sculpture, just like the ones he had made for you all those years ago. It was perfect. Beautiful. Simple.

The ice seemed to slow around him, the energy flickering. He could feel it—the resonance between the two of you, so faint now, but it was still there.

He placed the ice seal on the ground, hoping that this small act would remind you of who you were.

"Please," Zayne whispered. "Remember me."

The ice around you hesitated. The coldness seemed to crack, breaking apart like a frozen surface thawing in the warmth of the sun. You froze in place, your hand trembling as you reached for the ice seal he had created for you.

For a long moment, nothing happened. But then—slowly, so slowly—the coldness in your eyes began to melt, replaced by a softness he had longed to see again. You dropped to your knees, gasping as the power began to drain from you, leaving you breathless but you.

Zayne’s heart swelled as he rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Zayne allowed himself to breathe. The battle was over. And you were back.

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supercimi · 12 hours ago

Text

This drabble is inspired by this art by @dharmaart

Old friend

The passing times and years has taught me, many lessons.

Some cruel, other kind, all the time, every time.

There was always a lesson to be taught, be it with people, places, plants and especially with animals.

Although, I wouldn't know what any of it looks like, but I learned to guess its shape. However much I could

My hands would cradle every inch. Sometimes, I would hug what I could, if simply to gauge its size.

This method proved great with people and animals, but. It was pretty useless with some plants and constructions

Flowers felt incredibly soft while trees felt incredibly harsh, but much like constructions, I couldn't make out their proper size nor shape

Also, I can't gauge how big a house is by hugging it! I'm no giant!

But, what made me the happiest, is how easy it was to picture you my friend.

Your long mane and stout back, your goofy face and lively ears.

Although we couldn't speak the same language, I got you, and I felt that you got me as well.

Learning how to care for you was pretty hard, but not harder than getting to know you.

All those puzzling brushes you needed were nothing compared to your mischief!

Whenever I would pat your back, you would simply move until I was patting your head!

And whenever I needed to pick your hoofs, you would keep pulling them back every five minutes!

My dad told me that since you learned you could pull it back from me mid grooming, there was no stopping you from that trick, and he was right!!

Still, despite all those challenges, I cared for you myself!

At first, I needed someone to guide me through it, but time after time, I slowly got the hang of it, even if I couldn't see a thing.

All my life, I lived in dimmed night, I couldn't grasp any shape no matter how the others describe it to me, even when I cradled or hugged or touched whatever they described, it was simply a vague fog to my mind,

The only thing i could picture, is you.

Maybe it was all those times i needed to brush your mane, or the many times i walked by your side on the grounds, or even the playful moments when you would roll on the ground and gently tug me to your side.

Somehow or someway.

I knew how you looked like,

I was never someone to dabble in creative stuff, especially drawing, but just for today, i decided to draw how i pictured you to be.

As hard as it proved to be, I also found out how easily you come to mind. It made the process a little easier on my clumsy hands.

Even if i never saw you, even if i can never touch you again,even if we can't play together again.

In this piece of parchment, your memories will always stay. And last but not least, thank you, old friend.

For staying with me all this time, for trotting around with me all this time, it's okay now, it's alright now.

I still can't fathom having a partner other than you, but... little by little, I'm moving on

In my heart, i still pray that someday, a maybe far away someday, or who knows maybe a very near someday?

I pray that we meet again

Maybe then, i will be able to actually see you. To play with you and hug you, to give you all the scratches that you so love.

For all eternity, but, until then.

Goodbye, old friend.

A study of a horse drawn with pencil on paper

#drabbles #writing

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!! I’m your new follower and honestly your fics are so good 🥺 I love the “these damn stairs” one and I wonder if u could write part 2 because shy reader and gentle super friendly Remus trope is the best heh.

Thank youuu for following ❤︎

Here is part 2 to 'These damn stairs' and there will be a part 3 because I can't just let it end here :) Might be a few days before I'm able to post part 3 because I got some really good requests in my inbox that I want to get to!

'It's a date'

Remus Lupin x reader

2.2k words

cw: fluff

Talking to Remus still felt like you had the eyes of the school on you. This meant that it was Remus who talked first. You would give him a small smile or a wave when you passed him on your way to a different class, but it was always him who came up to your desk before or after a class you had together. It was him who still came to sit with you at lunch; your friends warmed up to him quickly and proceeded to tease you about him when he was gone.

You continued to study with him too. He’d wait for you outside the library before walking with you back to the small table from that first study session. With every passing day, you slowly began to be more comfortable in his presence. You were able to hold a conversation with him. It was a slow growing friendship, but it was growing.

“You’re sure you don’t mind studying with just me?” you had asked once, worrying that he missed all of the attention that he used to get in the library because he was smart and nice.

He just smiled at you, leaning toward you to say, “I really don’t mind. I’d rather work with you over anyone else.”

That left you blushing for the rest of your time in the library that evening. Remus always knew what to say to get that blush to reappear. More often than not, you would leave your encounters with Remus with a pink face and racing heart.

You were thrown off when you showed up to study with Remus on Saturday and he wasn’t waiting for you outside the library. You considered waiting for him to show up but decided to check inside just in case. You found him sitting at a larger table with his friends. There were open chairs on either side of him with the other three boys on the opposite side of the table. The sight sent your mind spinning as you tried to remember the conversation when you discussed studying today. You didn’t recall him mentioning the rest of the Marauders would be there. Plans must’ve changed.

You headed toward a different table, your usual before you started sitting with Remus. You didn’t want to interrupt their “Marauders Study Session.”

However, as soon as he saw you, Remus called you over.

“You know James, Peter, Sirius, yeah? Hope you don’t mind they came today. I’m afraid they need the extra push to get stuff done.”

You do mind but god forbid you say something and make a scene. So you nodded and sat down next to Remus. You attempted to keep your things more consolidated than you usually do. You didn’t want to encroach on Peter’s or Sirius’ space. It took you longer to fall into your studying groove with the entirety of the Marauders at the same table as you; you’re positive that anyone and everyone passing by is confused by it. You felt like an outsider intruding on something sacred. It didn’t help that every time you looked up, you swore at least one of them was looking at you or Remus. You’re a bit uncomfortable. It’s not like you’ve ever really talked to any of them.

“So, erm, how long has this been a thing?” Peter asked after you caught your eye from across the table.

A thing? What on earth did that boy mean?

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve been studying together for a little over two weeks,” Remus said, shooting you a quick smile.

Oh That’s all.

Remus’ answer made the question make more sense. You supposed it was a thing that Remus was studying with one person rather than a herd of girls and essentially playing teacher. You berated yourself for thinking that Peter had meant something more.

“Right, studying,” Sirius said with a smirk.

Nope. What?

You pursed your lips together and train your eyes on your assignment. That is what you had been doing with Remus. That’s all you’ve been doing.

“Shut it, Padfoot,” Remus warned.

He glared at his friends. He had warned them ahead of time to be nice to you, to try not to scare you off. He knows you are shy and more reserved. He didn’t want to cancel studying with you so that his nimrod friends didn’t fall behind on their own assignments. But now, he was beginning to regret inviting them.

Remus reached for a small scrap of parchment and scribbled on it, “Don’t worry about them” before sliding it into your view. You took notice of it and nodded. He lowered his head to get into your view as well. He raised his eyebrows as if asking that you’re okay. You drew a simple smiley face on the parchment. He nodded and returned to his own assignment. With both of your heads bowed in focus, you missed the shared look between the other three boys. You were able to get some work done. The lingering feeling of eyes on you was impossible to shake. You tried to think of a reason why they would be so interested in you, but you kept coming up short. Well, not completely. You had ideas, but each seemed more ridiculous than the last and one was just downright hopeful.

“Is it true you started talking because you got your foot stuck in that damn step?” James asked as he closed a book he was using for his Herbology assignment.

“Prongs!” Remus hissed as your face turned beet red.

“Uh, I guess?” you said meekly.

You tried not to think about that embarrassing day, even if it did lead to your first real interaction with Remus. It wasn’t a moment you wanted to relive.

“Must’ve been some fall though,” James continued, despite the glared daggers from Remus. “Certainly got our boy’s attention.”

Remus’ face was beginning to turn red as well at this point. He really, really wanted James to stop talking; it was at the point where he was debating Silencio.

“Oh? What… what do you mean?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

Sirius snorted a laugh. “Sweetheart, you should hear how much he talks about you.”

Your eyes went wide. You weren’t sure what you had expected but it wasn’t that. It took a second for the words to fully sink in. Remus talked… about you? Often? With enough frequency that his friends made note of it? Is that why it felt like they kept staring at you? They were just trying to figure out what Remus found so intriguing about you?

You turned to see Remus holding his head in his hands. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Remus?”

A horrible thought crossed your mind: What if this was all just a prank on you and Remus was collateral? What if he didn’t actually talk about you and now he’d have to admit that?

