#even if they turn out to be good in some twisted way

[angrenwen]

"This new villain before you was a nightmare come true. You could admit you were scared, your hands were shaking, your breaths hurt like the stab of a knife due to your broken ribs and your right knee was barely supporting you anymore after the villain had dropped a piece of concrete on it.

Under any other circumstances, you would have fled. There was no way for you to win. In the time the villain had broken your bones and made you bleed, you had landed one hit. One they hadn’t even reacted to. This was a Class A villain and you knew protocol when crossing paths with someone who far surpassed you in skill and power: Retreat, regroup and call for reinforcements.

But there were civilians behind you and you had barely kept the villain from killing bystanders so far. If you left, they would attack the city. They had proven their willingness to murder as many people as necessary for whatever plans they had. As soon as your heart stopped beating that was.

You had never felt so hopelessly weak and terrified, all without budging from your position in front of a group of high schoolers who frantically tried to get away.

The worst part, somehow, beyond the pain and fear, was the terrible, horrible knowledge that people would get hurt and die the moment the villain took you out. All you could do was buy time and shout at people to get away.

You had to blink back tears, swallowing nausea and raised your fists in front of you, even if your bleeding arm viciously protested the movement. You couldn’t win, but you could play punching bag for a little longer and hope it made a difference.

The villain lifted an unimpressed brow and raised a hand in a near lazy, unhurried motion, hurled cars at you, too fast and too many to dodge them all. Your knee buckled as you tried to duck below the first one and the second car slammed into you with the force of a truck, crushing you into the building across the street, glass shattering and raining down around you.

You couldn’t move, pinned by the car and you couldn’t breathe anymore. You managed to wrench one arm free and shove the car off, gasping for air. Dimly you were aware of lying beside one of the teenagers that had tried to run away, the girls eyes wide and so, so terrified.

You had to get up, at least one more time, for her sake.

You hoped someone would look after your dog Suzie after you died.

"Run," you forced yourself to speak, blood dripping from your mouth, the taste of sweet copper still overpoweringly strong on your tongue. You braced your good hand on the wall and used your good leg to push you up, the world swaying and tilting dangerously.

You couldn’t fight anymore, you couldn’t even walk, but you lifted your head anyway. A hero never loses their smile, you remembered the words of your teacher and you smiled at her.

"I’ll be okay," you said, though you knew she knew you were lying. "Go, run."

You couldn’t move further than this, but the villain would take another shot at you and not the girl. Even if all you wanted to do was collapse and either pass out or cry, you didn’t, because this sixteen year old girl deserved better than to be turned into a bloody pulp, left on some half destroyed sidewalk.

Your heart was pounding and panic and pain were stealing your breath away, but you stared the villain in the face and kept the smile on your face. Another hero might have had something funny or witty or impressive to say, but you were barely staying upright and your mind felt simultaneously too empty and too full.

"Pathetic," the villain drawled and as they made half the street around you float, cars and street lanterns they ripped out and shattered glass, you did the last thing you could. 

You managed to grab the girl who stood frozen beside you, tears running down her face as she stared at the villain and twisted to shield her with your body, tucking her head beneath your chin and praying it would do anything at all to save her.

The grunt of pain, the sound of metal crashing to the ground and glass tinkling, made you open your eyes and blearily look back. Silver stood behind you and the new villain was lying on the street, groaning and struggling to move. Strange cables had wrapped around them and there was the hum of something electronic.

Silver glanced back at you, his mercury eyes worried and his face grim. You had never seen him look so serious or so furious. The Silver you knew was excitable like a schoolboy when he presented his inventions and trash-talked with a grin so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks.

"I came as fast as I could," he said and swiftly stepped up to your side, helping you sit down. "Easy, darling, it’s going to be alright." He glanced at the girl who had heavily sat down as well. "Can you call an ambulance?"

She wobbled her head in a hectic nod and Silver helped you lie down onto your back. The girl remained kneeling at your side and fumbled her phone out of her bag with trembling hands. While she dialed, Silver took off his leather jacket to fold it beneath your head.

"Careful," you rasped and he met your gaze, steady and reassuring.

"I will be," he promised. "Rest, I’m here now."

He stood up just in time for the villain to free themselves from whatever trap he had sprung on them and now they looked absolutely pissed off. Silver flexed his hands and metal slid free from his sleeves to cover his hands, soft blue light lighting up like veins.

"I’ll take care of this," he said and stalked forward, anger in every line of his body.

It was too hard to keep your head up so you let it sink back, blinking blearily and when the girl began to cry, sobbing into the phone, you offered her your good hand to hold. Her skin was ice-cold and she clung to you, trembling all over. 

"You’re okay," you rasped as she finished the call. "Deep breaths, yes, just like that."

You managed to loll your head enough to catch glimpses of the fight and you swore every time you blinked the new villain looked worse and worse, as though Silver was beating the everliving shit out of them singlehandedly. 

He had some gadgets with him you had never seen before, nothing big and clunky, no, what he had brought to this battle were smooth working, futuristic inventions. Tough armor was revealed without his jacket, weaponry you had never seen him use before, glowing knives and mini-freeze-bombs and some kind of technology in his boots that allowed him to perform large jumps and fast-forward lunges, too quick for the telekinetic powers of the villain to keep up.

The new villain was beat into the ground in no time flat and Silver tied them up before he was back at your side. He knelt down, his silver-white hair disheveled and strands had gotten free from his braid, his gaze worried and he looked unsure if he should reach out or not.

"Thanks," you managed to say. "Sorry."

"No, darling, no need for that," he answered softly, as you heard ambulance sirens close by. "They’re almost here, you’re going to be alright." He offered a smile that looked to be trembling at the corners. "You did so fucking good, you know that?"

You felt tears gather again. "Liar," you rasped, and amended, "Pretty liar."

His brows furrowed, but the ambulance arrived before he could say more and he stepped aside as the medics rushed forward. He disappeared in the fray, but the girl stayed at your side until you were loaded into the ambulance.

"You’re going to be alright," one of the medics promised, just as you started to black out.

.-.

You had gotten countless of gifts and cards during your stay in the hospital. You put smiles on your face whenever doctors and family members showed up to check on you. You recorded a message for the public once to reassure them that you were alright, make-up put on your face by your visiting cousin to ensure you looked less hellish. 

You hid your shaking hands beneath the blanket of the hospital bed and tried not to remember the feeling of your bones breaking, your blood spilling and that horrible, ugly, terrifying knowledge that you were going to die. You were going to die and condemn everyone else around you to the same fate.

You were a disgrace of a hero, if you could still call yourself that. You had thoroughly succeeded in showing the city just how incapable you were once someone stronger than you had shown up.

No one would feel safe with you patrolling anymore and you half expected to receive a polite letter informing you the position of protector had been handed to some other hero who looked for a solo gig.

Silver must have dropped by one time when you had been gone for a check-up, since there was a little mechanical flower waiting by your bedside table. If you pressed a button, it unfurled its petals, a little clunky and sometimes you needed to shake it a little so it worked again.

You found you had many questions about your nemesis. If he had such inventions at his disposal, how come you were constantly arresting him? How had he not taken over the city yet? Well, to be fair, he seemed to have no interest in being some kind of governing body, but he could force you or anyone else to bend to his demands.

You’d have to talk to Silver to get those answers, but the very idea of having to fight now send a spear of ice down your spine. You were scared. You were so fucking scared since that beatdown from the telekinetic villain you either felt disgusted by yourself or had to breathe through a panic attack.

The day you were released you donned your civilian disguise and went home to pick Suzie up from your neighbor who had looked after her during your absence.

"I’m so glad to see you recovered, dear," the stocky woman said. "I was so worried when I heard you were involved in a car crash. I’ll bring you some food later, so take it easy and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fin, that’s very kind," you answered with a weak but grateful little smile. Suzie was losing her shit, she was so happy to see you again she nearly became a kangaroo in order to reach your face for kisses.

You said your goodbyes and went back home for the first time in weeks. The air smelled stale, but Mrs. Fin and her wife must’ve looked after the place since it was clean and no food was rotting in your fridge or your fruit bowl.

You slowly, carefully, sat down on the couch and Suzie was immediately hopping up, her tail wagging so hard her little body shook. You hugged her and pressed your face into her fur, suddenly so deeply grateful that you got to go home. That you got to hold her again.

It was this thought that made you break down crying, all the repressed emotions welling to the surface, like murky silt getting churned up to cloud water.

You remained there for some time, curled up on the couch with Suzie licking your face and tucking her little head into the crook of your neck, warm and soft and alive.

The city returned your hero suit to you a week later, freshly washed and perfectly repaired. Your smile felt like cracked glass on your face as you accepted the package from the delivery man. You dropped the box onto the kitchen table and stared at it for a long time, torn between longing and dread.

In the end you shoved it into the closet. You weren’t allowed to return to active duty yet anyway and the hero association had sent a substitute for the time being.

Silver, to your surprise and confusion, was very quiet, for he hadn’t shown up with a single invention since your hospitalization. At first you thought it was because he wanted a fair fight and you were still hurt, but that didn’t explain why he wasn’t challenging the substitute hero. He had claimed this city as his home as much as you had, so why wasn’t he testing the new guy?

It was pure coincidence that you ran into him a few days later while walking Suzie. You had taken a shortcut, hood up to hide your face just in case there was someone who might recognize you out of costume, when he emerged from a dumpster with a triumphant noise.

Silver was easy to recognize, mainly because he had never bothered with a mask and his hair and eyes were hardly inconspicuous. He was, for some reason, carrying an armful of used, broken shoes. You stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

"I can totally explain," Silver said and you absolutely believed him. He probably needed those shoes for some kind of new invention, the only question was which one.

The thought of fighting immediately made dread draw tight around your lungs, your fingers gripping Suzie’s leash hard.

"So, fancy meeting you here," Silver said, leaning against the dumpster in a may that might have been suave if, well, it hadn’t been a dumpster and he didn’t carry old, dirty shoes. He smiled, batting his lashes. "Come here often?"

That made you huff softly, cracking a brief smile. "Don’t you know alley meetings are lit, as the kids say?"

Silver blinked, then laughed, the sort of throaty, carefree laugh of true amusement. "Oh no, you sounded so old!" Suzie yipped and his eyes brightened. "And who is this gorgeous little fluff-ball?"

"Suzie," you answered and after a second, you tacked on, "You can pet her."

Silver was out of the dumpster in record time, shoes shuffled to be squeezed beneath one arm so he had the other hand free to hold it out to Suzie. Your little dog decided she found him acceptable and he was allowed to touch her. Silver was cooing softly as he pet her carefully, smiling softly.

"You’ve been quiet," you found yourself saying. "No new schemes cooking up in your lair?"

Silver hummed and smirked up at you. "Of course, my next invention is going to kick ass after all and that needs some time, you know?"

You didn’t know how to voice the thoughts muddling around your mind like drunk, bouncing balls. How he had defeated that villain but somehow lost against you time and time again. How the tools he had brought to that fight had been so different to the inventions he brought to your battles.

All you could think was that he didn’t take you seriously and was having fun at your expense and you simply had been too dumb to notice it until now.

"You look tired," Silver said quietly, scratching Suzie behind the ear. "Are you recovering well?"

You had no idea how to tell him that you were scared to go patrolling, that you felt like a useless poser and utterly unnecessary. That you waited for the hero association to demote you to a little town no villain was interested in. Aside from that, though, you were healing fine. 

When you didn’t say anything, Silver looked up, his expression was solemn and serious.

"It’s okay if you’re not alright, you know that, yes?" he asked and you bit down on your lower lip to keep your expression in check. He rose from his crouch, adjusting the shoes beneath his arm. "I know that sort of advice sounds like shit when it doesn’t feel true, but what happened was scary. No one would blame you for needing some time off."

He shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the rooftops where the substitute liked to patrol. "The new guy’s alright enough to keep the peace, I guess."

"Why don’t you fight him?" you couldn’t help but ask. "You like fights."

Silver was quiet for a moment, his face giving nothing away. Then he sighed softly and brushed back a stray strand of hair, only to grimace when he briefly smelled his own palm, holding his recently dumpster-rooting hand away from himself.

"I like fighting you," he said. "I don’t care about the new guy."

"Why?" It felt like there was a bit of a disconnect between yourself and your mouth and words were clumsily tumbling out. You had to know what he really thought about you, though. "I’m hardly a good opponent -"

"You are," he protested so sharply your mouth clicked shut. He looked at you, mercury eyes strangely captivating in their earnestness. "You’re not a failure for losing. We all meet someone stronger than us one day, someone who is the perfect kryptonite to our abilities or fighting style."

Your face must have given your troubling thoughts away, because Silver’s expression gentled and his eyes were deeply understanding.

"Do you know that everyone talks about how well you protected the civilians?" he asked and, no, you hadn’t known. You had avoided any and all news entirely since the fight, scared of what people might say and hating how cowardly you were acting.

"Not a single civilian got hurt when a Class A supervillain showed up," Silver continued. "They talk about your bravery and your cool-headedness." He smiled, warm and honest. "They’re all worried for you, hoping you’ll return soon."

"Oh." Your voice was soft and you felt surprised and yet, something deep down within you felt like it took its first proper breath in too long. People still wanted you. People still trusted you.

"Why haven’t you beaten me yet?" you asked, a question that had bounced around your head whenever you had lain awake after a nightmare.

He fiddled with the shoes in his grasp, for once avoiding your gaze for a moment. "I don’t like using those inventions you saw me use," he said softly. "I occasionally make things to get the shit out of my head, but it’s for emergencies. I don’t like making things that kill. I’m a villain and I’m proud of that, but I’m not vile."

That was true. Since the day he first showed up to challenge you, he had never endangered a civilian. There had been a few near-accidents, but he’d always either stopped to let you help or had actively helped you usher some moronic teenager out of the way, scolding them in a way that strangely enough reminded you of an angry goose.

"I’ve been in a fight like you have been too," Silver said out of nowhere. "Back when I debuted in another city, Terra beat me and I had to stay in the hospital for nearly a year to recover. After I managed to get away, I, well, I stayed hidden for a while."

You knew of Terra, of course you did. She was the hero of Mossville, a massive city a state over and she was one of the big league heroes, single-handedly keeping her city villain free since claiming it. The villains had nicknamed her Terror for her ruthless, violent response to anyone threatening her home. You had heard a rumor that a number of villains had been so severely injured during battle they had ended up paralyzed or were otherwise unable to ever work in their chosen career again.

Silver shrugged again, but this time it was a little tense and not as nonchalant as he tried to make it look. "I was a bit messed up for a while. And as I said, I don’t want to kill and I don’t really want to hurt people either. What I want, what I love, is the thrill of knowing I can be creative and someone else will meet me step for step." 

His he smiled again, charming and a little lopsided. "I love fighting you, because I know you’ll actually let me do my thing. Because you treat my inventions with respect, because you never even think about kicking someone who’s down."

You blinked in surprise. You knew that Silver loved his intentions, it was obvious in the way he spoke to them when they stuttered and glitched at times. Now that he mentioned it, you remembered your first fight with him, how he had craned his head to stare back at you as the police led him away, the worry lurking in his eyes. How they had widened when you had ordered for the walking ball of Crazy Kung-Fu, as he had named it, to be confiscated instead of destroyed.

His inventions all disappeared the same day he escaped prison, of course, but it had never crossed your mind to smash them to pieces. Or to hit him when he had already surrendered.

Silver offered a small, soft smile. "I know nothing bad will ever happen to me or even my inventions when we fight. You never break more than you have to and no matter how cleverly I hide dead-switches and weak-points, you always find them so fast. It’s so much fun to fight you. I don’t have to second-guess anything or worry about losing, because I’m, well, I’m safe with you."

You couldn’t help but stare and he coughed, suddenly looking a little awkward. "So, you know, let me know of any new triggers and I’ll be mindful of my actions." At your dumbfound expression he shrugged a little. "You hate it when I use my inventions anywhere near animals or children."

