#he needs her he wants her but he still keeps her at a distance

[ramp-it-up]

Peach VI

Peach V | Peach VII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. You two FINALLY admit your feelings for one another and seal the deal. But how far are you willing to go for this love?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: This is it! I hope the smut is up to par. When I tell you I’ve agonized about this. But thank you to all who were in my inbox and dms giving me encouragement this week. Love you bunches! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach V. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, Mutual pining, idiots in love, eye fucking, Steve Rogers is an artist, y'all!, sending (almost) nudes, phone sex, possessive Steve, references to shibari, mutual masturbation, pining, references to sex in a car, the "L" word, oral (f recieving), fingering, overstimulation, nipple play, size kink, pleasurable pain with sex, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint, references to murder. Something big may or may not happen after the last line.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering, emotional, mess.

He’d made you cum, hard, but you felt that he was holding back, that if you’d told him how you felt it would have been so much better.

Or maybe that was all in your mind. Steven Grant Rogers was on your mind a lot since you met him as Grant Stevens in Atlanta.

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out. 

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

What’s the worst that could happen? You weren’t going to marry the guy, you just want to explore these mutual feelings. It shouldn’t be complicated.

Right?

You still had the rest of the week in New York to stress out about it, so that was a plus. The afternoon was ahead of you and the next day was the Summitt.

After that, you had your one on one with Steve.

Bucky told you about Steve being an artist himself during your meeting with him. So, for your meeting with Steve, you requested that you see some of his artwork, and he agreed.

You were curious to see what he could create, and you were anxious and turned on at the thought of him as a creator.

You were so into Steve Rogers.

And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that.

—--

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left. He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage.

He needed a drive and a little alone time to clear his head and come down from you, but he also needed his friend’s help.

“Wassssaaaap! Did you get the–”

Steve cut Bucky off.

“Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Meet me on 47th street.”

—-

That afternoon, you just kept your distance from Sharon and ignored her, focusing on the task at hand and all business. You didn’t want to waste energy on her.

Your energy was spent on thinking about Steve and wondering if he was thinking of you too. You wanted to text him, but you were chilling. You didn’t want to seem to eager.

You were successful in your self control until 11 pm as you tossed and turned in your hotel king bed. Doubts, but mostly need and desire, coursed through you. 

You were going to find out exactly what Steve was doing right now and who he might be with. You shook your head at how much you cared; it was definitely not something you regularly did. You weren’t used to feening for someone.

You were choosing violence as you posed on the bed in front of the mirror. You sat on the bed, crossed your legs and snapped a picture.

You weren’t naked, but your panties were skin tone and your sleep bra was sheer and you were feeling needy.

Before you thought too hard, you sent it to Steve, then jumped in bed and pulled the covers over your head with that feeling of dread and panic when you don’t know if you’ve done something supremely reckless or not.

—

Steve was ready for the Summit, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you. Sleep was elusive, so he was self medicating, sketching your body from memory of mostly touch.

His phone vibrated and he almost didn’t pick it up, but when he saw your name, his heart sped up.

He clicked through to your message and his heart started hammering in his chest. 

Sorry, wrong thread.

The picture you sent along threatened to give him a heart attack. He zoomed in a couple of times and then read the message again. What the fuck?

——-

In less than a minute your phone was ringing. You picked up immediately.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Peach.”

Steve’s growl got you wet, but you instantly regretted your horny decisions.

“It was a mistake.”

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?”

You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

Your voice was needy and that awakened a hunger in Steve. He was beyond frustrated that he wasn’t there to spank your ass raw, but he remained quiet.

You sensed his mood.

“If I were there, I’d make it up to you…”

You were testing the waters, experimenting to see if he would give you what you wanted despite his annoyance.

If he would give you what you needed.

“What would you do?” 

Steve’s baritone was silk in your ear.

“What?” 

You suddenly found that you couldn’t breathe.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d kiss you,” you rushed out in a whisper.

Steve paused, letting your sentence hang in the air.

“And?” 

There was an edge to the question. 

“And… My lips. All over you.” 

Fuck, he was hard. Just a few words in your husky voice, and Steve delirious, imagining his hands in your hair as you kissed him.

“Where?” he asked mercilessly, his voice broken with lust.

“Everywhere…your face, your neck, your nipples, your abs. Your cock.” 

You were definitely not a virgin, but you were blushing through the phone although your hand was rubbing the skin at the edge of your underwear.

“Want you in my throat.” 

Steve had to concentrate to stay hard. 

“Oh? What if I want more than that?” 

“You can have whatever you want...” 

A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission.

“You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly. 

“I trust you.” 

Holy fuck. Why did that mean everything to him?  He cleared his throat.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

“Okay.” 

You complied so readily, it made Steve even harder.

Your clit was so hard as you circled it.

“Are you wet, Sweetheart?” 

You moaned and Steve reached into his sweats and curled his fingers around his aching cock.

“My pussy is so messy for you, Mr. Rogers,” you whispered, thrilled and afraid of how much you wanted him. 

Steve rolled his eyes as his cocked jerked for you.

“Such a good little slut.” 

“Fuck…” 

You realized the breath you’d been holding as you listened for his voice.

“Your pussy is so beautiful Peach. And god, you taste so good. Just like a sweet peach.”

Steve knew he had you in the palm of his hand. But fuck, you had him in yours too. 

“But your cunt is so tiny. I’m gonna needs to get you ready for me, Baby.”

“Is it going to hurt me?” you whined. 

Steve was about to explode at your little innocent voice asking the most nasty question.

“Yes, Peach. It is,” he growled as your anticipation reached 100.

Your breath sped up and so did your fingers. Steve grunted, his fist moving faster, thumb swiping the copious dribbles of precum dripping from his slit.

He should have known it was over as soon as he opened your message.

Hot sex was happening.

Electronically.

As the coil in your belly wind tighter, you realized with both joy and dismay that you were addicted.

“Steve, “m so close…” 

“Of course you are.” 

Steve soaked up your cute little sex sounds, thirsty for more. 

“You know what I’m thinking about, Doll?” 

A shaky breath was your only response. Steve continued.

“I think I want to tie you up. Silk ropes all over you, pretty little knots. I’d tie your arms behind your back, so those tits would sit up pretty for me to slap, lick and suck. That ass would be tied up so sweet and open so I could eat it.”

Your eyes rolled at the sensations his words and your fingers were sending to your clit. 

“I’d fuck your throat and cum all over that soft, sweet body. Over and over, while I tease your greedy little cunt. I want to see it drip down your delicious nipples, your belly, your hungry pussy, your pretty face. I need to see all of you covered in my cum. Everywhere, marking you as mine…Mine.” 

You gasped, and then moaned and your entire body tightened up then released.

Your mouth hinged open as you came. 

“Mine,” Steve hissed, tightening the knots around you both and jerking his cock until cum spurted out. He listened to your breathing and knew that you’d just cum as well. 

Suddenly, he missed you.

“You good, Peach?”

You hesitated.You heard the yearning in his voice and you wanted to be in his arms, but you lied to him anyway.

“Yeah.”

Steve smiled at you. He shook his head even though you couldn’t see.

“Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow.”

“Night Steve.”

—---

You needed a distraction.

Steve looked so delicious this morning, sitting on stage and serving art intellectual in a dark turtleneck and brown corduroy suit. A suit that was tailored to the detriment of everyone who looked at him. 

Holy shit.

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good.  

And he made you feral.

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp.

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

You teased her some more until you saw Steve. You sighed and gazed at him, straightening your spine as you remembered how he made you cum twice yesterday. And he’d hardly touched you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Steve’s head turned. Those mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared in an instant. For a moment, you were frozen. Pinned in your seat by his magnetism.

This feeling was so heady.

When you realized you’d been caught staring Steve down, you tried to change the unspoken subject.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

“Fucking-A.” 

Her chuckle was all-knowing. Then she read you.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You couldn’t front anymore.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea about everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

She was speechless and so were you. You both continued enjoying the forum when your phone buzzed.

You look beautiful today. You’re my favorite thing to study. Can’t wait for today’s art experience. Meet me at the Laguardia Place entrance immediately after the talk. Sunlight is precious.

You were his favorite thing to study!

You waited on the edge of your seat until the end of the summit. Then you were up and walking out toward the entrance post haste.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when you saw Steve watching you from the door of Rosenthal Pavilion.

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs.

In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers. 

Holy hell.

His deep voice greeted you as you arrived.

“I’m anxious to get started.”

Steve searched your face and found a different look from the partially closed off expression you’d showed him since Thanksgiving.

Your face was open and trusting. His heart did a funny thing in his chest. It was almost too good to be true.

Could you love him, too?

He tempered his mood with sensible words, filling the space that he wanted to fill with romantic declarations.

“I’m going to take you to my favorite artistic landmark in the city. I’ve loved it since I was a boy.”

You smiled up at him and took his hand.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

—--

The driver that was taking you and Steve to your meeting place was the same one who picked you up from the airport. The one that your cousin knew so well. 

You stared at the back of his head and then glanced over at Steve. He raised his eyebrow at you because of the look on your face. You grinned back, then leaned forward to tap the driver on the shoulder.

“So… Nico…” 

Your eyes cut over to Steve with a mischievous look. His heart beat out of his chest at the joy you were serving him along with your chaos. 

“You ever drive my cousin and Bucky around the city?”

Nico stole a look at you and smiled.

“Yes ma’am. All the time.”

“Do they ever do the nasty back here…?”

Nico laughed heartily as Steve shook his head.

“Peach…”

You shushed Steve.

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…”

Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

—-

Nico stopped the car at the Washington Avenue entrance to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Steve got out, shouldered his backpack, and then reached for your gloved hand with his own.

For some reason, you felt like a princess as you stepped on the path. The air was crisp, and there were traces of snow lingering on the ground.

You came out of the car chattering and laughing, making Steve’s heart light.

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….”

“Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…” 

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes, although he fantasized about christening the backseat of the Lincoln for you and him.

The wrought-iron gate creaked softly behind you as you entered the Garden, and you looked around in wonder as the gravel path crunched beneath your boots. A magnificent metal and glass structure was in front of you.

“This is the Steinhardt Conservatory. Wait until you see the inside.”

Steve smiled and took your hand as you stepped through the glass doors into sudden warmth shaking your head at him. 

There was a heavy scent of flowers and a haze of the waning rays of sunlight beaming through the glass panels overhead. It gave everything golden highlights, including you and Steve. 

You squeezed his hand as you looked around in awe. 

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

And then you noticed that he was looking at you. 

“Yes…”

You grew warm as you looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“It’s like a completely different world in here.”

“It’s our world for the moment. Just you and me.”

He wanted to add the word Forever, but he didn’t. You felt it though.

You started on an indoor path and Steve pointed out the unique flowers and plants in his warm baritone. You were impressed, again, with how much he knew.

Steve Rogers was not a stereotypical mobster. This was a man who followed a path in life that landed him where he didn’t want to be and was trying to make up for it. 

As he spoke, Steve drew you into his enthusiasm, and you found yourself smiling and relaxing, asking questions and marveling at the vast indoor space. 

When you came to a small alcove furnished with a wooden bench and beneath a sprawling magnolia tree, Steve stopped and took his backpack off his shoulder, and then taking off his coat and draping it over the bench as you did the same.

"Please, sit." 

His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the subtle command.

You hesitated. 

"Why?"

"So I can sketch you."

Your stomach did an odd little flip. 

"Here? Now? I wanted to see your sketches, not be your sketches."

You performed on stage in front of hundreds with barely no clothes on and you were so nervous to let Steve Rogers sketch you with winter layers of clothes on. What was wrong with you?

Steve raised his eyebrow and his gaze swept up your body slowly, making you shiver. Clothes couldn’t stop the intimacy of that look.

“Too late for that.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and you felt irrationally happy. Steve had drawn you.

“Do you not trust me?”

You regarded him, guardian your reaction because you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“I do Steve. I trust you.”

It was true.

Steve smiled. 

“Then please, sit down.”

You gave in with a sigh and lowered yourself onto the bench. 

"Fine," you muttered. "But no weird artistic liberties. I better have a nose."

Steve chuckled, flipping open the sketchbook. 

"I make no promises."

You watched as he proceeded to balance the sketchbook against his bended knee. Then he looked at you seriously, holding your gaze for a moment before his attention returned to the page, and his pencil began gliding effortlessly across the paper. 

His thick fingers were surprisingly agile, moving with long, sure strokes. But then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised, with the way his fingers had previously made you feel…

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft scratch of his pencil against paper. 

You attempted to sit still, staring at the plants around you. You also tried to pretend that you weren’t aware of the way he studied you with that relentless focus, switching his gaze between you and the sketchbook.

After a few minutes, Steve made a soft noise, something between a hum and a chuckle.

“What?” you asked, turning your head and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing.” 

He didn’t look up. But he spoke.

“It’s just... you’re trying so hard not to move, but you’re fidgeting anyway.”