He ran his hands through his hair before looking at you. His face was bright red, highlighting each scar that ran across his nose and cheeks brilliantly.

“Can we talk privately? Before I murder these gits?” he asked you in a low voice with pleading eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you breathed, standing up and waiting to follow Remus through the shelves.

He led you further than you would’ve expected from the table. You assumed that he really didn’t want the boys overhearing whatever you were going to talk about. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. Maybe he thought you were going to cry at what he was going to say and didn’t want to do that near them.

“I think we’re far enough. No hearing extension charm they’re capable of reaches this far,” he said, leaning back against the wall with some kind of effortless allure.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

You stood a few steps away from him. If something was going to go down, you wanted to have some space between you.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” he said as he watched you with cautious eyes. “Usually their teasing doesn’t get to me this bad.” He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Are they teasing you about being friends with me?” you asked, your chest filling with dread.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to brace for the worst. Remus was popular. He was so well-liked. He was so good with people. And you liked to stay out of the spotlight. Some people thought you were a little standoffish, but so be it. You could see where his friends were coming from.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders. And you looked up to see Remus’ warm eyes.

“They are teasing me about being just friends with you,” he said softly.

You rolled your lips against each other. What did he mean by that? Just friends?

“Because I do talk about you a lot. I practically only study with you. I go out of my way to cross paths with you so I can see your smile. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I stare at you from across the Great Hall when I don’t sit next to you.” He paused for a moment to see if you had any reaction yet. “And this is going to sound mean, but I’m so glad you fell on those stairs. It brought you into my life.” He waited again. “Please say something, love.”

“Okay,” you said as your cheeks tinged pink. “So they aren’t making fun of me? This isn’t some kind of prank?”

“No. It’s not a prank. The only one being made fun of is me because I wanted to wait longer.”

“Wait longer for what?”

“Listen. I meant it when I said you are pretty. I meant it when I said I don’t want to study with anyone else. I mean it when I say I can’t get you out of my head. I just wanted to wait longer to be sure… sure that you’d say yes. Sure that you like me.”

You tilted your head.

“Of course I like you, Remus.”

“But as more than friends? Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

Your breath hitched. Had Remus just said a bunch of sweet things about you? Yes, and it made your face feel hot. But it was the question that really sealed the deal. He wanted to be sure that you’d say yes.

“I’d really like that.” You broke into a wide smile. “You thought I wouldn’t say yes?”

Remus let out the breath he was holding and mirrored your smile. He pulled you into a tight hug before answering.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time we studied together. I didn’t want to move too fast. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump you or something.”

You laughed into his chest and he slowly let you go.

“So all of that back there, that was them being tired of listening to you pine?” you asked.

“Seems like it. I told them to be nice to you, but I guess I didn’t tell them to be nice to me.”

“I mean, I’d say it was pretty nice of them to get you a date,” you said teasingly.

“I’m still the one who asked!” he tried to defend himself.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, but would you have asked if they weren’t here?”

“Not today, no. Maybe in another week or so. I told you, I was waiting to be sure.”

“For a smart bloke, you really should’ve known that if you asked me out on the stairs, I would’ve said yes.”

“Wait, what?” He looked down at you in surprise.

“Merlin, I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s part of what made falling into the stair so mortifying.”

“Those damn stairs, right?” he chuckled as you started walking back to the table. Then he cleared his throat. “So, Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“It’s a date.”

The three boys were working when you returned. When they looked up, they had matching looks of anticipation on their faces. Neither of you said anything as you sat down and started to work. Without speaking, you seemed to agree that you weren’t going to say anything unless they asked.

“So?” Peter asked. “Did Remus grow a pair?”

“Always had a pair, Peter,” Remus said dryly.

“Moony,” he whined before turning his attention to you. “Did he… you know?”

“Well, she might not know. Because if he didn’t, how would she know?” Sirius said.

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.

“What if he did and she said no? That’d be something,” James mused. “Although I don’t think they’d be so… content? Peaceful? Somber? Pleased-looking?”

“But wouldn’t they both look much happier if he asked and she said yes?” Peter asked.

“Oi! We are right here,” Remus interjected. “I asked. She said yes. You are to stay away from us in Hogsmeade. Now, work. I want to see finished essays.”

“Our boy became a man!” Sirius said, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Padfoot. Essay. Now,” Remus commanded before shooting you a wide grin.

You could tell that he was pretty proud of himself too.

tags: @allformoony, @oursweetmoony, @moonyswifee

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin

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causenessus · 3 days ago

Text

comforting you. | bungou stray dogs

inc. chuuya, dazai, ranpo, odasaku

written is second pov (no gendered pronouns used)

"you deserve this." by men i trust

word count: 4.6k words

notes/warnings: separate scenarios for each bsd man and how they comfort you when you’re feeling down, giving you both love and realistic advice. i feel like i bounced between writing generalized headcanons and hyperspecific scenarios, so i’m sorry but i hope you enjoy this <3 each of you is deserving of so much love and patience <3 you deserve to be here <3 each pairing is in an established relationship. also (relevant for odasku’s scenario), the orphans are still alive. my writing my universe. i'm actually beastzai in another au where everyone lives and is happy and everything is okay. use of pet names "sweetheart" (chuuya scenario) "angel" (dazai scenario) and "love" (oda). general hurt/comfort drabbles :) lmk if I should add anything! i would NOT consider this proofread because I read it half-asleep at midnight trying to edit it so forgive me for any mistakes 🙏

special shoutouts to @dorotheasdiary + @aouzi for hyping me up/listening to my rambles abt this work!! sorry for the tag </3

chuuya.

sometimes the urge to give up became too strong.

was it too much to ask time to stop for just one day? it seemed all your pleas to the sky were falling on deaf ears.

still, as all things do, you eventually lost the motivation to keep pushing forward on your own.

like a runner who trips upon a small pebble and can’t get back into their pace, slowly, slowly falling behind the others.

the one difference was that you had come to a complete stop. you'd never allowed yourself a break until you were completely burnt out; unable to move even a muscle.

you haven’t even made it out of bed the whole day.

the room was starting to feel sick and stuffy with how long you’d laid in those sheets that no longer seemed to provide any comfort. rather, you felt like you were simply dirtying the sheets by continuing to lie there, purposeless, useless.

you barely had it in you to call out of work before drifting back into a mundane sleep that you continued to wake up and fall back into for the better half of the day. you hadn’t looked at your phone after sending a quick text to your manager, unprepared for whatever kind of passive-aggressive response they'd messaged back with because of your late notice. the unknown was too much right now, you couldn't focus on anyone you couldn't read but yourself. you didn’t want to be around friends, family, or people out on the street, where your mind would run rapid laps around itself, trying to figure out what everyone thought of you.

at work, it was the same; sizing yourself up to your coworkers, figuring out how well-liked you were— how replaceable you would be if one day you suddenly up and dropped, or, more likely in your mind, you annoyed everyone enough that they let you go.

never really knowing what others thought terrified you. obviously it wasn't the norm despite living in a world filled with those gifted with abilities to be able to read another's mind but that didn’t mean your mind could simply let the anxieties go. your head always seemed to be buzzing, preoccupied with concerns about something.

which is why you had tried to block everything out, the moment you woke up this morning and every rustle of your legs tumbled in the sheets was too loud for your ears; a playlist of music on shuffle played softly from your phone nearby, giving your brain something mindless to focus on while you had your head pressed between pillows to deafen out the rest of the world.

you didn’t feel any better or any energized despite how much you had slept today, but at the very least, sleep often took you away from constantly having to listen to whatever your mind wanted to rave and overthink next.

'what time is it? have i even gotten up once today? i should at least walk around. clean up. i'll never be motivated to get out of bed like this—' there your head went, taking one simple question and turning it into spindles of chains to wrap around your throat.

but when you feel the mattress sink beside you, suddenly everything goes quiet. the sheets become just sheets again–not something you’re sinking into or dirtying. someone has opened the curtains, revealing an orange sunset outside, and something nice is playing from the speaker of your phone, you realize.

he is the only one who doesn’t make your head spin. he is your grounding anchor, the gravitational force keeping your feet planted on this earth, opening your eyes to the beauty of the world you couldn’t otherwise see due your own anxieties.

“you been here all day?” he must have snuck in without you even hearing him (which isn’t hard to believe, considering the cushions you’d just been pressing to both of your ears), even giving him enough time to change. chuuya’s hair is still in a loose ponytail and he wears that black choker around his neck as always, but he’s dressed in a white shirt and some sweatpants, his gloveless hands reaching out to rub circles in your back.

he’s bare with you, and that’s what you love most about him.

you’ve had you’re insecurities about not being good enough for him and anything else typical within a relationship, but he never leaves you wondering. he grabs your hand to keep you from floating away too far, getting lost in your own thoughts, often pulling you back into the moment, when you’re lying in bed with him on quiet nights, the sides of your faces only lit by a nearby warm bedside lamp. he’ll trace the side of your face, searching your eyes, asking, “where did you go?”

and you can’t always answer, but you know, every time he asks you this question, that at least you can tell him where you are now. you’re at home with him.

and this moment is no different, with his calloused hands gliding up and down your back, and you only let out a small whine, shuffling closer to him as best as you can with how tangled you are up in his sheets.