Oh. That was true. You remembered the time he had set loose a pack of robo-bunnies beside a pet-shop and you had been upset during that fight, taking the asphalt- and electronics-devouring metal-bunnies out as fast as possible. He hadn’t even bantered with you back then and instead had looked a little startled and then every solemn and kind of apologetic.

"I’m scared," the words sounded chocked as you spoke and shame was hot on their heels. You stared at the wall over Silver’s shoulder, resisting the urge to turn tail and run. What a hero you were, crying and sniffling after one near-death encounter. In front of your personal nemesis no less.

Silver was quiet, then suddenly snapped his fingers, making you startle. "I know just the thing! Give me a month and I’ll let you know where to meet me."

With those words he turned around and bustled away with an air of great importance and you were too dumbfound to stop him.

Right up until you realized he had no way of contacting you and you had to hurry after him to exchange phone numbers. He smiled in a utterly dazzling manner, holding his phone close and promising that he’d never misuse your trust.

You knew villains usually weren’t to be trusted, but this was Silver, your nemesis. The man who knew you better than anyone else and, well, if he was safe with you, then maybe you were safe with him, too.

.-.

A month later, after the doctor declared you were healthy enough to train again so you could return to active duty, Silver texted you an address.

You found yourself standing in front of a shady looking factory and the only reason you weren’t getting worried was Silver himself, who had poked his head out the front door and was waving you in.

He let you into the entrance hall, bouncing a little on his heels and grinning from ear to ear. He looked as excited as he did whenever he had come up with some particularly fun inventions.

"This way," he said, leading you down the hall towards the production hall. Or the hall where a production line once had been, before everything had gotten dismantled and Silver had gotten his hands on the building.

You had to fight to keep your mouth closed as you looked at a training parkour so grand it would have made the entirety of the hero association jealous.

"I made as many simulations as I could come up with," Silver said, showing you the multitude of settings on a tablet. Numerous ways to train your endurance and strength and to fight against robots and machinery. "I may have hacked my way into some databanks and looked up the abilities of other villains to simulate them as much as possible."

"All this, for me?" you choked out, turning to stare at him, awed and wide-eyed.

His smile became soft and understanding. "After I lost to Terra I trained relentlessly to regain a sense of safety. It helped me to feel better prepared, I thought it might help you as well. If you find anything lacking, let me know and I’ll build it."

He held the tablet out with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You reached back to take it and he shuffled a step closer to point at the settings again, rambling over how you could go wild, things were build to endure and be resistant and he’d fix anything that broke during training.

"Well, I’ll leave you to it and go back to my business." He suddenly pointed a stern finger at you. "Do not go towards the back of the factory, I really don’t want to spoil the surprise for when you’re read to fight me again."

You couldn’t help but smile a little. "Alright, I won’t." He turned to leave, a spring in his step, when you spoke up again, "Silver? Thank you."

"Of course, darling," he said, warm and unexpectedly sweet. "You’re my nemesis, after all."

Part Two"

Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Thinkin’ bout me || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @chenslucy

Summary: inspired by the lyrics of “thinkin’ bout me” Morgan Wallen 🤗🤗

Warnings: slight angst ig

Word count: 1,964

A/n: I rlly wanna do one with a Zach Bryan song but the ideas aren’t coming to me 😔

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Don't know where you at, don't know where you've been. Don't know nothin' 'bout that boy you're into.

It had been two months since you’d left, pulling yourself out of Rafe’s orbit so completely that he’d almost started to believe you’d vanished for good. Then tonight, here you were, mingling at the yacht party like nothing had happened.

Only now, an unfamiliar blonde had his arm wrapped casually around your waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against your hip as you leaned in close to hear him over the music, a bright, carefree smile lighting up your face. Rafe’s stomach twisted at the sight.

He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he could see the way you laughed at something the guy said, your head tipping back as if his words were the funniest thing you’d heard all night. The version of you he saw now felt almost foreign to him—like he’d been replaced by someone who wasn’t weighed down by your shared past.

Maybe you really were happier, but seeing you with someone else so soon cut deeper than he’d anticipated. It was the smile that got to him the most—the one he remembered as his—now aimed at someone else.

Don't feel bad for you, but I feel bad for him. And all the hell you gon' be puttin' him through. Probably tell him we're a burnt out flame. Probably tell him that I ain't been on your mind. How I ain't nothin' but a long gone thing. You can cuss my name, but baby, don't you lie

The unfamiliar blonde looked wildly out of place in the gleaming luxury of the yacht party, as though he’d just wandered into the wrong scene altogether. He had a wholesome air about him that felt like it belonged more to a Kildare bonfire than this slick, exclusive gathering. Rafe’s jaw clenched as he watched the guy, wondering what you could possibly see in someone so blatantly average.

“Who are you staring at?” Topper’s voice broke into his thoughts, a teasing chuckle in his tone as he followed Rafe’s gaze. He spotted you almost immediately, his eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. “Oh. She looks good—”

“Shut the fuck up, man. Don’t wanna hear it,” Rafe muttered, not breaking his stare. He didn’t need anyone telling him how good you looked; he already knew. Topper just threw his hands up, backing off with a smirk. Before Topper could throw in another comment, you shifted, turning around just enough to spot him.

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, catching the way you froze for a split second and in that instant, he saw the flicker of nerves in your expression. Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, watching the way you subtly fidgeted under his stare. He could practically see the wheels turning in your mind as you quickly turned back to the guy beside you.

The blonde followed your gaze, catching sight of Rafe and Topper watching. His expression tightened just slightly, his eyes darting back to Rafe every few seconds, clearly trying to size him up. Rafe’s smirk widened; he knew exactly what was going through the guy’s mind. You were probably telling him some watered-down version of what you and Rafe had been—a burnt-out flame, a chapter you’d left behind.

Maybe you were painting Rafe as the villain, the one you’d gotten over, glossing over the parts that didn’t fit. Even cussing him out just to make it seem like you’d moved on. But he saw right through it. He knew the kind of hell you’d probably put this guy through, the stories you’d tell him, the ways you’d pretend you’d forgotten.

He’d been in your life long enough to know you, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for this poor bastard. He didn’t feel bad for you—not anymore. But for the guy who thought he’d won you over? Rafe almost pitied him. He had no idea the hell you’d eventually put him through, just like you’d put Rafe through.

When you're tastin' what he's drinkin', are you thinkin' 'bout me? When you're ridin' where he's drivin', are you missin' my street?

Rafe’s eyes lingered on you, the smirk slipping into something colder as he watched you lean closer to the blonde, your laughter ringing out over the music. But he saw right through it. He knew you well enough to pick up on the tiny tells—the way you glanced over your shoulder just slightly, probably checking if he was still watching.

You were putting on a show, and he knew it. He could almost picture it: you, lifting a drink to your lips, tasting the same burn of bourbon he used to pour you, and wondering if it would ever hit the same. Or maybe it was later, on some midnight drive as the blonde took you back home, the car turning down familiar roads but never quite the right ones. He could almost feel that ache settling in you when his road, the one leading up to Tannyhill, passed by without a pause.

You might be so close, just one turn away, and yet still missing that feeling of belonging you’d only ever felt pulling into his place, the street you’d once called home. He could feel Topper glancing his way, but he didn’t care, didn’t let up. He wanted to make sure you knew he was still there, that he was watching you, and that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t just erase him. Not from those old habits, not from those half-forgotten memories that clung to you like shadows.

And even as you turned back to the blonde, pretending you didn’t care, he could tell. Somewhere, deep down, he knew you’d feel that same hollow ache—the same one he was feeling right now—whenever you tasted what he was drinking or found yourself driving down a street that just didn’t feel the same.

Every time you close your eyes, tell me, who do you see. Comin' over tonight, wish that truck in your drive was mine. Just like you know it's supposed to be

Every time you closed your eyes, he wondered if it was his face you still saw, if memories of him filled those moments you tried to shut out. He imagined you lying awake, maybe with that blonde by your side, but when you let your guard down, it wasn’t him you’d see. It was Rafe, pulling up to your place, the sound of his truck rumbling in the driveway as he walked up to your door, familiar and steady as if he’d never left.

He could picture it so clearly—his truck parked outside, headlights washing over your front porch, the way he’d make himself at home in your space without a second thought. Rafe knew you could pretend all you wanted, but when you closed your eyes, he’d be there, waiting in those memories you could never quite shake. And somewhere, deep down, he knew you’d feel that pang of regret every time you wished that truck in your drive was his.

When you're up in his bed, am I up in your head? Making you crazy, tell me, baby, are you thinkin' 'bout me?

He couldn’t help but wonder if, in those quiet hours of the night, when you were lying beside him, it was his name that slipped into your mind uninvited. When you were up in that guy’s bed, was it him who filled your thoughts instead—if the memory of his hands, his voice, his presence stayed just beneath the surface, making it impossible to forget. He wanted to know if he’d left a mark, lingering even now, pushing you to the edge of madness as you tried to convince yourself you’d moved on.

Rafe moved in quietly, blending into the crowd, making his way closer as he watched the blonde step away, leaving you alone for the first time all night. He didn’t hesitate, just closed the distance, eyes fixed on you with that knowing look you’d tried to ignore. Reaching for a glass, he pretended to pour himself a drink, but his attention was fully on you, his voice low and taunting.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, “are you thinkin’ ’bout me?” The words hung in the air between you, his gaze steady, daring you to look away. He didn’t need to say anything else. The challenge was in his eyes, his tone, the slight smirk playing at his lips as he watched your reaction. He knew he was under your skin, that no matter how hard you tried, memories of him had a way of creeping back. And now, standing close enough to feel the tension humming between you, he was waiting, pushing just enough to make you wonder if he’d ever really left your thoughts.

You swallowed, eyes narrowing as you tried to brush off the effect he still had on you. But the heat of his presence was unmistakable, almost magnetic, pulling you into that familiar territory you’d been trying so hard to avoid. His eyes searched yours, unreadable, but you caught the flicker of something darker beneath the surface—a mixture of anger, curiosity, maybe even the smallest hint of longing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, keeping your voice steady, forcing a smile that you hoped would mask the way your pulse quickened. But Rafe’s smirk only grew, as if he could see right through your act. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Sure, keep tellin’ yourself that.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in as he stared at you side profile before chuckling to himself.

“But we both know who’s really on your mind tonight.” You felt a shiver roll down your spine, his proximity making it impossible to ignore the pull between you, the way his presence filled every corner of your mind despite the months apart. He lingered there, eyes never leaving yours, daring you to deny it, to keep pretending he was just a part of your past.

“You look good,” he added, voice soft, with just the slightest edge. “But maybe that’s ’cause I remember how you used to look at me.” The words hit harder than you’d like, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that left no room for anything else. You wanted to come up with something quick, something sharp to throw back at him. But for a second, you just stood there, caught in the moment, feeling the weight of every memory between you—the late nights, the laughter, the arguments, the way he’d looked at you like no one else ever had.

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[freeabortionslol]

being best friends with the hughes and jack having always been in love with her and everyone knows but her. they finally get together and when jack tell everyone’s no one’s believes him and thinks he joking

okay...so i may have done like way too much plot for this but I honestly cant help myself. i also don't know if this was a request for a fic or a text but I wrote a fic (oops drop it in my inbox if you wanted it as a text and I'll do it)

it's nice to have a friend(jack hughes x bsf!reader)

summary: fluff! pining (from jack ofc), bsfs to lovers, luke being an absolute child, basically jack picking you up on a rescue misson

warnings!! cursing, kissing

wc: 3k

“Y/n L/n drunk and crying on the curb. You’re in your element.” Jack smiled at you out the passenger window from the driver's seat. You had been out with your friends for a girls night. It was supposed to be fun and you were supposed to let loose, but instead you found yourself chasing your wasted friends around all night. You were too busy making sure they wouldn’t do anything stupid to have any fun of your own. When you went to the bar to get a drink you turned around and they were gone. They left you by yourself in the city in the middle of the night, and being scared to ride in an Uber alone, you decided to call your best friend, Jack.

“I’m not drunk, asshole. I’m barely even tipsy.” You got up to stand, walking towards the car door, hopping in with one swift motion. You climbed into the seat, slamming the door behind you, and crossing your arms. Jack’s gaze lingered over you for a moment watching your misery which he hated more than anything. He graced you with an empathetic half smile before turning his hazards off and driving the car back onto the road. 

He sighed deeply, turning the radio down slightly “What happened?” he asked softly.

“Maria and Chloe left me in the bar alone. Some creep was all over me at the bar and I guess they assumed I was good with him.” You sniffled out, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I spent the whole night chasing them around.” Jack placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. “I just wanted one night of my own to let loose and have fun.” You flailed your arms in the air letting tears escape your eyes. 

“Hey, the night is still young.” You turned your head to look over at him, noticing how perfect his jawline looked through the street lights. “We can still have fun. Luke’s staying with Quinn in Vancouver. We'll hang out just the two of us like old times.” Jack’s words settled in, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Despite the situation, he always knew how to lift your spirits.

You glanced over to him, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah? Sure you’re up for it? It’s already almost one.”

Jack scoffed playfully and squeezed your shoulder. “Of course I am. You’re my favorite person and we can’t have you sad on a Saturday evening.” 

The drive back to the apartment was silent for the most part. You watched out the window, the familiar streets making you feel more at ease. You and Jack walked through the apartment complex in silence, watching as he fiddled for his keys in his pocket. You stepped through the door, letting the scent of the cinnamon candle fill your nose. You felt almost immediately at ease as you flopped onto Jack’s bed, letting his soft duvet entrap your body.

“Get out of my bed.” Jack laughed, pulling you up by your arm.

“Why? I’m so tired.” You pouted, giving him puppy eyes.

“You know the rule, no outside clothes in my bed. No makeup either, you’ll get it on the white sheets.” Jack smiled as he walked over to his dresser, pulling out a devils t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear.

“Nuh uh. Your dick has been in those.” You crossed your arms, glaring at Jack who had the clothes in hand.

“They’ve been washed. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He threw them over to you.

“Correction, don’t get these Jack Hughes gray Calvin Klein boxers in a twist.” You said, making your way towards the bathroom. You slipped your sweaty black dress off your body, stealing some of Jack’s deodorant before pulling the shirt over your head. You took a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, analyzing everything that had gone wrong tonight. You felt a small sense of betrayal from your friends as sadness crept up on you. You wondered what kind of friend would leave you alone in a bar with some random man in the middle of the night with no ride home. Jack would never do that, no he would’ve never let the guy get within two feet of you. Suddenly relief washed over you, realizing that you were safe at Jack’s house and not sleeping on the floor of Chloe’s apartment. He wanted nothing more than to make you comfortable, though you couldn’t tell why. You pulled the boxers up and began carefully wiping your makeup off with the neutrogena makeup wipes that Jack kept at his place for you. You started to glance around the bathroom noticing that he kept a lot of things here for you. You always knew they were there because you used them, but you never really took attention to the gesture. You looked down at the sink seeing your pink toothbrush, whitening strips, cerave face wash, and your expensive mouthwash he knows you like. You turned your head to the back of the toilet where Jack had put various feminine products in glass containers. You glanced at the shelves in the shower at your shampoo, conditioner, sugar scrub, shaving cream, and your razor. That’s a lot of things that cost a good bit of money. You thought to yourself, this place screams “I have a girlfriend” do girls not notice these when they come over? Come to think of it, Jack’s never really mentioned girls around you. You knew he had them of course from Luke and Quinn, but you never bothered to ask him thinking it may cross a line. You however, spent endless hours talking his ear off about your male conquests. Guys from work, home, bars, hinge, you name him and Jack’s heard about him.

“You good in there?” Jack knocked on the door.

“Y-yeah i’m alright just finishing taking off my makeup.” You replied, his voice breaking your trance.

“Just making sure you didn’t pass out.” You couldn’t see him, but you could sense his sly smile through his voice.