You caught the hint of humor in his tone and it made you a little too happy again, so you decided to cause problems. 

"Well, maybe if you didn’t look at me like that.”

"Like what?" 

His lips curled into a knowing smirk, looking up at you quickly, then back down.

You fidgeted again.

"You know…"

Steve chuckled, deep and low and shook his head.

"Oh. Am I ‘sparkling my eyes at you again?’”

You scowled at him and he laughed.

“I'm an artist, Peach. I study form." 

His eyes traced up and down your body, lighting you on fire again.

You clenched your thighs together to fight the flow of arousal threatening your thighs. This was dangerous. Steve was dangerous.

"You're insufferable, Steven."

“Well, can you suffer on a little longer, so I can capture more detail?”

You cocked your head in that adorable way.

“What details do you need?”

“I need…” 

Steve looked at you like he needed all of you. 

And he did. 

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

You unclenched your hands and sat back.

“You’re making me nervous.”

He tapped his pencil against the sketchbook. Then he looked down again to continue drawing.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

He licked those red lips of his and your eyes tracked the movement.

"The fact that I make you nervous."

The way he was looking at you made butterflies riot in your stomach. That special electricity was buzzing around you both. 

Suddenly, his pencil stopped. Then, without warning, he reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face slightly.

You stiffened.

"Hold still," he murmured. 

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw and settled at the edge of your throat.

Your breath hitched.

Steve’s eyes were dark now and his voice was softer when he spoke again, but there was an edge to it now, hinting at something rough beneath the surface.

“You always do this?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“React like this when someone touches you.”

You pursed your lips together and shook your head. 

Just you.

"You’re doing it again," he mused as he stroked the side of your throat with his thumb.

"What, Mr. Rogers?"

You were about to combust. He clenched his jaw and increased the pressure of his fingers on your neck.

"Fighting it."

"I- I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You do," he intoned, his voice stern.

"Don’t hide from me, Peach." 

Your pulse beat beneath his fingertips.

"You think I don’t notice how you react to me?" 

Steve’s hand grasped your throat, pressing more firmly before he let go.

"Hold. Still," he murmured, those blue, blue eyes stormy.

His fingers tilted your face up with authority now. You froze for a moment as his thumb came up to pull your chin down to open your mouth.

“Breathe.”

He slowly pulled his hand away and you had to stop yourself from chasing his touch. 

Steve clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself. If he had to guess, you were wet and ready for him to do whatever he wanted to you right now. But he willed himself to be patient. 

He picked up his pencil again, rolling it between his fingers, like nothing had happened. 

"Good girl," he offered to the page as he returned to his sketch.

Steve knew what he was doing. Knew exactly how much he affected you. You waited impatiently, clenching your thighs together desperately as his pencil continued to scratch on the paper. 

"Done," he said, as he lifted the sketchbook toward you.

You gasped as you looked at the page. 

The drawing was stunning. Steve had captured you with uncanny accuracy, from the curve of your parted lips to the shading of the different colors in your eyes. The hollow of your throat seemed to pulse, and you could almost see the indentations of his fingers. 

The portrait was beautiful. And it told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

“This is… how can I thank you?”

Steve’s heart flipped in his chest as he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you toward him on the bench.

"Steve…"

His eyes went to your mouth.

"Say that again," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Your whole body was burning, but you stayed quiet. You were paralyzed with the possibilities.

"No? Too shy now?"

His voice made you impossibly wet. If you gave in, you were about to get everything you didn’t know that you wanted. And that scared you.

You let out a shaky breath. 

"Steve."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Something hot.

“Have I told you that I love the way you say my name?”

His hand came up again against your side, slowly, more deliberate. His fingers moved over the curve of your side, and slid against your breast, his thumb ghosting over your nipple.

He continued, tracing over your cleavage and finally landing against your throat again, pressing against your pulse and driving you crazy.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, thick with need.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and gave you a kiss against your throat. And he lingered, lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to smile against your skin.

Your whimper told him so much. 

"You act so tough, but you’re so easy to ruin."

You raised your arms and pulled him close, fingers playing at the nape clutching the hair spilling over his collar.

“You made me this way, Steve. And I don’t want you to stop.”

His now dark blue eyes searched yours as his fingers tightened on your waist. 

“What does that mean, Peach?”

He’d pulled you closer, his eyes on your face as he waited for your answer. The anticipation was so much. He huffed and then dove into the curve of your neck, inhaling and tasting you there, as if he couldn’t help himself. His large hands palmed your breasts, pressing your nipples insistently.

“Oh…my….Steve!”

You squirmed in his grip.

“I asked you a question. Do I need to stop touching you so you can answer?”

“Please, no, Steve. Need you...”

You were the queen of changing the subject.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

His lips were on the curve of your jaw, so close to your lips. You whined. He cocked his eyebrow, the question not so silent.

You huffed, making your decision to go for it as your hands came to the side of his face so that he knew your intentionality. You wanted to look into his eyes when you said it.

“Moment of honesty? I want you Steve. I feel…I want to be yours. Really been yours since you put your hands on me in Atlanta. I can’t categorize or control this feeling. So I’m giving in. Are you ready for the chaos that is me being yours?”

Steve’s eyes lit up and he reached for you, pulling you into his lap as his lips crashed into yours. His hands were everywhere. He tugged you closer as he kissed you and both hands came down to grab your ass and pull you onto his erection. His desire for you was apparent.

When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…”

His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“And this feeling? This is exactly how it should feel when it's meant to be.”

He kissed you again and his mouth took possession of yours in a way that was tender, yet full of promise. 

“I gotta let you know that if you’re mine, I’m gonna give you what you need. When you need it. Do you want that? Do you trust me with that?”

This was the important question.

“Yes, please. I want that, Mr. Rogers, sir. And I trust you.” 

"That’s so fucking hot… but I’m trying to behave. Even though I reserved the pavilion just for us, we’re still in a public place,” he murmured. 

His voice was calm, controlled. But those sea blue eyes told a different story.

"You call this behaving?"

You rolled your hips against his cock. Steve kissed you again and let out a sexy chuckle, then stood you both up, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"If I wasn’t," he murmured, "you’d already be begging me for more." 

You linked your arms around his neck and looked up at him as the cutest woman on earth.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.”

Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled.

“We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Steve reached for your coat and helped you with it before putting his own on and gathering his things. He took your hand and led you out and across the grounds. He pointed to a familiar building. 

“Your hotel is right there. Or do you want me to call Nico to take us to my place?”

You looked up at Steve as your breath vaporized in the cold air.

“We need my hotel. I’m ready. Right now.”

—--

You were in your room again, not entirely sure how you arrived, the journey through the park hurried and full of anticipation. You weren’t thinking too hard, you just knew you needed Steve. Immediately.

You were pushing his coat and blazer off his body and feeling his chest. The steady thrum of his pulse tapped a staccato in your palm.

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered. 

“You do that to me, Peach.” 

“Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“You have no idea how much power you have, do you?” 

“Me?” you asked in a small voice. 

Steve nodded.

“You drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” 

It was confession time.

“It’s you that has the power, Steve. I can't stop thinking about you. Your voice gets me there.” 

You felt tongue tied as you told him your raw feelings, all the while taking off your and his clothes. 

“Sometimes I — I think I'm going to cum just from hearing you speak. Today, at NYU, I could hardly sit still. You're like a drug, pulling all my attention.” 

Steve’s shirt was off now and you were in your bra; he pulled you near him to get his mouth on you.

“When I'm near you, I'm so hard it aches.”

 “Really?” you whispered. “Are you aching right now?” 

Steve groaned as you pulled back to unzip your skirt and take off your boots. He leaned back against the wall and palmed his crotch over his pants. 

“Like you wouldn't believe.” 

Steve couldn’t believe that he had you here like this, giving yourself to him. He had to tell you the truth.

“Look at me, Peach.”

You looked into his eyes.

“I’m In love with you.”

His rough voice pulled an involuntary sound from you. 

“You're mine, Peach You always have been.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart thudded against yor ribs.

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.”

Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry. 

Not at all. 

He laughed as an expression of joy and then your lips met.

The kiss wasn't soft or sweet. This was feral, sharp, and intense. You moaned into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into yours as he unhooked your bra.

“I fucking want you,” you whimpered into his mouth. 

Steve smiled against your lips.

“Good, cause I fucking need you, my sweet Peach.”

Steve stood, looming over you, all big and fucking magnificent. The vision of him, all lithe muscles covered in smooth skin, and light feathering of hair making its way down his torso, between the defined planes of his abs and into his waistband, was… Good Lord.

You licked your lips, mouth instantly dry. 

Steve’s mouth hooked up on one side as his fingers worked his belt and fly. His pants fell in a matter of seconds, and there he was, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs.

Steve was all thick thighs, and long, powerful legs, his hand slowly stroking himself over the sizable bulge in his underwear. 

You gaped at him. 

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

His dick was long and wide, at least eight or nine inches, and curved eloquently (if a dick could do that) against his abs. It was so pretty and your mouth watered for it at the same time your pussy clenched, as you were thinking he was correct. You would struggle to take him.

His smirked deepened as he reached for you and pulled your panties down slowly, his short fingernails scratching your legs and making you shiver.

For a moment he just stared, drinking in the sight of you spread before him

“Fucking sublime,” Steve breathed, the words filled with reverence. 

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.” 

He leaned over you and set about doing just that, kissing you deep and filthy, tongue diving to claim every inch of your mouth. You cried out, scratching at his broad shoulders as he suckled and nipped, worshiping your breasts until you were mindless with sensation. 

Steve took his time tracing your torso with his lips, teeth and tongue, learning your body and  paying attention to every sigh of pleasure as he climbed down your body.

The press of his mouth to your pussy made your back arch, and a ragged moan escape your mouth. Steve growled into you, the vibrations running through your soaked cunt.

He parted your pussy lips with his thumbs, and dove to lick your clit with the hot velvet of his tongue. 

Slow, thorough licks made you writhe beneath him. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Ride my face, Sweetheart. Fuck my mouth ‘til you cum all over it.” 

You arched like a bow as he latched on to your clit and sucked, two thick fingers thrusting deep to stroke along your inner wall. His practiced fingers found your g-spot and massaged it ruthlessly, curling and scissoring until you sobbed his name.

“Love when you call my name, Peach.”

He looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, and then continued what he was doing. When Steve bit down gently on your clit, your orgasm crashed over you in a burst of white light. 

You shuddered through the aftershocks, trembling as Steve lapped at your folds. Each lick sent a jolt of electricity through you, on the edge of too much. 

Rising to his knees, the thick, heavy length of him rose up again, even more swollen and glistening at the tip. 

Steve notched the thick head of his cock at your entrance and his eyes crossed as he slowly sank into your tight, dripping heat. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

When he bottomed out, you both groaned at the intensity of the connection. He looked you in your eyes as your hearts pounded in sync, your breaths mingling as you got used to his size.

“I’ve never felt so full, Stevie…”

You quivered in his arms. And he knew that he was utterly possessed by you. It was more than just physical; it was an overwhelming sense of rightness. 

“Perfect,” Steve rasped.

“So fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Like you were made for me.”

He dropped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point. 

“Please,” you whimpered, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “Move.”

“As you wish.” he whispered, brows knitted together. 

You whimpered and your hands grasped the sheets as he started to move. He bent and sucked your nipple hard, causing a jolt of electricity through your body. Your brain was cloudy and you scratched his back as your eyes shuttered closed.

“Open your eyes, Peach,” Steve ordered darkly. 

As he looked you in your beautiful eyes, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. He started increasing his pace until he was fucking you roughly, pushing your knees to your chest. 

“Yes.. feels so good Steve. Oh my godddddd, fuck me!”

Steve’s eyes roamed your body as he did as you asked. Your beautiful breasts bounced. The bed knocked against the wall and you gasped for breath, your face transfixed on the eye contact between you and Steve.

He was lost, one hand gripped your hair, and the other braced on the headboard. He fucked you hard, grinding against your clit with every stroke. 

You were whimpering, on the verge of screaming as you two made noise up and down the hotel hallway.

He leaned up and grasped your throat, gritting his teeth as he asked a question.

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?”

“Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….” 

You opened your eyes and pouted up at him.

“Paint my walls, Steve...”

Steve choked on air as he spurted hot cum into your welcoming pussy, but he pulled out, shooting the last jet of cum on your clit and pussy lips. Then, like a heathen, he bent between your thighs and started licking. 

You sobbed, writhing as he devoured you. 

“Need to eat you more than anything, my sweet, sweet Peach. 

“Steve, Stevie… oh my god!” 

You clutched his hair, tugging sharply. It was too much.

“Oh my God. Please Steveeeee!” 

He raised his head, grinning as you fully collapsed, limp and spent. Your pussy was tender, your face flushed, your eyes gleaming. 

You were beautiful.

You looked at him and shook your head as he took you in his arms. 

“Are you mine?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered out. 