“what’s wrong?” he asks softly, head tilting towards you slightly as you shimmy closer. “how can i help, sweetheart?”

you like how clear he is. how he always tells you what he’s thinking. he never leaves anything up to interpretation, always silencing your thoughts before they can make an assumption and run far with it.

while in the beginning of your relationship, it was hard to always voice what you needed, you came to realize with time that when chuuya asked you what he could do to help, it wasn’t him pressuring you to tell him what was wrong. it was simply how his head worked; he wanted you to be clear about what you needed. if that meant talking out your problems, he would listen. if that meant leaving you alone, he’d give you as much time as you needed (albeit probably checking in at some points just to make sure you didn’t need anything, it was just his nature to care for you). but all in all, he just needed you to talk to him. he would talk to you, you would talk to him. that's how miscommunication was prevented. your mind always felt so clear when you were around him because of how rationally he seemed to think of everything—all you had to do was follow his lead, and everything else came easily. things were never sugar-coated between the two of you, they were said plain and simple. (and with how charming he was, chuuya’s words often ended up being just as sweet as sugar anyway, not even needing to be wrapped up in some false front. when he said “i love you,” it was something clear. a fact, not something said just to appease you or mellow things out, he said it because he meant it).

and how refreshing it was, being lost in a sea of your own murky, unclear thoughts based off of assumptions upon assumptions, to be pulled from that ocean to the shoreline and be promised that the sun would rise again.

eventually, opening up to him became easier. even thought it sometimes took a few hours, you always ended up telling him what was on your mind and he waited patiently every time. he only ever listened unless you asked for more, and he never invalidated your feelings. trusting that he was just going to listen to you, it began to take even less time to prepare yourself to open up. it became as easy as taking a sip of water; something you had to do voluntarily, but was still needed, healing, and often refreshing.

the pitch of your voice slightly heightens as you hum a “yes” in response to his question, curling up closer to him, and his fingers have found their way into your hair, combing through it. “got tired of everything,” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the side of his thigh, thankful for his contact.

“yeah? i’m sure you did, baby. you’re doing a lot. it’s good to take a break every now and then. anything in particular spur you to take the day off? there’s no shame in just deciding to take a rest day for the hell of it either, though,” he speaks as gently as his actions, shifting slightly on the bed so that you can rest more comfortably, your head now laying in his lap, and he brushes your hair out of your face as you look up at him and his pretty bangs framing his face as he leans down towards you.

you hum in thought at the question, searching your brain for the answer. was there something that had triggered you to break today? or was it just the build-up of it all? “not really anything in particular,” you shrug slightly, still admiring his golden-brown eyes, hooded and soft, gazing into your own, “just felt like everything came toppling down today. i’ve just been thinking too much about what others think of me. i don’t feel that important to the world, or my job. i’m easily replaceable–nothing special–and yet i have to keep fighting for this job. i have to fight to occupy space for myself in the world when i never even asked to be here in the first place. —and of course you make everything better but i mean–you know me. you’re good to me. you’re too good to me. and sometimes i can’t understand why you waste all of that goodness in you on me.” by the time you’re finished, he’s gently lifted your head out of his lap to lay down on his side next to you, continuing to face you the entire time.

you finish your long-winded explanation of unreasonable worries, and he only stares into your face, and you begin to shift under his eyes uncomfortably. his head his propped up in his hands, and he wears a small smile on his face, eyes flicking every few moments to focus on a different part of your face. “...chuu?” you whisper his name quietly, and his smile only grows.

“sorry, got too caught up admiring your pretty face,” he apologizes, and there he goes again, being so honest it makes your heart squeeze sometimes. he shifts his position slightly, reaching out his free hand to intertwine his slender fingers with yours, gently pressing the pads of his fingertips against your own, playing with them. “well, first of all, don’t think of your life through the lens that you are now. you can’t control or read anyone else’s mind, and that’s okay. people make a lot of irrational decisions anyway, it’s impossible to predict what someone will do, so don’t worry about what they think. what makes how they perceive you or what they think more correct than what you feel? they could be totally wrong about something, and they are if they think you’re replaceable, or bad, or whatever. don’t make yourself smaller for anyone else. you’re so smart and thoughtful and if anyone makes you feel bad about who you are, i’ll talk shit back to them, alright?”

you nod at his words but don’t meet his attempt to lighten the mood, only shifting closer again, hiding your face in his chest, breathing in his scent. his hand is back on your head, keeping you close while combing through your hair. “i think you're perfect as you are, [y/n]. i wouldn't want you any other way. you're the only thing on my mind all the time and you’re all i think about—if you're worried about what goes through my mind. i'll always be here for you, i'll be right behind you even if the world is against you. all you need is me, i’d burn everything to the ground for you in a heartbeat."

dazai.

as a kid, you quickly learned not to fight back.

others were allowed to be angry and lash out, but when you did the same, it was wrong wrong wrong.

when you were young, you learned that love was conditional.

there was no understanding when it came to your emotions. no matter the kind of day that you had you were still expected to always be kind and patient, and never yell back.

to be loved–or rather, to simply survive in this world, you had to be the smaller person; never expect someone to love you for who you are, but because they like that you’re agreeable, quiet, and passive. never expect anyone to care about how you feel, no matter how close of a friend they are.

and surely, you couldn’t expect any kind of empathy from a coworker.

but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and you could feel the way your chest contracted, suffocating with you, every time you were the brunt of kunikida’s critiques. there was no middle between letting the man belittle you to a husk of your former self or the scariest option of all: say something and risk your dynamic with him worsening even more.

setting boundaries and speaking your mind had never been things that came easy to you, as admitting that something was wrong in your relationship with someone always seemed to leave a gaping hole in the relationship that would always be prevalent, at least to you. telling someone who seemed to be unaware of how unkind their words were “you’re hurting me” seemed to always make things awkward between you and the other party. they realized they could no longer throw you around and every time they left, you couldn't help but think you should've dealt with it and kept your mouth shut.

so you smile and nod along to whatever kunikida’s ordering you to do next, fake laughing when he says something about how important the job is and to make sure you don’t fail, as if such an option was even possible. you had never messed up anything he asked you to do, and with how long he went on about the importance of the job, you never planned to. but his ending words always reminded you of how little your efforts seemed to matter to him. he would never trust you or see you as anything better than just a little office worker to dump work on.

your face drops as soon as the man turns his back to you, and you let out a quiet sigh before returning to the laptop in front of you before hands upon your shoulders scare you.

“caught you!” a voice pops up from behind you, making you exclaim, jumping in your seat, whipping your head around to see a familiar brown-haired man. he was always causing problems for kunikida and getting scolded, and yet he seemed to be able to take everything as a light-hearted joke. he came into work every day with a smile on his face and new ways to irritate kunikida, while you couldn’t see yourself ever returning to this office if that man yelled at you the way he yelled at the boy in front of you even once.

“dazai! you scared me,” your eyes follow him as he slides into the chair next to you, slightly rolling away from you with how he’d launched himself into the seat. “what did you…catch?” you ask, watching as he scoots closer back to you again, resting his cheek on a bandaged arm atop of the oak desk you both sit at.

“now, now. let's not try and act all innocent. why are you letting him talk to you like that if it hurts you?” he asks with a smile, while your face only pales, your heart completely freezing up the moment you hear the question you fear most. you have to tear your eyes away before he sees through you anymore, and you look down into your lap, where you’re picking at your fingers. if dazai noticed it, surely others did. had kunikida been able to read your face? had you offended him because you refused to communicate your true feelings with him? maybe you seemed like a stuck-up individual in his eyes if he could tell that you were faking with him, and you weren’t sure if him believing that lie or finding out the truth would be worse.

“well i…” you trail off when his fingers come into your line of sight, intertwining them with yours, stopping you from the bad habit.

“have i ever gotten upset with you for very understandably getting annoyed at my endless antics? have we ever disagreed on something we absolutely refused to resolve? no to both. but are humans creatures of imperfection by nature? have we all made mistakes? yes, and that’s why they’re able to forgive each other unless they’re insufferably stuck up. but don’t let your head turn kunikida into a monster he’s not. he’ll understand if you ask him to speak to you less directly, or with more belief in you. he’s giving you these jobs because he trusts you, you know. he just rambles on about the importance of them because that’s who he is. you know that, and you know him. you know he’ll work to treat others with the respect they deserve, you just have to tell him so first. but he’s not going to get mad at you,” your eyes flick up from where he’s running a thumb along your knuckles up to him, only to find him already looking at you with those warm hazel brown eyes of his. he’s right, and it feels nice to be seen and not bashed for your true feelings. instead, you're being understood. under his gaze, you no longer feel weak for how sensitive or emotional you may feel. he’s looking at you like you’re worth something, worth enough that you can fight for yourself, worth enough to deserve to be comfortable in your relationships, rather than used by those near you.