“I’m not drunk, Jack!” You shouted, kicking the door which resulted in several giggles from him. You wiped the final streak of eyeliner off your face and made your way out of the bathroom. You immediately caught sight of Jack lounging on the bed in his sweatsuit, computer in his lap. He looked up from the screen to subtly stare at you in his clothes. His eyes softening at the sight of you, his shirt fit comically large around your frame, but it was perfect to him in some way.

“Gonna keep staring at me like some fuckin’ weirdo?” You raised your eyebrows at him.

He scoffed, “Sit down, pretty girl.” He scooched over so you could lay beside him, your shoulders brushing against each other as you took your spot.

“No, pretty girl left a few seconds ago when I took off my makeup.” You turned your face slightly to look at him. A smile was already growing across his face.

“Impossible. There’s one looking at me right now.” The two of you held your gaze for a few moments, neither of you sure what to do next. Your heart began to pound as you thought of the possibility of him kissing you. You quickly turned your face towards the laptop screen.

“So what are we watching?” You cleared your throat, your head finding its place to rest on his shoulder.

“Not one of those stupid romcoms you like.” You smacked his shoulder playfully and scoffed.

“You love those movies!” 

“Wrong. I liked Ten Things I Hate About You.”

“So, that's the pick?” Jack groaned, throwing his head back.

“Fine! But no crying.” He started typing the movie into the search engine, clearly pretending to grumble about it. You settled against him, head on his shoulder, letting yourself sink into his skin as the movie started. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you tried to distract yourself from the way his thumb absentmindedly traced patterns along your arm. You could feel him stealing glances of you as the movie went on, his head shifting slightly. You felt the warmth of his gaze and couldn’t help to sneak a few back, each one resulting in a smirk or a soft laugh from him. It was enough to make your heart race. As the poem scene began playing, you couldn’t help but let tears fall. You shifted to wipe your eyes, feeling silly but not caring.

Jack chuckled, pulling you in closer, his voice low and teasing “I thought we agreed no crying.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I’ve seen it so many times, but it just gets me y’know?”

He rested his chin on your head, giving you a gentle squeeze. Your heart thudded as he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his face closer than ever, his blue eyes scanning your expression trying to read your thoughts. You felt a rush of courage and held his gaze, feeling the redness rise to your cheeks. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y’know you don’t need makeup for me. You’re perfect the way you are.” You blinked, catching your breath as his words sunk in. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and before you could think twice, you found yourself leaning in to close the gap between the two of you. Maybe it was the confidence of the alcohol, but that had almost entirely worn off. Jack’s eyes flickered with something unspoken as he met you halfway, his lips pressing softly to yours for a lingering kiss. The two of you held the kiss for a moment, his teeth subtly biting your bottom lip gently. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, as yours moved to his arm. The kiss intensified in an instant, releasing every amount of tension that kept it hidden for so long. You both pulled back, foreheads resting against each other, each of you breathless. He stole one last kiss, before pulling away entirely, smiles growing slowly as the realization hit.

“I love you.” He cooed out, his hand still resting on the back of your head. You let out a soft laugh, moving to rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his body.

“I love you too, Jacky.” He quickly moved his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body, letting the scent of your perfume entrap him. Your legs were tangled, letting yourself drift off to sleep as the tv played softly in the background, neither of you watching any longer. Jack waited until you were asleep before moving you over, so he could spoon you letting himself breathe. He pulled his phone from the nightstand with his freehand to text his brothers about tonight's victory.

Jack: Guys I did it. She’s mine. Told her I loved her.

Luke: Who?

Jack: Y/n

Quinn: HAHA no way

Jack: Yes way

Luke: No. Number one you're too much of a little bitch to ever tell her, two she would never ACTUALLY go for you.

Quinn: As much as I want you to go for it, you never would

Jack: I DID I SWEAR

Luke: Yeah okay pal cya tomorrow

The night was peaceful, you and Jack were wrapped in each other throughout your sleep. The morning light was harsh on your eyes which Jack took notice of, and got up from the bed to close the blinds. You subtly shifted your body onto the pillow at the sense of Jack’s absence. He chuckled softly and moved his way to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Luke was coming home today with Quinn alongside him. He didn’t expect to have you over last night, but my goodness was he happy about it. Jack began mixing batter in a bowl for the pancakes, letting his mind drag him to the memory of you sound asleep next to him in his bed. He wanted every night to be that way. He glanced over to his door hoping that maybe you would stumble out of his room, but he knew you were tired from the night before. He was in the middle of flipping a pancake when he heard the front door open, followed by the familiar voices of his brothers. 

“Guess who's back!” Luke shouted, walking into the apartment, throwing his bag on the couch. “Ooh! Pancakes!” Luke ran to the kitchen trying to get in Jack’s way, to which he responded by pulling the plate of finished pancakes out of Luke’s grasp.

“Uh uh! Go wash your hands first.” Luke groaned and made his way to the closest bathroom, which was Jack’s.

“You’re such a mom.” Quinn remarked, taking a seat at a barstool. “Funny joke last night, but seriously you need to tell Y/n how you feel. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, it’ll at least stop you from following her around like a lovesick puppy.” Jack slammed the stack of pancakes on the counter, pulling out four plates instead of three which Quinn didn’t take notice of.

“I’m not joking. I actually did it.” Jack scoffed.

“Uh huh sure, and I quit my job last night.” Quinn laughed out as Jack sent him a middle finger. The scene was quickly interrupted by Luke storming out of Jack’s room, running towards the kitchen. “Woah, Luke. Slow down.” Luke was panting, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath from the run he just took.

“There's…A…” He took deep breaths before every word.

“There’s a what?” Quinn questioned, pulling a pancake from the pile onto his plate.

“There’s a girl in Jack’s bed.” He panted out. Quinn’s eyes widened, immediately shifting his gaze to Jack who was smirking.

“So mr I confessed my love to Y/n last night has a girl in his bed?” Jack threw his head down at the stupidity of his brother. “Knew you were lyin”

“WHO DO YOU THINK THE GIRL IS?” Jack yelled, a wide smile across his face. Luke’s mouth dropped immediately, forgetting about the pancakes he ran back to Jack’s room, Quinn following close behind. Luke didn’t think twice before jumping on the bed throwing his body over yours. You awakened in an instant, you rubbed your eyes and looked up to Luke who was wearing a sly smile. 

“Gross Luke. How much axe body spray did you put on?” You groaned out, your eyes still not fully opened.

“No! Gross Y/n. You kissed our brother!” Quinn stated as he moved his way onto the bed, lying down next to you, propping himself up on his elbows. You squinted your eyes, trying to find the strength to keep them open. 

“She’s in his bed, they definitely did more than kissing.” Luke laughed out and you sent him a hit to the shoulder.

“Get off me you asshole!” You pushed Luke off, climbing your way out of the bed and towards Jack's dresser. 

“After all this time I can’t believe he actually did it.” Quinn let out with a chuckle as you pulled one of Jack’s hoodies from the drawer.

“What are you talking about?” You said pulling the hoodie over your head.

“Dude, Jack’s been in love with you since like seventh grade.” Luke shifted his position to the edge of the bed as you turned to face him.

“Are you serious?” You squinted your eyes, crossing your arms.

“Are you kidding? You never knew? He made it so painfully obvious.” Quinn chuckled, throwing his head back slightly. You stood there still processing what Quinn said, your heart pounding at the revelation. Jack had been in love with you since seventh grade? How did you miss that? All those little gestures, every time he was always there when you needed him, the way he’d listened to you talk about every guy you dated, even if you could sense his slight discomfort. It all made sense now.

Luke, still lounging on the bed, watched your reaction with a mischievous grin, “So do you like him back, or was last night just some…experimental sleepover?”

“Luke, stop. It’s- complicated.” You turned your head trying to hide your blush, knowing damn well that it wasn’t complicated. You just didn’t want to have this conversation with Jack’s teasing brothers who just so happened to be your best friends.

“Complicated?! He literall-” Luke started but was cut off by Jack walking in the room looking mildly confused and a bit exasperated.

“Hey hey! Let’s not harass Y/n right when she wakes up.” 

Quinn laughed and stood up, clapping Jack on the back. “Look, lover boy, we're just helping her process the last decade of weird repressed feelings the two of you have. She had no idea how obvious you were being.”

Jack turned pink, giving you an embarrassed smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t that obvious.” he mumbled, but you could see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

You stepped forward, reaching for his hand. “Actually you might have been, and I…I might’ve been really bad at picking up the hints.” You laughed softly, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm on yours.

“Finally!” Quinn groaned out, Luke flopping himself back into the bed.

“Now we don’t have to watch you guys be grossly oblivious to each other anymore.”

Jack rolled his eyes slightly, keeping his gaze on you, a gentle smile on his face. “You wanna go for this?”

“Absolutely.” You nodded, heart pounding with happiness. Jack pulled you into his arms, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.”

Luke groaned loudly from the bed, interrupting the moment. “You guys are disgusting. Breakfast is getting cold.” You and Jack let out a subtle laugh before walking to the kitchen, hand in hand.

[strawberrystepmom]

bnha ending fix it fic. healing!tomura who goes by tenko x f!reader. reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is referred to using the nickname sparkles. | word count: 2.3k reading time: 8 minutes

When a knock echoes through your small apartment, you’re up and running to the door before you are even oriented enough to figure out what’s going on.

You fell asleep at your desk. Again. Probably slumped over halfway through the last audit you vaguely remember working on which was for the Ingenium agency. It’s easy to lose track of time when you spend it stapled to your tablet and work bench, fretting over how to make the country you now call home safer. 

A second knock rings and you groan softly, stepping toward the door as fast as you can in a half awake and partially dressed state. Your tank top straps sag off of your shoulders, one of your socks has disappeared but there’s no time to search for it.

The door is in view. You twist the lock to unlatch it, pulling the door open. Blinking to adjust your eyes, they widen before you can think.

“Tenko?”

The dark haired man stands in front of you, clad in a hooded sweatshirt and dark colored sweatpants indicating he likely just got off patrol alongside Deku. There’s still around 6 months until he’s released from the fellow hero’s watchful eyes to act on his own though the prior 6 passed far more quickly than he expected. It turns out this hero stuff isn’t so bad.

He won’t meet your eyes, hands shoved into his pockets, obviously chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” You ask in a rush, opening the door wider to invite him in. 

His eyes further avert their gaze toward something that must be very interesting on the corner of your building. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, awkwardly. 

“I, uh…is this a bad time?”

Shaking your head, you wave your hand over the space created so that he can enter the practical hovel you call home. He doesn’t look at you while he slips inside, careful not to touch you in any way as he passes, practically melding with the wall. 

“I hate to ask again since clearly you aren’t,” you begin once his back has turned and he’s slowly started making his way toward your workbench stationed in the living room. “But are you okay? Did something happen?”

There’s no response for a beat. The man clears his throat, looking over his shoulder before quickly averting his face forward again. 

“You’re…I thought maybe I interrupted something since you’re barely dressed.”

You look down to realize you’re wearing nothing on your lower half but your scandalously small underwear. There’s no sense in making a big deal out of it so you shrug although he can’t see it, padding back into the main living area to join him. 

“I mean, I was asleep but you didn’t interrupt that because I would have been up in a little bit anyway.”

Stopping, you take a moment to admire the outline of him illuminated by your desk lamp, the strenuous routine required by a hero clearly doing him some good as far as you can tell. His hair is healthy, his frame is broad, and he turns his face to look over his shoulder at you once again. 

“I’m alright though.”

Smiling at his confirmation that everything is as it should be, you pick your pace back up and slide into your stool while he leans against the side of your bench. You engage your quirk, Magnetism, as a reflex and a stray bolt sticks to your arm. 

The faintest hint of a smile comes across his face, now turned downward in your direction. You disengage your quirk with a sigh, the sound of metal dropping back down to metal accompanying it. The screen on your tablet lights up when you look down at it, the time across it in large white numbers. 

2:15 AM.

“I can see why you were worried you’d interrupted something, these are booty call hours after all.” 

You joke, twisting back and forth on the stool and looking up at him through your lashes. 

“So are you here for business or pleasure, Entropy?”

He’s too used to that look, full of appraisal and perhaps a bit of interest, but he never wants to read too much into it. Especially not right now while you’re scantily clad, an eyeful of what lies under your shirt no more than a simple shift in glance away, and indiscriminately running your mouth.

Tenko looks away, cheeks warming. Hands that were buried deep in his pockets are now tucked into the crook of the opposite arm where they’re folded over his chest. 

He has visited your apartment multiple times since the first night he formally met you at Izuku’s. The pair of heroes stop by when they’re in the neighborhood or come by to chat if they’re off patrol, usually being joined by Deku’s girlfriend if she can be pulled away from her clinical studies for long enough to come and giggle for a couple hours. 

“I had some issues with my gear tonight and wanted to have you look at it.”

It’s the worst excuse possible but it’s the best one he could come up with on the fly. 

“Oh. You should’ve just said so,” you continue to mutter to yourself while unlocking your tablet. 

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s here. Some pull in his chest told him to go the opposite direction when walking home to clear his head so he followed it, landing right at your doorstep and standing outside of the door, too anxious to knock, for longer than he’d ever admit. 

Scrolling through the diagnostics app, you gnaw at your bottom lip and jiggle your sockless foot. You squint at the screen because he knows you need glasses and don’t have them on, probably due to the abruptness of his visit. There are all these little things about you that become impossible to ignore when it’s just the two of you.

“Ah! There you are. Let’s see.” You excitedly sing, while wiggling your fingers. He watches with a smile, so soft he may even just be imagining the feeling of it in his facial muscles.

Everything about you makes him feel…inexplicable. 

The unfortunate truth that he doesn’t know how to face is that your place has become one he associates with safety and warmth, something the grown man four years your senior fears he’ll always seek out no matter how distant Tomura becomes from who he is now. 

Tonight wasn’t a hard night but he didn’t want to be alone, pacing until adrenaline finally slowed down and let him sleep.

How unlike him. 

You hum and continue to orate to yourself, squinting at charts he couldn’t even pretend to get. How you manage to do all of this, accurately, safely, and without breaking a sweat, is truly amazing. 

“It says everything is fine. Can you tell me what issues you were having?” 

Sitting up, you fold your arms over your chest and swing back and forth on the stool. He watches you turn small half circles, realizing he may have been caught. Smiling up at him, you raise a brow. 

“My wrist cuffs felt tighter than usual I guess but that might not be an issue you can fix,” he mumbles, trying to explain himself in any way that he can to cover his lie. 

Rather than torture him by forcing him to dig this little hole he’s found himself in deeper, you change the subject. 

“Have you eaten tonight?” You ask, brow quirked. 

He shakes his head. It was a busy shift and he doesn’t have a lovely girlfriend at home to make bentos with him like Deku does and he managed all evening on the half assed late lunch he packed for himself that was mostly made up of the type of shit he used to eat when he was still Tomura. It’s hard to learn to take care of yourself. 

“Alright. Let me see what I can find to make.” 

You stand, walking into the kitchen. Glancing over your shoulder, it’s hard not to get caught up in how intimate this feels. Your face warms and so does your belly, floored by how handsome Tenko really is in that low light that envelops his profile. 

There’s no way your work would’ve failed him tonight. It means too much that it works well

“Next time, come up with a better excuse. Or just text me and tell me you wanna come over.”

You confirm that he has been caught, literally and figuratively. He debates showing himself the exit but instead follows you into the kitchen. There’s no point in backing away now. His heavy footsteps echo after yours while you dig through the fridge and continue to hum, bopping your head along to a completely made up song. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Glancing over your shoulder while pulling out a carton of tofu, you nod at his question. He keeps his eyes as averted as he can, floored by how exposed you are now that you’re not in a dimly lit room, and clears his throat.

“Why do they call you Sparkles? Is it a hero name or something?”

Snorting, you shake your head and shut the fridge. Making your way to the counter that he leans against, you look up at him and slowly start to get to work while contemplating how to best answer the question.

“I’m surprised the Midoriya’s haven’t told you that story,” you joke about Izuku and his girlfriend as one, despite the formality of marriage not yet being completed. 