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair.

“I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.”

“I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

—

You and Steve stayed up late, ordered room service and talked about a lot of things, music, your parents, his friendship with Bucky, Nat, and Steve, everything.

You laughed and cried, and then settled back in his arms in the dark to sleep, his hand rubbing your hip as his breathing began to slow.

“Steve, can I ask you a question?”

It had been nagging at you for a while.

His sleepy voice answered you.

“Shoot.”

You chuckled.

“That’s just it. Have you ever… have you ever killed someone?”

Steve stirred, pulling you closer to him and moving his mouth next to your ear.

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.”

Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

“What?”

You tried to keep your voice even. You didn’t know what this feeling was that came over you. Steve continued, seemingly calm and not spiraling like you were.

“You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

You were silent for a good while.

“Oh.”

Steve stirred, leaning up against his elbow.

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?”

Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

You laughed.

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.”

“True. But when you know, you know.”

Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating.

“Would it make us look crazy…?”

You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark.

“…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Steve wrapped you up in his arms and settled down again. Your mind spun as his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and you spoke again. 

He was probably asleep, but you had to get it out.

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

——

I’m so anxious about this one! Please let me know how you feel? Reblog, comment, like. TIA!

[daydreamabout]

Unspoken Comfort [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: Tim shows up at Y/N's place after she called in sick because of a breakup.

The morning had been quiet, almost eerily so. Y/N had woken up with a heavy heart, the realization of what had happened the night before still fresh in her mind. She’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering if she had done the right thing. And when the sun finally came up, it didn’t bring any sense of clarity. She had broken up with Alex—her boyfriend of the past year—after months of growing apart. The decision had been hard, emotionally draining. In the end, she knew it was the right choice. She couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

Still, the pain lingered. Her chest felt tight, her body felt heavy, and the last thing she wanted to do was go into work and pretend like everything was fine. She couldn't focus on the job, not today. She needed time to heal, to think, to process. So, she did what she always did —texted Tim.

“Hey, I called in sick today. Broke up with Alex last night. Need some space.”

In the evening the doorbell rang, and for a moment, Y/N didn’t move. She knew who it was. She’d been dreading this moment all day, but here it was. The knock, the familiar voice calling her name, like it always did. But today was different. She’d been lying on the couch in her worn-out pajamas, staring at the TV screen as if it might offer some solace. Her mind was heavy, heart aching from the mess her life felt like—another failed attempt at something she’d wanted so badly, a relationship that had crumbled like the walls she’d tried so hard to build around herself.

Tim wasn’t supposed to be here. She hadn’t asked for him to show up after his shift. Y/N dragged herself to the door and opened it slowly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She barely looked at him, just stood there, holding the door halfway open, as if trying to keep some kind of distance between them.

"Hey," Tim’s voice was softer than usual, but he didn’t push. He didn’t ask her how she was, didn’t make any comment about how messy she looked. Instead, he simply nodded toward the apartment, his eyes searching her face with a mixture of concern.

Without a word, Y/N stepped back and let him in, her movements slow, as if the weight of everything pressing on her made it hard to move. She didn’t offer him a drink or a seat—she didn’t even tell him she was fine, though she knew he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Tim set his jacket on the back of the chair and moved toward the couch where she was curled up again. His steps were quiet, almost reverent, as though he was treading carefully around the fragile silence that filled the room.

“The shift was kind of boring without you,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the couch, not too close but close enough to be there if she needed him. Y/N didn’t respond at first. She just let out a long, tired breath, her body sinking further into the couch cushions as if she wanted to disappear into them. Tim then didn’t speak for a while. He just sat there, the silence between them stretching on, the only sound coming from the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint noise of a sports game playing in the background.

After a few moments, Tim shifted slightly. He looked at her, and then without asking, he made the decision. Gently, he reached out, touching her shoulder, just the slightest pressure. Her breath hitched slightly, and for a second, she just lay there. Then, almost like her body finally surrendered, she rolled over, curling up against him. She didn’t say anything, but the subtle way she leaned into him, the way her body melted into his, told him everything.

He didn’t hesitate. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her in, careful not to disturb her too much, as if she were fragile. She was warm, soft, and it felt so natural, as if they had been doing this for years. The weight of her head against his chest, the way she fit perfectly against him, was something that felt comforting and safe. He leaned back slightly, making himself comfortable on the couch while she just… existed with him. They didn’t speak for a long while, but he didn’t mind. He was there, in the quiet, offering what little comfort he could. Her breathing started to slow as she settled deeper into his embrace, exhaustion taking over as she let herself be held. The sports game on the TV continued to play in the background—something mundane, something mindless that didn’t require either of them to engage. It was the perfect distraction, the kind of noise that didn’t demand attention but was just enough to fill the silence between them. It was familiar, grounding, in a way that made everything feel just a little less heavy.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, her voice so quiet that it could have been mistaken for a dream. She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her as he exhaled, her words hanging in the air for a moment. Tim pressed his cheek against the top of her head, the soft strands of her hair brushing against his face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “I’m here for as long as you want me to.”

She didn’t say anything more. There was nothing else to say. Just the steady rhythm of their breathing, the sound of the game on TV, and the feeling of warmth that surrounded them both in that small space.

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Calling the only person she’ll listen to.”

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: mental health struggles,

WC: 875

NOTE: light angst turns into a happy ending.

The sound of chaos was familiar in Silco’s office, but tonight it had taken a darker turn. The shouts were sharper, the crashes louder, and Jinx’s laughter had turned into something fractured—something unhinged. Sevika leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, scowling at Silco, who stood rigid, his one good eye fixed on the scene.

Jinx was pacing, wild-eyed, tearing apart the room as if she was looking for something only she could see. Her hands trembled around her pistol, her voice rising and falling as she talked to the ghosts that only she could hear. The voices.

“You can’t shut me up!” she screamed, spinning to face Silco, her grin pulling tight, painful. “Why don’t you ever listen? None of you do!”

“I am listening, Jinx,” Silco said, his tone calm but strained. He stepped closer, hand outstretched. “But you need to—”

“SHUT UP!” she screeched, firing into the air. The gunshot rang out, and Sevika flinched.

“That’s it,” Sevika muttered, stepping back into the hall and pulling out her communicator.

Silco shot her a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the only person she’ll listen to.” Sevika’s voice was gruff, but there was an edge of desperation in it. “Unless you want your office burned to the ground.”

Silco didn’t argue.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You’d barely stepped into the building before you were being ushered into Silco’s office by Sevika. Her grip on your shoulder was firm as she muttered, “Fix her. She’s getting worse.”

“Fix her?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “She’s not a problem to fix.”

Sevika didn’t respond. She just shoved you through the door and slammed it shut behind you.

The room was a disaster—papers scattered, furniture overturned, scorch marks streaking the walls. And in the middle of it all, Jinx stood, breathing hard, her back to you, gun still in hand.

“Jinx,” you called softly, your voice careful.

She whipped around, her face twisted in fury, but when her eyes landed on you, something flickered. Recognition. Relief. Fear.

“Name?” Her voice cracked, the gun lowering an inch. “What are you—No. No, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” you said, stepping closer.

Her hand twitched, the barrel of the gun wobbling. “They… they won’t shut up. They keep saying things, bad things. Stuff I don’t want to hear!” She laughed, the sound high and hollow. “They’re in my head, and I can’t… I can’t make them stop.”

Your heart broke at the sight of her. The girl you loved looked so small, so fragile beneath the weight of her own mind.

“I’m here now,” you said gently, taking another step. “You’re not alone, Jinx. Let me help you.”

She shook her head, stumbling back, her free hand clawing at her hair. “You can’t help me! No one can! I’m broken, Y/N, don’t you get that?!”

“You’re not broken,” you said, firm but soft. “You’re hurting. And I love you, Jinx. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled, the gun clattering to the floor as she dropped to her knees. She pressed her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t make it stop!”

You closed the distance between you, dropping to your knees in front of her. Gently, you pried her hands from her ears, cupping her face in your palms.

“Look at me, Jinx. Just look at me,” you said.

Her eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy.

“There you are,” you murmured, your thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Focus on me, okay? Forget the voices. Forget Silco. Forget Sevika. It’s just you and me.”

Her breathing hitched, her gaze locked on yours. You could see the storm in her eyes—the fear, the confusion, the anger. But beneath it all, there was trust.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice so small it nearly broke you.

“I know, hun,” you said, leaning your forehead against hers. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me. Always.”

Her hands trembled as they found your wrists, clutching onto you like a lifeline. Slowly, her breathing evened out, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“You’re here,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

“I’m here,” you promised. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The room was silent except for her shaky breaths. The voices seemed to fade, the chaos ebbing away until it was just the two of you, kneeling on the cold floor.

“I hate this,” she murmured, burying her face in your neck. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” you said, wrapping your arms around her. “But you’re stronger than this, Jinx. You’ll get through it. And I’ll be right here with you.”

She clung to you, her grip desperate, as if letting go might send her spiraling again. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Hours passed before Silco and Sevika dared to open the door. They found you sitting on the floor, Jinx curled in your lap, fast asleep.

“She’s okay now,” you said softly, stroking her hair.

Silco nodded, his expression unreadable. Sevika just grunted, stepping aside to let you carry Jinx out.

You didn’t look back. Jinx was safe in your arms, and for now, that was all that mattered.

I HAVE SO MANY MORE DRAFTS TO UPLOAD

I want sleep AND food

[yowyowyaoi]

*At the newly rebuilt Uchiha compound*

Sasuke: So today’s the day, eh, old man? Are you nervous?

Obito, standing in front of a mirror: N-no! Why would I be nervous??

Madara, from his easy chair: You’ve only re-adjusted that tie about fifteen times now, boy. Tsk; all of this preparation for that eye-stealing son of a —

Itachi: Okay, “gramps”, we talked about this. You know it’s only by virtue of Kakashi Hatake’s compassion and mercy that you and Obito were allowed to remain free after the war. Be grateful.

Madara, grumbling: “Mercy”, indeed. He only pardoned us so that the Hokage wouldn’t be getting engaged to a war criminal.

Sasuke: All things considered, Kakashi has been great to all of us, Obito or no Obito. Look, he’s even going to go through this silly clan tradition of “performing” for your intended fiance’s Clan Elder in order to get permission to marry Obito.

Madara: The “clan elder” who SHOULD be me.

Obito, turning from the mirror: C’mon, gramps, we all voted on the wisest and fairest one here being Itachi. He beat you out fair and square; get over it already.

Itachi: I can’t wait to see what kind of act he’s going to put on for us. Does he even have any creative talents?

Obito: I’m not really sure, but I think he mentioned something about singing.

Sasuke: … Singing? I’ve never heard him —

*in the distance there’s a loud commotion coming up the road towards the house*

Madara: *sighs* Sounds like it’s starting; perhaps we should take our places outside.

*all of them go out into the courtyard, where there are prearranged chairs. Obito is the only one not in a chair; he takes a veil and uses it to cover his face, sitting on Itachi’s right side on the ground by his feet*

*A small parade marches up the road towards the house. Kakashi is in the center, dressed all in white. Naruto is on his right, playing a small drum ((slightly off-beat)), Gai is to Kakashi’s left, crying and playing a french horn, and Sakura is to Naruto’s right, skillfully playing a small keyboard strapped to her shoulders*

*they come to a stop directly in front of Itachi, and Kakashi kneels in the grass at Itachi’s feet*

Kakashi: Itachi Uchiha, head of the Uchiha clan. I come before you this morning to receive your blessing to marry Obito Uchiha. As per the traditions of your clan, I have prepared a song that expresses my feelings for him.

Itachi, trying to keep the smile from his face: Proceed.

Kakashi: *stands and beckons to the group, who start to play a gentle-sounding melody*

Kakashi, opening his mouth and letting out a startling horrible singing voice: Obitooooo! I love you sooooo! Since we were little boys, and you would steal all of my toys —

*the Uchiha’s immediately go into telepathically communicating with each other*

Sasuke: Oh my God …

Madara: *laughing hysterically inside of all their minds* I KNEW it!! I knew this union wasn’t meant to be!

Obito: Shut up, Madara! Can’t you tell how heartfelt this is??

Madara: Heartfelt, or meant to make me feel like clawing my heart out of my chest so that I’m not here to suffer this anymore?

Itachi: He’s trying … it’s not so bad …

Kakashi: … and even though I’m not worthy of your claaaaan, I still want you, Obito, to be my maaaaaaan, so come on please, Itachi, give me his haaaaaand —

Sasuke: For God’s sake, even that tone-deaf dumbass Naruto is cringing! Big brother, please, just give him permission and end this! My ears can’t take much more!

Kakashi: And now for the second part of my song, I want to —

Itachi, out-loud: NO! N-no need for any more. You’ve convinced me; there is nobody more worthy of Obito Uchiha’s hand than you. *stands and takes Obito by the arm, lifting him to his feet, before placing his hand in Kakashi’s* Emgagement granted. Come back tomorrow and we shall dine together and discuss plans for a wedding.

