#help! i’m in Hell and i can’t get up!

[rosinasnoot]

Huh, this is a trait I also have. Sometimes my grandparents, for example, ask me for help with something and I find it deeply confusing because I just google it for them and they could have done that themselves. Why would my reasonably tech-savvy grandparents ask for this help when they absolutely do not need it?

Why would they face the potential shame and embarrassment of asking for help when they don’t have to?

So it’s interesting to consider that that may just be how I feel about asking for help, due to the particular setup of my brain, instead of a standard thing most people experience. A couple of reasons this may happen for me:

- I’m very bad at acknowledging my own limitations (I’m working on it). The ones I run into most often are the social limitations, the things I see everyone else doing that I can never seem to get right. It’s very easy to fall into the mindset of “well, if I just tried harder I could surely do this thing I’ve struggled with my whole life.” The fact that the trying hasn’t worked is irrelevant. Surely it’ll work this time…

In the same vein, if I encounter something I don’t know how to do, I’ll experiment. Fiddle with the settings, try finding keywords to google, etc, until I either figure it out or give up. Asking for help doesn’t factor in—either I should be able to do it or it’s impossible (I tried).

- I don’t want to ask for help, even when I need it. I pride myself on being able to “figure things out,” on not needing help, which is what the phrase “compulsory independence” brings to mind. What if one day I really need help and it’s not there? Won’t these skills come in handy then? Part of it is that I like the challenge; specifically, I like challenges that I most likely can overcome with enough effort. Asking for help feels worse than giving up—it feels like cheating. Imposter syndrome narrows its eyes suspiciously at the clear attempt to make myself look more capable than I am.

- By the time I do get around to asking for help, I’ve “tried everything.” If it’s such a big problem that I deem it worth asking for help, then I’ve already come at the problem from fifteen different angles and all of them have been dead ends. I don’t know how to articulate what I’ve already done (hell, I may not even remember all of it), so I usually get halfway into a script for asking for help and then give up writing it. But I can’t give up on the original problem, so I’ll try a few more ideas, digging myself ever deeper into the “I don’t know how to explain what I need help with” hole.

- Unless someone has directly led me to the situation I need help with, even if they have the knowledge to help me it simply won’t occur to me to ask them (as long as it’s a small enough thing that giving up is a viable option). I’m not sure why this is—cognitively I understand that they can help me, and I’ll probably think of them if you ask me about it, but on my own it won’t even cross my mind.

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[waynes-multiverse]

Hi, I first wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work, I’m constantly rereading your fics and they have really helped me escape from my busy Uni schedule. I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean, no pressure ofc. I hope you enjoy your day and thank you for taking the time to create and post fics for people like me who need a way to escape their hectic lives.💕

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! I gladly support the escapism 🥰

Sorry this took me so long! I was on a bit of a break there, but I was so excited to get into this. God knows I have so many headcanons 😆

Hope you’re doing well and hope you enjoy this 🤍

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 for some smutty content (duh)

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Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean

Dean is very hands-on, which means he’ll touch you whenever he can, even if it’s just a hand on the small of your back while you’re pumping gas or walking into a bar.

This also means he takes PDA to a whole new level. He teases you under the table when you’re doing research in the library or eating in the kitchen. He weaves his arms around you when you’re doing dishes. He trails kisses down your neck while you’re cooking.

Especially while you’re cooking. Something about food just turns him on. So much so that every once in a while he stands in front of your door with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce, a cute wiggle of his eyebrows, and a giant grin, begging you to be his dessert.

Sam is mostly annoyed by his brother’s indiscretions, though. Too many times (almost every damn day) Dean has walked into the kitchen in nothing but his gray robe and announced his morning wood to you, not seeing Sam sitting in the corner. That’s when Sam usually folds his paper, takes his coffee, and hurries to the library before Dean’s hands find their way to your body once more.

Sam suffers the most, however, if there’s only one motel room available and the three of you have to share. Dean has zero self-control (and also doesn’t care what Sam sees or doesn’t see). While he cuddles you, he holds you so close to his body that it’s hard to breathe. And again, hands and lips – they wander. Constantly. The man doesn’t possess an off-switch.

It got so bad that Sam has established a rule that the two of you are not allowed to share a bed anymore and Dean has to take the couch for the night. But as soon as his little brother has dozed off, he crawls right back into the warm comfort of your bed.

Speaking of rules, Dean loves breaking them. If there’s a sign that says “Do not enter,” you can be sure as hell he’ll shove you in there and will enter you. For Dean, there’s no such thing as bad timing or an inappropriate place. He even breaks rules that don’t exist and are just common sense like, “Do not have sex in a museum while you’re breaking into said museum.”

And while he loves breaking rules, he also loves following them. Especially when it’s “sexy rules.” He loves when you playfully push him around, when you shove him backwards onto the mattress and tell him what to do. He will smirk at you giddily all the way through and be the best damn boy you’ve ever seen.

Overall, he’s curious about your fantasies and constantly asks you want you want to do. He enjoys it when you take the lead in the bedroom and loves to see what you come up with. He loves being underneath you and watch you ride him with his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth. It barely hides his huge grin. He loves to see your tits bounce from this angle. According to him, it’s the best goddamn view in the world – forget the Grand Canyon.

However, when he’s had a bad day or a rough hunt, he actually likes to be in charge. It all depends on his mood. But taking control of you helps him cope with the things he can’t control in this world. So whenever he comes home with tense shoulders and a tightly creased brow, you know you’re in for a treat.

When he orders you around with his deep voice and sharp tone, you melt into a puddle and only all too happily oblige to his every command. Your legs grow weak when he dominates you with just a look. God, he loves the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, loves how you moan his name when you’re on all fours in front of him, and loves how your lips feel around his cock when you suck him off.