“I’ve never really asked them.”

Tenko has asked Izuku many other questions about you, namely about the nature of your friendship with Lemillion and how close you two really are.

“They just like each other’s attention,” Deku comforted his unlikely friend with a pat on the back the last time the entire group of you went out and Tenko watched the blonde man hug you a little too tightly. 

But beyond that, he has managed to feel you out himself. Perhaps against his better judgment and here he is again, desperate to learn a little more. 

“Well when I was a third year my final project to graduate from the support course was a glitter bomb.” 

You finally start, finishing chopping one item and moving onto the next. 

Graduation came not long after the Meta War ended. The project was something you’d worked tirelessly on for months before that, a sophisticated piece of equipment with a state of the art fireless ignition. Safety has always been the reason you wanted to invent and this was a golden opportunity to invent something that had no possible chance of hurting its user. No backfiring, no risk. 

“Honestly, nobody really found the invention that funny except for me given, you know…” you wave your knifeless hand around and raise your eyebrows hoping he gets the message without being insulted. 

Tenko tilts his head to the side, unfolding his arms and bracing them on the edge of the countertop. He picks up what you mean and doesn’t wish to pull the thread, eyes darting from his feet to your hand and back.

“But long story short, Hatsume told me once that they are still cleaning glitter out of the 3A classroom carpets and now everyone calls me Sparkles. I ended up selling the schematics to the support item manufacturer that one of my other classmates works for so it worked out.”

The lack of response worries you although it’s a bit silly to care in the first place. You don’t want his presence to be impermanent but you know that once his time trailing Deku around like a puppy is through, it’s likely he’ll never stop by again. It’s something you’ve kind of resigned yourself to over the last several months after finding yourself a little too invested in what you can do to bring a smile to that handsome face that looks a little more lively every day.

That’s a concern for a few months from now. You’ve always prided yourself on the ability to live in the moment so here you are, choosing to ignore an uncertain future to embrace what’s right next to you.

With an exaggerated sigh, you gather up a pile of green onions with the back of your hand and look up at him with a wry half smile. “Why did you think they called me Sparkles?”

Shrugging, he smiles down at you.

“Guess I always thought it was because of your personality.” 

Biting back a smile, your cheeks warm while you drop the tofu and a bunch of sauces into a now hot pan. 

“You really think I sparkle?”

Chuckling, he lifts himself away from the counter and walks to your other side to gently shake the handle of the frying pan. 

“I think there’s no way you don’t already know that about yourself.”

No sense in arguing with a man who is right. Giggling, you reach for the frying pan handle and gently shove him with your shoulder.

“Hey, you’re my guest. Let me handle it.”

Side stepping, he finds himself looking downward at the slope of your back and once again at your very visible derrière. That same ache that led him to your front door returns, his mouth drying out as he realizes it. 

Why does he feel comfortable enough to stand here? Is progress, improvement even, supposed to feel this terrifying?

“Go sit down Ten,” you nod toward the living area with a smile. “I can handle it.”

Ten.

It has been a long time since someone he considered a friend called him that. He doesn’t recall anyone he’d ever considered more than saying it. 

“And what if I stay right here?” He asks, smiling when you look over your shoulder at him again. 

Is he flirting with you?

“Then I won’t stop you.”

[senseandaccountability]

the healer has the bloodiest hands

I wrote some thoughts after the finale of Veilguard. Solavellan heavy.

This is just me, parsing through some feelings. "My people had a saying long ago -'The healer has the bloodiest hands'. You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. You cannot heal pain by hiding it. You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better."  Solas to Thom Rainer in DAI.  ***

One can wonder, of course, what Mythal has to do with a Solavellan reunion and Solas’s choice to become the Veil’s protector, but hear me out. 

It is significant that it’s Mythal because she is the embodiment of his terrible past, the epitome of their brilliance and boldness and good intentions turned to terrible truths. The horrors they did, they did together. It is significant that it’s Mythal that sets him on this new course by removing the chains of his guilt and regret. Lavellan can’t do that, she didn’t forge them. Solas’s journey as the Dread Wolf begins and ends with Mythal. 

Mythal literally pulls Solas out of the Fade to use his wisdom, first to not lose herself to the other gods' vanity and brutality, then to gain advantage against them in an endless power struggle that breaks them both, I’d argue, though most significantly it breaks Solas. Retribution and revenge has no room for understanding, there is no wisdom in conquering. And Solas, for all his faults, isn’t brutal or cruel, doesn’t want power for his own gain. Instead he’s wise and creative, doomed to see the faults of his actions even as he carries them out, arguing in vain that the Evanuris too must see it - don’t cross these lines, don’t do it like this, don’t warp and twist your powers to forces of destruction. You must know this is madness! He objects to the creation of the bodies for the ancient elves, objects his own People’s physical creation. Did the earth not shake? It did, it was horrific and it was wrong and he knows this and it doesn’t matter. What he wants has never been part of the equation. 

Even when he breaks free from Mythal, when he burns her mark off his face, he never stops fighting for the world she once wanted. Because otherwise? Should he stop? Then all that he has done, all that he has given up, all that has been demanded of him both as Mythal’s lapdog and the Dread Wolf, leader of the rebel armies for centuries, cloaked in a persona of strategy and battle orders - all of that has been for nothing. He has made a ruin of himself, of the world, for nothing.  So he begins again, he picks up the pieces, he swears to make it right, to fix what he broke. That’s how he perceives healing, that’s what he thinks he is doing. But you cannot heal pain by hiding it. That’s why the Crossroads are falling apart with the manifestations of Solas’s greatest regrets, that’s why he needs Rook to escape his own prison, that’s why a Regret demon burns through Skyhold.

Solas traps the Evanuris as a final act of the ancient times, the creation of the Veil an embodiment of everything he and Mythal ever were - protection, benevolence, retribution, wisdom, pride. He ties it to the blood of the Firstborn out of spite and anger and it wrecks the world in ways he could not foresee. In ways he cannot fix because you cannot fix what has already happened.

You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better. He holds himself like a broken thing in front of Mythal and you can see it as submissive or as a man finally letting his grief out. There, at long last, he stands beaten and bloodied and blighted and he cries for all that was lost, all that he did and all that was done to him, all the things he cannot, cannot undo. And then: a new way forward.

In willingly binding himself to the Veil he embodies the best of those old myths, the All-Mother and the Breaker of Chains, as he breaks the cycle of punishment and grief and protects the sun and the moon. This oath, as opposed to the oaths of the empire that made him, is not to someone but to everyone, to all the innocents of the world. Instead of being the one who makes the terrible sacrifices of other people - the things I have done - he becomes the protector of the world that his people broke once upon a time. Instead of being the Creator of a new world without the Veil - the god he vehemently does not want to be, that he arguably thinks nobody should be - he becomes a caretaker, a guardian. A healer with bloody hands. And yes, it takes Mythal to break Mythal’s hold over him. You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. And this one goes deep.  But it’s Lavellan who brings him the light in this story. It’s Lavellan who breaks through the dark, transforms it into something hopeful. 

His prison construct in the Fade was terrible, an abyss of regret made to hold a god. An ancient punishment for ancient crimes but times change, people change, the People change for better and for worse and here Lavellan stands in all her mortal imperfection, offering him not a way to change the past - where all these ancient beings are stuck - but a way to mend the future. It will be a terrible place, he tells her, saying I am terrible because the Fade shifts around our beings. It won’t be terrible, Lavellan argues. Because I’m there with you, walking the dinan’shiral with you, all the way. He doesn't have to fix anything first, he doesn't have to change for her, he just needs to stop hurting the world, hurting himself. Because she loves him, despite all the terrible mistakes he has made. Because she knows all his names, from Dread Wolf to Vhenan, she knows the power of his mind and the fires of his love and she saw more than most of the man he is. The man he wants to be. For a little slice of time there in Skyhold he was that man, he was seen and he saw. He saw the world filtered through her and could forgive it, he saw her through his own ancient, tired eyes and he fell in love no matter how much he thought he did not deserve it. You don't have to deserve love, or mercy, it doesn't demand anything in return, holds you to no oath. It is a gift, freely given. That's what Lavellan offers him by holding out her hand there, at the edge of everything. That's where the light slips in.

She’s real, which means everyone is real and she changes everything, because she can.  Ar lasa mala revas. 

[maxdibert]

Alright, let’s dive into the dumpster fire that the Marauders fandom has become last years and threw any sense of canon or character integrity out the window. Because let’s be real, the way this fandom has twisted the characters of the Marauders and the Death Eaters, all while turning Severus Snape into some one-note “creepy stalker,” is embarrassing. The fandom seems obsessed with scrubbing characters clean, romanticizing abusers, inventing tragic backstories for literal sociopaths, and piling up headcanons that turn a few lines in canon into fully fleshed-out, fanon-only OCs. And somehow, the only character who gets relentlessly dragged and demonized is Severus Snape—a character who has actual complexity and trauma. It’s hypocritical, classist, and downright gross.

Let’s start with Severus. Canon Snape is a guy who came from nothing: poor background, abusive father, dead-end town. He didn’t fit into the wizarding world, was relentlessly bullied by privileged Marauders, and still somehow managed to survive and make something of himself. But instead of acknowledging any of that, the fandom loves to reduce him to this “creepy obsessive” stereotype. People act like he spent every waking moment pining for Lily and never did anything else, as if that’s all his character is. Never mind the fact that he was actively trying to get out of a miserable life, or that he was, you know, bullied on a daily basis by James and Sirius, who had wealth, status, and freedom to do whatever they wanted. Nope, to the Marauders fandom, Snape is just the “weird stalker”—because acknowledging his struggles would mean admitting that their golden boys were actually kind of awful.

Meanwhile, the same people are out here bending over backward to make people like Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, and Regulus Black look like misunderstood anti-heroes. Let’s be clear: in canon, Barty Crouch Jr. was a straight-up torturer, Evan Rosier died laughing as he fought Aurors, and Regulus was a kid raised with a silver spoon who only started doubting Voldemort when he realized he’d been signed up as snake chow. But no, fanon has turned these guys into “tragic, complex Slytherins” who were “just trying to survive.” It’s like they’re desperate for some tortured prince narrative, so they invent personalities out of thin air to give us this dreamy aesthetic of sad, beautiful Death Eaters who “didn’t really want to be evil.” Apparently, actually following the text is too much to ask when you’ve got fanon fantasies to uphold.

Regulus Black, in particular, has become this absurd fanon martyr. In canon, Regulus was a kid indoctrinated into pureblood ideology, who joined the Death Eaters without much hesitation. Maybe he had a change of heart eventually, but it wasn’t out of some grand moral revelation; he just realized Voldemort’s loyalty was to himself alone. Yet, according to the current fandom, Regulus is some misunderstood hero who was only “pretending” to go along with Voldemort and was “forced” into his choices. They’ve built this tragic romance around a character who, in the actual books, doesn’t have even half this depth. This Regulus in fanon is practically an OC at this point, and people cling to this made-up version of him so hard that they’ll defend it like it’s canon. It’s hilarious, and it’s also just plain wrong.

And let’s talk about the Marauders themselves. In canon, James and Sirius were rich, spoiled brats who spent their school years bullying anyone who didn’t fit into their world. They were kids with every privilege, and they used it to torment people like Snape, who had nothing. But the Marauders’ fandom has turned them into these fluffy, “good-hearted” rebels who just made “a few mistakes.” I’m sorry, but nearly killing someone as a “prank” is a bit more than a mistake. Yet people will ignore that or wave it away as “boys will be boys” just to keep up the illusion that James and Sirius were lovable scamps. It’s maddening—and it’s also classist as hell. They erase all the ugly realities of the Marauders’ behavior and then turn around and judge Snape for being “obsessive” and “weird” when he was just trying to survive in a world stacked against him.

The classism in this fandom is so blatant it’s laughable. Snape is written off as creepy and unworthy of sympathy because he didn’t have a cushy upbringing or the social standing to make him likable. Meanwhile, characters like Barty and Regulus, who came from wealthy pureblood families, get excused and romanticized to no end. It’s like the fandom is saying, “Well, Snape deserved it because he was poor and awkward, but the rich kids? They’re just misunderstood.” It’s the kind of privilege blindness that makes you wonder if people actually read the books or if they’re just projecting their own biases onto the characters.

And let’s not forget the army of new OCs the Marauders fandom has invented just to justify this headcanon universe (Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, that that Pandora no one knows why suddenly appears here lol) You’ve got random “best friends” for Sirius, unnamed Slytherins who magically have no ties to pureblood supremacy, and love interests for Regulus who supposedly saw the “real” him. All these characters are based on nothing more than a few throwaway lines, yet people have fleshed them out to a level that they’re practically new characters in the universe. It’s like they need this entourage of made-up people to back up their version of the Marauders and Death Eaters because, without them, their headcanons would fall apart. And all of this, while they keep painting Snape as this creepy loner with no real friends or worth. The hypocrisy is unreal.

At the end of the day, the Marauders fandom has taken a bunch of characters with clear flaws and complexities and rewritten them into these sanitized, tortured souls while dumping all their scorn onto Snape. They’ll go out of their way to redeem a literal torturer like Barty Crouch Jr. or turn Regulus into some tragic hero, but they can’t bring themselves to even consider Snape’s trauma or the systematic abuse he endured. It’s all about maintaining this fantasy where their favorite characters are perfect and untouchable, even if it means twisting canon and ignoring the ugly truths about class, privilege, and abuse that is reflected into the story. And that, honestly, just makes the fandom look shallow, hypocritical, and completely disconnected from the reality.

[kiwinapped]

Daisuke smut where ur both bestfriends and u sneak into his room at night to play on his game boy and one thing leads to another n they end up getting on his bed and ‘wrestling’ 👅👅 fem reader pls 🙏🏻

I GOT YOU.

You tossed and turned in your assigned bunk, it wasn’t that it was necessarily uncomfortable, it just wasn’t doing anything to soothe you to sleep. Working on Tulpar was great and all, good pay and benefits, but being out God knows where in a hunk of metal with an assigned crew for months on end wasn’t exactly easy.

With a groan of irritation and defeat, your feet found their place on the floor. Slipping on a jacket and slides, you quietly made your way to the shared common room. The night time screen displayed on the monitor came into view, as well as one of your fellow crew members. Daisuke.

You were both not far off in age and he carried a friendly attitude that, in your opinion, was well needed. With everyone else, your relationships were strictly business. There wasn’t much lightheartedness, except the few times you would all come together for a celebration. Daisuke however, seemed to always be grinning about something. It was nice. Refreshing.