*cheers erupt as Kakashi moves Obito’s veil back from his face, and the two kiss*

Sasuke, to Sakura: I’m glad that’s over. I can’t imagine having had to sit through a second verse.

Sakura, grinning: Oh if you thought THAT was bad, wait until you hear the act that Naruto’s got planned for when he comes to ask Itachi for your hand. Lets just say I’ve got my medical team working on hearing aids and prosthetic ears for everyone as we speak.

Sasuke:

[hereternalsins]

One day, I won't love you anymore.

- rose ( herdivinemuse via instagram)

Five years of memories. Two years of silence. And now, three months of trying to rebuild what was broken, only to find that some cracks run deeper than time can heal.

She watches him across their favorite café—the same one where they used to spend Sunday mornings years ago. His coffee order hasn't changed: black, no sugar. But something else has. The way he holds himself, perhaps, or the careful distance in his eyes even when he smiles.

"Do you know?" she begins, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "In these five years, you've always been perfect and irreplaceable in my heart. But if we continue like this, I feel that... one day, I won't love you anymore."

The words hang between them like frost on a window pane—beautiful in their honesty, terrible in their implications. She watches them land, sees him flinch slightly, the way he always does when truth cuts too close to bone.

They'd thought it would be easier the second time around. After all, they knew each other's stories, could map each other's scars. The muscle memory of loving each other remained intact through those two years apart—the way he still reaches to brush her hair back when she's tired, how she automatically orders extra pickles for his burgers.

But with the familiar rhythms came the old ghosts. His tendency to retreat into silence when troubled. Her habit of expecting him to read her mind. The same misunderstandings that drove them apart the first time now hover at the edges of their reconciliation, waiting to reclaim their territory.

They'd spent those two years apart growing, changing, becoming better versions of themselves. She'd learned to voice her needs instead of hoping they'd be noticed. He'd worked on expressing his emotions instead of bottling them up. But somehow, together, they keep slipping back into their old roles—like actors who know their lines too well to play them differently.

"I still find your coffee cups in my apartment," he says quietly. "From before. I never could bring myself to throw them away."

She nods, understanding the weight of small things kept. She too has a box of memories she couldn't discard—movie tickets, dried flowers, photographs where their smiles still held certainty.

"Maybe that's our problem," she replies. "We're trying to fit new people into an old story."

The truth is, loving him has never been the problem. It's the easiest thing she's ever done, as natural as breathing. But loving someone and being able to build a life with them are different things. The past two years taught her that. They both learned it, separately, in their own ways.

"I don't want to lose you again," he says, reaching across the table. His fingers stop just short of hers, a gesture that encompasses everything wrong with their situation—always almost touching, almost understanding, almost getting it right.

"We're not the same people who fell in love five years ago," she tells him. "And we're not the same people who broke up two years ago either. Maybe we need to stop trying to be."

The afternoon light slants through the café windows, casting long shadows across their table. Outside, the city moves in its endless rhythm, indifferent to the small apocalypse happening over cooling coffee cups.

"Then who are we?" he asks, and there's something like hope in his voice—fragile but present.

She looks at him, really looks at him, seeing both the man she fell in love with and the stranger he's become. "Maybe that's what we need to find out," she says. "Not who we were, or who we think we should be, but who we are now."

The silence that follows feels different from their usual ones—not heavy with unspoken words, but open, waiting. Like a blank page rather than a closed book.

"I meant what I said," she continues softly. "You've been perfect and irreplaceable in my heart. But perfect isn't what I need anymore. I need real. I need now. I need us to stop haunting each other with who we used to be."

He nods slowly, and for the first time in months, his smile reaches his eyes. "Then maybe we should start over," he suggests. "Not from five years ago, or from two years ago, but from right here."

She feels something shift in her chest—not the familiar ache of old love, but something newer, something that tastes like possibility. "Hi," she says, extending her hand across the table. "I'm still learning who I am. Would you like to figure it out together?"

This time, when he reaches for her hand, he doesn't stop short.

[frogemeat]

Back on my shit for my relativity falls AU where Stan goes missing because I can!! And no one can stop me!

So let’s actually dive into the characters a bit more this time and their reactions to Stan’s disappearance.

We’re going to start with Mabel because I feel like in any universe Mabel and Stan have a special connection, one where they just understand eachother, y’know?

In my relativity falls au, Stan is reluctant to open up at first to Mabel. Surprisingly it was Ford who warmed up to her first. Stan, at first, is very distrustful of adults and people in authority in general (when I get you Filbrick, when I get you-) so he keeps distance between himself and Mabel at first.

He’s his usual rambunctious self, loud and unapologetic about, but he doesn’t rant to her about the latest addition of his favorite comic, he doesn’t let her look at his drawings and anytime she wants to spend one on one time on him he would turn her down. Eventually he warmed up to her, which is more my actual relativity falls au then this, so I won’t go into it (unless someone wants me to 👀).

So when I say Mabel worked hard, she worked hard to get Stan’s trust. And she’s proud of that dammit!

To her Stan is such a bright star who’s often overlooked by his genius of a twin brother (something she can heavily relate too) and she wanted to nurture his creativity. And she did!

She displayed the weird Frankenstein taxidermy he made in the shack, she taught him how to knit and sew and he even started to let her watch “the duchess approves” with her!

They grew close and Mabel started to see both the twins as her sons. She had suspicions that their home life was… less than good and she was SUPER unsure about sending them home after summer ended. She didn’t think the decision would’ve been made for her.

Weirdmaggdeon was over. They won. Steve (Bill’s replacement in this AU) is gone. But they weren’t celebrating. The only thought the three Pines had was…

Where’s Stan?

They searched the woods for him long at the r the sun set. She had to drag Ford back home when he started tripping over his own feet, his exhaustion evident. Ford tried to insist he was okay, that he could keep looking, that he needed to keep looking, that Stan was out there, he needed to continue. Stan would keep looking for him if their roles were reversed.

All Mabel could do was shush him as he cried against her shoulder.

Dipper stayed behind and kept looking and both Mabel and Ford went home without their other half. Long after Ford had passed out Dipper had finally come home, empty handed. They spent the rest of the night talking about what to do. They would check town first thing in the morning, they had decided. Maybe in his daze he had wandered out of the woods and one of the townsfolk’s found him. If not, they would go to the police, see if anyone had reported a small brown haired preteen wandering around. (

They also discussed the possibility of Stan being dead, but Mabel couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. They quickly stopped when Mabel started to cry.)

She had just met the twins, only known them for three months, yet they were hers. Her boys. Her babies. Her peanut and walnut. And Stan was gone.

The boy she swore to protect, the boy who pretended he was tough when he was really the sweetest kid she ever met.

Days go by and still no Stan. Ford refuses to talk to anyone, Dipper is out of the house for most of the day searching, and Mabel is left alone, surrounded by half finished knitting projects and echoes of a boy who’s laughter warmed her heart.

She cries a lot. That’s all she does for the first few months.

One day, after Ford’s parents (not Stan and Ford’s, just Ford’s, because apparently no one remember’s her little peanut outside of Gravity Falls) drops off all his stuff for his apprenticeship with Dipper, she’s pulls herself together, makes her famous Mabelcakes, and starts to rebuild. Dipper had done amazing keeping them together, but it was time for some Mabel magic.

Three years pass and the Stan shaped hole in their family doesn’t get smaller. Ford still turns to his right whenever he gets excited, Mabel still hasn’t watched the season finale of “the duchess approves” (she couldn’t finish it without Stan, not when he was so excited to show it to her), and Dipper sometimes still goes into the woods to search.

Ford is turning 17 in a few weeks. June 15th. She’s in Greasy’s after deciding that a snack sounded good after buying birthday presidents for her walnut and instead of Susan greeting her and taking her order like she has since she started working there, she was greeted with a new face.

A familiar face.

Even older, more pimply, and with a beanie pulled down so far it almost covered his eyes, she would recognize him.

Her peanut.

[slytherin-pen]

Through His Eyes

The Intervention Rewritten

pairing: Lucien Vanserra x Nesta Archeron

word count: 2.7k

a/n: when i said i would upload minutes before midnight if i had to i did not imagine it would be so literal, but alas, that is exactly what happened. this was two separate fics i adjusted to fit together for @sjmromanceweek . it is for day 1: first kiss. in honor of Lucien being the first contender as Nesta’s mate, i chose them as my ship. if you can tell that i wrote half of this during a four hour drive and the other half intermittently when i could avoid socialization, no you can’t. anyways, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

Part 2

Lucien wasn’t sure why he was here. He had been at the manor he shared with Jurian and Vassa when Rhysand had scraped a talon against his mind and requested his presence at the River House.

He hadn’t expected to be summoned so soon after the disastrous Solstice party months ago. Where Feyre, his old friend, didn’t seem like much of a friend anymore, and Nesta—his mate—had made it painfully clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Wanted nothing to do with that entire night. His heart clenched at the thought of her, at the mere mention of her name. But what could he do? She had needed space, and he had given it. More than understood it.

He held all his mate instincts on a tight leash when he saw her walk into the house that night. She was pale, gaunt, had dark circles under her eyes, and the scent of alcohol clinging to her skin. He had smelled the other males, too. He hadn’t judged her for it—only worried. She had been through too much. Murdered and turned into Fae against her will, then thrown into a war where she and her sisters had been targeted. And after all of that, she had found out she was bound for eternity to him—a Fae male, the very thing she had been raised to fear.

Lucien had never resented her for keeping her distance. He had struggled with the bond, too. After Jesminda… he had thought he would never love another. For so long he had believed they were mates. Learning otherwise had shattered something in him. It had left him lost. Even now, he was still trying to grasp the truth that Nesta Archeron was his. And he had no intention of rushing into something she so clearly did not want. She needed time. Needed to heal. He only hoped that the Inner Circle was doing their part to ensure she was cared for.

His golden eye whirred as he glanced around the study. Everyone had gathered—except for Elain, Azriel, Morrigan, Nesta, and Cassian. Rhysand, dressed in his usual black, leaned against the mantel with crossed arms. Feyre and Amren sat together on the couch facing the hearth. Lucien, uneasy about this entire ordeal, took the armchair by the window, deliberately keeping his distance.

Clearing his throat, he finally asked, “May I ask why I have been summoned?”

Rhysand’s violet eyes snapped to him, as if only now remembering Lucien was there. A moment later, his expression smoothed back into boredom. “We have important matters to discuss. They should be here any moment.”

“And who is they—” Before he could finish, Cassian strode in, Nesta at his side.

Lucien went still.

She was bundled in a worn blue coat, her stained shoes barely making a sound against the rug, her wrinkled gray dress hanging looser on her than it should. And now that she was in the room, he could feel the simmering rage pulsing down the bond that tied them together.

He schooled his features, keeping his expression unreadable.

Feyre straightened in her seat, offering a soft smile. “I heard you had quite the night.”

Nesta’s silver eyes swept the room, pausing on him for the briefest of moments before settling on her sister. Chin high, back straight, she walked past him to claim the only empty chair left. It was near the couch and had clearly been moved there on purpose.

Cassian shut the door with a quiet click, then leaned against it, arms crossed.

Amren was the first to break the silence. “You look atrocious.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to her, brow twitching in irritation. He didn’t miss the way Nesta’s shoulders tensed, nor the way her jaw locked.

“Though I bet it’s hard to look good,” Amren went on, “when you’re out until the darkest hours of the night, drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that comes your way.”

Lucien barely managed to suppress a growl.

Nesta said smoothly, “I wasn’t aware my activities were under your jurisdiction.”

Amren challenged, “They are when you spend that much of our gold on wine.”

Lucien frowned. Our gold? What about Nesta’s gold? She had fought in the war and even helped them before the war. Surely she had been compensated. Had she truly burned through it all already?

Nesta’s glare found her sister and Feyre winced. “So you really did make me come all the way here for a scolding?”

“No, it’s not a scolding.” Feyre cut a sharp glance at Rhysand, who was still eerily silent, and then at Amren, who merely sat seething. “Think of this as a discussion.”

Nesta shot to her feet. “My life is not your concern, or up for any sort of discussion.”

“Sit down,” Rhysand snarled.

Lucien stiffened, his hands curling into fists. But Nesta did not back down. She remained standing, steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.

Rhysand said, “You are going to stay. You are going to listen.”

Nesta let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.”

Lucien smelt it then. The fear permeating the air. Despite Nesta’s exterior, she was afraid.

Rhysand’s mouth curled into a cruel smile. “You want to go head-to-head, Nesta Archeron?” he purred. He gestured to the lawn seen from the window. “We’ve got plenty of space out there for a brawl.”

“That’s enough,” Feyre snapped at Rhysand. “I told you to keep out of it.”

Nesta took that chance to sit back down.

Feyre angled her head toward Rhysand, her nostrils flaring. “You can either leave, or you can stay and keep your mouth shut.”