“thank you,” you mumble, and he’s pulled you close by the wheels of your own chair, your knees knocking as one of his hands reach up to caress the back of your neck, soothing you further as you continue to look at him.

his lips are still curved into a smile, not the trickster one he wears as he comes up with his next plot to harass kunikida, but a soft, genuine one, like he loves and cares about you, without you even asking anything of him. maybe this is what love is; being looked at and known, without even having to open your mouth.

“of course, angel,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the back of your scalp, “bring it up while atsuhi or i are around if you want, we’ll help you explain how you feel. you’re not alone, you never were and you never have to be."

ranpo.

ranpo’s heightened abilities to observe, infer, and understand go far past anything related to his detective work.

the first time he found you feeling down and wanted to comfort you, he defaulted to what he knows helps him feel better (i.e. sweet treats, dim lights, warm, quiet environments). the entire time, while his hand is on your back, rubbing it soothingly as you lean against him, soft cries muffled by the blanket he’s placed over you, his brain is running the entire time with what he can do best to support you; did you like what he brung you? do you prefer to isolate yourself or do you like the company when you’re feeling down? blankets or no blankets? do you want him to talk to you and try to provide a distraction or is just being there for you what you need? touch, or no touch?

ranpo is so attentive to your needs. whatever you want and is best for you, he will get you and do for you. he gives all thanks to fukuzawa, for helping him realize not everyone sees the world the way he does, all those years ago. since then, he’s learned to be more responsive, emotionally thoughtful, and soft-hearted in his responses if that’s that what you need. but if you want to hear logic and how he’s rationalizing out your situation, he can do that, too. again, he is completely willing to bend and shape himself to your needs. the only thing he will always push for is to be in a room with you when you’re feeling down, even if you don’t want company </3

he knows when you really need to be alone, but he doesn’t like to let you be on your own for too long. he’ll always be in the next room over if you need anything, quietly pacing the room, only worried and thinking of you and if he can do anything more for you. if you’re curled up in bed all night, he’ll eventually knock on the door to ask if he can sleep with you and keep you company. he wholeheartedly believes letting other people help you and be there for you helps, especially to prevent you from spiraling down any pits of despair or insecurity. he wants you to know how much he cares about you and your wellbeing, he wants to be there to hold you close, press gentle kisses to your head, and murmur promises that he’ll never ever leave you alone.

but if you say no to company, he is happy to sleep on the couch and will be up the moment you call his name if you need something or decide you do want company. he is there completely for you always and whenever, and all of it comes from a place of love. he’ll never push you to do anything or tell him anything you don’t want to, and he’ll try not to infer anything even if he knows he could use context clues to find out exactly what’s upsetting you. he knows you’ll tell him when you’re ready if you want to, and it’s never his job to be in your business. his only responsibility is to love you and make sure you know it <3

oda.

you’ve never been great at facing your own problems, and you’re even worse at facing others in your time of struggle. it feels impossible to rely upon anyone, no matter how close they are to you.

sakunosuke oda is a selfless man, always taking care of others, putting their wellbeing above his own. he took in five orphans despite knowing the increased risk to his own safety that would come with taking care of them, and he still chose to do it despite not having a place of his own to take care of them at. he gives half of his wage as one of the lowest-ranking members of the port mafia to the kids every time he receives his salary and he’s never once deviated from the habit.

you know he’d drop everything for you if you told him what was wrong, but you couldn’t do that to him. it didn’t feel that serious. and worst of all, telling him how you were feeling would only cause him to cut his job short and then he’d be standing there with you while you continued to wallow in misery; of course his presence would help you feel better, but it wouldn’t immediately solve everything.

it wasn’t worth it. was your justification as you slipped out of your shared apartment. it wasn’t worth telling someone else how you were feeling, because they couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t even figure out for yourself what was wrong. you had to make your existence worth it instead, then. the best way you found, to distract yourself from your feelings and make sure they remained pushed down, was by helping others. no one whose in need of help often asks how others are truly doing, and you like that about them.

you don’t tell him where you’re going. you have nothing to hide; you just don’t want to worry him. you’ll tell him if he asks, but for now, you’re on your own.

but what kind of partner would he be if he didn’t know you? if he hadn’t memorized and kissed every mole, freckle, and blemish adorning your body? he knew you better than you realized, although you could never fully accept the fact that he paid attention to you, remembered your likes and dislikes, and knew your habits and routines like the back of his hand, all just because he loves you.

and when he comes home from work to an empty house, searching for any traces of you, he’s not worried. he has an idea of where you are and he knows that all he needs to do is text you, if he's curious. and he doesn’t immediately push his assumptions onto you about why you might be out and where; he knows you can take care of yourself and that you’ll communicate your needs to him. so when he texts you, it's not that he's demanding that you come home or ot tell him your whereabouts. rather, his texts are just to let you know he cares and is waiting for you at home.

sakunosuke ♡ : i’m home, just wanted to let you know

sakunosuke ♡ : text me if you need anything. and be safe

if he sees that you haven’t at least read his message within an hour or if he just can't wait to see you when you get home, whenever that may be, he already knows where to find you nine times out of 10. he’ll text the owner of his favorite curry shop, asking him if he’s seen you while already on his way down to the restaurant.

it's usually where he can find you there when you’re feeling down; braiding sakura’s hair, folding their laundry, coloring with one of the boys, helping out downstairs in the kitchen, or wherever else you can find a place to keep yourself busy. he knows that you’re always like this when you’re upset, and if you won’t take the day off to take care of yourself, then he will do it for you happily and well. he won’t even try to pull you away from what you’re doing–he’ll simply sit down with you, grabbing his own colored pencil while making small talk with the kids, giving you a small smile when you realize he's come into the room. or suddenly he’s next to you, helping you carry and hang up laundry, or drying off the dishes you’re washing.

and then before you know it, you’re walking home with him, hand in hand, a plastic bag rustling in his free one. you’ve both stopped to get food on the way home, and once you make it there, he’s immediately sitting you down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “let me do everything, love.” he’ll help you out of your clothes into something more comfortable, holding your hair back while you wash your face and clean up, he’ll pull your chair out for you as you sit back down, and run a hand through your hair, keeping any stray strands out of your face as you eat.

outside of the house, you can bury your feelings as much as you want to and work to please others, but at home with him, you’re the focus. you’re the one who’s honored and worshipped in the house. sakunosuke’s not letting you lift a finger if he can help it, and you can’t get away with continuing to ignore your feelings when his only desire is to help you.

and you’ll tell him what’s bothering you when you’re ready. he knows that after how long you both have been together. and so in the meantime, he’ll wait patiently, showering you with all the love in the world. ♡

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sheeple · 18 hours ago

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Part two to this. This series also has a title now: John has liked your photo! Hope you enjoy this as much as last time. Does it also show how little I know about kissing?

The second time you and John see each other in a cafe in the city centre. This time it's you who suggests meeting up. It made John feel giddy and like a schoolboy again when your text lit up his phone screen.

Your anxiousness made you way too early — as usual. But not too soon after, John appears in the cafe, also way too early. It makes you giggle.

"What is your go-to coffee order?", you ask while waiting in line, eyeing the menu and the delicious-looking pastries.

John hums, his hands clasped behind his back. "I hate to disappoint you, doll, but I'm a black coffee guy. Or tea."

Turning towards him with your eyes wide, not knowing if it is because of the nickname or the confession to drink coffee with nothing in it. "Not even some milk?"

He shakes his head with a smile. "None. If I'm in shipped out I'm happy to get a cuppa so I got used to the stuff raw."

Now you feel stupid for your usual very sweet coffee order. John sees the subtility in your face and he bumps his shoulder against yours. "Well, you are what you eat. So no wonder you're so sweet."

It makes your face heat up and you stumble over your words, not sure how to get out a response.

The line quickly moves along and John orders his black coffee and you your white chocolate mocha. Before he has time to grab his wallet, you've whipped out your phone and paid for it. You give him a daring smile while giving your name.

The two of you go sit in a quiet corner and wait for the coffee to arrive. You are telling some story about what has happened at work this week and halfway your name gets called out. John holds out his hand so you can stay put, and he grabs the order.

"Sorry, go on", he says with a smile when he returns with the coffees, placing yours in front of you with the ear facing your dominant hand.

"So", you say after finishing your story, "we haven't really talked about what we seek. You know... with dating and such." You nervously trace the rim of the glass, glancing up at the man.

John's leaning relaxed back into the chair, his legs spread wide and a comfortable smile on his face. "Gauging the vibe, doll?"