The young man was sprawled out on the couch, engaged with the game console in his hands. His eyes flash upwards, seeing you he pauses his game and sits up rather excitedly. “Y/N! What are you doing up? You okay?” You take a seat next to him and run your fingers through your hair with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just haven’t been able to sleep.” He nods and gestures to his console, “Yeah… I get that.” The silence was awkward for a moment before he spoke again, “You wanna go to my bunk? It’s quiet in there and we can play a game or somethin’! Or just.. sit there too.” He trails off with an awkward laugh. It’s easy to see the red flushing his cheeks, even with the poor lighting. You smile at him and nod, “That sounds great.”

~~~~

Daisuke’s bunk is…well loved. The company permits us to bring a few personal items on board to keep us sane, but if you hadn’t known better you’d think it was his dorm room. A poster of a movie you’ve never seen is taped up on his wall, a litter of game and movie cases on the floor, and even a figure of some cartoon girl on his table. It made you smile.

You and Daisuke spend the time laying in his bed together talking, laughing, and playing on his game. He even takes the time to excitedly show you the gist of the controls before shoving the game to you to watch you play.

In the comfort of the moment, Daisuke squeezes your thigh while excitedly telling you how “awesome” you were doing. You both look at each other and smile, a real smile. One that you both hadn’t realized you needed.

Before you knew it, Daisuke and you were locked at the lips. The force of Daisuke’s lips on yours is telling that he doesn’t have that much experience in this kind of thing. It was sweet.

In a fury the two of you had stripped each other bare. Daisuke’s hands were everywhere, firm grasps at your breasts and thighs. It was as if he didn’t have you in his hands you would disappear. Lifting your arms, you snaked your fingers through his hair making him moan and clutch you even tighter. He breaks away from the kiss hesitantly and locks his eyes with yours, his face is flushed hot and his lips wet and swollen from the passionate connection. Smiling at him softly, you run your hand down his chest, stomach, until you wrap your fingers around his excited cock. He moans, when you start softly pumping him you can feel him tense before relaxing. This time you lean forward and initiate the kiss, even with your lips pressed to each other his moans were clear. As you pump and twist your hand around his cock, he shakily releases the grip he has on your hips and starts rubbing two of his fingers on your pussy. You moan into his lips as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively from the attention. He breaks away from the kiss but just barely, as he talks his lips brush yours. “A-Ahh... y/n.. I-I.” Stuttering over his words while his body tenses, you pump his cock even harder. His moans were loud and uncontrollable, even with his head buzzing he continued rubbing your pussy even quicker as he feels your body tightening up too. Your warm thighs clamped down onto his hand.

Both of you locked in a kiss once more, Daisuke slips his tongue into your mouth the two of you moaning and kissing heavily. In what felt like an instant, the two of you cum.

Laying together while shaking lightly and panting as the two of you recover from the intensity, you both locked eyes. Daisuke even with his face flushed and sweat on his forehead flashes you his cheeky little grin, “Can we do this again tomorrow?”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S behind the cut; "from Andromeda to your eye". tw: internalized dehumanization; dehumanizing it/its pronouns. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

It wants to be saved, like it thinks it’s something worth that. It wants to be–it wants–it wants Superboy’s arms around it and Superboy’s lies in its ears and to never, ever have to go back to the Agenda, even though it knows there’s no way it’s really escaped the Agenda. Not for good. Not for real. 

The Agenda made it, and it isn’t something anyone would actually save. No one’s ever saved anything the Agenda made. 

It knows Superboy tried to, though.

But it still never should’ve come here. Never should’ve done this. Never should’ve come to Superboy like–like it really thought–like it really thinks– 

“C’mon, just–come with me, okay?” Superboy says, his voice all tight and twisted up.  It–understands that. Understands that Superboy needs to take it somewhere else. Somewhere with fewer staff around, where it can be secured until either Cadmus decides what to do with it or the Agenda comes and gets it. 

“I’m sorry,” it chokes again. The first thing it ever said was a lie to the security at the door; the first thing it ever really said was an apology to someone it never should’ve gone to. 

That apology’s still the only thing it’s ever really said. 

“It’s–fine,” Superboy says, his voice stiff. “I get it. It’s fine. Just–c’mon.” 

It nods, weak and useless, and Superboy stands up and pulls it up with him, and it tries to stop crying, and he wipes the tears off its face with the heel of his glove and it just cries harder, because why would he even bother to do that, why would he even care to, that’s–that’s– 

He should’ve thrown it out. Should’ve attacked it. Should–should just– 

He’ll lock it up. He’ll take it to a holding cell and lock it up and–and he won’t leave it there for good, it knows, not if . . . not if he can help it, anyway, but . . . 

But maybe he won’t be able to help it. 

It cries some more, and Superboy wipes the tears away from the underneath of its eyes with his thumbs. No one’s ever done that before. It’s never cried before either, but–still. No one’s ever touched its face or hugged it or lied to it over things no one else would ever even care to. 

No one’s ever done a lot of things, because the clone’s only existed for a few days, but those are things it wouldn’t have thought anyone ever would. 

“What do you want me to call you?” Superboy asks as he cups its face with one hand and its shoulder with the other. It sniffles, messy and ugly, and scrubs its own glove across its eyes. Of course he asked that, it thinks. Of course he asked that like that, it thinks. Not what’s your project designation? or what’s your name?; just what do you want?

Of course he asked like that. 

“‘Babe’,” it says, because that’s not what he calls Wonder Girl, and it’s much, much better than the idea of ever hearing its subject number in his voice. 

“Movin’ kinda fast there, babe,” Superboy replies with a crooked little grin, and it almost cries again. It thinks he’s–teasing it, maybe. Making a joke. Because he thinks it’s the kind of thing that could actually laugh or find something funny or . . . 

“Sorry,” it says, scrubbing uselessly at its face. “Sorry, just–not my subject number. Not–not that. Please.” 

“Hey, far be it from me to turn down a pretty girl asking me to call her ‘babe’, you’re not walkin’ that one back on me,” Superboy mock-scoffs, flashing it a wider grin and–and– 

And Superboy sees a girl when he looks at it. He sees a girl, and a “her”, and . . . and something to comfort. Someone to . . . 

He sees a person, when he looks at it. 

It–it knew he would. It knew that. 

But he does. 

She buries her face in her hands and starts bawling, and Superboy just wraps her up in his arms again like he’s not bothered by that at all and grips her tight, making rough little hushing sounds–or maybe rough little soothing sounds–against her hair. 

She still doesn’t know how to stop crying. 

The Agenda never thought she would, so why would they have taught her how to stop?

[strnilolover]

NNN - matt sturniolo - survivors guilt

⚠︎TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠︎ : school lockdown, school shooting, guns, death, blood, life or death situation, witnessing death, traumatic experience, police involvement, nightmare/night terror, panic attack, use of y/n, detailed descriptions, and more.

⚠︎THIS CONTENT BELOW MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS. VIEWERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING IN THE WARNINGS PLEASE DO NOT READ OR READ AT YOUR OWN RISK⚠︎

Flashback • 3 weeks ago

Sometimes school was something you looked forward to. Not just because of the extra curricular’s you were in or because the school work was enjoyable — it was because of your friends and matt who were able to make the days more bearable even when they were the worst of days.

Today you arrived at school a little early, hoping to get some much needed studying crunched into your already jam packed schedule. While walking up the steps to the school, you spotted Matt near the main entrance with a few of your close friends gathered around him. His blue eyes landing on you, flashing a small smile and giving a playful wave. You quickened your pace, weaving through the students until you joined them.

You took your place next to matt, flashing him a grin. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Matt teased, nudging you with his shoulder as you just rolled your eyes. “I could say the same for you.” you fired back, punching his arm lightly. His mouth opened, holding his arm as he gave you a faked hurt expression.

You smiled, turning your head to look at your friends. “Guess I’m not the only one who had trouble getting up,” you said, glancing around at your friends, who looked equally sleepy. “You guys ready for the most thrilling English class of our lives?” the sarcasm laced your words as you wiggled your brows.

One of your friends groaned. “Only if we get to hear Mr. Klein’s riveting analysis of metaphors again.” they said as their face scrunched up, sticking their tongue out. “I think i’d only be ready if Mr.klein just dropped all lesson plans for the day.” another one of your friends grumbled.

You all shared a tired laugh, your head now resting against matt’s shoulder as you somewhat cuddled his arm. It felt comforting to be surrounded by the people who knew you best, the ones who made every day a little easier. “I was going to get some studying in, but you guys have ruined my plans.” you pouted at matt and your friends, and they all laughed.

“Sorry baby.” matt said as his hand brushed against yours, lacing your fingers together as you started to walk through the front doors, your friends on either side.

As you walked, the usual chatter filled the air—the familiar sound of lockers slamming, friends greeting each other, and the echo of hurried footsteps as everyone rushed to their first class. The energy was calm.

“Think today’s the day we finally get a pop quiz?” Matt asked, giving you a sideways grin. You rolled your eyes — at this point they might get stuck permanently like that. “Oh, please, don’t jinx it,” you laughed, giving him a playful shove.

You all made your way down the hall more, but you quickly stopped at your locker. “Just go to class without me guys! i’ll be there soon.” you said to your friends, but matt had insisted on staying with you. Your hand fiddled with the lock, twisting to all the right numbers before popping open.

“So,” Matt started, shoving a hand into his pocket while the other came to rest up on the lockers. “since you couldn’t cram in your extra studying time this morning, why don’t we study at your place tonight?” he suggests, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

You hummed, grabbing a few books out of your locker before closing the door and securing the lock. “I dunnooo,” you drug out, turning to him as a hand reached out to pinch his side softly. “We’ll have to see if i’m in the mood to study tonight — and if my parents are okay with it.” you stated, head tilting to the side. He nodded in agreement.

The bell echoed through the halls signaling class was about to start. You and Matt both hurried down the hall to class, slipping through the door and sliding into seats beside each other, your few friends already in some seats around you. You were grateful to have them here, grateful that you didn’t have to face another long school day alone. Matt settled beside you, giving you a quick, reassuring smile as the teacher began to start class.

Once the class settled down, Mr.klein started taking attendance, calling out everyone’s name as they all said ‘present’ or ‘here’. “Okay class, today we’re going to start working on some group writing projects…” he started to explain some writing project but your attention was only half on him and more focused on Matt.

“I hate writing projects.” matt complains with a groan as his head tipped back before coming forward again and leaning toward you. Your eyes squinted, glaring at him. “Matt, babe — i’m always your partner for this shit cause you hate it.” you deadpanned, reaching your hand over to flick his arm.

He pouted, faking his sadness as he just grabbed his arm where you flicked him, you giggled before your attention shifted back to Mr.klein, listening to the instructions and taking down notes. Once he was finished explaining, you partnered up with matt, his desk moving flush to yours as you laid the plans out in front of you.

Class had been in session for about an hour now — yet you and matt couldn’t agree on a topic to write on. This always happened, he writing ideas were — okay, but this wasn’t supposed to be a goofy project. It was supposed to me serious and thought out.

You shook your head at another one of his statements. “No — no we should write about something that’ll resonate with people, not make them bored.” you argued, trying to explain to matt that writing about random shit wasn’t the way to go.

He opened his mouth, an argument right on the tip of his tongue — but was quickly cut off with the loud blaring of the intercom coming on, red lights already flashing brightly.

“Lockdown condition three, Lockdown condition three — lock doors, close blinds, barricade doors, turn off lights, take shelter.” the speakers blared, reds lights flashing and illuminating the whole room as they blinked.

You flinched, the loud sound being something you weren’t expecting. Your head turned to matt, a puzzled look on your face. “What is going on?” you asked, and all he did was shrug. You sat there listening to the speakers until another warning line was delivered.

“This is not a drill — I repeat — This is not a drill. lock doors, close blinds, barricade doors, turn off lights, take shelter.”

Your face paled, momentarily freezing as the realization hit you — that this wasn’t a drill. You sat there for a few moments, not registering that matt was trying to get you up. “babe — c’mon we have to help barricade the door-“ his words snapped you out of your daze and you nodded, shooting up your from your seat to close blinds and move things in front of the door.

The room was loud as furniture was moved and scrapped across the floor — you were frantic, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

You put anything you could — desks, chairs, things that would keep the door closed and unavailable to get through. Matt was right there helping, along with your friends and classmates to get the job done as fast as possible.

Quickly everyone took cover in a far corner of the room, hidden away from sight from any door or window. Your body clung tightly to matt’s as the speakers repeated their warnings. Some students asking in hushed voices about what was going on.

Mr.klein hushed everyone, telling them he wasn’t sure and would let them know when he knew more information. Some students started to cry, texting families and some trying to be strong. Your friends were in the front of the group, quickly looking back at you as they all gave you small smiles of reassurance.

Everything was so piercingly quiet except for the light murmurs of classmates talking and the loud warning blaring from the speakers. Your head turned to matt as you leaned into him, “Do you think we’ll be okay?” you asked quietly. Matt just took a deep breath, “I hope so baby…i hope so.” was all he said.

You weren’t sure how long you were sitting crammed in the corner for with matt and everyone else — all there was, was this persistent ache in your legs from being curled up so tightly. It was still quiet, nothing had happened yet and Mr.klein still hadn’t said a word.

Suddenly, screams rang out through the halls outside the door, the unmistakable sound of gun shots being fired following the shrieks. Your whole body went ridged, flinching as your fists clutched matt so tight you thought you might break him. Your heart was pounding wildly — the pounding in your ears as the sounds got closer and closer.

The distant sound of sirens outside could be heard — but they weren’t close enough. You could hear the sound of fists banging on doors and walls outside before suddenly a loud bang was heard on your classroom door, the items piled toppling over as whoever was out there tried to force their way through.

Your classmates panicked, mumbling quietly out of fear. The teacher shushed everyone — bodies huddling closely together as the bangs continued. The door should hold, surely you piled so much stuff in front of it — but you were wrong.

Surely this isn’t how your life ends? You thought maybe this would never happen to your school — how selfish of yourself to think.

The loud banging continued — whoever was there was persistent on getting in here. You clutched to matt even tighter, tears now clouding your vision as you tried your best to stay calm. Matt’s hand rubbing your back in an attempt to ground you.

Then the door busts open and — everything happened so fast you weren’t sure how to react. Loud gun shots rang out — classmates piercing screams were loud as your eyes darted around until they landed on your friends. Time felt like it froze, switching to slow motion — watching as bullets were shot at them.

That was the last thing you saw before you were dragged down to lay on the floor. The bullets hitting other classmates — their blood splattering all over you as the shooter just fired shot after shot.

You were mortified, silent sobs leaving your mouth as matt’s hand covered it to keep you as silent as possible. Their limp dead bodies laid over you — covering you from the shooters eyes.

The sight of those bullets piercing their bodies — their faces, were permanently burned into your skull. The blood that spilled out, covering your body from near by classmates made you sick to your stomach.

The sound of heavy foot steps echoed the hallway, multiple bodies bursting in through the door as they shouted — police — but they were too fucking late.

Your ears were ringing, you couldn’t focus on a single thing. The only thing you could focus on was the faces of those you saw die — the blood covered faces of your dead friends. The police were still shouting around you, telling the shooter to drop his gun and surrender — another fire of a gun sounded before multiple others joined.

It felt like you were on the floor for hours before an officer came over to check on those who survived — that being you, matt and a few other people. Matt shuffled, trying to pull you up off the ground with him after the police moved those who were deceased off of you.

“y/n — sweetheart we need to go, we need to listen to the police.” he said softly, trying to get your focus on him. But you couldn’t, all your eyes were looking at still were your friends — you could have saved them, why didn’t you fucking save them?

You just stood there, eyes blankly staring at the ground where they were laying — your friends were laying. And if your mind wasn’t so focused on them, you would’ve seen the killers own dead body laying not far from you. But you weren’t — it wasn’t possible when you felt so ashamed, so — upset with yourself.

All you did was watch — you were the last thing they saw.

Your feet moved eventually, carrying you out the classroom and into the hallways as matt guided you. Even there your eyes couldn’t tear away from those who were dead — blood pouring out of their bodies, and splattered on the white walls of the school. You didn’t know what to feel — didn’t know how to feel, you still weren’t fully there.

You made it to the front entrance of the school, pushing the doors open — the blinding light of the outside world burned your retinas, or — at least that’s what it was supposed to feel like, but it didn’t.

When you were outside, families were waiting — multiple parents crying and scared, hoping and waiting for their babies to come out to them. Your own family was there, taking you into their embrace when you were finally able to see them. You wouldn’t let matt leave your side — you couldn’t. What if something happened to him too?