Rhysand merely crossed his arms.

"You too," Feyre spat to Amen. The female harrumphed and nestled further into the couch.

Feyre twisted to face Nesta. “We need to make some changes,” she said hoarsely. “You do—and we do.”

"I'll take the blame," Feyre went on, "for allowing things to get this far, and this bad. After the war with Hybern, with everything else that was going on, it... You... I should have been there to help you, but I wasn't, and I am ready to admit that this is partially my fault."

“That what is your fault?” Nesta hissed.

“You,” Cassian answered. “This bullshit behavior.”

Lucien’s head jerked toward him, fury surging at the way he dared to speak to her.

"Look," Cassian went on, holding up his hands, "it's not some moral failing, but—"

"I understand how you're feeling," Feyre cut in.

"You know nothing about how I'm feeling."

Feyre plowed ahead. "It's time for some changes. Starting now."

"Keep your self-righteous do-gooder nonsense out of my life,” Nesta snapped.

"You don't have a life," Feyre retorted. "And I'm not going to sit by for another moment and watch you destroy yourself." She put a tattooed hand on her heart. "I decided after the war to give you time, but it seems that was wrong. I was wrong."

"Oh?" The word was a dagger thrown between them.

Rhysand tensed at the sneer, but still said nothing.

"You're done," Feyre breathed, voice shaking. "This behavior, that apartment, all of it— you are done, Nesta."

"And where," Nesta said, her tone mercifully icy, "am I supposed to go?"

Feyre looked to Cassian.

For once, Cassian wasn't grinning. "You're coming with me," he said. "To train."

Lucien was practically vibrating. A kettle of tea about to boil over.

“What?” Nesta demanded.

"As of this meeting," Feyre clarified, "you're moving into the House of Wind." She nodded eastward, toward the palace carved into the mountains at the far end of the city. "Rhys and I have decided that each morning, you will train with Cassian in Windhaven, in the Illyrian Mountains. After lunch, for the rest of the afternoon, you will be assigned work in the library beneath the House of Wind. But the apartment, the seedy taverns—all of that is over, Nesta."

Nesta’s knuckles went white against the chair’s arms. “I’m not moving to the House of Wind. And I’m not training with him.”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Amren said.

“That’s enough,” Lucien cut in, voice sharp, lethal.

Every head turned.

Rhysand’s face darkened. “Lucien—this doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” Lucien snarled, moving to Nesta’s side. His hand hovered at her shoulder, a silent offer of support. “It’s why you asked me to come isn’t it?” he asked mockingly. “Nesta is my mate, accepted or not. And I won’t sit here while you treat her like some problem to be managed.”

Cassian shifted, uneasy. Amren merely rose a singular brow.

“She needs help,” Feyre said, frustration tightening her voice. “We’re giving her a chance—”

“A chance?” Lucien let out a bitter laugh. “Belittling and forcing someone against their will isn’t help, Feyre. It’s control. You should know better than this, considering you still hold Tamlin’s actions against me.”

Rhysand growled, low and menacing, but Lucien ignored him.

Lucien turned to Nesta then, his russet eye softening as it met hers. “Nesta,” he murmured, his voice a stark contrast to the rage he had just unleashed. “You don’t have to stay here. If you want to leave, come with me.” He reached out his hand, palm up, and waited.

He watched as something in her wavered. Something fragile, something that had been held together by sheer force of will alone. She searched his face, and Lucien let her. Let her look for the pity, the judgment she had come to expect. He knew she wouldn’t find it. All he had to offer was unwavering support.

And then, without a word, she rose from her chair and placed her hand in his.

Feyre surged to her feet, panic flickering in her eyes. “Nesta, wait—”

But Nesta didn’t. She didn’t look back.

Lucien’s grip on her tightened just slightly, steadying, anchoring. Then his flames swirled around them as they winnowed away. The last thing he saw before the world blurred was Feyre’s tear-streaked face.

And then they were gone.

The human lands were a nice reprieve from the madness they just fled. The rolling hills and dense forests stretched endlessly before them, so different from the glittering sprawl of Velaris.

The Band of Exiles Manor was large but modest, nestled near the edge of a sprawling forest. They had barely stepped onto the path leading to the house when Vassa ran to meet them, her fiery hair flowing behind her.

“What happened?” she demanded, her sharp gaze flicking between them.

Lucien’s hand remained grasped in Nesta’s. “It was an ambush. They were going to force her to go Windhaven with that overbearing bat,” he said darkly. “I wasn’t about to let them treat her like that.”

Vassa’s expression softened as she turned to Nesta. “You’re safe here,” she said, her voice gentler than Lucien had ever heard. “No one’s going to force you into anything you don’t want to do. Not on my watch.”

The firebird linked arms with Nesta, two queens in their own right walking toward the house together. Lucien knew Vassa was telling Nesta about her curse from the their heads were dipped down. About how she knows exactly what it’s like to be forced against your will.

Jurian stepped into the doorway, arms crossed, his usual smugness tempered by something more genuine. “Well, this will certainly make things interesting.”

Lucien shot him a look, but to his surprise, Nesta let out a quiet snort. And that—that—felt like the first real sign of life he had seen from her in too long.

The days passed slowly, quietly. Jurian and Vassa even tried to remain on their best behavior. Mostly.

There were no expectations here, no demands. Nesta wasn’t forced to train, to behave a certain way, to be anything other than herself. And Lucien was careful with her. He never pushed her to talk, never filled the silence with meaningless words. He simply was. A quiet presence beside her, a steady warmth at her side.

She unraveled slowly, like a thread being loosened from a tightly wound spool.

Lucien noticed the change in small ways—the way her shoulders lost their perpetual tension, the way she didn’t always stiffen when someone entered the room. The way she began to move through the house like she belonged there.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he found her curled in front of the fireplace. The fireplace he used his magic to light after Nesta’s first reaction to the popping.

She sat with her legs tucked beneath her and one of Vassa’s romance books in her lap, but it remained closed. Lucien settled beside her without a word, close enough for his warmth to seep into her skin, but not touching.

Nesta’s voice was hesitant when she spoke. “You don’t have to sit with me.”

Lucien turned to her, studying the way she kept her gaze fixed on the fire as if she were afraid to look at him.

“I want to stay,” he said simply. “With you.”

She swallowed hard, her throat working against the weight of her own emotions. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

Lucien exhaled softly, then reached for her hand. He moved slowly, giving her the chance to pull away. But she didn’t.

His fingers brushed over her knuckles, warm and steady. “You deserve everything, Nesta,” he murmured. “Especially love.”

She closed her eyes, her breath hitching. When she opened them again, they glistened with unshed tears. But she didn’t pull away.

“What you have been through,” Lucien cleared his throat, “it is unfathomable. Not just as a human, but even as a Fae… to go through so much in such a short amount of time. I’m so sorry you were not treated with more kindness afterward.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Nesta bit out.

His lips twitched. “No, of course not. You, Nesta Archeron, are made of steel. Unbreakable and unyielding. But some experiences should be handled carefully. Your heart, no matter how strong you are, should be treated as if it is the most fragile thing in the world. And you should be loved ceaselessly. No conditions, no ultimatums. Just loved, because you are you, and there is so much to love about you.”

Nesta stared at him in that assessing way of hers. Searching for any lies, any traps. There were none, and he knew she came to that conclusion when tears trailed down her cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“What is there to understand?”

“Why? Because I am your mate?”

“No, not just because you are my mate,” Lucien chuckled softly. “Because you simply deserve love, Nesta. You are easy to love. Your sharp tongue does not make you unlovable, in fact, I find it endearing. And while I admire your claws and teeth, I hope that one day you will not feel like you need them. I know what it is like to be on guard at all times and it is exhausting. You must be so exhausted. I do not expect anything from you. This bond, while I have no qualms about, is not a priority right now. You are. You feeling safe, loved, and cared for is my priority.”

“Lucien..” she whispered, her voice cracking.

He wiped her tears with his knuckles, smiling sadly. “We both have some healing to do. The world has not been kind to us, and everyone has their ways of dealing with it. I do not hold those methods against you. You are not defined by those things. You are not defined by your past. The only person who can decide who Nesta Archeron is is you. And I cannot wait to meet her.”

Lucien froze as Nesta’s fingers brushed over his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar across his eye with a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down his spine. Then, before he could even process it, she kissed him. It was soft, barely more than a whisper of contact, but he felt it ripple through him like a spark igniting from head to toe.

“Thank you, Lucien,” she murmured. “I look forward to meeting you too.” Then she stood, poised as ever, and went up the stairs, but not before pausing to give him one last glance.

Lucien watched her go and pressed his fingers to his lips. It was then he knew—his heart belonged to Nesta Archeron.

[caprisunr]

"I think you're cautious because you have more to give than you think anyone can take." Kim said this to Eddie and it struck to me because he IS someone who is heedful — time again and again we see the patterns of his careful personality.

But I don't think her statement is entirely correct. Specially taking into account that Eddie gave Buck everything he had which is Christopher after only knowing him for a couple of months (year at most), and let him inside his world unapologetically. Buck was there to drive him to Christopher during the earthquake, just as he was there with Eddie when Pepa called him into the hospital, in the same way that he was there when Eddie was packing for Texas for his father's retirement party, as when Christopher left for Texas with Helena and Ramon.

Eddie might not be actively aware that there is someone who can take it all and still decide he is worth staying for—or how easy it is when it's Buck he's giving that part of himself to.

Buck is the first person he called when Christopher wouldn't talk to him and locked him out of his room. In the same way that Buck was Chris' when he ran away from home to find solace. —And Christopher, even if unconsciously, seems to have an understanding of what makes him and his father special to Buck in different capacities: He is the person he reaches out to in front of his father's breakdown (instead of 911.) And at the same time doesn't call out to when he finds Eddie with his mother's doppelganger. He knows he wouldn't be able to scape one without the other following suit right after.

And Eddie has been so fixated on finding the most perfect, sensitive, eligible mother; but not partner. Because this isn't about Eddie wanting to date more than it is about him needing to fix Christopher's life and put everything back where it 'belongs'. Yet, we can't betray ourselves without our true desires slipping. Eddie always finds excuses to distance himself emotionally from the women he is with, and never allows himself to embrace the relationship long-term. He is never 100% invested —He wasn't with Ana, and he wasn't with Marisol.

A Shannon replacement is imposible to replicate; They were best friends before, grew to love each other—and the baby. They knew their weak points, even though they had been separated for years. It was a relationship where both of them were faltering reflection of the other. It was faulty, and recriminatory, and built on the deceit of first love. But also a place where Eddie felt seen, loved, and accepted, probably for the first time. Eddie saw Shannon as an escape from his parents who clearly held a grudge and disapproved of her.

And he keeps dating woman who are perfect, whom his parents would love and approve, who would love Christopher just as much as he does. —But it's not enough. Because they can be motherly but they cannot be Shannon; The person who broke him out of his shelve, who loved him, who gave him Christopher, who put him in his place, who called out his avoidant tendencies, who fleed when things got comfortable to take care of her drying mother, who came back into his life later and asked for divorce the day before she died.

He deluded himself enough with Kim until he realised she could never be Shannon. Kim was only but the shell of this person that he doesn't know.

Except. Well. Eddie does have that already in his life. So maybe the issue is not so much not being able to replace Shannon. But the fact that the space is already filled by someone else. —Someone who challenged him, broke him out of his shelve by asking about his son. He already has someone who looks out for Christopher; who listens to his quirks and worries—but mostly answers to every single one of them, treats him as an equal, thinks about in his spare time. He already has someone who he confides in to put in his will. He has someone who calls him out when he's out of place with a bunch of 'that's not how you talk about someone you're in love with' and 'I'm worried about you' and 'I could've talked some sense into you'. He has someone who is willing to step in in every way that matters and who owns up to it. Eddie has someone in his life who also died, woke up—this time; and chose to stay right where he was.

Eddie feels suffocated and looks to flee, because there's too much people. And it's simple really; Those hers aren't him. He is looking for a mother, and he is aware that nobody could replace Shannon—we see that in how he looks for people opposite to her. But Is he conscious that none of them can sweep the traces of Buck's fingertips all over his life, either?

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2. OO3.

summary | after the intense moments between you and minho, you try to keep your emotions under control but are pulled back into a complicated situation when Kitty shows you a video involving stella. as you struggle to manage your feelings, you're forced to confront the complexities of your relationship with minho while dealing with new tensions that arise

warnings | emotional angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, deceptive behavior

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The days since that conversation with Min Ho passed slowly. You forced yourself to maintain an indifferent façade, as if what had happened between you two was nothing more than a mere slip-up. But it wasn't. Every time you saw him, whether in the group of friends or in class, you felt a tightness in your chest. You ignored it, tried not to look at him, but you knew he felt it. Min Ho wasn’t stupid.