You can't help but feel your cheeks heat up again as you slink slightly down. "Maybe. Wouldn't want to waste your time if you want something completely different than me." You shrug, trying to play it cool.

That makes him lean forward a bit. "You sayin' that your time's less valuable than mine?"

That leaves you gaping like a fish. And it makes John crack a cheeky smile, showing he's teasing you.

"So do I have to worry about crazy exes or something?", he asks with a smile.

You shrug, putting your hair behind your ear. "Don't have to worry about something that's never been there", you say casually, taking a sip of your drink.

John's eyes bulge out of their sockets. Did he hear you correctly? Have you never dated anyone? How could such a wonder as you not have boys and men lined up and down the street, jumping for just a glance from you?

"Do I?", you ask timidly at his wide eyes and no response.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat. Now is the time to come clean. "I mean... not like you have to worry about her, but there is my ex-wife."

"Wife?!" You clasp a hand over your mouth as you said that a bit too loud. "A-and for how long are you divorced? If I may ask, at least."

John smiles at your bashfulness. "Almost two years. We were married just short of a year. It was impulsive and I quickly discovered that being married to her wasn't as great as I thought it would be."

Unconsciously, you reach out and take hold of his hand. You can understand how hard it is to admit something like that to practically a stranger. "It must have been hard, going through that time in your life. Never mind the judgement of others."

He nods. "Something like that. It was more of the pitying glances of my family and their comments that got me at first. Their opinions about her and me and our relationship weren't always the kindest. But you get used to it and after a while, you get desensitized."

As you open your mouth to say something, a call of your name makes the two of you turn your heads. "Oh lord", you mumble as your aunt and cousin come walking towards the two of you.

"How are you, dear? " your aunt smiles widely, pulling you up for a hug. "I haven't seen you in a while! How's school? Oh, right. Your mum told me you quit and are working now. How do you like it? And who is this?" She turns her attention towards John.

The man dutiful stands up and offers his hand to your aunt. "John Price, ma'am."

From behind your aunt, you see your cousin lean over and mouth the words, "Who's that?", to you. "Date", you mouth back. She checks him once over and nods in appreciation.

"Oh mum, didn't you say you needed to go to that one store before it closes?", asks your cousin loudly, pulling the attention from your aunt.

"Right! It was lovely meeting you, John. See you next time, dear." Your aunt kisses both your cheeks as a goodbye before pulling her daughter behind her. You just know you'll get a text from her later on to demand the tea.

"I am so sorry", you laugh as you sit back down, hiding your face behind your hands.

John joins you and shakes his hands. "It's fine. Aunts are kinda my speciality."

"Really?"

"No", he smiles.

The rest of the afternoon goes by with smiles and laughs and good conversation until the staff has to, again like last time, kick you out and you're reluctant to say goodbye to John.

He walked to your car. It cracked him up to see the bright yellow car that lights up when you press the unlock button. Oh, how fitting of you to drive such an eyesore.

You hoover by the door, fiddling with your keys. "I had a really good time today, John." You shyly look up, your cheeks radiating heat.

John slowly inches closer, laying a hand on your cheek. "I did too." His eyes flicker between your own and your lips. You can't help but swipe your tongue over your bottom lip before taking it between your teeth.

"I desperately wanted to kiss you all day. Can I kiss you?"

Looking at him, you nod, searching for the right words. Stumbling out a 'yeah', John closes the distance and lightly presses his lips against yours.

Not knowing what to do, you lean into the kiss and close your eyes. John slides his other hand around your middle to pull you flush against his body. Your hands feel awkward so you replicate what you've seen over the years in movies and TV and place them first on his shoulders before sliding to the back of his neck.

A soft grumble comes from deep within his chest before you pull back, feeling like you are going to pass out if you don't. Either from the lack of air or your first-ever kiss.

Smiling wide, John rests his forehead against yours. "How am I to drive away from you now, doll."

You shrug, still slightly out of breath. "I'm wondering that myself." A giggle escapes you, licking your lips. "But I really have to go through... My parents are waiting for me. We're going to my grandma..."

"Those blasted parents of yours", teases John, letting go of you. "But if you have to go. Text me when you get home safe?"

You nod, opening your car door. "Will do. You too?"

John nods with a smile and watches how you drive away. Dear God. Is he crazy that he could envision the rest of his life together with you after the second date?

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pushspacetocontinue · 20 hours ago

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"It sounds like a perfect balance," Travis said.

It seemed that he also knew that it was time to be serious again, so he let his hand hang back down his side.

"I'll keep that in mind," Bill said. Time to go back to being scary and not discussing cute things at the moment.

"Don't care, Christopher. Your parents aren't here to save you right now," Antonio said, "Well, class is now in session and it's time you learned your lesson. You'll be staring into the glare until your mind is effervescent."

"I'm sure it would make for a nice time," Bill said, "Like when using sinews as harp strings."

Antonio, Bill and Travis also had no clue what Rook found so funny, but then quickly concluded that it was most likely some kind of in-joke.

"From what I've heard, and from my experiences playing Overcooked, they really do not," Travis said.

Russell's first thought that the Twins might be hungry and that it would be kind to offer them something. It was only when they had accepted the protein bars that he also realised that it might also sway the two further to his favour.

"Ah, I think Erica is coming back," Leofric said, "You can tell her how good you were."

"Good," Bill said, "Wouldn't want to have to remind you who's in charge before you've really even started now."

"They were fine," Simon said, "They know better than to cause trouble with their perks at the moment, and especially with a dog man right there."

"You've worked with the pervert," Travis said, "Quite closely I might add. Now don't start going into a spiel about how you had no choice and crap like that."

Russell nodded.

"You probably got a good look at the kind of tools he used and how they worked," Travis said, "Or at least somewhat. We just want to know more about the tools you saw him use, so we can them to better use; our use."

"Now that would be something," Simon said.

"Cold and cute. Soft and lethal like the Killer Mittens!"

Though as nice as it was to be silly for a bit without consequences, the paws had to go for now. They still had work to do and she didn't want Ratchet to make weird comments about them. Erica dispelled the shadows, then stretched her fingers.

"Tentacles can be cute too! You just need some ribbons."

It was that simple. Erica looked over to Ratchet when he failed to reply at first. A good shake from Willow seemed to fully wake him up and he waved a hand in annoyance.

"Don't call me that! Only my daddy calls me Christopher."

Willow gave him a slap on the back of the head, "He simply is tainted at this point."

"I don't wanna go to school!"

"Your friends shouldn't look up to me. Nobody should aspire to having their spine replaced." Willow replied, dropping Ratchet back in the chair, "Although, our guest is dangerously close to having his own removed and used as a xylophone."

Lucien watched Rook absolutely losing it at that comment and decided he didn't want to question it. He fixed his bun, then made his way over.

"I guess cooks aren't very good at teamwork." Erica said, before she started heading back in the other room.

The Twins had been pleasantly surprised to be offered anything, especially after defending them associating with Ratchet in any way. The protein bars wouldn't keep them busy for too long, but they seemed content enough for now.

Smokey was also happy Leofric was willing to share. The kitten managed a tiny meow between bites in response to the question. He was having a really nice time.

The Twins didn't complain when they were addressed using those cutesy names again. It was a lost cause at this point.

"We did nothing."

"What do you want?"

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stxrsniolo · 3 days ago

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hufflepuff!matt might like you...

this pairing was created thanks to @raesturns <3

narrated by matt's pov:

i've always thought slytherins were nothing but trouble, especially with my loyalty to hufflepuff, but y/n? she's like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, and i hate how much i'm drawn to her, even when we're at each other's throats with our witty comebacks.

today's potions class was bound to be a disaster or a laugh, depending on which side of the house rivalry you were on: we were tackling amortentia, the potion that supposedly spills your heart's secrets through scent and gets people absolutely obsessed.

the room was a cacophony of excited whispers; gryffindors dreaming of epic romances, ravenclaws contemplating the psychological implications, while slytherins, especially y/n, theodore nott, and draco malfoy, were probably calculating how to exploit this knowledge.

slughorn, with all the pomp of a ringmaster, began, "now, class, amortentia doesn't fabricate love, it creates obsession and mirrors your deepest desires through scent. let's see what secrets we can unearth today!" his enthusiasm was infectious, or annoying, depending on who you asked.

i was trying to concentrate on my brewing, but my attention kept drifting to y/n, who was working with an almost disdainful grace, her slytherin buddies, theo and draco, snickering beside her.

when it was y/n's turn, the room quieted, everyone eager for some drama.

she leaned over her potion, then announced with a smirk, "i smell grass, nature, root beer, apple juice… and some fancy cologne."

theodore nott, with his usual smirk, quipped, "sounds like someone needs a hufflepuff boyfriend, y/n?"

draco added, "more like a huffle-puppy. fetch, sturniolo!"

laughter echoed, some gryffindors joining in, but cedric, my best mate, shot back, "at least our scents are pleasant, not like the stench of slytherin ambition."

i felt my face burn; those were my smells, no doubt about it.

y/n, ever the slytherin, didn't miss a beat, "laugh it up, but at least i'm not afraid to speak my truth, unlike some who can't even face their own stuff."

ouch. i felt that.

the air was thick with playful rivalry now, everyone on edge for what would come next.

when it was my turn, my heart was in my throat as i leaned over my cauldron, and the scent was unmistakable: tobacco, rain on pavement, hot chocolate, and mint… it was y/n, bottled up in potion form.

i panicked, the words tumbling out, "i... don't smell anything."

yeah, i was lying. blatantly.

slughorn's eyes widened in astonishment. "nothing at all, mr. sturniolo? that's quite unprecedented for amortentia."