When you got home — still covered in blood, you immediately went to take a shower. The water was boiling hot, steam filling the bathroom as you rid yourself of your clothes. When you stepped into the tub, you took your loofa, pour ounce after ounce of soap on it.

Scrubbing your body over and over and over again until your skin had turned raw and red. Your own blood visible from how viscous you scrubbed yourself. From how desperate you wanted to be clean — to rid yourself of that burning memory in your skull.

You don’t know how many times you scrubbed yourself that night — loosing track until it hurt to scrub yourself any further, your hand eventually dropping the loofa as your body slowly slid down to sit under the shower head on the floor. You tucked in on yourself, curling up as your mind plummeted.

It should’ve have been you instead.

-

Present Time

The masked man pointed the gun directly at matt as his body stood between you and the killer, sacrificing himself to keep you safe. The man only laughed, moving it to point the barrel of the gun toward matt’s temple as he pulled the trigger. The loud ringing of a bullet firing ricocheted through your skull, making your vision unfocus.

When you came to — time had seemed to slow down. Matt’s eye’s widened, his body slowly falling to the ground.

You screamed as you watched matt’s body drop to the floor — blood pouring out of him as that same killer stood in front of you and your classmates. Your body trembling as your tried to wake him up, thinking it was just a dream before your eyes looked at the killer, the last thing you saw was his finger pulling the trigger at your head before everything went black.

You tossed and turned in your bed — and if anyone were to walk in right now, they’d see the discomfort etched into your face. Quickly your eyes shoot up, body shooting up in bed as a scream ripped past your throat, sweat covering your body as your fists clutched the sheets to your bed.

A door swung open outside before footsteps quickly pattered across the hallway, your door swinging open — matt rushing in to check on you after the blood curdling scream you let slip. His feet taking quick strides over to your bedside.

“y/n — y/n!!” matt said, grabbing your shoulders as he pulled you into a hug, his body lowering to the bed as he held your body tightly. Your limbs thrashed around in his embrace, screaming and kicking as the nightmare still clung freshly to your mind.

“N-no!! let go — let go!!” you screeched, your hands coming up to claw at him — but they were uncoordinated, not landing on him once as your mind continued to panic.

These — nightmares…night terrors — started happening ever since the shooting, most of your nights were sleepless as memories plagued every corner of your being. Matt hadn’t left your side since — seeing how much it had left you shaken, your family nice enough to let him stay in the guest room across from your room.

Matt just held you, squeezing his arms tightly in an attempt to keep you safe from yourself until your body tired itself out, holding you close and whispering comforting words into your ear. “It’s okay baby, i’m here i’m not going anywhere.” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to your head as you shook.

You stopped thrashing your limbs, nails now digging into matt’s arms, leaving crescent shapes in the flesh. You sobbed, sucking in sharp breaths as you tried to speak.

“Y-you were gone — you d-died, he killed you. h-he killed me!” you choked out, fists now moving to grip his shirt tightly. “There w-was blood everywhere.” you cried, hot tears were running down your face as your breathing became more ragged and choppy.

The nightmares had gotten worse after you attended the funerals of the friends you lost — the services making everything feel too real, making you realize you actually lost them. It was too many someone as young as you should have to ever attended.

It’s your fault they’re gone.

Your breathing began to quicken more, your face hot and wet as your mind continued to spiral out of control. Your fists held him tighter, zoning out as you began to feel sick to your stomach.

Your chest felt tight — eyes frenzied and darting around. It felt like you were drowning, your tears falling harder now as you tried to regain control of yourself. You tried to speak — but all that came out were pained whimpers and sobs, your breath catching in your throat.

“y/n, i need you to focus on me baby, it’s okay.” matt whispered, pulling you into his chest, your head resting against his heart. “Listen to the sound of my heart love, focus on my breathing. I’ve got you, everything’s okay.” he continued, rubbing circles on your back as he rocked you back and fourth.

You strained to listen through your own heartbeat in your ears, rapidly pounding against your skull. It felt as though you would pass out any moment from lack of proper oxygen — but you tried, feeling the rise and fall of matt’s chest pressed against your ear and the side of your face.

Matt noticed your strained efforts, weakly smiling to himself as he looked down at you.

“That’s it baby, doing so good.” he cooed, continuing to rub your back as your breathing slowed down, your tears flowing less now. He could feel the rapid beating of your heart, it felt like it would jump out of your body if you weren’t careful. Your panic slowly subsided, exhaustedly melting into matt’s body.

Your breathing was still ragged, nose stuff from how hard you were crying — you had to breath through your mouth. 

He let out a long breath, calming his own nerves. He never knew how you would be after a nightmare or night terror — sometimes you were okay after a moment of him holding you, other times it was like this. Needing to calm your panicking mind in order to fall asleep again. It drained him — but you needed him, he wasn’t going to let you do this on your own.

When you pulled away from his chest, your eyes were red and puffy and tired, body still shaking from all the emotions coursing through your veins. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding from how hard you were crying. Your hands let go of matt’s shirt, coming up to rub at your eyes and head.

“m’so sorry matt,” you started, voice cracking slightly. “didn’t mean to w-wake you again.” your voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible if matt wasn’t listening to intently.

He just shook his head, a hand coming up to wipe away some stray tears you hadn’t realized were running down your face. “Don’t ever apologize, this is something you’re dealing with — a traumatic experience you’re dealing with.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You shook your head, “I-I couldn’t save them matt.” you mumbled, sniffling. “they were right there and i couldn’t do anything to save them — i should’ve done something, what kind of friend am i?” you rambled. “F-fuck i couldn’t even save you.”

What if you cant ever save him?

Matt frowned, pulling you onto his lap as he situated himself in your bed. “It’s not your fault baby — it’s not your fault they aren’t here anymore, it’s the horrible person who decided to do what he did.” he whispered to you, holding you closely. His hand raked through your hair, tucking your head under his chin as he just continued to hold you.

You always thought about them — about how that day could have been different if you had just tried to do something to save those people you held close to you. But, the damage was done and here you were — wishing it was you and that they could still be here — you weren’t fast enough for them.

Eventually, matt got you calmed down enough to try and get more sleep, laying down in your bed and tucking you into his side as he encouraged you to try and sleep. “I’ll be right here when you wake up in the morning baby, i promise.” he reassured, holding you tighter — like you might just disappear somehow.

You listened, letting the exhaustion from crying and not enough sleep, pull you into unconsciousness for the night again.

When you had woken up in the morning, matt was right there next to you just like he said he would be. You smiled weakly to yourself — slowly pulling the covers back and moving out of your bed to head downstairs where you’re sure your parents would be at.

Before leaving your room, you looked in the mirror. You looked awful — dark circles under your eyes and your eyes red. Your hair was a mess and your clothes looked disheveled. You weren’t a pretty sight to see.

You walked out your bedroom door, feet softly pattering down the stairs and into the kitchen where you could hear your parents talking. Your ears picked up on a few pieces of their conversation, even though you know you probably shouldn’t be listening.

As you arrived in the kitchen, your parents attention was shifted to you — their eyes taking in your appearance. A look of worry crossed their features, but they didn’t say anything. After a moment, your mom was the first to speak. “Are you doing okay honey? we heard you last night…i’m still so sorry you’re going through this sweetie.” she said softly, gently walking toward you to wrap you in her embrace.

She pulled back, briefly looking into your eyes before she started to speak again. “So…we know your school has been closed for the last few weeks because of what happened,” she started, and somehow you didn’t like where this was going. “but — we just got news they’re reopening tomorrow for students to go back.” she said. Your face dropped at the words, eyes darting over to your dads before looking back at your mom.

Your head shook, “W-what? no…no! y-you expect me to go back there after — after what h-happened??” you quickly said, your body pulling out of your mothers embrace, the panic rising in your body at just the thought of returning to the same place that you saw your best friends be murdered at. Your parents just looked at you sympathetically, their eyes softening.

“We promise it’ll be okay y/n…nothing will happen again, you’ll be safe.” your dad stated, hoping that somehow his words would help calm you down. But all it did was make you feel worse — what if it’s me and matt next?

“y-you guys can’t make me!” you wailed, quickly turning away. You could hear your parents calling your name and trying to speak as you sped toward the stairs and darted back up into your room as you closed the door behind you.

Your back was pressed against your door, palms flat against the wood, your eyes closed as you tried to keep yourself calm. When you opened your eyes again, Matt was already sitting up in bed, his face twisting with worry as he saw your state.

“y/n? what’s wrong baby.” he asked, opening his arms up for you to slid into, which you did. Striding over to the bed and Sitting down, you leaned into him — his presence calming you slightly. “They want me to go back,” you started, voice straining as you held back your tears. “back to where my friends died — i can’t go back. i won’t.” you say, shaking your head as you spoke.

Matt’s face softened more, “you don’t have to go back baby, not until you’re ready — even if that takes a while.” he said, tugging you closer. You let out a sigh, trying to turn your head to look up at him.

“I will never be ready to face that place again. Not when all I can see are their faces and their blood whenever i close my eyes. They were right there, and I couldn’t fucking do anything.”

© strnilolover

a/n : part 2 to this will be posted after NNN is over <3

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[gxr25256]

Perilous Illusion - Overlord x reader (5)

🌵 Story belongs to PotatooftheLand (they deleted the work and I'm really sad).

🌵 I just rewrote the story according to what I remember reading and according to my imagination.

-----------------------------

He knows now. You’re lost to him, you’ve abandoned him for good...

But, like a hungry predator circling its prey, he’s not ready to let you go. He knows better, no matter what, he can still possess you.

There’s a deep-rooted possessiveness that coils in his spark, a fire that refuses to die, no matter how harsh your words, how fierce your scorn. Even as you glare at him, even as you twist and struggle, he tightens his hold, feeling the warmth of your body against his armor. It’s a hollow warmth, one-sided. But it’s enough to fan the flames of his obsession, enough to remind him that he can still possess you, even if he’s lost your love. Even if he knows he’ll never have your devotion again, he can have your presence—he can press you against him, imagine the way you used to smile, conjure the echo of your laughter from fragments he’s stored in the deepest recesses of his mind.

In truth, he’s done it a thousand times before. After all, relying on his memory files to simulate those cherished moments. He can replay every look, every word, every laugh in his processor with perfect clarity, constructing a world where you still loved him. In that fabricated universe, you smiled just for him, spoke to him with warmth, and looked at him with something other than fear or hatred. If he simply closes his optics, shuts out the present, he can sink back into those comforting illusions where you haven’t yet turned away, where you’re still the doting partner he remembers.

It’s a cheap substitute, he knows. But for him, it’s enough. Or at least, he tells himself that it is.

Now, standing here with you so close yet so far, he could almost close his optics, ignore the hatred in your gaze, and pretend that you’re his again. He could wrap his arms around you, press you against his frame, feel the ghostly warmth that still lingers in his memory files, and, if he doesn’t look at your face, he could pretend. Pretend that you’re not looking at him with such loathing, pretend that you’re smiling up at him the way you used to, with trust, with devotion, with love.

Your servos press against his chest, nails digging into the reinforced plates with a desperation that borders on feral, and he barely feels it. The sting of your struggle is nothing compared to the agony of knowing that the love of his life despises him. He’s endured wounds, both physical and emotional, that would break a lesser being, but this—the sheer finality of your contempt—cuts deeper than anything he’s faced. Every angry word, every look of disgust you cast his way, feels like another nail sealing away the last remnants of hope he’s clung to.

And yet, even as you push him away, even as you fight with all the strength you can muster, he holds on, refusing to let go.

Some dark part of him revels in the struggle, in the way you claw at him as if you could actually escape. It’s a cruel irony, really; you may scratch and bruise, you may even manage to chip the paint on his chest plate, but you’re hopelessly outmatched. There’s a twisted satisfaction in knowing you’re powerless against him, that despite everything, he still has that hold over you. It’s not love—not in any way he wants to admit—but it’s control. It’s possession. And right now, it’s all he has left.

He watches the anger in your eyes, sees the spark of defiance burning there, and it only fuels his obsession further. He’s come to rely on that fire, that spirit of yours, as the last anchor in his spiraling existence. Even now, when you’re staring up at him with barely disguised hatred, that fierce light in your optics reminds him of everything he once admired about you. Everything he still admires, even if he knows it’s hopeless. And so, he clings to that, feeds off it, drawing strength from your anger like a leech siphoning life from its host.

With a smirk that’s as empty as his spark, he leans close, his voice a low, mocking whisper in your audio receptors.

“You haven’t even seen the worst that I can do.”

After all, Overlord is Overlord—he has always taken what he wants, and this moment is no exception.

-------------------------------

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Say What You Wanna Say

Summary: Y/N is incredibly nervous to tell her dad she's Bi. How will he react?

Pairings: Teen!Reader x Dean (Non romantic pairing)

Warnings: None. Some angst. Mostly fluff. Coming out. Bisexual reader. Papa!dean.

Word Count: 1,212

A/N: About a week ago I received this anonymous ask for a fic about Dean's daughter telling him she's Bi. I was happy to write it, but warned the lovely anon that it might take a while for inspiration to hit as my muses have been off lately and not playing nice.

Then this morning I got this response from them, and it absolutely charged my brain for this fic and it just came pouring out. More proof that #kind words fuel authors.

On a slightly separate note, I just wanna thank everyone who's been so kind to me regarding my creativity stall and mental health hiccups. All your words (whether in the form of well-wishes or kind comments on fics!) have made a difference, and they are so very appreciated.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fluffy fic. To the lovely anon who requested this - I hope it's what you were looking for. I went with a teen reader around 17 or 18 (she mentions choosing a college) just because it felt right for me in the story. But feel free to age her up or down as you'd like. Thanks for jump-starting my creative juices. (Sorry I said juices.)

Dean One Shots || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Y/N walked into the library to see her dad bent over a massive, old, leatherbound book. At least, she hoped it was leather. You never could tell with books in the bunker. One time when she was six she’d managed to sneak her way into the shelves in Room 7B and picked up a harmless looking book. Turned out to be a cursed book bound in dragonskin and she'd exhaled flames for a full day before her Auntie Rowena had gotten there to undo the curse.

She never went wandering through the shelves again.

But the book her dad was reading seemed innocuous enough, even though it had him scowling darkly at whatever he was reading. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, annoyed, or just concentrating. That scowl could mean a few things. The problem was, the conversation she had planned sort of called for him to be in a decent mood.

She considered turning around and coming back when she had a better read on his frame of mind, but just then Dean’s hunter senses kicked in and he looked up and caught her standing in the doorway.

She waved a little lamely. “Hey Dad.”

He grunted at her and went back to scowling at the book. 

She took a few steps into the library. “Something in there that’s bothering you?”

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s just pissing me off cause it’s not helping me figure out…” He trailed off and took another, closer, look at a sentence, skimming his finger along the page before shaking his head again and slamming the book closed. 

“Whatever, piece of shit.” He said, rubbing a hand down his face and then looking at Y/N. “What’s up kid?”

But Y/N was convinced now wasn’t a good time and she just waved at him dismissively. “No, nothing important. You’re obviously busy. We can talk later.” 

She turned to leave, but froze in the doorway when her dad’s deep voice called out to her.

“Hey! Nope. Stop. Turn.”

Y/N slowly turned back to face him to see he’d leaned back in his chair slightly and folded his arms over his chest. He lifted one hand to point at the chair beside him, turning slightly towards it.

“Sit. Talk.”

Y/N opened her mouth to once again tell him they’d talk later, but his raised eyebrow brooked no argument and told her she wasn’t getting away without talking to him. She contemplated making up something else to talk to him about. Something that wasn’t as likely to send him into a tailspin, but it wouldn’t work. Her dad saw through her lies way too easily. 

Nope. This was happening.

She walked over slowly to sit down beside him, tucking her feet up under her on the chair and twisting her hands in her lap. When she hesitated to speak, Dean unfolded his arms and leaned forward slightly.

“Talk to me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

Y/N shrugged. God, I don’t know how to start this conversation, she thought.

But she could see her dad’s scowl turning to worry in his bright green eyes which made her feel guilty so she smiled at him. It didn’t make the worry leave his gaze, but he offered a small smile back.