You love to give him comfort in whatever form he pleases. And Dean loves that you trust him with all your heart – and he knows to never betray it. He will always respect your limits, even though he gently pokes them sometimes, testing how far he actually can go.

Sometimes he bends rules like he bends you.

And truth is, he can go pretty fucking far. There’s not much you won’t let this man do. His dirty mouth can convince you to do all kinds of things – things you would for sure refuse if anyone else was asking. But it’s Dean, and one look of his sparkling green eyes will have you on your knees for him.

But honestly, Dean is the same kind of whipped for you, too. He will do anything for you, short of moving actual mountains. Massages, hot baths, ice cream at midnight? He’s got you covered and doesn’t expect anything in return, except for your unconditional love. He’s got it either way, but you do have to reassure him sometimes.

Dean’s a giver, not a taker, so you do have to force him sometimes to ask for the things he wants. But boy, when he gives, he goddamn gives with both of his massive hands. After he’s done with you, there’s not a single inch of skin left on your body that hasn’t been worshipped. You always come first – literally.

Dean takes pride in making you cum, and it doesn’t matter with which body part of his he does it. They are all equally skilled – his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his dick. He eats you out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, because you both know in a life full of monsters, there actually might not be one. He makes every night and every day count.

Then, there’s his mouth. It should be no surprise, but it’s goddamn filthy. He could make you come with words alone, and not rarely, he sure likes to try. A lot of times it’s stuff you haven’t even heard, dreamed, or thought about until Dean’s said it and put it in your goddamn head.

And yes, Dean’s very sexual and a great lover through and through. He enjoys sex, but most of all, he enjoys going to sleep and waking up next to you. He loves cuddling with you on the couch during a movie, he loves holding you close at night, and he loves that special moment when you’re both coming down from your highs and are still connected, bathing in the afterglow.

Dean has been so touch-starved all his life that he enjoys the little things. He loves when your fingernails caress his back and massage his scalp. He loves using you as his freaking pillow. At this point, you’ve learned not to drink too much water before bed, because you know you won’t be able to escape his prison of strong arms – not that you’d ever want to (unless you really do have to pee).

I honestly could've went on and on and on with this one... 😂

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[burreauxsworld]