"yeah, maybe his heart's too pure for love," draco mocked, earning a chuckle from theo.

cedric, trying to cover for me, said, "or maybe he's just got a stronger sniffer than all of us."

i shook my head, sticking to my lie, "nothing, sir."

the class continued, but the banter didn't stop, and as i left for lunch, the playful jabs followed me. "run to your hufflepuff den, sturniolo!" some slytherin called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

i sat at the hufflepuff table, my mind a mess.

glancing over, i saw y/n with theo and draco, laughing, probably at my expense, but then our eyes met, just for a moment, and there was something there, something that made this whole house rivalry seem like child's play.

maybe, just maybe, i needed to admit to myself that my heart wasn't as pure hufflepuff as i thought, especially when it came to a certain slytherin… but for now, i'd rather keep my feelings under wraps, wrapped in the comfort of my house buddies, my stubbornness, and a touch of cowardice.

🐦‍⬛ ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤ whisper ㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

#﹙ㅤ✒️ㅤ﹚ㅤ﹔ㅤwritingsㅤ︐#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo fluff #sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets imagines #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fandom

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midnight1nk · 2 days ago

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So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

y'know, i've taken the time to calm down from what happened minutes ago and this might be the distraction i need. hey, the Karen and Swag dynamic is back (for real this time) and i got myself some instant ramen :)

(the following is my life reaction:)

hey luke, oh that's right the murder drones merch ofc

ah yes, just innocent child imagination. very nice :)

dude, it's good to see Karen and her kids again

THEY BROUGHT IT BACK LET'S GOOOOOO

and the corporation is at it again. OMG seriously leave Karen alone bruh

well, ig she didn't technically finish the job of killing Marty (nope i'm still not over that btw)

well we at least know what Karen has them under in her contacts, "Hitman inc"

YES YES YESSSSSSSS THE SMG4 KIDS ARE BACK BABYYYYYY

i have been WAITING for this to happen, i can check this off the bucket list

can they be friends PLEASE?????

oh hang on i gotta pull a Pitch Meeting (TM) here, give me a second...

Writer!Ink: "..And Frankie said that Beeg4 claimed the playground right before they did." Producer!Ink: "Wow, it's going to be hard to go against Beeg. I mean, this is the kid known to start fights with other kids to get what he wants, like that one time with the ice cream." Writer!Ink: "Actually, it's going to be super easy. Barely an inconvenience." Producer!Ink: "Oh, really?" Writer!Ink: "Yeah, because Zach is just going to poke Beeg with a stick and that should pretty much do it."

Producer!Ink: "If only we could do that irl... but wait, if they're in their imaginary world, could the stick be a stand-in for a sword or weapon in general? I mean, it was the same stick they used to execute that guy." Writer!Ink: "Well, sir, we're already pushing boundaries on what YouTube is allowing Glitch Productions to do. We're already doing the Knights of Guinevere and, with Dana Terrace and TOH team onboard, there's not enough in the budget to show a kid getting stabbed even though it's pretend." Producer!Ink: "Oh yeah, YouTube will definitely going to kick our ass for that. We got away with it last time with Terrence." Writer!Ink: "Also, death is sometimes not real." Producer!Ink: "...What?"

...let's just move on

sad moment for Beeg for sure, but I just like how he rolls around like that

Swag, my dude, no....

that was cute for Swag to call Beeg little buddy

EGGDOG NOOO (well, they are kids, they probably didn't realize how much it's affecting Beeg, even if it's pretend)

SWAG FLASHBACK? i did not see that coming

also these grown-ass men clowning on a kid, bruh how about you mind your damn business

this really sweet though and very on brand for Swag to go against a bunch of kids

*holding out for a hero shrek 2 version mp3 plays in bg*

yep, everyone in SMG4 has trauma 😀👍

"OMG IT'S SPIDER-MAN" *look at the camera* how did I get in this show? am i cory this whole time?

guess who's back from that call?

Swag, you're so dead. RIP already to you dude

(also weird how in the same week, the fandom found out that Kevin was going to be in a boxing tournament, huh...)

that R roll though, hold onnnnn

i really do love the switch between their game of pretend and irl

using a HIGHLY EXPERIMENTAL GOVERNMENT DEVICE on CHILDREN in a PLAYGROUND....

huh *sweats nervously* this isn't new, very on-brand for Swag to do, but... oh god they read my episode concepts /silly

honestly that's a good question Karen, finally someone says it

SWAG

This is giving "The Incredibles" vibes and i'm somehow here for that, hell yeah

PFFT HAHAHA YEAH KAREN FUCK THIS GET THEIR ASS

well Swag you did dare them to "stomp out" your spell

OH BEEG HE'S JUST A BABY 😭

YES YES THIS IS WHAT I WANT YESSSS

WAITER WAITER I WOULD LIKE SOME MORE 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥

*LE GASP* WE CAN HAVE SMG4 CREW MINI WITH ALL THE KIDS

...huh *to self, don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4 don't think about goop!4*

i'm going to point at whoever wrote this scene intentionally. you, yes YOU, if i'm thinking exactly what you are putting down, touché

OH SHIT GET THE KIDS KAREN

F in the chat for Swag o7 (ik he's not dead)

WOAH WOAH WOAH HOLD UP NONONONONO TEAM YOU CAN'T JUST DROP THAT ON US! ON ME!

oh fuck dude, that just slapped me across the face. "Reckless and chaotic", huh? WHO THE HELL IS THE KIDS' BIO FATHER? For all we know, this guy might be dead. divorce is an option, sure, but the way Swag's sacrifice caused a lot of destruction...

the implications, guys... i can't believe this...

ANYWAY Beeg4's little hops 💙 like father, like son

andddd Swag's not dead, i knew it. and in the sky just like Old Man who's also not dead btw :)

Congrats to choripandia for your art being featured in the credit 🎉 love the art, dude

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

omg... what an episode! This has been fantastic, honestly!!! Everything from the plot to the animation, all of it was SOOOO GOOD. It's crazy and wacky and I love it! It featured side characters the whole time, love those kinds of changes! and we got character backstories which WOAH that was a nice surprise :D

AND AND i get a dose of the Mini Crew? HELL YEAH

this has been phenomenal and I truly think this might lead to something. Aside from the imagery the Team likes to tease me and goop!4 theory with, this could lead to an arc, likely on Karen. A non-Mr.Puzzles arc, I'm all for it.

(and y'know me I would've called it the most non-Puzzles Puzzles arc potential of all times, that doesn't seem that it's linked to Puzzles in any way but it could be brought back bc character development. after all, Karen is linked to Marty, Puzzle Park, and the corporation and Swag to episodes related to IGBP. but for our sakes, let's not have Puzzles this time, it'll be a very creative challenge for the Team)

If there's no arc, that is totally fine! I am more than happy to just have more episodes like this without it being in an arc. not necessarily non-plot relevant bc of the corporation and Karen's mystery husband. it's still insane that the Team dropped that in for us and Swag's backstory like that. Amazing job, truly.

Now I know some people might've been confused about Mario being in the thumbnail and not in the episode. I get it really. According to Ben, he didn't see the episode itself until after its release and this thumbnail was what the Team sent him to do. It's crazy ik, but do understand that they're working on a tight schedule.

Take it from me: I work as a major editor for a publishing group (that i'm not going to specify) and we have to release a new thing every two weeks. It's not of "one team works on this and then passes it on to the next" like a factory production line. All teams are working at the same time and have to deliver at the same time, regardless of the amount they were given in the first place. And there are times when something's missing, we have to improvise (but still maintain good quality) just so we could meet the deadline. Even if we have good communication with each other.

Obviously for the SMG4 Team, they have a lot of things going on in their lives, other projects to work on, timezones to get through, and yet they still have the moment for this show. Perhaps when Ben was sent the request, they planned to have Mario in the episode but the writers (Aaron, Paul, and Wiz) decided to write him out. Who knows? Just imagine doing a thumbnail and then the group chat tells you to make a different one quickly before they release it. Plus, his computer is holding on by a thread from all the rendering, poor Ben

i know how that feels, man 😔 there goes my program crashing

For what it's worth, it's okay, the episode was still great. Thanks as always, Team. Anyway guys, that's all I have to say for now, really enjoyed nice little distraction. And remember: numbers go first!