“Are you okay, baby? Did something happen at school? Did someone do something? Do I need to kick the shit out of someone?”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “No, Dad. School’s good. It’s fine.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, are you…are you changing your mind about going to Kansas State? Cause we talked about this, and I thought we-”

Y/N cut him off, shaking her head and waving her hands back and forth. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s not…it’s nothing with school. Look, just…” She cleared her throat. “Let me just try to say it, okay?”

Dean’s eyebrows settled back into a frown, the little double line of worry staying etched between them. He shrugged. “Okay, baby.”

His casual use of that endearment brought a dampness to her eyes. God, I hope I’m still his baby when this is done. She thought.

She took a deep breath. “So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a while now, a couple of months anyway, but I’ve just…I didn’t really know how to bring it up. I mean, I think, it’s actually something I’ve wanted to talk about for a couple of years, but I just kept denying it. But I can’t anymore, I can’t just pretend, and I don’t wanna and…”

She trailed off slightly, looking up at her dad and seeing only confusion and concern in his eyes. She exhaled the words out quickly.

“I’m bisexual.”

She watched understanding erupt in her dad’s expression as his eyes widened and his mouth slackened. He stared at her, just blinking for a few seconds and then he nodded slowly.

“Wow. That’s…that is not what I was expecting to hear.”

Y/N swallowed over and over, nervousness making her stomach ache. She was ready for the barrage of questions and possible challenges that were bound to come her way.

So, she was slightly thrown when he took a deep breath and spoke one word.

“Okay.” He said with one corner of his mouth lifted.

It was her turn to frown. “Okay?

His half smile turned into a full one. “Yeah, okay.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N asked with confusion.

Dean chuckled. “It means what it always means, kiddo.”

“So, okay…like, you’re fine with this? You don’t have…I don’t know, questions or arguments. This doesn’t bother you? I was expecting a bit of caveman in your response, to be honest. I mean, it doesn’t make you feel weird, or like…I don’t know…bug you?”

Dean pushed out his lips and raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Hey kid, I’m Gen-X, nothing bugs us.” 

Y/N scoffed and he laughed and conceded. “No, I don’t know, maybe if you’d told me twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have known what to do. Or it might have felt weird to me, or made me uncomfortable or awkward or something. But I learned a long time ago to let people be who they are, and I especially want you to be just exactly who you are. You’re an incredible kid, which means every part of you is incredible.”

He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “Seriously, baby. I’m really glad you told me, and if you’re happy, I’m happy.” He kissed her forehead and she threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, tears of relief and happiness flowing. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” She whispered.

When she pulled away, he held the back of her head in his big palm, the way he had when she was little. “Love you, kid.” He said gruffly.

“I love you too, Dad.” 

His eyes were a little watery as he sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “And, you know, if you end up dating a chick, or marrying her, that’s one less asshole I have to punch in the jaw as a warning not to mess with you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and chuckled. “That’s very progressive, Dad.”

Dean smiled brightly. “What? You gotta allow me a little bit of caveman.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

@whimsyfinny @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

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@hobby27 @waywardcheshire @livya99 @k-slla @leigh70

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2

@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[hsr-writing]

kinktober - day thirty one - hunter/prey

blade x reader, nsfw, minors dni. biting, blood mentioned, aftercare

Your heart is racing as you sprint through the streets, ignoring the few people out this late. You give a flash of a smile and a wave to a guard patrol as you race by them, and you're pleased when they laugh and wave back.

Good. You wouldn't want the chase ended by some well meaning strangers.

Your lungs are starting to burn, so you veer from the streets and down several alleyways. You haven't seen Blade since you started running, but you know he's around, and now you can hear heavy footsteps.

You grin and start heading towards an area of the city you know is empty, that Blade had scouted out earlier in the day. He's sweet, your Blade. Possessive enough that he doesn't want anyone else to see you, even when he's hunting you down through the city.

The area he's herding you into leads into a preserve, and you grin as you dart off of the main road, twisting through the smaller paths until you can't see the road anymore. You know exactly where you're headed as you leave the path, and you giggle as the feeling of being hunted suddenly intensifies.

You swear you can feel the brush of fingers against your arm as you dart to the side, making your heart race with excitement. You can't risk looking back, but you can hear the heavy beat of his footsteps, the snarl when you veer just out of reach.

It's actually an accident when he catches you.

A root catches your foot when you're not expecting it, Blade's weight slams against your back, and down you both go.

You hiss as you hit the ground, Blade's teeth already digging into the crook of your neck as he drops his full weight onto you, holding you down.

It's tempting to fight, but Blade's teeth in your neck, the bruising strength of his hands on your wrists... You go limp under him, submitting as he snarls wordlessly.

-------

You moan as Blade slides his cock along your wet folds, using the head of his cock to push his cum back inside you. He's got you pinned against the ground, your hips pulled up for him to fuck into like an animal.

He came so quickly once he got his cock inside you, making your skin burn as you blushed, realizing just how worked up chasing you got him. Your fingers dig into the dirt and moss under you as he finally pushes his cock inside you again, mouthing wet kisses up your shoulder.

He'd snarled, loud and threatening, when you'd tried to push yourself up and it was enough to send you shuddering back into submitting. Your Blade is a man of few words most of the time, but this? Oh, this.

Divine.

Blood slowly drips down your shoulder from one of his bites, the hot feeling making you keen under Blade, pushing your hips back against his and nearly sobbing on a moan as his cock sinks even deeper.

"Ngh! Blade!"

He growls in response, snapping his his roughly against your ass. His nails dig into your hips, the biting pain making you shudder and squeeze tight around him.

"Mine," he snarls against your jaw, pinning you down further as he presses his weight down on you. He uses the shift in position to slide his hands up your arms until he's holding your hands in his, lacing your fingers together.

It's so sweet it makes you whine, your heart racing at the intimacy of the action. He knows you love it, knows it always makes you blush and melt for him. His hands squeeze yours and you shudder.

Somehow, your orgasm takes you by surprise, leaves you crying out in shock and pleasure as your vision goes white. Pleasure rocks through you, the way Blade fucks you through it extending it until you're whimpering under him.

There are tears in your eyes when you open them again. Blade's thrusts have turned desperate and erratic as he groans, low and rumbling in your ear. He moans your name against your ear, then he bites and comes inside you a second time.

-------

You're wrapped in Blade's arms when you pull yourself from subspace, your head tucked under his chin as he cradles you close. You're still in the woods, but the has long set, the chill of night muted by the blanket wrapped around you both.

You press a gentle kiss against his throat, smiling against his skin when he shivers. You wonder if you can convince him to carry you back to your little rented apartment, only to realize you don't have to when his arms tighten slightly around you.

He's sweet, your Blade, and he'll never let you go.

[preposterousjams]

My opinion on the Latino Jason Todd headcanon

While I do understand ppl's criticism of the latino Jason todd headcanon and how its kind of racist to make the kid with parents with drug problems as the latino one, to me its more of a reclamation BECAUSE of DC's racism.

Read any 80s/90s batman issue that covers gang violence and drugs, most if not ALL of the criminals are poc; black people and latinos visibly make up the majority in the poorer neighbourhoods in Gotham. Aside from the caricaturist way they r drawn/speak, its not THAT weird cause its a reflection of irl big cities where immigrants and marginalised ppl are often forced to live in such situations, (like most of my dominican family lives in the bronx... it aint racist to say dominicans tend to flock there), BUT...the weird part is when the second a sympathetic character comes from that area, he's white and has a name thats "too fancy for the streets".

Obviously, Jason was created to look like the old robin, so I can't say that the whole "diamond in the rough" situation was purposely a tad bit racist, but its still a lil weird (especially with bruce's comment).

If Jason were a part of the overwhelming demographic in his area, the good-kid-in-a-bad-area trope has less connotations. DC is currently trying to fix this trope is by making crime alley whiter, which isn't bad but they could've just yk... humanised the non-white residents.

I also feel like the messed up way Jason was treated post-death is what makes him so relatable to latino readers. His tragic story of dying while trying to save his only living relative is turned into a lesson for newer vigilantes. Jason's particular disdain for abusers on a few occasions was twisted (by both writers and characters) into him always being dumb, reckless, cocky, angry and disobedient, always violent, never having been able to get over his upbringing. None of those things were true (he was a normal level of reckless and cocky like every other robin, not more), but its an easier narrative to digest compared to how it was in reality; a kid who worked so hard and loved even harder, died to save a woman who couldn't care less about his existence. He was an emotional AND smart kid who wanted so bad to help others get better but was remembered as too emotional (in a bad way).

THIS is the reality for many latino diasporas in day to day life; Theres no question that Latino culture is passionate and emotive, but people from other cultures assume that it is followed by instead of logical. both can coexist. emotion does not mean u have no logic. Emotions can be irrational but they aren't inherently that way, and I wouldn't say that the moments where Jason lashed out as a teenager were irrational (in og runs, not rewrites post red hood), they were mostly done to protect someone (going crazy on abusers, disobeying batman to save sheila, that time he got into a fight at school to defend his friend).

A lot of euro-centric culture is OBSESSED with the idea that rationality is separate from feelings and emotions, but not crying at a funeral doesn't mean you're better than those who do. Emotions are the basis of human ethics and morals, they define the way we interact as a collective and ignoring them does not mean they are not there. Theres no winner to a contest of who can feel the less. And the way Jason's emotions are treated (pre-rh, hes definitely unhinged afterwards lol) is so in line with how white culture tends to punish those who aren't ashamed to feel.

I TOTES UNDERSTAND that some ppl who headcanon Jason as latino are doing it for the complete opposite of reasons, like "oh here some angry emotional guy with druggie parents, haha must be latino". Its weird. I dont like it. And its only brought up so he can swear in spanish in some rlly bad text post where his emotions are getting out. But to me there's so much potential for metanarrative and commentary on how latinos are treated in media that can be exemplified through the way his character is treated. Being latino would add SO MUCH DEPTH to his character and his dynamic with the others.

[imsuperhungry]

the game

The living room is dim, with a few soft, scattered lights casting a cozy glow. Your mom is sprawled on the couch, casually lounging and watching what you can only assume is Grey’s Anatomy. You chuckle to yourself, wondering why she’s so hooked on that predictable show.

The soft thud of your shoes on the carpet makes her turn her head, catching you just as you reach for the door. Her eyes narrow playfully, and you can feel her watching you, even from her cozy spot on the couch.

“Just to make sure—you’ve got your taser with you, right?” she asks, her motherly instincts kicking in as she gives you a careful once-over. You can see the hint of worry in her eyes, not quite ready to let her daughter head out alone.

"Yes, Mom," you say with a little giggle, rolling your eyes. You remember the day she handed you the tiny pink taser, tucked in a shiny metal case, and told you to keep it close whenever you're out alone. "You never know what could happen," she’d warned, especially since things can go wrong even when you're not alone.

“Just trying to make sure, baby,” she says softly, standing up and coming over to where you stand by the couch. Once she’s in front of you, she gently cups your face, her thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. Her gaze is soft, filled with all the love and care only a mom could have.

“Mom,” you whine, even though you secretly love her coddling. Still, you really don’t want to be late—your first date has to start off perfectly!

“Okay, okay!” she exclaims, hands raised in mock surrender, as if proving her innocence. She flashes you one last smile, and you can see the wheels turning in her head as a new idea begins to form.

“Maybe,” she starts, her voice teasing, “when you get back, you can tell me if he’s a good kisser!” she adds with a playful giggle. "I could totally grab us some ice cream, your favorite takeout, and we can talk about him all night long!" she squeals, her excitement bubbling up at the thought of the perfect evening ahead.

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "Fine! Fine, if you insist, Mom!" you say, but the mask of frustration slips away as a grin spreads across your face. The thought of a cozy night in with her fills you with excitement too.

"Great! Well, I guess I'll see you when you get back, honey," she says, walking you to the door. You spin around, and she plants a sweet kiss on your cheek in the doorframe, pausing for a moment to take one last look at you. A warm feeling of pride swells in her chest—you’d grown up so much.

You glance at the time, realizing you should’ve left three minutes ago. With a quiet, frustrated “Shit!” you dash to your car, hoping you can still make it on time.

You yank open the door and squeeze your way inside, twisting the key into the ignition. As the engine hums to life, you quickly glance at the window, checking that your look is up to par. The darkness outside makes it easier, especially with the soft glow of the dashboard lights barely illuminating the space around you.

You finally pull out of your driveway and head to the skatepark Seb instructed you to drive to. He had originally wanted to meet at his house, but then his mom and hyper cousins showed up, and he said they would "ruin the mood.”

As you drive out of the neighborhood, you turn the radio up to kill the silence hanging in the car. The moment you twist the knob, you hear your absolute favorite song playing, and it instantly slaps a smile on your face as you cruise down the road.

After enough red lights to make you want to pull your hair out, you finally arrive at the park. The moment you see it, a sketchy feeling creeps up on you. The place is empty and completely closed off from any late-night visitors. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion—what exactly is Seb planning to do at a closed-off skatepark?

You silently thank your mom for forcing you to bring the taser; it provides a small sense of security as you step out of the now-turned-off vehicle.

You glance behind you and notice two other cars parked far apart from each other, clearly indicating that the drivers don’t know each other. Upon a closer look, you recognize the car closest to you as Seb’s, meaning he’s already at the park.

You quickly send him a text, asking where he is, feeling a bit uneasy standing alone in the dark, empty parking lot.

Almost instantly, Seb sends you a text, practically commanding you to stay in the parking lot—he’ll be the one to come and get you.

"Okay," you reply to his last text. "But pleassseee hurry, I'm sooo colddd," you add, hoping he’ll pick up the pace.

"You didn't bring a jacket, doofus?" he replies, making a grin sneak onto your face.

"...No," you admit, already knowing he’d warned you that the night would be way colder than the day.

“Dumbass,” was his last message before you turned off your phone. You giggle to yourself, then start to admire the nature around you, taking in the quiet stillness of the night.

Winter nights were almost coming to an end, and the bitter temperatures were slowly fading, which made you happy. Sure, winter was amazing, but once Christmas was over, the cold started to get old.

The once bare trees were beginning to bloom in beautiful hues of red, green, and yellow. The leaves were still sparse, but their delicate colors were more than enough to make you feel much happier with the surroundings.

You're snapped out of your tranquil state by a sudden tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you reach into your bag, your hand immediately finding the small handheld taser. Without hesitation, you point it toward the person who just brushed against your shoulder.

Only to recognize the familiar messy heaps of hair, the big eyes staring back at you, and the pale, veiny hands raised in the air to show they meant no harm.

"Oh shit, sorry Seb," you say, bashfully tossing the taser back into your bag. Your face heats with embarrassment. So much for a good start to a date.

"You just carry a fucking weapon with you at all times?" he asks, his voice cracking in shock.

"What, better safe than sorry, no?" you reply, regaining your composure.

After a moment of awkward silence, neither of you could contain the laughter bubbling up in your throats. You both immediately doubled over in laughter, the tension melting away.

After a minute or so of giggling, he looks at you with a playful grin and says, "Can't wait to tell everyone that you almost shot me on our first date." His voice is light and teasing, and his eyes twinkle with that dreamy, mischievous spark that makes your heart flutter. You roll your eyes and laugh, teasing him right back. "You shouldn't have run up on me like that, you scared the fuck out of me!"

He looks down and laughs some more before locking eyes with you.

"I was gonna tickle you," he says, a playful grin spreading across his face.

"I'll fucking kill you," you say, locking eyes with him. Your playful tone has vanished, replaced by a more serious look

“oh.”

After a few seconds of silence, you smile and suddenly run up to him.

"Let's go skate, hm?" you say, your voice light as you sprint toward the park, excitement bubbling up inside you.

All you hear is his ugly laughing (which you secretly find adorably cute) behind you as he follows along, the sound making your smile grow even wider.

After a few rounds of trial and error, with him patiently teaching you how to use the skateboard, you finally manage to land a few basic moves. It’s a little wobbly at first, but the thrill of getting it right feels amazing.

Under the soft glow of the streetlights, you sink into the warmth of the bench, leaning against each other as you share a cigarette. The night wraps around you like a soft blanket, the air filled with a gentle stillness.

There are no words exchanged, but the silence feels perfectly at ease, a comfortable pause that allows you to savor the quiet intimacy of the moment, just enjoying each other’s company under the stars.