It was hard to move on, you knew he was there, but now more than ever, you felt the need to distance yourself. Somehow, you had broken something that you didn’t even fully understand, and you didn’t want to fall back into the temptation of thinking that things could be different. Not when you had already lost him.

One day, as you sat in the living room with Kitty, she wouldn’t stop looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, she approached.

" I know you too well," she said in a low but firm voice. " What's going on with Min Ho?"

You sighed. You didn’t know how to explain it. Kitty always noticed. Always.

" Nothing, Kitty," you lied, unable to look her in the eyes.

But she didn’t seem convinced. She paused, then pulled out her phone and placed it in front of you. On the screen was a video that looked familiar. The title read: Esther from Ohio sings on Sr. Moon's program.

You stared at it, confused.

" What is this?" you asked, not wanting to see what you already suspected.

" What you think it is," Kitty said, taking a sip of her drink. " It's a video of Stella. And I know the page where things were leaked... probably belongs to her too."

Your heart stopped for a second, and a wave of disbelief washed over you.

" Stella?"

Kitty looked at you with a smile that wasn’t exactly one of joy.

" The page where they posted the gossip about Min Ho's dad. I’ve been investigating, and something smells fishy. And that video…" she asked, furrowing her brow. " It looks like her, singing on that show."

You watched the video, unable to avoid it. The woman on the screen was Stella, though you would have never guessed it. Her tone of voice, her presence, everything matched what you knew about her, except her appearance. In the background, a sense of distrust began to cloud your thoughts.

" I don't know what this means," you whispered, barely believable, " but I don’t like it."

Kitty leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms.

" Why don't you tell Min Ho? He needs to know what's going on."

You stayed silent, biting your lip. Did you really want to get involved in something like this? After everything you had told him… But at the same time, something told you that you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

That same day, you went to the city. Maybe, somehow, something in all of this would give you clarity. You walked the streets, between the bright lights of the buildings, until you reached a store where, among other things, you could buy some clothes you needed. But before you entered the store, something caught your attention.

There she was.

Stella, coming out of an internet café, her phone in her hands. Her hair blew in the wind, but there was something about her expression that unsettled you. You stood still for a few seconds, watching her from a distance, before making a decision.

You knew you needed to talk to Min Ho. But should you show him what Kitty had shown you? Should you tell him what you had seen, what you suspected? Maybe he would deny it. Maybe, in his mind, it would make everything more complicated. But the worst part was that you didn’t know whether to trust her, or if Stella was really behind all of this.

You decided to return to the school, with the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders, and an hour later, you went to find him.

His gaze, although still warm, seemed to have a new hardness to it. He looked at you in silence, as if waiting for you to speak first.

" What's going on?" he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.

With trembling hands, you took out your phone and showed him the video of Stella, the same one Kitty had shown you. Min Ho stared at it intently, without showing any emotion.

" What's this?" he asked, his voice cold.

" This... is Stella," you said, trying to stay calm.

Min Ho sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

" I can't believe you're showing me this, seriously?"

" How can you not believe it?" you responded, feeling frustrated. " Why would I be lying to you? This is important!"

" Do you really want to talk about this?" he said, his voice harsh. " After everything that happened between us, everything you said? Now you’re bringing me this, telling me Stella is a liar... what, so I’ll come back to you?"

His words hit you hard, and although you knew you couldn’t do anything to make him understand your position, you couldn’t help but feel like your heart was breaking a little more.

" It’s not that, Min Ho. I just want you to know the truth. I’m not trying to separate you from her. I just want to take care of you."

Min Ho looked at you intently, his face now completely serious. There was a heavy silence between you both, as his eyes searched yours. Something you couldn’t find.

" I can’t believe it," he said finally, disappointment evident in his voice. " You told me that what happened between us didn’t mean anything, that you didn’t want to keep going... and now you bring me lies about Stella just because you don’t want to let me go."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, his face tense.

" This is too much. It’s not fair."

And, without saying another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing from your view, leaving you there, empty and with a sense of defeat in your stomach.

You felt empty, as if everything you had tried to build with Min Ho had crumbled in an instant. After everything that happened, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him the video. Maybe, just maybe, you should have waited for more evidence before speaking. But the damage was already done.

Min Ho ignored you completely for days. He didn’t answer your messages, and every time you crossed paths in the hallways, his gaze immediately averted. That indifference, that coldness… it hurt more than you imagined.

Kitty looked at you with pity, knowing what you had done and how you were feeling. One afternoon, as you sat together in the dorm room, Kitty sighed, the air heavy with guilt.

" I’m sorry," she said, biting her lip. " Seriously, I’m sorry. This is all my fault."

You shook your head, surprised by her apology.

" It’s not your fault, Kitty," you quickly responded, without looking at her. " I was the one who decided to follow that video, my suspicions. If only I had waited… Maybe I wouldn’t have ruined everything. Maybe… maybe Min Ho would still trust me."

Kitty watched you for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

" It’s just that… I know how hard it is for you to see all of this with him."

You couldn’t look at her, you couldn’t face what you had caused. You wished you could turn back time, tell Min Ho that you were wrong, that it wasn’t that serious. But, for some reason, something inside you told you that you couldn’t go back.

The next day at school, as you walked down the hallways, an odd sense of nervousness ran through you. Something made you stop in your tracks. There he was: Min Ho, standing in one of the Kiss hallways, dressed in a perfectly fitted pink suit, holding a bouquet of roses, standing in front of a decorated wall as if waiting for someone.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every detail seemed straight out of a romantic movie, and the mere sight of him there, with a serious but hopeful expression, made your stomach twist. Everything in you wanted to approach him, but you stayed still, watching from a distance.

In that moment, Stella appeared beside you, walking quickly past your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice her, how she walked with a confident and assured smile. When she reached Min Ho, he looked up, and with pure determination, he extended the bouquet of roses to her.

"Stella, do you want to go to the dance with me?" he asked, and the way his voice sounded so sincere made you twist inside.

You felt a wave of jealousy invade you, but what hurt the most was how easy it seemed for him to be so open, so honest. You hated yourself for telling him that you couldn't be anything more after the kiss in the cabin, for pulling away from him so quickly, without giving him the chance to explore what you both truly wanted.

With a sigh, you turned away, unable to watch any longer. You walked with your head down, the weight of confusion and insecurity heavy on your shoulders.

That night, in the dorm, Kitty looked at you with a concerned expression.

"Are you really not going to the dance?" she asked softly.

You shook your head without hesitation.

"No, I don't want to go. I don't have a date, and I don't want to see Min Ho being happy with Stella. I couldn’t handle it. I don't want him to see me suffering from my own embarrassment."

Kitty looked at you silently, then sighed.

You knew that Stella wasn’t all bad. Kitty told you that she only went to the cyber café to talk to her ex-colleagues from Ohio. She didn't have bad intentions, really.

You shrugged, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it, Kitty. I can't handle it. I feel stupid for all of this. Maybe it’s best to just step away from everything and let him be happy with someone else. After all, that's what I asked for from the start."

Kitty didn’t say anything more, but you could see the concern in her gaze. She knew how you felt. She knew it was harder for you than you could express.

Finally, you lay down in bed, turning your back on everything you had experienced with Min Ho, trying to forget it, even though you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The decisions had already been made, and all that was left was to watch everything fall apart in front of you.

...

Min Ho no longer showed up to the meetings with Q, Dae, Yuri, Kitty, and you. No one knew exactly why, but everyone noticed. At first, you thought maybe it was your fault. You had seen Stella's behavior, and Min Ho's distance seemed related to everything that had happened, but maybe you had misinterpreted it.

One afternoon, while you were all in Q and Dae's dorm, the topic inevitably came up: Min Ho.

"Have you noticed how strange he's been lately?" Dae asked, crossing his arms.

Q nodded.

"Yeah, I’ve noticed too. And not just that... it’s like he's avoiding us, like he doesn’t want to be around us."

Dae furrowed his brow.

"I don’t think it’s about us. Something’s going on. Sorry, but it does seem a little strange."

Just as they were finishing their conversation about him, the door opened suddenly, and there was Min Ho, with Stella by his side. They walked in together, without making much noise, but what caught everyone’s attention was that Stella didn’t take off her shoes upon entering, which, in local culture, was considered a very inappropriate gesture. Min Ho, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, something he normally would have commented on, as he was meticulous about such details. And that was what surprised you the most.

Q looked at Dae, then at Kitty and you, with a knowing look.

"See? Definitely something’s going on. Stella didn’t take off her shoes, and he ignores her collagen water, just like one of Q’s energy drinks. This isn’t right."

Dae furrowed his brow and nudged Kitty.

"I don’t want to make things worse, but... her skin looks like Edward Cullen’s, but not in a sexy way, you know? It’s... weird. Really weird."

"Do you think it’s because of the suspicions about her?" Kitty asked, lowering her gaze to the phone she had left on the table.

Q sighed.

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that something’s happening. Stella isn’t right. I don’t want to judge her without proof, but something doesn’t add up."

Kitty nodded, a little worried.

"I know. But I was wrong before. Maybe I’m just seeing it from the wrong perspective."

You decided to ignore it all until the day of the singing competition. Things didn’t make sense, but you needed to focus on what was right in front of you. On the day of the competition, Dae called you and Kitty and, without hesitation, delivered the news.

"Stella’s going to compete in the contest, and Min Ho is going to support her," he said, with a serious tone.

Kitty couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

"That’s impossible. How can that be? There’s no way he’s helping her."

Dae nodded, but his expression was grave.

"Mr. Moon introduced her as his great story of resilience. She... she’s involved in something bigger than we thought."

Kitty fell silent for a moment, processing the information.

"That... explains a lot about Min Ho’s behavior," she murmured, her face tense. "But why didn’t he tell us?"

What hurt the most was that, once again, Min Ho had chosen not to trust you, not even when the most important thing was for both of you to face the truth together.

You felt a renewed determination. You couldn’t just sit still. You had to do something. You needed to know the truth. So, while Kitty and Dae were preparing for the concert, you decided to go find Min Ho.

You headed to the stage where they were rehearsing, and once there, you found him alone, distancing himself from the crowd. You walked towards him without thinking, your heart in your throat.

"Min Ho," you called, with a mix of doubt and bravery. "I need to know what's going on. What's going on with Stella? Does she have you trapped or is that not true?"

Min Ho looked up, and in his eyes, there was a deep sadness. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the situation were crushing him.

"You're right," he replied with a sigh. "Stella is a psychopath. I don’t know how she found out my brother got his dancer pregnant, and now she’s threatening to tell the press unless she wins this contest."

Your heart raced, and you quickly stepped closer to him.

"We have to do something," you said, desperate. "We can’t let this go on. We have to stop her."

Min Ho nodded, but before you could say anything more, he slowly approached you and looked you in the eyes.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry," he said, his voice breaking, almost as if the pain he felt in his chest was as real as yours. "I should’ve never pushed you away, I should’ve never made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I don’t know what happened, I just... I got carried away. I failed you."

His words hit you in the heart, and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable. You had been so focused on your suspicions, on what Stella represented in the equation, that you had forgotten the most important thing: Min Ho was also going through all of this in his own way. And, no matter how much you hated him for pulling away, you also knew that the situation wasn’t that simple. The world you both moved in was complicated, and decisions weren’t always easy.

You slowly moved closer, trying to find a way to comfort him, to let him know that it wasn’t all lost, that there was still time to set things right.

"Min Ho..." you said softly, taking his face in your hands. "I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t want to ruin what you had with Stella, well, before I found out she was a bitch."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing every word you said.

"I know I messed up, and I feel horrible for not believing you when you needed me most. But when I found out what Stella was doing, everything changed. I realized how blind I was, how easy it was for her to manipulate me. What hurts the most is that you were there, trying to warn me, and I ignored you."

You couldn’t help but feel that his regret was genuine.

Without saying anything more, he hugged you, and in an instant, his lips found yours, in a kiss filled with everything that hadn’t been said before. A mix of regret, desire, and love that overflowed between the two of you.

You pulled away, feeling your heart pounding.

"We need to fix all of this first," you said, knowing that what mattered now was stopping Stella and putting things right before it was too late.

And as you prepared for what was to come, you realized that maybe things between you and Min Ho weren’t lost after all.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[thesummerstorms]

The other thing that I think I would want in an Annabeth Wayne AU that I don't think I've seen so far is Bruce being absolutely pissed at Athena.

It was bad enough with Talia and Damian, but Athena is a literal god of wisdom who should know better AND he doesn't even have the "culpability" of having slept with her.

She one hundred percent saw Batman, tactician of the Justice League, was drawn in by her aspect of the Goddess of Strategy, and proceeded to create a child without his consent, a daughter who she didn't even raise before the child became a weapon.

And like whatever else, however fucked up Damian was by his own training to become a child-weapon, at least Talia loved Damian.

Whereas Athena loves Annabeth in the way a Goddess loves, not the way a Person loves, and I don't think Bruce, whose entire identity is so fixated on his relationship with his own parents, would recognize that as love at all.