Oddly specific ask or request😂: boyfriend Joe when you get an IUD…I had a rough experience with it and I was like curled up on the shower floor hahaha but maybe he comes in and finds you and then gets you out of the shower and just takes care of you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Girl I feel you. I have the nexplanon and I’m having nothing but problems with it. Ugh being a woman sucks.

~~~

Joe came home from practice to an oddly silent house. Which was confusing because your car was in the garage and you told him you’d be home all day. Furrowing his brows, he drops his duffle bag by the door.

“Babe?” He calls out, but doesn’t get a response. “Y/N?” He calls again. “Are you home?” He calls out. Finding your keys on the hook, he begins to get worried. Why weren’t you answering him? And where the hell are you?

He then heard a loud thump upstairs. He darts toward the stars, taking them two at a time. “Y/N?!” He yells out, frantically. He can hear the shower running in the master suite, and the faint sound of your crying through the door.

He urgently moves across the room to the bathroom door, and pushes it open with ease. “Holy shit,” he says, pushing the glass door open, after finding you in the floor in tears. “Baby, did you fall?! Are you okay?!” He shuts off the water and licks you up bridal style.

“The cramps are so bad, Joey. Make them stop” you sob, curling into the fetal position with your arms clutched around your stomach. His face softens, but the concern is still evident. “You need to call your doctor. That thing isn’t doing any good for you. All it’s doing is causing you pain” Joe says, brushing your wet hair from your face.

“The pills don’t work for me. All they do is make me fat, and I almost got pregnant on the nuva ring. This is literally our only option” you wince. Joe sighs. “I can’t keep watching you be in pain like this. What if I hadn’t came home when I did? You’d be laying in there by yourself” Joe reasons, and you finally turn to look at him.

“We’ll figure out an alternative but you can’t keep pushing yourself to go through this. I can’t let you go through this because of me” Joe says, planting a kiss on you forehead. You frown. “I’ll call her tomorrow,” you promise. Joe nods, as he helps you sit up.

“I’m gonna get dressed and then go make us some dinner-“

“I’m gonna order in. You can get dressed if you want to, but you’re not moving from that spot” Joe tells you, his voice firm. “Let me take care of everything tonight. You just relax”

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 17

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.8k

Note : This is the second to last chapter :) Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“All This Living”

Friday.

The mission had started out so promising. You were eager, determined to prove Yelena wrong— that you and Bucky going on the same job was not going to be a disaster. 

You’ve gotten better, and you've been on more missions after the artifact retrieval fiasco, but something about this one felt more personal. Maybe because it wasn’t just Yelena— Bucky had also doubted this from the start.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he’d asked, during the hot chocolate date the night before. His voice had been calm, but there was a flash of panic in his eyes.

“Yes, Bucky,” you had promised, putting your hand on his, “I’m sure.” 

And now, crouched beside him in the shadows of the Hydra facility, you couldn’t help but think maybe Yelena was right.

Everything had gone south so fast. You’d been working to disable the cameras when, somehow, you tripped the alarm. Your fingers had hovered over the holographic keypad for just a second too long, but a second was all it took.

“Damn it!” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the blaring siren as the lights started flashing.

“I can fix it,” you hissed, turning back to the console.

“No, you can’t.” But he grabbed your wrist firmly. “We need to go. Now.”

“Bucky, I—”

“Now,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. He tugged you down the corridor, his eyes scanning to every shadow, every corner, for signature if hostility.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and frustration building with every step. You weren’t helpless. You weren’t some rookie needing hand-holding. But the way he was acting, you might as well have been.

The two of you ducked into a storage room as the sound of boots thundered closer. Bucky leaned against the door. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, counting the bullets in your rifle. “I didn’t mean to trip the alarm.”

He didn’t look at you. His metal fingers clenched the doorframe, his human hand flexing at his side. “Let’s just get you out of here alive.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You said harsher. You twirled your knife, the golden one you retrieved months ago. “I can handle this.”

His head turned toward you, exasperated. “Can you?”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you refused to let them sting. “If you don’t trust me, then why the hell did you agree to this mission?”

“I didn’t agree to this,” he sighed. “You just— you wanted this.”

The tension between you was suffocating, but the sound of footsteps outside the door yanked you both back to reality.

“Stay here,” Bucky ordered, his voice cold as steel.

You reached for your gun. “Not a chance.”

“I said stay here,” he snapped, his metal arm blocking your path as he moved toward the door.

“No,” you shot back.

The door rattled, and a split second later, it burst open. Three hostile operatives stormed in, guns raised, but they found two avengers on the other side. He slammed one into the wall with his metal arm while disarming the other with a brutal twist of his wrist. You sliced the third guard’s chest and brought your knee to his head, knocking him out.

The fight was over in seconds, and neither you nor Bucky broke a sweat.

“Stay behind me,” He turned to you, concerned, “please.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “I’m not a liability, Bucky!”

He didn’t answer, already moving toward the hallway. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You followed him, your blood boiling. The two of you moved through the maze-like corridors, every step laced with unspoken tension. The sirens screamed around you, but the only sound you focused on was the thudding of your boots against the concrete and the pounding of your heart.

The silence— it was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, it was getting heard for you to breathe. “Why won’t you trust me?”

He stopped so abruptly you nearly ran into him. His shoulders were stiff, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to face you, and the intensity in his eyes froze you in place. Anger. Fear. Love.

“I just can’t lose you again, okay?” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

The words hit you like a blow to the chest.

“But—” you started, but he shook his head, his jaw tight.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rising now, his frustration spilling over. “You think this is about trust? About my damn ego? It’s not. It’s about the fact that I’ve already watched you get hurt— twice!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The pain in his voice, his broken vulnerability, left you speechless.

“I can’t let you go through that again,” he said, quieter this time. “I won’t.”

The hallway was silent except for the distant echoes of shouts and the relentless blare of the alarm.

“Bucky, I can’t—I can’t promise I won’t get hurt,” you said finally, your voice shaking. “That’s the risk we both take.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders tense.