You roll your eyes at him, unable to suppress a smile that breaks across your face like the dawn. There’s something infectious about his laughter, and you feel a warm flutter in your chest, the kind that comes from sharing a moment of lightness under the stars.

“Anyway, should we get up?” you ask, looking at him with a playful smile.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, pressing the glowing cigarette bud against the ground and stepping on it with a decisive motion.

You place a foot on the skateboard, concentrating on finding your balance as you look down at your feet. Just as you start to get the hang of it, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder from in front of you. Curiosity sparks within you as you glance up, turning to see who has interrupted your moment of focus.

You widen your eyes and snap your head up for the second time that night, your heart quickening as you take in the sight of a girl who looks strikingly familiar. There’s something about her that tugs at your memory, but you can’t quite place where you’ve seen her before. She stands there with a curious smile on her face, and you find yourself searching your mind for the connection.

“Uh, yes?” you ask her, your confusion evident as you try to place her in your memory.

“I think you’re the girl I called pretty at the game we had last week,” she says, her smile widening as she speaks.

You begin to recall the girl who had called you pretty in the locker room after your last game, and the memory stirs something warm inside you.

“Ohhh, yeah, that’s me,” you say, your voice warm with recognition. “Uh, what do you need?” you ask, trying to sound polite while your mind races with curiosity about why she’s here now.

“Well, my boyfriend, my friend, and her boyfriend are all here tonight, so we were wondering if you’d want to come with us?” she replies, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

By now, Sebastian is standing next to you, listening intently as she speaks.

You glance over at him, about to reply. “Uh, sur—”

“No thanks, we’re about to leave anyway,” he interjects, cutting you off with a firm but gentle tone. He then grabs your hand, clutching the skateboard with his other, and begins to pull you both away from the moment, leaving the invitation behind as you step into the night together.

When you reach the parking lot, you turn to Sebastian, curiosity bubbling up inside you. “Why didn’t you want to hang out with them?”

He looks at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I just wanted it to be the two of us. I felt like they would have ruined the whole date,” he explains, and you can feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words.

“Okay,” you say, trying to hide your smile. “Well, there’s the diner we usually stop by at. Wanna go?” you ask, hopeful for more time just the two of you.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Thank you for answering the question!

So, the idea I have for the request with the Trio + Greta is this:

You know how when Edouard was killed and his body was used to be turned into a night creature, and even though he was a night creature, still saved Annette?

How would the Trio + Greta react to going through that scenario like what happened between Annette and Edouard? As in, them taking the place of Annette while their friend taking the place of Edouard.

A/N: Sorry for taking forever to answer this, it's been months. Oh my god, time flies! Can someone please make it stop?! But back to the topic at hand, I have to say I went into Nocturne all hyped for Maria (and while I still love her so much, she’s best girl!), I also fell in love with Edouard’s character. He’s so sweet and sensitive, and I appreciate how he encouraged the others to be open and vulnerable to acknowledge/process their grief. I recall a tumblr post that was like these Nocturne characters’ are facing the same problems as their predecessors, but at least this time, their emotional IQs have gone way up! So *fingers crossed*, here’s hoping the main cast won’t get as traumatized this time around. (Oh, who am I kidding? It’s Castlevania. Of course, they’re all gonna end up traumatized.) 

Oh, and I wrote this in the third person as opposed to a first-person Reader-Insert, I hope that’s okay!

TW: Brief Mentions of Violence; Death; Heavy Angst (Reader Beware!)

The Trio + Greta React to Their GN! Friend Getting Turned Into a Night Creature: 

Trevor: 

In the heat of battle, he barely has time to register, much less process, his friend’s death. 

By the time the fight is over and he’s realized what’s happened, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of his chest, and he’s already begun to blame himself, regardless of whether or not it was his fault. 

He’s a Belmont, he should've known better. Simply by associating with them, he was practically digging his friends’ grave. He shouldn’t have let them come along, he should've scared them away. Fuck! Why didn’t he push them away like he did everyone else? Out of all of the people to stay and get put in danger, why did it have to be the one person he cared so much about?

So in his guilt and grief, Trevor does what he does best: drink. He drinks to excess the first night without his friend at his side. And as well as the second. And then the third. 

If he’s with Sypha and Alucard (and/or Greta in Village Belmont at the time of his friend’s death, this is the point where they'd step in and cut off his booze.) If Trevor’s alone, however, you can bet he spends a good week or so drunk as a skunk, and completely out of his mind. 

When the alcohol doesn’t numb the pain anymore, he tries to jump ahead to acceptance, telling himself that it was unavoidable, that his curse will always rob him of his happiness, of his friends and family in the end. Of course, like some sick twisted turn of fate, just as he accepts it was out of his hands, a familiar face re-enters his life. 

When Trevor first encounters his friend as a night creature, he doesn’t recognize that it’s them straight away. He’s a monster hunter and he attacks on autopilot— monsters’ appearances be damned. And when he does finally recognize that this night creature has been forged from the body of his deceased friend, he assumes, like all the other forged creatures he’s fought before, that it’s merely his friend’s corpse being used as a vessel for a damned soul. 

Then Trevor loses his footing as well as his weapon. But when his former friend turned night creature has a chance to deal Trevor a scathing blow, they hesitate, and instead choose to stare Trevor down rather than attack him. It’s at this moment, that Trevor realizes with a lurch of his stomach, that this isn’t a night creature in the body of his friend, but that this night creature is his friend. 

He thinks he’s going to be sick, but before that happens a separate night creature aims to attack. Trevor quickly crawls to retrieve his whip only to turn around to see that he doesn’t need it: his night creature friend turns on its fellow beasts and rips them apart limb by limb. 

The two of them sit in the deafening silence that follows, each one eyeing the other up, waiting for someone to finally break the spell of concentration and make their move. 

Trevor’s friend moves first, speaking in a rough, deep voice: “Tre..v..or,” it manages to get out. 

As much as it pains him, as much as he knows his next move will haunt him for the rest of his natural life, Trevor blinks away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and charges ever so quickly towards the creature. His former friend turned monster has no time to react to what’s happening by the time Trevor’s knife is piercing through their chest. 

“I’m sorry…” Trevor rasps out, guilt beginning to consume him once again. “‘S all my fault.” 

Trevor is the last Belmont alive. Belmonts were trained to find and kill monsters. At least, that’s what Trevor keeps telling himself as he looks down at the corpse of his friend for the second time. 

Belmonts hunt monsters, and they protect people. 

And yet, standing there, Trevor feels that’s never been more of a lie. 

Sypha: 

Sypha tries like hell to save her friend, she really does. She creates defensive ice shields, rings of fire, hell even an ice cube around her friend all in an attempt to keep them safe from harm during battle. 

But no matter what she tries, no matter how incredible she is at multitasking: it’s not enough. Something happens, something else gets her attention, someone else’s immediate safety takes precedence. Just for one moment, she turns her back on her friend, assuming they’d be alright for that long.

When Sypha returns to find her friend dying or dead, she lets out the most guttural scream, as icicles and fireballs rain down from the sky above her effectively squashing any remaining enemies. In her grief, her power surges through her, unstoppable like a nuclear reaction. She doesn’t just strike her enemies dead, she obliterates what remains of their corpses until they are nothing but ash and smoke.

Sypha, being from a large nomadic family, takes it upon herself to track down her friends' surviving relatives (if they have any) and bring their remains back to them. Being the kind of curious person Sypha is, she’s likely to know a fair amount about her friends' culture and religion. If there are specific burial rites she knows her friend would have liked observed, she wants them adhered to and she refuses to leave her friend's corpse until they’ve been officially put to rest. 

But on her journey back (either to her friend’s family or the cemetery outside of Village Belmont), she’s attacked on the road by rogue vampires. Luckily, she and her companions make it out unscathed. Unfortunately, however, it seems those monsters have taken her friends' corpses with them. 

Sypha mourns for a second time, not only the loss of her friend’s life but the loss of any closure she might have been hoping to create. Despite them no longer living, she feels as if she’s somehow managed to let them down a second time. 

The next time she’s defending a crowd of folks against hordes of night creatures, Sypha is extra cautious, her friend’s death still fresh on her mind. And as the cruel mistress fate would have it, the image of her friend becomes real in front of her. Only this time, they’ve changed. They’ve mutated into something beastly with scales, claws, and horns, leaving only their face— eyes, nose, and mouth— and voice unchanged. 

Initially, Sypha refuses to listen to this fraudulent night creature’s words, deeming their entire resemblance nothing more than a devilish trick. But when their former friend-turned-night-creature suddenly turns on its fellow beasts, tearing them apart before they can attack Sypha or her friends, Sypha is forced to confront the possibility that this creature still has her friend's soul trapped inside.

Sypha keeps up her defensive magic and ushers everyone else away. She makes it so it’s just her and her former friend left standing out on the battlefield. 

Keeping a flame in one hand, Sypha raises the other in greeting, her large eyes widening as the creature mirrors her movements. 

Sypha’s torn. On one hand, if her friend’s soul is still in there, they could be trapped and suffering, waiting for the release of either death or salvation to set them free, much like how her soul was trapped when she lost to the Cyclops. On the other hand, if her friend is still in there somewhere, maybe it’s only their form that’s changed, and their personality has not. Is it possible for a night creature to exist and not be violent?

It’s one hell of a risk to take, however. And Sypha knows she can’t risk the fate of Village Belmont, of all those orphan children, hell, of her children, because of a guilty conscience.

“Leave,” she says, advancing towards her former friend. “Do not return!” She sends a blast of fire in their general direction, herding them away. 

“Go!” She screams, sending even greater flames. 

The night creature frowns, backing up, confused. They cock their head to the side as if to ask why Sypha’s doing this. The confusion lasts only a moment before a hardened expression comes over them. They slowly nod before dragging their monstrous body far beyond the tree line, far away from Village Belmont. 

Through her teary blurred vision, Sypha watches her former friend-turned-monster leave, a look of sorrow on both their faces. 

Sypha makes a mental note to research ways of freeing her friend from their curse, should she come across them again. In the meantime, she hopes for their safety and asks that God (as much as he hates her) take mercy on her companion. 

Sypha feels their current existence is punishment enough. 

Alucard: 

Alucard is not there when his friend is killed, a fact that haunts him long after their demise. He was not present for his Mother’s death either, and due to the manner of her murder, he was left without a body to mourn. Alucard knows fate is a cruel mistress, but to repeat such a grief with his dear friend, it’s almost too much to bear. 

Still, Alucard’s not one to actively wallow, so he sulks for a short period before returning to his many duties as protector and curator of his father’s castle and the Belmont hold. He plays with the children, he and Greta teach the willing adults how to fight, and he even takes to cleaning up his old nursery to welcome Trevor’s and Sypha's incoming child. 

On all outside fronts, Alucard appears the same as he was, but on the inside, his chest aches, and his stomach weighs heavily in his gut. Internally, he’s full of ‘what-ifs’:

Perhaps, if he taught his friend more defensive techniques before the battle. Or if he had only encouraged them to run rather than fight, they might still be here within these cold castle walls. Sure, he and the others may have ended up teasing his friend for being cowardly, and Alucard’s certain that would embarrass them, but my god— what’d Alucard give for his friend to be alive and embarrassed rather than dead. 

After some time, Alucard finds his mind less and less occupied by his sorrow over his friend’s demise, and instead, begins to fill the space with fond memories. He recalls their first meeting, their first fight together, and their first night wandering the ruins of the Belmont hold. 

Their ill-fated reunion starts with an alert from one of the watchtowers, then a second yell from a guard, before Alucard finds himself running, magical blade drawn, into a horde of beastly night creatures. 

Aluccard’s on them before they can set upon the other guards. He makes quick work of two with his longsword and wounds a third with his claws. None of the night creatures' attacks are surprising, with every move they make, either Alucard or another fighter such as Greta can slice them down where they stand. 

All appears to be well in hand when a rough voice calls for help just beyond the tree line. Wasting no time, Alucard proceeds alone, instructing the others to hang back in the instance it’s a trap. 

To Alucard’s credit, it is a trap. Just not the one he was expecting. 

A night creature, more on the smaller side, emerges from the shadows on all fours. On its side a large wound gushes red, the mark appearing to be from another creature as opposed to a human blade. 

But that is not what catches Alucard’s attention. Rather, it is the voice of the night creature that sounds so similar. 

With rising horror, frozen in place Alucard watches as the twisted, tortured body of his former friend pulls itself closer and closer. The creature pleads with Alucard by name, begging for their friend to make the pain stop. 

It is not the first time Alucard has seen such magic. When the rebis reanimated in his childhood bedroom, he could see the souls of his parents struggling to house themselves within the rebis’ one body. It was such a horrifying sight, Alucard had to close his eyes and look away, but here, with his former friend’s clawed hand gripping his shin, no such possibility exists. 

Alucard knows what he must do, he knows it’s only fair to end his friend’s life, to prevent them from suffering any further torment. Then why can’t he do it? 

Alucard raises his blade using magic, preparing to slice his friend’s head off cleanly, when the creature lets out a final gurgle before falling still. 

The blade continues to hover in the air as Alucard falls to his knees weeping. Somehow every time he believes to be past this pain, even more befalls him. 

Alucard allows himself to grieve, hoping this time is the last. 

Greta: 

Greta’s no stranger to loss. She’s lost several men and villagers to the night creature attacks long before Alucard came into the picture. Being the Village Head, she’s found she’s left with little time to grieve, but perhaps, that is for the better. 

Once Village Belmont is established, and Alucard is reunited with his friends, Greta allows herself to mourn the loss of her villagers, showing their remains respect by burying them in the Village Belmont cemetery. Of course, not every one of her lost friends has a body to bury. 

In one of the night creature’s original attacks, they had taken the corpses of their victims as well as some folks still alive, presumably to eat or devour later. 

One of Greta’s dear friends was among them, and while she wishes more than anything she could have held their hand and comforted them as they bled out, as she did a handful of others, there’s no going back to change the past— what’s done is done. 

Greta takes a vote, and the villagers agree to put up a Gravemarker anyway, just as a way of honoring their memory.

It happens just as she exits the castle to give the good news of the arrival of Sypha and Trevor’s new baby. The many houses around Castlevania are lit up with merriment when a handful of stray monsters decide to attack. 

Greta takes the lead on the defense, holding her own until she finds herself accidentally backed into a corner one night by a creature that almost looks like an overgrown dog. She’s surprised she let herself be so foolish but she’s even more surprised by the beast’s refusal to strike. 

Confused, Greta analyzes the creature further, gasping in shock when she recognizes the pair of eyes that stare back at her. It couldn’t be. Could it? And if it is, what does this mean?

Greta thinks back to when she first met Alucard. Granted, she and her people knew he was not human, but his reputation as a savior preceded him. Perhaps, she considers, it is possible then, for a night creature to also go against its primal nature and choose the same.

She manages to push the creature back, calling for other armed members to surround it until Alucard can come and get a better look. Greta asks the dhampir what he thinks, if it’s possible this is her friend transformed, or if she’s letting sentiment get the better of her. 

Alucard admits that he’s read of certain necromancers and forge masters possessing the ability to maintain pre-existing souls when forging newly twisted monsters, however, this particular experience would be a first. It could very well be Greta’s friend, their soul in this body, but it could also just be their corpse. 

They decide to consult Trevor.

The three of them discuss back and forth as to what to do with this miniature night creature so long Sypha herself comes out, demanding to know why the hell she just left her newborn with a midwife to come get Trevor’s disappearing ass who said he’d be right back before walking out after the birth of their firstborn son?!

Everyone ends up at a loss.

Unphased by all the arguing, the night creature has since started to playfully catch sticks and stones, which some braver children have thrown at them. 

Sypha agrees to leash the night creature within a magic circle until they can figure out what to do with it. At this point, the night creature curls up into a ball of scales and fur and promptly falls asleep. 

“Well,” Greta says, “I suppose we didn’t need that Gravemarker after all.” 

A/N: Sorry for the sort of cop-out ending with Greta’s, I just couldn't bring myself to end hers on a sad note as well, so instead, she gets a night creature guard dog bff to accompany her around Village Belmont! Also, if I had to pick a Castlevania character to be surprisingly chill about their friend becoming a reanimated creature, it’d be her. (Well, Hector first and then Greta but you see my point.)  

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