And, like, Talia put Damian through a lot of shit. I think Bruce would be angry there too. But when push came to shove, she at least at some point brought him to Bruce because she thought it was in her son's best interests.

Athena actively lead Annabeth away from Bruce and into the streets at the age of seven, which Bruce would never see as in her best interest, whatever Athena's godly perspective is, however badly he reacted after Jason's death, even though he couldn't see (and dismissed the idea of) the spiders and the monsters. She was seven. In the streets of Gotham.

Athena let Annabeth fight a major role in two wars back to back without being there to train her or protect her or love her or even advise her. Athena advocated for the cold blooded murder of the other children who had actually tried to keep his daughter safe. Athena sent Annabeth against Arachne when Athena's children have universally died on that quest for a thousand years.

Athena let Bruce think he had gotten Annabeth killed because of his own inability to handle his grief. Let him think his daughter was dead or worse for years. Would have let him keep thinking that if the Fates didn't have other plans.

And just, in true fashion for all of my ideas on a PJO x DC crossover, everyone really comes out more traumatized than before. This includes Bruce.

Because now he wasn't just used unknowingly for a child just once, but twice. And in both cases he's going to have to live forever with the guilt of not having been able to protect his kids from what their other parent wanted to make of them

(On top of all the ways he has directly failed them and made any complexes worse, of course )

[hplonesomeart]

Hey. Sorry about the inactivity, but pretty sure no one cared that much anyways lol. Been a looooong time since I kept that distant from Tumblr…at least now I know I’m able to survive without checking posts every day/being chronically online! I’ve got an intense love-hate relationship with this lifestyle I’ve dug myself into. Think I’m getting a little bit better with the balance even if school isn’t really giving me an option. Got a load of work I need to keep catching up on if I don’t want to disappoint my professors. We’ll survive somehow. Here take a quick batch of Puzzle doodles k bye

[mars-ipan]

looks at you . realllyyyyy hard.............. hey................ can u tell me more about sinner hajime bearding w. chiaki and his shame over it im thinking about it and how it affects him real bad.. r they dating married.. r they just a random fling i need to know the deets i need the DEETS!!!!!!!!! sits down

OK SO. i have NOT spent a lot of time on this so bear with me bc i’m mostly figuring this part out as i go. it’s going under a cut tho bc i know myself

ok. to start with. chiaki is one of the first people hajime meets when he moves in— they’re neighbors and in true midwestern fashion she brings him a casserole as a welcome gift. from there they become fast friends! i think, like most people in town, chiaki goes to church on sundays, but she isn’t there often outside of that. she’ll show up to events and volunteer from time to time, though! maybe she occasionally helps at sunday school. maybe it’s her that gets hajime thinking about trying to confess in the first place! she’d never pressure him into going or imply that he had any particular sins to confess, but i think hearing someone he trusts speak highly of the priest there would get him thinking.

anywho. chiaki ends up introducing hajime to a few of her friends, though he doesn’t really connect with them too deeply. they all get along nicely though, and while hajime does have his Guilt following him at all times he feels a bit better after he hangs out with her and her friends— takes his mind off of things for a bit. she has a rabbit named usami, too! she reminds hajime of some of the animals he helped raise on the farm back home. but hajime and chiaki end up basically being besties not long after hajime’s moved in. chiaki eventually develops feelings for hajime, and since she trusts him to be kind regardless of whether he reciprocates, she tells him almost right away. hajime is ecstatic— this is an opportunity! a girl, a nice girl who likes him. if there was any girl that hajime could fall in love with, it’d be her. and if he loves her, then he won’t have any of these other thoughts! he won’t be wondering what his priest looks like under the robes if he has a girlfriend— it’s perfect! so he says yes, and they begin to date.

hajime tells Father Komaeda basically immediately— he’s excited! look, Father, your teachings are working! i’m in a heterosexual relationship, this is what God wants! except…. komaeda isn’t as enthusiastic as hajime expects. supportive, absolutely, his smile as bright as ever, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he doesn’t celebrate. he tells hajime he’s happy for him— chiaki’s a lovely girl, after all— but reminds him that resisting temptation is not a one and done battle. going out with chiaki is a step in the right direction, absolutely. however, he warns, hajime shouldn’t be too surprised if he finds himself struggling to shake away his impure thoughts. these things don’t disappear overnight. in fact, they should continue their lessons to help make sure that hajime can stay on this path to the light. hajime agrees immediately, thanking komaeda for his wisdom. still, though, he feels positive about this! having someone else to focus on will make leaving behind these unwanted lusts much easier.

except… hajime can’t make himself want her, not in that way. he tries. god, he tries. he loves chiaki, truly he does, but he doesn’t feel as fuzzy as he thinks he should when he holds her hand. kissing her feels like kissing a wall. he freezes up uncomfortably every time she tries to initiate anything further, and, saint that she is, she backs off every time without any hard feelings. he enjoys spending time with her, and holding her, but he’s not… he can’t get himself to desire her. not to mention, the impure desires haven’t gone away, not at all. they’re just as bad as they were before— in fact, they seem to slowly be getting worse. he doesn’t know what to do. hajime cares about chiaki, so much, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. she’s his best friend, and the last thing he wants to do is break her heart. plus, if he breaks up with her, then isn’t that like admitting defeat to his sins? like saying he can’t overcome them? and if he breaks up with her, what does he even say? that he can’t bring himself to be attracted to her? that he’s never been able to think of her in that way, only with… no. there’s no way he can tell her that, she’ll be disgusted. but he hates the idea of lying to her and stringing her along. his only option is to keep trying. he’ll be a better boyfriend, he’ll fall in love, he has to. she deserves someone who loves her, and maybe he can be that someone, if he just keeps trying.

hajime confesses all of this to Father Komaeda, of course, who hears all of it and simply nods. while he agrees that hajime should keep the true nature of his thoughts from her, he also subtly suggests that hajime break off the relationship if he’s not in love with her— lying is a sin, too, and true, holy love cannot be forced into being. perhaps they’re simply better off as friends?

hajime thinks about that advice, but he can’t bring himself to do it. he doesn’t want to hurt her, and he especially doesn’t want to lose her.

here’s the thing. chiaki is observant. she’s just that kind of person, she’s a good judge of emotion. she can tell that hajime seems uncomfortable showing affection to her, even if he’s trying. at first, she chalks it up to nerves, but when it doesn’t go away and almost seems to get worse, she starts to wonder what’s wrong, why he doesn’t seem to be that into her. so she looks a little closer. she notices that hajime prays a lot more often now than when he first moved in. she hears him mumble to himself when he thinks she isn’t listening, things about being wrong and having to try harder, having to be better. she knew from the start that hajime has some deep insecurities— he’s not very good at hiding it— but it’s worse than she thought. hajime’s been going to church near-daily now, and when she goes with him to mass on sundays she sees the way he watches the sermon, almost enraptured. she knows he gets along well with Father Komaeda— in fact, she’d consider them close friends. eventually, she notices things— hajime blushes with his whole face… when Father Komaeda is close to him. he sings the Father’s praises regularly, often thanking chiaki for telling him about the church so he could find his faith again. in moments of vulnerability, hajime has told her that he confesses somewhat frequently— what about, he never told her, but he assured her that he hadn’t hurt anybody so she never pressed him about it. the pieces click into place, and oh… oh, hajime.

unlike hajime, chiaki has nothing against homosexuality. she believes that god’s love comes in many forms, and so long as the people in a relationship truly love each other, then it doesn’t really matter what gender they are, does it? at first, she’s a bit hurt that hajime didn’t tell her, but she quickly reminds herself that hajime seems to deeply resent this part of himself— chances are, he’s yet to even accept it. she hurts for him, i think. she doesn’t like seeing her best friend be so cruel to himself over how he loves. she keeps up the relationship for a couple weeks, to give him the chance to tell her. when it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on telling anyone anytime soon, she decides to take matters into her own hands.

when chiaki approaches hajime and tells him she thinks they’d be better off as friends, he panics. he practically begs her to stay together, asks what he did wrong, promises he’ll do whatever it takes to keep this relationship alive, anything. chiaki looks at him softly, takes his hands in hers, and tells him that it’s okay, he hasn’t done anything wrong. she knows how much he cares about her, but there’s nothing either of them can do if they simply aren’t romantically compatible. “you can’t help who you love,” she tells him. hajime’s breath seems to stutter at that, and he pulls her into a tight hug, apologizing and sobbing gently into her shoulder. it’s a bit awkward physically, since chiaki’s pretty short in comparison to hajime, but she holds him as best she can. when he eventually pulls back, she tells him that they’ll always be best friends, okay? hajime sniffles, smiles, apologizes for breaking down like that, and agrees. best friends. he still doesn’t tell her. she doesn’t ask him to. he’ll tell her when he’s ready.

hajime tells komaeda about the breakup less than 24 hours after it happens. komaeda offers him a kind, gentle smile, clearly meant to reassure him. it reaches his eyes. “i’m sorry things didn’t work out, but i’m grateful you were able to maintain your friendship,” he says. he promises hajime that being single won’t doom him, and that he can still be freed of his sin even if he doesn’t have a nice girl to settle down with at the moment. they will continue their guidance, and one day hajime will be purified. hajime thanks his priest for all he’s done for him. Father Komaeda says he’d do anything to help someone dear see the glory of God.

[labyrinthinesyndicatex]

The dangerous thing about Ishika was how she made everything into a challenge, turning casual conversations into chess matches he hadn't agreed to play yet couldn't resist joining. "You tell me why," he said, the words carrying more weight than he intended. Her confidence carved through his walls, the ones he'd built to keep people like her - brilliant, fascinating people - at a safe distance. Truth lived in the space between what she said and what she meant. The part about not needing to try to impress him caught in his mind like a splinter he couldn't dig out. Nobody else made him second-guess his own thoughts quite like she did. She had this way of making the ridiculous sound reasonable, like maybe wearing a cape with hidden pockets wouldn't be the weirdest path he'd wandered down. The real problem wasn't the cape - it was how much time she spent thinking about what would suit him, calculating every detail until his usual excuses felt paper-thin. "I'm more of a chaos and hope kind of guy," he said, trying to dodge the implications behind her questions about wanting the cape versus wanting her attention.

His mind kept circling back to the way she saw through his deflections, how she treated their conversations like puzzles worth solving. Most people took his jokes at face value, never bothering to look deeper. But Ishika didn't just look deeper - she excavated, finding meaning in things he said without thinking. The truly terrifying part was how much he wanted her to keep digging, even though he knew she'd eventually hit bedrock and realize there wasn't much worth finding. Her deliberate moves and knowing looks stripped away his persona, leaving him wondering if she already knew exactly why he hid behind humor and deflection. The smart move would be to retreat, throw up more walls, keep things superficial. But something about her made him want to play a different game entirely, one where maybe losing wouldn't be so bad. "For all I know ... this whole cape thing is just an excuse to get me into your design laboratory," he said, letting a fraction of truth slip into his voice. His mind raced ahead to all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons he should maintain his distance. Yet here he was, still pushing back, still engaging. "It all depends on if you find capes hot. I'm not getting a cape if it makes me look like a dork."

Ishika’s smirk didn’t waver, but something flickered behind her eyes—sharp, assessing. Gavin was good, she’d give him that. He played his part well, kept things light, made sure his words never strayed too close to something real. But she knew better. She saw the way he deflected, the way he let a joke sit just long enough to keep from having to explain it. And yet, for all his efforts to make himself seem like the guy who just got by, she could tell—he was paying attention. “Impress you?” she echoed, her voice smooth, teasing, but edged with something deeper. “Now why would I spend my time doing that?” She let the question hang there, watching for his reaction, the way his grin tugged at his lips like a shield. “Besides, Gavin, I don’t need to try to impress you.” She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping lower, like she was letting him in on a secret. “If I wanted to, you’d already know.”

There. A shift—subtle, but there. She saw it in the way his jaw tensed for just a fraction of a second, in the way his grin held but didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was so determined to play the part of the guy who wasn’t worth the effort, who wasn’t enough. But she wasn’t fooled. If anything, it only made her more curious. He thought she was untouchable, that she wouldn’t really look at him the way she did. But Gavin had it wrong—she didn’t care about names or status or whatever hierarchy he thought separated them. She cared about people who could keep up. People who didn’t bore her. And Gavin? He was a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. And honestly? She really wanted to figure him out… not just because he was a puzzle, but because he was starting to feel like one she didn’t want to leave unsolved.

“Hidden pockets, though?” she mused, tilting her head as if considering it. “Practical and dramatic. I like the way you think.” A slow smile curved her lips, deliberate, knowing. “But I have to wonder—do you actually want the cape, or do you just like having me think about you in one?” She let the words settle between them before stepping back just slightly, giving him space but not letting the moment slip away entirely. He could run from whatever this was if he wanted to. But if she had her way? He wouldn’t.