“We need to move,” he said gruffly, already heading down the corridor.

You followed, your chest aching with the weight of his words. You wanted to say something— anything— to fix the growing rift between you, but the danger around you left no room for it.

And as the two of you fought your way out of the facility, every punch, every bullet, every explosion seemed calm compared to the storm raging between you. 

—

The Quinjet’s hum filled the silence as you sat beside Bucky, the adrenaline from the fight draining away rapidly. You had put the jet on autopilot while tending to his injury— a small would he caught on his arm. 

Bucky winced as you dabbed antiseptic on the gash, the fabric of his shirt now stained slightly red. He hadn’t said much since he got back, only the occasional grunt of discomfort. 

How could you put yourself through this? You’d made so much progress, or at least you thought you had. Just yesterday, you were laughing together over mugs of hot chocolate. But today? You were screaming at each other over a stupid tripped alarm.

Had Yelena been right? Was this mission a mistake? 

And deeper still, the question that you couldn't shake: Was your relationship always doomed to be this way? Was it destined to fall apart, to spiral into frustration no matter how hard you tried to fix it?

You noticed his teeth clenching, eyes cast down toward the floor of the jet. There was so much left unsaid— so much anger, frustration, so much fear.

"Does this still hurt?” you said as you started wrapping the bandage, your voice swimming with guilt. 

"I’m fine," he muttered with a sigh. “Just a scratch."

Your fingers tightened around the gauze. You knew it was more than just a scratch. You knew it was also an unspoken rift between you two.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words coming out before you could stop them. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean to trigger the alarm, to put us in danger.”

His silence only made the ache in your chest grow. You finished wrapping his arm, moving carefully, as if he was made of glass. All you wanted was for things to be… better.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” you continued, looking down at your hands. You could feel your heart racing. “It was going so well. I thought we were finally—"

“Yeah, we were,” Bucky interrupted, his voice gentle. He shifted in his seat, leaning back a bit, his eyes still fixed on you. His posture was rigid, like he was trying to keep himself together. “We were moving forward with… us.”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. You couldn’t look away from him, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers tight around the bandage. 

“I know it’s been hard,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “I thought it was… I thought going on a mission would move us forward. I thought we were getting there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, and for the first time in a long while, you saw a glimpse of the hurt he’d buried so deep. “We still are,” He insisted, his voice strained. “I just, I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was the first time he’d said it outright. The first time he’d acknowledged what had been building between you— the way the tension had been pulling at the fabric of your relationship for months.

Maybe, you were right. Maybe,you just needed this mission to acknowledge all of this.

“I know.” Your voice cracked.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the Quinjet’s engines, a low, steady hum that seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath your feet. You could see him processing, his brow furrowed, gears turning like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this fear anymore,” he finally murmured, his voice strained. “Every time you’re in danger, every time something happens to you, it feels like my heart stops. I don’t know how to protect you from that. I can’t—"

His words broke off. He did my have any idea how to put it into words— fear that had been gnawing at him every time you left for a mission, every time you came back bruised or hurt. 

"I can’t keep losing you," he continued, his words barely above a whisper. His eyes closed briefly as if he could shield himself from his own pain.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing over his hand before you intertwined them, gentle but firm. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath yours, the callouses and scars that spoke of a life well fought for— a life deserved. It felt like holding a piece of his heart.

“You won’t,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? ”

Bucky turned his face toward you, his eyes more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them before. His lips parted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to speak. Instead, he just nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around yours.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You swallowed hard, the words hovering on the tip of your tongue. “Bucky…” You paused, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, for some cue that it was too soon or too much. But all you saw was him—waiting, holding his breath, as he was waiting for you to save him, even when didn’t need saving.

Your heart raced, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I love you.”

It came quietly, but with a certainty you hadn’t felt in months. It wasn’t rehearsed, it wasn’t a grand declaration—it was simply the truth. 

Three months ago, you hadn’t been sure you’d ever say it again. You hadn’t been sure he was ready to hear it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. It felt… right. 

Bucky froze, his eyes widening. He blinked, his eyes scanning your expression, like he was trying to figure out if you were being serious.

“I—” He stopped himself, his breath shaky, “You’re not just saying that to make things better, are you?”

“No,” You shook your head slowly, “I mean it.”

A long pause stretched between you. Slowly, Bucky’s eyebrows softened, the tension on his shoulders easing. 

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before. “I… I do. More than anything in the world.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, leaning in slightly, as if that physical connection would be enough to bridge the gap between you. “We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite everything that had gone wrong, you felt… right. Maybe it wasn’t all ruined. Maybe, just maybe, the road ahead wouldn’t be as hard as you thought. 

—

The cool evening air drifted through your hair as Bucky walked you back to your apartment.

The debrief had surprisingly been calm, echoing each other’s understanding as you told Sam what happened. 

Despite everything that went wrong, tonight felt different. It felt… right. 

When you reached your door, Bucky stopped a few paces away and turned to face you. There was a hesitation in his eyes, a mix of longing and uncertainty. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just gave you a small half-smile.

“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long before flicking down to your lips. Then, almost reluctantly, they met yours again. It was like he was searching for permission. Or maybe an excuse to stay just a little longer.

You felt your chest tighten— he was looking at you as if you were the only person in the world. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, your fingers curling around the edge of the door. 

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open an inch, enough to wedge your foot between it and the frame. You glanced up at him, cupping his face. Your fingers trailed down, eventually stopping on his chest. You felt his racing heartbeat underneath your fingertips.

He wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

His gaze dipped to where your hand rested, and you felt the faintest hitch in his breath. He looked as though he was waiting for something— a signal, a moment, a reason to come back tomorrow, or maybe to stay today.

“This is progress, right?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Going on a mission, fucking up, coming back stronger… That counts as progress, right?”

Bucky’s eyes softened, the hallway lighting illuminating the faint lines of worry etched into his forehead, but they faded as he found your smile. Gently, he reached up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there and couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, confirming your hope, “it is.”

You opened the door a little wider, your hand still on his chest.

For a moment, you thought he’d say goodnight again and leave, but instead, he cleared his throat. “This might be the wrong time to ask again, but… can I kiss you?”

He said it so quietly, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be. His eyes searched yours, his brows furrowing just slightly, like he was bracing himself for yet another gentle rejection. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. 

Oh god, you’d been waiting for him to ask.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, bridging the space between you. Your lips found his in a fragile kiss, as if you were both testing the waters. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his mouth on yours, to the way his hand came up to cradle your cheek as though you were a precious gemstone.

Three months. It had been three months since you’d felt this kind of comfort from him, and it was almost overwhelming in its familiarity.

And it was definitely worth the wait.

He responded cautiously at first. As the kiss deepened, his grip on you tightened, pulling you closer. Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him as close to you as possible.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. The tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding melted away.

“So… I guess that’s a yes,” he teased.

You grinned, leaning in again to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more urgent, more certain. His hands slipped to your waist, as your fingers found the edge of his shirt, slipping beneath it to feel the warmth of his skin.

It was like finding your way home again.

Bucky groaned softly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you even closer if it was even possible. The touches became more heated, more desperate, like you were both trying to make up for lost time, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between you that once felt unfixable.

In between kisses, you managed to pull away just enough to ask, “Do you want to come in?”

He didn’t even hesitate. His lips found yours again, and he nodded into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you. Without breaking the moment, you stepped backward, pulling him inside.

The night was only just beginning, and you had no intention of rushing through it.

-to be continued…

Taglist :

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@notsostrangerthing @wintercrows @chiliwhore @mrsnikstan @bunnygirlwriter876

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut, the final day!! Eyyyyy, gang, we did it! Full month of daily updates for this one, haha. Ended up writing about 24k, give or take a few hundred words. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The alert on his communicator goes off again, and then again a few seconds later. Tim represses another frown. Nobody double-texts him on Tim Drake’s phone. The only people who ever would are Dick and Steph, and Dick never texts Tim Drake’s phone outside of emergency situations where Tim’s not suited-up and Steph doesn’t have Tim Drake’s number at all; they just use burners and the occassional dead drop. So who . . . ? 

The alert goes off a fourth time. Tim definitely doesn’t panic, but also definitely turns his wrist in his lap underneath the fall of his cape and taps the little armored pocket where he hides one of his micro-receivers for situations where he can’t pull the full-sized one out of his utility belt without being obvious about it. Cissie’s distracted with whatever’s distracting Cassie and neither of them can see his eyes behind the lenses of his mask, so it’s not difficult to slip it into his palm and out from under his cape to glance down at as he thumbs it open to wake up the tiny little screen. Four text alerts, and the caller ID is scrolling “UNKNOWN NUMBER” across the screen. 

Okay, so his civilian number is getting spam texts now. Jesus, he was worried, that’s so–

The actual number of the unknown number scrolls across the screen after the text. Tim . . . blinks. 

. . . that’s Kon’s number. Specifically, the number of the phone he bought Kon. Who is literally right outside, according to Cassie, and . . . texting somebody. While he’s out there. While he’s out there, and Tim is in here, and is being Robin. 

Tim has literally no idea how he feels about this situation, and honestly neither does Robin.

He opens the text log, and there are, in fact, four texts from Kon in it. 

so like 

superweird questin 

liek uh rly superweird tbh but uh 

cn u wish me luck babe??

Tim stares blankly at the messages. “Wish me luck”? That’s–what? 

Good luck, Kon, he texts back after a moment, figuring it’s the logical response anyway and assuming that using the other’s real name will help him feel better about whatever he wants the aforementioned “good luck” for. He’s going to have to try and get a read on him when he comes in, see if he can’t work that out. If it’s something to be concerned about . . . 

thx, Kon sends back with a blue heart emoji and literally nothing else. 

Blue, Tim thinks, yet again having to repress a frown. What the hell does a blue heart mean? Does that mean anything? 

He barely bites back the question, because it’s way too risky to ask even if if anyone knows what different-colored heart emojis mean it is definitely a teenage girl and if he texts Steph with a random question with no context attached and then doesn’t stick around to talk she’ll get annoyed and might leave another glitter bomb in their next dead drop. 

He really doesn’t wanna have to explain glitter in his cape to Bruce again. Or worse, explain glitter in his cape to Alfred. Alfred did not appreciate the glitter tracked all over the cave last time. Very, very much did he not appreciate it. 

Maybe Kon just picked it because he likes blue. Or maybe red seemed like too much to him? Or maybe– 

“I’m back!” Suzie announces excitedly as she spills into the room, and Bart bolts through her smoke trail a moment later and stops on a dime right next to the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, wrinkling his nose down at Cissie and Cassie. “Are you crying? Is it because your wig looks weird? It’s not that weird. I mean, kinda.” 

“That HeroWatch magazine thinks it’s your real hair!” Suzie offers brightly. “So it can’t be that weird.” 

“I am not crying and HeroWatch thinks what?!” Cassie demands, whipping her head up to stare at them both with a horrified expression. “It’s not even real hair! It’s like, synthetic! I buy the stupid things off Amazon!” 

“You should stop doing that,” Tim advises reflexively. There are so many ways for that to end badly for her secret identity. Genuinely so many that he doesn’t even know where to start, in fact. 

“And do what instead, exactly?” Cassie asks with a sullen scowl, leaning back just enough to fold her arms. “I can’t just clear out Spirit Halloween every–” 