I'll see you all next time!!! 💙

#smg4 #smg4 karen #smg4 swag #smg4 spoilers #ink reviews #WE GOT SMG4 CREW MINI YESSSS

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draw-n-vent-with-imani · 3 days ago

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Dammit, this resurfaced again and I wanted to hold off on mentioning something before I write my essay on peatb but to hell with it-

Part 1: A Positive Feedback Loop

PEatB set itself up to fail the second Elmyra was made to be their human companion. I'm not saying this because I dislike her character (I didn't watch Tiny Toons); I'm saying this because I would have killed for a show that threw a y/n character and just went all the way with it.

Sam & Max: This Time It's Virtually effectively does the same thing, having you inserted into the dynamic of 2 already established characters, and I have a soft spot for the game because it at least tried to make some kind of chemistry between the three of them.

What I believe a lot of people have a problem with is character interactions in peatb. A positive feedback loop forms whenever a third character is introduced into the scene and I'm gonna dig into it here:

Brain is unhappy with their situation,

Pinky doesn't mind it all too much because he gets to play and this annoys Brain,

Elmyra comes in and plays with them and this infuriated Brain, therefor leading him to hate his situation even more.

Most people are not happy when they watch a character get punched down for not real reason other than "that's the show".

Here is what could have happened to prevent this:

Brain is unhappy with his situation

Pinky/Elmyra try to cheer him up by showing how he can improve his situation

Brain gets inspired to make a plan

The plan fails but Brain gains a new experience, so the whole ordeal wasn't a total loss (Think of "Yule Be Sorry" as a slightly passable example of this)

I understand the reason for reverting back to a status quo but there is no reason a main character can't still learn something and apply it in future episodes.

Part 2: Insert Character Name Here!

This realistically should have been my dream series. Do you know how many times I've inserted myself into world domination schemes?

Fans would have eaten this up if the human character being inserted was someone relatable. Have the girl still be a kid. She can even still be an animal lover. But make her vulnerable in a way that Pinky and Brain can see and help with. They can occasionally help with homework. They can use her in plans that require the height or an extra hand. I know some of y'all liked Brain having softy moments in the og, spin-off, AND the reboot; there could have been some in here where he helps teach a life lesson (He's pretended to be a teacher so many times and loves explaining shit, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN IN HIS ELEMENT!)

And like @xalodaxa mentioned, it could be a season long arc. They stay with girl, improve both of each other's lives to a certain extent, and then depart having changed over the course of the season. For Brain, it could be as simple as having more plans to revamp the educational system when he takes control. I suppose Pinky doesn't usually have to change much, maybe just opening up more about how he feels or something. And the girl is overflowing with confidence in herself.

Conclusion

Executives dropped the ball with this one and it left the writers unable to put much into salvaging the concept. It didn't have to be this way.

So in the end, we're left with this sad, annoying show that could have taken the mice in an experimental direction.

I am planning on writing a essay on the entirety of the series and will hopefully make it into a video essay in the future

hmm oh

#also I love your art xalodaxa in case you read this far #this only popped up on my dash because of your so this is your fault dfghgfds #pinky elmyra and the brain #patb rant

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bwat5-blog · 23 hours ago

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Vander & Sevika

**Spoilers For Arcane**

Somehow my blocked tags were briefly freed from prison- don't be afraid they have all been apprehended. But in that small moment, I saw a rogue critter (who I will not be naming or re-blogging) saying that implying Sevika was mirroring Vander's lesson with "we don't hand over our people" was incorrect, because Vander did not actually care about his people and she was always fighting for Zaun.

I'm not gonna do a whole thing here. Honestly at the moment I am too tired. But thankfully this doesn't require it.

Vander: Made a deal to keep Enforcers out of the Undercity as long as Zaunites didn't cause trouble in top side.

Is this freedom for Zaun? Obviously not. He tried, he saw how terribly things went and how horrific the cost was, including him losing his mind and almost killing Silco, and he chose an unequal peace to protect his adopted family and his people. It is not a perfect situation. But it is what he could do to stop the bleeding. No he didn't strap on his gauntlets and charge back over the bridge no matter the cost in lives. He chose to save as many as he could even it meant a less than perfect solution.

When he knew he was facing death at Silco's hands, he didn't beg for his own life. He begged him to spare The Lanes.

Sevika: Fought alongside Vander until he chose the path he did. She then betrayed him. Was complicit in not only his death but the deaths of two teenage boys she for sure would have known as they were growing up, tried to take her turn in the "let's murder the fifteen year old girl" party against Vi who she also definitely knew, and when it was all said and done helped Silco release a dangerous, highly addictive and unstable drug that can turn people into monsters on the people she was supposedly fighting for.

Not to mention her intentionally lying to Jinx about Caitlyn. With the clearly expressed intent of destabilizing her to the point that Silco would toss her out and leave her all alone. After Sevika played a part in orphaning Jinx a second time already.

So to be clear:

Vander: Made a deal that chose peace over independence

Sevika: Helped Silco unleash a horrific drug on her own people, and of the four Zaunite orphans (the people she is defending of course) that grew up around her she is directly complicit in the deaths of two, tries to kill one at least three times including a successful stabbing and once when she is only fifteen, and after helping orphan the other and ABSOLUTELY being near enough to notice her mental health declining as she got older deliberately lied to her hoping to destabilize her to the point that she would be orphaned again.

Sure though. Fuck Vander.

**NOW**--

Fair is fair. Sevika starts getting her shit together in season two. She tries to get the Chem-Barons to stop ripping Zaun apart. She won't hand over Jinx, she is holding rallies trying to unite her people, and fights on the frontline when they join the war. And of course finishes the show as their voice. But to try and shit on Vander in comparison because Sevika was "always" fighting for Zaun. Yall can do better.

After all, between her two leaders, only one of their teachings would resonate with her seeking peace and cooperating between the cities for everyone's gain

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #vi arcane #jinx arcane #powder #vander arcane #sevika arcane #silco arcane #mylo arcane #arcane claggor

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fascinationstreetmp3 · 17 hours ago

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Sometimes I fear they won't do devil's minion at all. Armand won't call Daniel beloved and like the turning- the turning was said to be done in spite where in the books there was at least some love, something that made Armand say they will be in hell together after all. I feel like there is a possibility that in the show hell together means like a thorn lodged in the throat. You can't ignore it and you can't get rid of it. That will hurt a lot if they do that.

im sure dm will definitely be romantic in the show at some point, it's just a case of how they get there because things are obviously different from the books.

i myself am keeping an open mind about the whole "spite" thing tbh. that descriptor does not come from armand or daniel, it comes from louis, who was not there— and in my opinion, daniel sorta dodges addressing it any further when louis brings it up, and there could be multiple reasons for that (he doesn't want to talk about it? or maybe there's more to it he isn't letting on right now?)

just throwing things out there but if it WAS entirely spiteful, but past dm happened, it's possible they could also utilise daniel's book turning scene for the "memory wipe", framing that as armand's act of love in order to save daniel's life, which would balance things out a little more. either way i think we WILL see the turning no matter what anyone says

where they are now with each other, the writers might take inspiration from the sort of push/pull they have towards 1985 in qotd, along with the long period of separation they have after qotd and the regret armand feels for turning daniel. daniel feeling resentful towards armand (for turning him? for messing with his and louis' memories? for leaving him all alone?), but unable to stay away for long; armand believing he has made a horrible mistake and trying to stay away while also dealing with the fact that daniel destroyed armand's relationship with louis, but he and daniel are bound together now and the maker/fledgling connection sometimes seems to be a lot stronger in the show, even between "strangers" as displayed by madeleine & louis being able to "feel" one another

i think show daniel seeing armand at his lowest, knowing what he can do to people and what he has done to him, will play into the way daniel sees armand in the books: a terrible creature capable of great evil who daniel is drawn to and loves for who he is, and armand gets to be perceived outside of the roles he's always playing by someone he doesnt have to control or lie to (and cant, really). for how they get to the love part... im curious to see how it will go because there's a lot of ways it could happen. i'm just certain they will get there. they might feel stuck in "hell together" at first, but eventually hatred won't be the only thing that binds them together (if it ever was the 'only' thing between them in the first place)

maybe tangentially related but ive seen people suggest rolin jones has some sort of dislike for dm or that he just straight up doesn't care/wasn't planning on including it, and of course i have no clue what's going through his head but i have to disagree. a deeper relationship between armand and daniel has only been hinted at right now; pieces of a puzzle slowly make themselves known, and the audience has to notice them and put the puzzle together with what they've got so far. just because something's in the books doesn't mean theyll just talk about it openly, its still a show spoiler. which means outside of the show (in interviews etc) it's only going to be acknowledged as a "thing that happens in the books", yknow? just like book characters that havent appeared yet, the way theyll be portrayed in the show isnt discussed. kinda why i think they got king of spoilers eric bogosian to drop the "budding romance" line in those sdcc videos from a while back because to me... that technically is a show spoiler lmao