[ramayantika]

Okay but the life of the legendary Shovana Narayan altered my brain chemistry, a superb academic record hold, a maestro in kathak and then also a civil services officer with a long distance marriage and motherhood

If she could do this in the 50s and 60s, wtf is stopping me from doing so, when I have never wanted just one thing to define me

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

Mmmm Jinx AU where after being taken in by Silco, thinking she's been abandoned by Vi leads to her not latching on to Silco as the most important thing in her life who she must be loyal to above all else, but full on swinging into the direct opposite direction and becoming like Sevika.

[This AU is in part inspired by the idea of Jinx becoming more idealogically like Sevika, but also from OG Jinx's personality.

OG Jinx is a character who's primary drive is her own personal enjoyment and happiness. Which comes from building weapons, causing explosions of all kinds, and pranking Piltoveans.

Jinx doesn't go out looking to kill people, she goes out to to have a good time, and if people happen to die while she's having her good time, then that doesn't really concern her.

Like there's this one quote about OG Jinx that basically boils down to: "If Jinx found a box of firecrackers that had a person sitting on top of it. She'd light the fireworks without even thinking about the person on the box because she was so focused on her excitement about fireworks, that she didn't even notice the person."

OG Jinx has prioritized her own personal enjoyment over everything else, that people potentially dying as a result of whatever she's doing is so completely irrelevant, to the point of her being effectively unable to perceive the potential collateral damage.

It's not even that OG Jinx wants to kill people, or enjoys killing people, it's just that people dying while she's doing what she loves isn't even a linked phenomenon in her brain. Because people (who die) are going to die eventually with or without her actions, so why shouldn't she enjoy herself even if people happen to die while she's doing so.

Jinx's loyalty to Zaun is prioritized in the same way in this AU. People are going to die with or without the revolution happening, so they might as well have the revolution.]

Loyal to the dream of Zaun over any individual leader.

I mean, she still comes to love Silco as a father figure, and he still comes to love her as a daughter, but also much like with Sevika, they're both fully aware that if Jinx ever comes to the conclusion he isn't the person who's the best bet for securing Zaunite independence, she'll abandon his gang and possibly go elsewhere.

Or even more so, if she comes to the conclusion that he's worse for Zaun than he is good, possibly kill him herself.

Which I feel like wouldn't stop him from loving her more than anything else.

I think he'd just consider it another aspect of her that makes her the ideal Zaunite. The ability to put The Cause even before her personal feelings and attachments, something he's still not able to do.

Basically this Jinx thinks of her loyalty to Zaun and her personal love for individuals in her life as entirely disconnected to each other, with Loyalty to Zaun being her default.

Which adds a number of complications to her relationships. Specifically her being totally unafraid to fight to the death against her loved ones without an ounce of remorse, and then thinking of it as a complete non-issue in the aftermath if they both survive.

Like she fully still considers Ekko her friend by the time Vi gets out of jail in this AU. Full on "We try to kill each other on alternating Thursdays, but that's no reason to stop being friends" feelings.

Which also results in her not feeling an ounce of shame in helping him and the Firelights out when it comes to basically anything they do that isn't in direct opposition to SIlco.

I mean, the Firelights are also working towards bettering Zaun just like she (honestly believes) is, they just have different opinions and methods of how to do so from Silco's gang. While also serving different parts of the community.

[And yes, Ekko and the rest of the Firelights have complicated feelings about Jinx in this AU. None of them know where she stands with them.

She'll help them without expectations one day, and then turn around and kill some of them in a confrontation without an ounce of hesitation the next.

Some of them hate her, some have mixed feelings. Others just think she's completely mentally unstable, and shouldn't be trusted considering she seemingly flips between being ally and enemy with no warning.

Ekko's feelings are especially complicated, as you can imagine.]

None of this is to say Jinx doesn't feel just as deeply about the people she loves, as she does in canon. It's just that trauma has convinced her that unequivocal loyalty to an individual vs an idea is a very easy way to be hurt.

Detached logical decision making as a way to avoid being harmed by making emotional mistakes. Which is what she feels is why she failed so much as Powder.

The belief, that she was so obsessed with gaining approval from individuals in her life, she never had a real personal goal to strive towards that she could measure progress and growth to. Resulting in her always feeling like a failure, even when she was doing good, or at least improving.

She's still deeply hurt by Vi choosing Caitlyn over her (as far as she could tell), the Firelights taking Vi, and her accidental killing of Silco while spiraling in the wake of her Shimmer surgery. She's also extremely frustrated by her freak out on the airship where she shoots Eve (pink haired Firelight).

Because she feels like those are instances where she gave into the impulse to emotional over reaction to specific individuals that caused all of Powder's problems.

She was so focused on Vi, and her desire for Vi's approval, that she couldn't fight the Firelights as effectively as she normally would.

She was so focused on Vi seemingly leaving her to go off with Caitlyn that she couldn't focus on fighting Ekko on the Bridge, resulting in her getting far more injured than she normally would have, and nearly not succeeding in getting the crystal back.

She was so triggered by thinking she was seeing Vi on the airship, that she completely lost it and started shooting indiscriminately and caused the job to go south and injured people on her own side.

She was so caught up in her spiral and hallucinations at the tea party, that she shot Silco based entirely on instinctual protective instinct when hearing the hammer being drawn on a gun on her vulnerable loved one, rather than anything intentional on her part. Which she'd previously had always sworn would be the case should it ever come to her killing Silco.

That if Jinx ever killed another of her loved ones, it would be because she knew with certainty it would result in the betterment of Zaun, not because she made a mistake because she was being an over emotional idiot.

I think the only major change from this Jinx's actions in the Season 1 part of the story would be how she went about stealing the Hexgem, and why she did so.

In canon she does so because she failed a job, and felt like she needed to do something big to prove to Silco that she was capable, in order to gain validation from him that she was. Even though he never tells her he doesn't think she's capable, just that she needs to take some time off because she had an episode.

He said "take a mental health day, even if you don't think you need it," and she responded, "so you think I'm a fuck up?!"

In this story. it's more that Jinx is so focused on what she could potentially do with Hextech to help the revolution and Zaun as a whole. That she was already planning to steal some research notes and crystals to get experimenting with it on her own terms, before the job gone south, and the new advancements in Hextech being whispered about for progress day.

Getting her hands on the newest form of Hextech is just her getting lucky.

This also means she doesn't steal it the same way. She doesn't do anything to kill any Enforcers, but she does cause a distraction with what seems to be a box of fire works going off prematurely on "accident".

With her swooping in to steal the notes and hexgem while everyone's busy with trying to contain the panic the fireworks accident is causing to really pay attention to what she's doing.

Which the Enforcers do react to, but everyone but Caitlyn disregards as an accident. As once it's clear that nothing other than a few decorations got ruined and people getting startled came of the fireworks incident.

They're far more concerned with the stealing of hextech that's happened, and Viktor's testimony of a young woman with long blue hair sneaking out of their lab.

With the fireworks incident being dismissed as an accident that's completely unrelated to the burglary of the Hextech lab. Beyond the burglar potentially using it as a convenient opening.

Caitlyn's not convinced, and it's already happened so close to the airship shootout incident, so she still goes down and ends up freeing Vi from Stillwater with some of Jinx's drawings as evidence, from the airship shootout.

Which does mean that her trajectory in the Season 2 part of the story would be a bit different.

She still goes into a depression after Silco's death. Mostly because she feels that she's broken her most important self imposed rule: not killing because of personal feelings about someone, but for The Cause.

She killed Silco not because she felt killing him would make things better, but because she was scared and spiraling and in that vulnerable emotional state, she defaulted to the same way of thinking that had gotten her loved ones killed the last time.

She protected Vi who she loved, and couldn't defend herself, based on gut instinct. And it resulted in the death of another loved one, and the complete destabilization of Zaun.

Now because Jinx is more focused on Zaun than on her personal relation ships, I don't know if she fires on the Council immediately after Silco's death the way she does in canon. I don't really think she would.

I could see her doing it because she's still in the peak of the Shimmer high, which is heightening all her emotions. Driving her to seek revenge on Piltover in her grief. Even though if she could think more clearly, she wouldn't do it, and would instead wait to gather an actual following and doing an organized and planned strike to be the most effective.

But I could also see SIlco's death snapping her back to reality as she sees it. That she simply takes the gem, her guns, and Silco's body and Disappears, vanishing into the night with neither Vi or Caitlyn knowing of the weapon she's built or what she's going to do next.

Which could have interesting repercussions on the story. Considering Piltover's council would to have agreed to Zaunite independence on the conditions of handing over Jinx.

Except the man they made that deal with is now dead, no one (except Sevika) knows where Jinx is to hand her over, and the Undercity is and of itself divided on handing one of their own over to Piltover (to potentially be executed, because of how dangerous Hextech can be, and a lot of the counsel fully thinking Zaunites are inherently dangerous, not to mention thanks to Caitlyn, Jinx is a known weapons builder, so what else do they think she'll do with access to Hextech other than build weapons) in order to gain independence.

I'm sure the chem barons would have no issue handing JInx over, because then they'd be free to divide up territory and completely take over with no one like Silco holding their leash, or PIltover dictating what is and isn't legal on their side of the river in the first place.

Oh the Firelights would be around to oppose them, but they'd never really were able to gain any ground beyond causing problems for Shimmer production.

But I'm not sure how more ordinary people would react.

I mean, in this AU it's pretty well known that Jinx holds the idea of Zaun above anything else, and was willing to help people who weren't affiliated with any specific group, as long as doing so wouldn't harm the independence movement of Zaun.

She's not really shy about expressing that stance, it's just up to everyone else to believe it or not.

Jinx, who would use her high position in Silco's circle to help ordinary Zaunites. Be it from one of the gangs overstepping and trying to start rackets Silco had forbidden, from unjust arrest from Enforcers, or even pointing them in the direction of the Firelights if she thought that was for the best.

Declaring that so long as the help she gave random people didn't harm or slow the march towards independence, helping her fellow Zaunite was helping Zaun, was part of the fight toward an independent Zaun.

She's the Loose Canon, shooting for Zaun and no one else. Loyal to no kingpen or Chembaron, but to The People of Zaun as a whole.

She has a bit of a following even without firing on Piltover or turning the Grey back on them. She's a bit of a living folk hero to some people, especially those she personally helped out of a bad situation, for no reason other than "I could, and doing so doesn't hurt anyone else. So why wouldn't I?"

Not to mention I definitely feel like Jinx would be way more intentionally politically educated in this AU than she is in canon.

JInx as she is in Arcane, never really gave a shit about Zaun's independence beyond what it meant to Silco (and later Isha), and she very obviously never bothered to learn anything about politics. At least nothing Silco didn't force her to learn.

But with Jinx's primary drive being Zaun, I feel like she'd definitely be way more politically minded, and while I do think she would consider turning herself over to Piltover to secure Zaun's independence (in a direct parallel of Vi's willingness to hand herself over to get the Enforcers to leave the Undercity alone to keep her family safe).

I don't think Jinx would actually go through with handing herself over.

Not with the Undercity being actively torn apart by gang disputes in the wake of Silco's death, no way of ensuring Zaun's prosperity after handing herself over, and no way of securing actual tangible betterment of conditions in Zaun even with Zaunite independence.

I mean from what we're told, Piltover's offer of independence was essentially cutting the Undercity loose.

Stopping their dumping of industrial waste into Zaun's water supply, ceasing utilizing of Zaun's air duct and water system for the climate control of Piltover's Hexgate system, release of Zaunites from Stillwater (or at least transfer to Zaunite custody)), and the Kiraman family handing over control of the vents that suppress The Grey over to someone from the Undercity weren't anywhere in that deal from what we're told.

[I don't think everyone on the counsel would have agreed to it if it was, they're all complete capitalists, no matter if some of them value sapient life more than others (Mel, Cassandra) on a conceptual level.

I believe the ones who outright hate Zaunites (which some of them clearly did) would have staunchly opposed if it meant having to alter how they actually approached how they ran their businesses, vs just cutting Zaun loose.

Hell I think those councelors would have gotten even more lax with their business regulations. I mean, Zaun wouldn't have been part of Piltover, and their citizens not their legal responsibility any more.

So why should anyone from Piltover worry about them dying? The trenchers wanted independence and if they can't survive without Piltover's support, how's that anyone's problem but the trenchers?]

It was, if you hand over Jinx, we'll legally make you not our problem any more.

Which I don't think a politically educated Jinx would go for. It would just leave Zaun to the messy power struggle that appeared because of the power vacum caused by Silco's death. None of the Undercity's actual problems would be solved, besides Enforcers no longer being able to harass them.

So the Zaun Piltover conflict would stay more political and less outright invasion than it is in canon as a result.

[whoslaurapalmer]

the maltese falcon is such a tasty story but sometimes there is SO MUCH almost TOO MUCH to chew on you know???? like. trying to keep track of How Many Layers Deep In Deception sam and brigid are in when they talk to each other is always A LOT