She cuts herself off and stiffens, then jerks to her feet very quickly and straightens her wig and jacket even quicker. Tim has half a second to remember that while Cassie’s hearing isn’t super, it’s definitely enhanced, and then Kon walks into the room. 

“Yo,” he says, half-waving a hand at the table and then making a face. “Shit, I’m the last one here? Figures.” 

Tim . . . blinks. Blinks again. Cassie looks downright agonized, and Suzie and Bart both tilt their heads in opposite directions. Cissie raises both eyebrows and looks him up and down. 

“Jesus Christ, Kon, that is borderline indecent expo–” she starts incredulously, and Cassie immediately claps a hand over her mouth and leans down to hiss into her ear: “Cissie, you are my best friend and I love you and shut the hell up right the hell NOW.” 

Tim attempts to make his brain work. It needs to, like–do things. Be usable. Functional. Brain . . . able. 

The problem with that is the fact that Kon is currently wearing the tiny little jean shorts that first made Tim aware of the existence of the other’s thighs and the S-shield crop top that people really should have more respect for Superman than to have made and sold commercially with his usual leather jacket and sunglasses and a pair of heavy black boots that Tim also bought him, plus the sapphire stud earring from their last date with a little bit of eyeliner and chipped black nail polish and . . . thighs. Just–thighs. Kon is very, very much wearing thighs right now. 

. . . thighs.

Tim suddenly understands literally everything about the way Cassie came in acting and literally everything she’d said on top of that. Also, he isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe this is worse than the changing room was? Like, this might be worse than the changing room was. Because Kon’s not posing to show himself off like he was there, and “Tim Drake” isn’t here for him to be showing off for. So Kon is, presumably, wearing this outfit just because he wants to be wearing it. 

Tim needs a minute. Or a year. Or maybe a hard reboot and a new identity and a new reality to move to. Not permanently or anything, just until he can remember how to function like a reasonably-normal person again or he needs to send Kon his allowance, whichever comes first. 

It’s going to be the allowance, he already knows. It’s definitely, definitely going to be the allowance. 

“Huh,” Suzie says, looking a little perplexed. 

“Oh, is that what hormones are?” Bart says, looking surprised. “Weird.”

[melodyanqel]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 ── ★ k.js (i. new girl in town)

a freshly new face enters the world of karate who is shy and spineless yet becomes everyone’s favorite fighter. even her stern and tough rival has a soft spot. and possibly more than that.

↬ pairing: kwon jae-sung x fem!oc

↬ genre/tags: romance, fluff, angst, developing relationship, friendship, team bonding, family, shy!!sunshine!oc, possessive!kwon

↬ warnings: bullying, mean girls

↬ word count: 2k words

↬ note: first chapter! i thought about starting with a prologue but i decided to jump right into the story and write a chapter. but i hope you all enjoy!

↬ melodyanqel taglist: @pa1nfullyalive @captainquake42 @padmemi @carrotjuicepdf @sebastianstansblog @thebrightest4r

USA

Summer fades, but memories remain. 

Miyagi-Do students and the senseis can finally take a deep breath after the Cobra Kai mayhem. It felt like hell for all of them—chain reactions, betrayals, and so on caused a war. But now, the sweet air of tranquility has wrapped them in a warm embrace. 

The first day of school is bittersweet because it’s time to move on from summer and continue to explore what life has to offer. Miguel and Sam have their hands intertwined while Anthony follows them into the building. West Valley High School welcomes back the students. 

“I can’t believe this is our last year here.” Sam feels a bit sentimental about how the time has passed. Even though not-so-great moments happened here, there will always be happy ones. Miguel nodded, “I’m surprised as well. College is our next stop. I hope my mom and dad will be satisfied with my major.” He talked with his family about what he’d do after high school. Plus, a new sibling will get welcome to the world around the time he graduates with Robby.

Sam reassures him. “They’ll be happy about whatever decision you’ll make. The worst thing you can do is become a lousy dropout.” She chuckles and doubts he will ever do that. Miguel exhales because he feels a little better. “My mom and grandma would’ve whooped my ass. And thanks, girlfriend.” He pecks her forehead sweetly. “You’re welcome, boyfriend.” The LaRusso daughter smiles at the boy.

Abruptly, her brother notices something. “Uh-oh. Already a scrap is happening.” Anthony points his finger at the upcoming fight. Miguel and Sam follow his finger to spot a group of girls ganging up on a petite redhead girl with glasses and dressed in pastel pink clothes. The mean girl who looks like the typical leader yells at the scared girl. 

“You bitch! You could’ve hurt me!”

“I-I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

“An accident?! Why don’t you redhead freak-looking ass watch where you were going!”

The mean girl pushes the redhead to the floor and lands on her bottom. She drops her materials and groans at the painful impact. 

After watching enough of it, Sam didn’t hesitate to let things get worse. She parts from Miguel to go up to the bullies. “Hey! Back off! It was an accident!” Sam stands in front of the poor girl with a glare. The mean girl smirks, “Oh yeah. What are you going to do about it? Defend a freak.” She retorts and her friends laugh at the insult. The students in the area all watch the situation unravel. 

Miguel and Anthony would’ve stopped Sam, but they knew what she was doing. 

The female Karate fighter jabs the mean girl effortlessly in the stomach, knocking her to the ground. “Next time, think before who you are messing with.” Sam makes a comeback with a slight threat. She watches the mean girls and her friends scurry away in fear. Then the tension clears, and everything is all normal. 

Sam turns around to face the victim. She kindly helps gather her school supplies. “Here you go.” She hands over the girl’s books and binders. 

“T-Thank you so much.” The redhead gladly appreciates the eldest LaRusso child and takes her stuff. Sam has a cordial smile. She offers a helping hand to the bullied girl. Their hands grabbed each other and Sam brought the girl to her feet. Miguel and Anthony began approaching the girls. “Hey, are you okay?” Miguel asked the redhead. She answers, “Yes, I’m fine.” Her voice was mousy, almost like she was whispering.

Sam tries to lighten up the mood. “Now that you’re okay, we can introduce ourselves. I’m Sam. This is my boyfriend, Miguel, and my little brother, Anthony.” She greets herself, Miguel sends a cordial smile, and Anthony does a small wave. 

The trio becomes mesmerized by the petite redhead. She is super pretty and cute, like a royal princess. She has fair skin, small facial features, and stunning hazel eyes with glasses. Her style is adorable too. She greets the LaRusso siblings and Miguel. “It’s nice to meet you all. My name is Sophia and I’m not from here. I came from Portland, Oregon. So, you can call me the ‘New girl in Town’ and not the other one.” She still feels hurt by the insult. 

Sam reads the discomfort on her face—she is playing the hero today. The female fighter tells Sophia, “Hey, you are not a freak. Those girls just wanted to make you feel bad about yourself. Your hair is so beautiful it reminds me of Princess Ariel.” She compliments Sophia’s copper ginger hair. 