#ask #iwtv #devil's minion #i actually have a lot of thoughts too many to put here but they're probably all scattered about in different posts ive made already #but this response was already kinda long and all over the place anyway

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momo-minomo · 3 days ago

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Fic Fairy Friday: Dick and Tim being brothers

I want to start regularly posting fic recs with one larger rec post of at least 10 recs centered around a theme, trope, or relationship every Friday. Since this is the first one I'm gonna go with my favorite: Tim and Dick being brothers! And as a bonus, a couple of playlists I made for these two on Spotify to listen to while you read if that's your thing. ❤️

Good Fellows by thatcuriouscat

Summary:

After rescuing Bruce from floating around the past, Tim is Not Okay. What comes next after losing everything that really matters? Tim’s got some thoughts. So do the rest of the family. And Ra’s al Ghul. …And the Joker. Jason looks murderous. “God DAMN it, Tim, this was not the situation I had in mind when I generously taught you how to be a younger brother out of the kindness of my heart!” Even more shocked by this, Dick asks incredulously, “You, Jason Todd-Wayne, tried to give younger brother lessons? Where did you even get the audacity?” Jason rounds on him hotly. “Bitch, you wish you knew how to be a younger brother!” “FOCUS,” Tim demands. “We’ve got like, an hour to pull this off.”

Momo's Notes: Starting this off with my all time favorite Batfam fic. It plays fast and loose with comic canon but the actual characterization for everyone in the Batfam is so freaking perfect. This fic focuses on all of the Bat boys (in this fic Cass hasn't met them yet) and Bruce in the immediate aftermath of him being saved from the timestream but a big part of the plot is the reconciliation between Dick and Tim. Unlike a lot of Tim-centric fics set in this time no one is being unfairly bashed and Tim's stubborness and avoidance of his problem is just as much of a stumbling block in their relationship as Dick's actions in Red Robin. And Dick isn't demonized for making Damian Robin so much as he's criticized for HOW he did it.

tiptoes by thirdgleam

Summary:

Tim wakes up in an alternate dimension. One where he's eleven and living on the streets. One where Batman really does work alone, no Robin by his side. One where Dick is eight years old and the Flying Graysons are still flying. It would all be much easier to deal with if he remembered how he got there. or Tim: Older Brother Extraordinaire (eventually)

Momo's Notes: God this is one is heart-wrenching. Tim struggling with his grief over the family he's been separated from even as he slowly grows to love the versions of them who are adopting him here just shreds my heart. His internal war over wanting to go home but knowing his new little brother Dickie NEEDS him is just SO good. And bonus: if you REALLY want your heart ripped out of your chest check out the side stories from the point of view of Tim's original Batfamily as they struggle with their own grief over losing him. I was in tears SO FAST.

Five Times Dick Was Tim’s Safety Net and One Time Tim Was Dick’s by PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

“Tim forced his gaze away from his phone, took a moment to breathe deeply, then tried to figure out the best way not to die anytime soon. For Bruce. For Alfred. For his friends. For Dick.” Dick has always been there for Tim, even before they knew each other.

Momo's Notes: Inspired by the Young Justice comic with the suicide prevention hotline number. One of the things I love most about Dick and Tim's brotherhood is that they lean on each other as equals. When Tim needs help to keep going he calls Dick. When Dick is in over his head, he calls Tim. I love them.

Code Cryptid by SummerKnight717

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson and Tim Drake tag team to make both Bruce and some very unfortunate kidnappers regret all their life decisions. Jason Todd is definitely not the only theatre kid in the family... Dick really doesn't like putting on the Batsuit, thank you very much. So when he has to, he is at least owed some fun in it...

Momo's Notes: How about something short and cheerful after how heavy the last two were? This is in Bruce's pov and is a perfect showcase for how similarly unhinged Tim and Dick are when they work together lol

only you will have stars that can laugh by silverwhittlingknife

Summary:

You coming over is possibly the only thing that’s gonna stop me from wanting to punch your dad in the face, Dick doesn’t say. My current Christmas Day plans are 1) pace around at home, and 2) try not to obsess about what Bruce is up to, so trust me, you’ll be an improvement, Dick doesn’t say. Tim's alone on Christmas Eve. Dick finds out, and fixes it.

Momo's Notes: This is based on (and expands upon) the DCU Holiday Bash 3 comic. It's early in Tim's Robin career, before Babs even knows his name, but after Jack Drake woke from his coma and continues to be the worst. This is such an indulgent big brother Dick fic for me. Him daydreaming about Tim still being his little brother even if his parents hadn't died, that they'd grow up in the circus together, shredded my heart. This fic is just one in a series called A Thousand Ninjas based around Tim and Dick's brotherhood and I recommend reading all of them, they're so good!

Show Me Who I Used To Be by Fairy527

Summary:

While Tim is living with Dick and temporarily stepping in as Nightwing, he helps Dick work through a few memory issues (AKA, a scene from an alternate version of the Ric Grayson plotline)

Momo's Notes: I will never forgive DC for choosing to do the god awful Ric Grayson storyline over Tom King's suggestion to have Tim fill in as Nightwing while helping Dick recover. We could have had SO MUCH brotherhood content! Thankfully we have fics like this one exploring the scenario, though I wish it were longer.

do more harm by dizarys

Summary:

"Hey," Jason laid a hand on his shoulder, "We’re gonna get him back." "Yes," Dick growled, drawing his escrima sticks and clenching them tightly. "We are." He flipped off the stack of shipping containers with a tight somersault, landing lightly. A split second later Jason landed heavy and solid behind him. The four guards didn't stand a chance. --- Dick's temper isn't usually a problem. But when Robin disappears...crossing the line seems a lot easier.

Momo's Notes: I love how feral Dick gets in the comics when Tim is in danger. The number of times Tim's had to physically pull Dick away from beating a dude to death because he hurt/threatened/looked funny at Tim is ridiculous lol. This fic is a double pleasure because it also has some yummy brotherhood moments between Jason and Dick and explores Dick's feelings towards his own rage issues.

how to feed your local demon by InkpotSprite

Summary:

“Oh, don’t forget your–” A few papers fell out as Dick lifted it up, revealing pictures of Nightwing, Robin and Batman in the middle of a fight with Poison Ivy. “Files.” “Ah. Those.” Tim laughed nervously, the sharp, citrus-like taste filling the air. - Dick is an incubus, starved for affection after the loss of Jason. Tim isn't affectionate by nature but wants to help anyway.

Momo's Notes: This is adorable. In an AU where supernatural creatures are normal Dick is an incubus (not necessarily sexual they feed on emotions in general) and kid!Tim is worried that Bruce's emotionally stunted ass is starving his oldest son. So he takes it into his own hands to keep Dick well fed with hero worship and affection.

a soft place to land by unchosenone

Summary:

Tim rubs the back of his head, trying to affect a joking tone. “I knew I should’ve just gone for the new escrima sticks.” Dick is ready to be a good big brother to his grieving little bro. Tim flips the script.

Momo's Notes: Yes! THIS is the Tim and Dick I know and love! Dick is always ready to put aside his own issues to support his little brother but he never quite gets that Tim is just as willing to support him in whatever way he needs. They're equals and they balance one another.

CONTENT WARNING: This last rec deals with aftermath and trauma of a canonical sexual assault

In the comics both Dick and Tim have been repeatedly assaulted and then DC pretends it never happened. This fic deals with Tim having been nearly SA'd by the Daughter of Acheron in Red Robin and Dick finding out about it and both of them dealing with it together. It's well written but if that content will trigger you please avoid it!

Pinned by orphan_account

Summary:

"It’d been a long time since the catacombs. Cass had been there, she’d saved him, he knew that. But in the rush of everything that came after that night, he hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to think about it. Hadn’t wanted to process any of it. The whole thing had been shoved into the back of his brain and locked up tight. Now, it was like everything was throwing itself against the chains in protest, begging him to think and feel and remember, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t." Or The aftermath of Red Robin #24/#25 with Tim and Dick talking together. TW for past attempted rape, please read the tags and check the notes for more specific tw's

Momo's Notes: If DC is going to use SA in their comics I wish they'd be brave enough to actually address the trauma and long lasting effects SA would have on the characters. This story deals with the realistic consequences Tim would have to face after Red Robin 24/25 and explores how Dick would respond to it considering his own trauma.

Spotify Playlists!

Tim Drake & Dick Grayson - Chaos Robins

Tim Drake | Red Robin - Genius and Loyalty

Dick Grayson | Nightwing - Cheerfully Kicking Your Ass

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