“It’s also cool like Scarlet Witch!” Anthony adds, which makes his sister and Miguel chuckle. Sophia blushes at their comments. “I appreciate your lovely words.” She responded, delightedly. Then the bell rings. Before class, Sam invites Sophia for lunch with her and her friends. Sophia happily accepts because she needs to start breaking out of her shell. She is a shy girl who is a pink addict and doesn’t have thick skin. 

Despite the ugly start, Sophia believes things will get better. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

SOUTH KOREA

When the night comes, look heavenward and be willing to see that the stars still shine; for the dawn will come. 

A young man sighs with relief once entering the studio apartment. He takes off his gi and black belt to have a relaxing shower. He feels rejuvenated when the water hits his long spiky hair. He had a long day of training, sparring, and getting punished by his sensei. Of course, he wouldn’t be disrespectful towards his comrades and mentor, but the anger keeps rising. 

Kwon turns off the shower, wipes himself dry, and puts on comfortable clothes. The quiet apartment may look lonely, but he feels like he is in a haven. After making instant noodles with a boiled egg, Kwon grabs his dinner and sits at the dining table. He goes through his text messages while slurping on the delicious noodles. They’re mainly from his family. 

After turning eighteen, Kwon moved out of his parent’s place when he successfully became one of Kim Dae-un’s pupils. Ever since he was a young boy, his passion was martial arts. He gets enthralled by the beauty of martial arts; courage, strength, confidence, respect, honor, and personal growth. Not to mention, being able to defend himself. 

However, Sensei Kim may not show it but Kwon is her least favorite student.

She has favorites which is no surprise because she does for his teammate, Yoon Do-jin—the best student who wears that damn geum baeji. Kwon does get envious whenever Yoon receives more praise than him. One day, he will prove he is a better fighter than him with a special combination of skill and will, power and finesse, and an unmatched physical and mental toughness. 

In the group chat, his parents would ask if he was doing well, had eaten, and so forth. Kwon deeply loves them. At first, he expected them to roll their eyes or be disappointed by his pathway in life. But they knew they couldn’t change what brings him joy. Kwon is grateful for his parents. Underneath his rebellious self, he does have a heart. 

Kwon finishes his dinner and responds to the text messages, 

Thank you for asking. I’m doing good, yes I’ve eaten, and my training sessions were tiring yet I got through them. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

USA

“Yo, dude! Did Sam punch a girl?!”

During the day, it’s now lunchtime. Miguel, Hawk, and Demetri are in the hallway to head for the cafeteria. Hawk asked Miguel about what happened earlier. Miguel speaks, “Yes. Wait, how did you know?” He looks at one of his best friends quizzically. Instead, Demetri tells him, “That’s what Devon said in math class. I thought we agreed about not doing karate in school.” He is stating that they shouldn’t repeat history. 

Miguel clarifies to the guys. “Sam did it because a girl was getting bullied. She is also new here.” He gives a brief explanation. Hawk shakes his head. “Some people, man.” He knows what it’s like to get bullied. He and Demetri have gone to hell and back when Kyler and goons would pick on them. Nowadays, it’s different—all thanks to karate. 

Demetri shrugs, “Well, at least no beef started. I’m pretty sure we’ve had enough.” He doesn’t want to get part of the drama ever again. Miguel replies, “Who knows? But I’m positive everything will be alright.” He is optimistic yet tries to face reality. Let’s see how this last year of high school plays out. 

Once they enter the cafeteria and get their slices of pizza, drink, and snacks, the boys notice Sam sitting with Sophia. 

“Heyo, Sam! What’s poppin?!” Hawk greets his teammate and one of his greatest friends while taking a seat. Sam looks around the table and sees her boyfriend and friends joining. She says, “I’m doing good! Also, Hawk, Demetri. This is Sophia. She is new so try to be nice and patient with her.” Their loud and hyper energy can sometimes get out of control. Demetri grins, “We will. It’s not like we’re the bad guys.” He tries to state the truth and convince Sophia. 

Hawk speaks enthusiastically, “We’re the cool, good guys. And badasses.” His over-the-top behavior makes Sophia giggle. They seem like hilarious yet friendly people. The pretty redhead speaks, “It’s nice to meet you all. And Miguel. I hope we’ll get along.” She has them smiling in adoration, and the guys blushing. Her sweet charm affected the Miyagi-Do students. 

Miguel then asks Sophia, “What made you move to California?” He and the others want to get to know her. She explains to the karate fighters, “I have relatives living out here and I’m the only one in Oregon. My parents saved enough to buy a house so we could be much closer to our relatives. At first, we thought it was absurd, but whatever can make my parents happy. I must follow them until I graduate.” Truthfully, Sophia didn’t want to move to California because she’d miss the breathtaking forest, the people, and her best friend. But a glimmer of hope is slowly happening. 

Demetri starts expressing his thoughts. “Well, it’s not all that bad. Sure, it’s expensive, but we do our best to survive. And should I tell her what we do?” He looks at Sam, Miguel, and Hawk for permission. He wants to be careful before saying it. Sophia doesn’t know what they do together, but Demetri makes it sound like it’s a sin. 

Sam tells the tall boy, “Go ahead.” 

She turns her attention to Sophia. “By the way, it’s not illegal.” She spoke with humor and sincerity. The shy redhead just nods. 

Demetri continues, “We have a hobby and it’s karate. It started with Sam then Miguel then Hawk and I joined last because I felt like it was more than fighting.” And he has zero regrets because he never thought he could kick and punch. 

Sophia put a merry smile on her coral-pink lips. “Wow! So you guys are cool! I love that and it’s precious to know you all are inseparable.” She comprehends how they act, talk, and see each other it’s more than a regular friendship. They’re like a family. 

Hawk shouts with no care, “Hell yeah, we are!” He smiles proudly at the people around the table, who are willing to get through highs and lows with him. Hawk then goes back to being gentle. He tells Sophia, “You don’t need to know karate just to be our friend. We want you to feel loved, and protected, and share wonderful moments with us.” Hawk was once a loner, a bully victim, and an asshole. But he eventually learned to never forget about the real people in his life and still be a tough fighter. 

His genuine and considerate words touched Sophia’s heart. Well, it’s better than suffering as an outcast. 

She answers candidly, “Sure. I’ll join the group.” 

back to masterlist

[sweetshuga]

𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝟤 ✧ 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

𝒘𝒄. 𝟧𝟫𝟢

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. English is not my first language! MDNI

Chris had specifically picked today to go out, and you were confused as to why he wanted to go out at night, but it soon turned into excitement when you arrived at a grassy field away from the city. It was the perfect place to stargaze.

"You planned this didn’t you? You sneaky little," you laughed, enveloping him into a tight playful hug, which he reciprocated, grinning from ear to ear. "Fuck, you caught me," he chuckled, "do you like it? I heard today’s the best day to stargaze since the stars get brighter or sum’, that’s what I read." You leaned back slightly to look at him, "do I like it? I love it!" His smile got bigger as he gazed at you, a rush of warmth spreading through his chest when he saw how happy you were.

"I love you baby, this is the best!" You said, hugging him tightly again. And a few more seconds of hugging and swaying, Chris broke the hug to place the blanket he had in his huge duffel bag. "And here I was wondering what the hell you had in that bag, you’re such a sweetheart." He chuckled at your words, and you could barely make out a small hint of blush.

"Shut up," he chuckled again, "you’re the sweetheart... Shit, am I being too sappy?" You shook your head with a smile, "nope, I don’t think you can be too sappy, you know I like it when you’re clingy." He straightened up after fixing the blanket, a wide smile on his face, "Damn, how’d I get so lucky to have a girlfriend like you ma, so understanding." You playfully shoved his arm, "understanding my ass, I’m just telling you the truth."

He laughed when you shoved his arm, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap as you two stared up at the sky. The stars shone brightly tonight just like Chris said it would and you couldn’t help but smile at his consideration.

"It’s alright baby, just let it out— it’s almost 2 am, nobody’s around to hear you." He rasped, thrusting up into you—his pace unrelenting as he held your hips. You clutched onto his knees, trying to reign in your moans, but how could you keep quiet when he’s fucking you so good? His length went so deep in the reverse cowgirl position you were in, hitting your cervix with powerful slams.

"Mffh— I, I can’t, what if—" you were cut off by your own moan, finally breaking through your attempt at keeping it in when he increased his pace. The obscene sounds of your coupling along with your moans and his occasional grunts and groans filled the night air.

Chris suddenly stopped, making you whine at the loss of friction. You tried to bounce on him, but he abruptly pulled you down and the sudden slam into your cervix caused you to moan loudly. Your insides convulsed around his cock – still buried balls deep in you – the pressure from his tip on your cervix added to the intensity of your orgasm.

This was your first orgasm, but definitely not the last as Chris started to piston into you again. His cock twitched and pulsed as he painted your walls white, but he didn’t relent, and instead moved much faster than before. Your vision blanked as you climbed back to a high quite quickly.

You never would’ve thought having sex at night in public would be so thrilling and arousing, but never say never is what they say.

𓆩♡𓆪

𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @h3arts4nat @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @courta13 @bumbl3b34 @slag2 @slut4chris888 @chrissluttyygf @billiesbabya @chrissbows @kaybug88 @sturniolo-fann @itsmaddielouis @urfavppls133 @certified-sturniolo @emkhlo @madisonsls @sammy1z @friendlyneighborhoodemo @layvvy @bellabooxx333 @wh0remikasas @ja75ahm @hearts4werka @miabumbia @slut4music @plrlvssnz @hannahhsturn1oloo @sturninsworld @idkwuttopit @madssturniolo @devilese @thatsitsthings @pr3ttyf4wn @stvrnioloslvt @d3adfa1ry @valsenoj @maddie-2024 @fallingforfalll2 @sagesturns @alicesturns @ccsturns @slxt4chriss @sturniolosfr3shl0v3 @slvtf0rchr1s @thebigbadwolfahoooo @poopysturniolo @pinktalearcade @clumsycunt @rhaine720 @halfbloodwriter

© sweetshuga

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWELVE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch

warnings a lot of angst this time whoops 🤭

kalena speakss 🪽! so there’s like four chapters left guys woah. i’m sorry for this one and the next one because it’s lowkey just angst but you’ll live 😆

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You did what?”

“Azz—”

“No you dumbass, you did what?” Nika cuts in, her voice echoing through my phone speaker as she repeats Azzi’s question.

I had just landed from our latest road trip, mindlessly trying to unpack and clean up around the apartment. Maraye was coming over and I wanted to have everything looking good by the time she showed up.

I’ve kept our conversations brief over the last couple days. Every time I hear her voice it just triggers my throat to close up and my mouth to get all dry.

But I can’t avoid her anymore. Whether I tell her about Nyla or not, she’s bound to find out. So I’m left with no other choice to tell her.

“You really want me to say it again?” I ask them, turning down the volume on my phone. Each time one of them yells it feels like my ear drum is seconds away from being ruptured.

“You had sex with Nyla? Why the hell would you do that?” Azzi yells again, confirming the fact that she heard me the first time.

Azzi is filled in on the lore more than anyone. So I know she’s irritated, she almost gave me a concussion when I told her about hooking up with her before the championship. I know if we were in the same room now she might actually render my abilities to play.

“I already told you it was an accident.”

“Oh, you accidentally fell into some pussy? Good luck explaining that to Maraye.” Nika laughs at me. I just know if I could see her face she’d be red from laughter.

“You didn’t tell her yet? Oh my—”

Azzi obvious exasperation is cut off when I hear my front door knock. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat and reach for my phone.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s at the door so we can talk later.” I breathe, not even waiting for a response before hanging up on the group call.

My feet drag against the floor on the way to the door.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous for a girl to come over to my place. Even when she was here last week, it felt natural. Like she was supposed to be here anyway.

But now my palms are all sweaty and slipping against the silver doorknob.

I think I might stop breathing the second I see her. Raye’s always been perfect, she could be wearing a garbage bag and I’d still think that’s true. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in person completely barefaced, not even a little blush on her cheeks or mascara on her lashes.

Just her. No enhancers, and looking as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her.

Raye wears that one jacket that every girl in LA seems to own, the Lululemon one. I didn’t get it at first but now I totally get the hype, the navy fabric clings to her arms and waist and everything in between, making her body look otherworldly. The matching shorts, however, are too damn short. I might not be able to control myself.

“So, can I come in?” Her nose scrunches as she asks almost like she’s shy but also teasing me over my gawking.

I don’t even waste any time tugging her arm and pulling her body into mine for me to hold.

I can’t help but grin to myself at how fast she returns the gesture, her arms wrapped around my neck and mine pressed to her lower back. Raye kicks the door shut behind her, humming softly.

It feels light, the hug. Almost like thousands of pounds of weight were lifted off of both of us and now we’re just floating together.

“Someone missed me, huh.”

I let out a breathless laugh, resting my head on top of hers. She smells incredible. “So fuckin’ bad, Raye.”

Raye is pulling back from me slowly, limb by limb detaching from me with a little fight as if they were stuck.

My lip travels between my teeth, looking over her whole outfit once again. Navy looks so good on her, and I start thinking that I might have to buy her more colors of this exact set because of what it’s doing to me.

“This lil set is cute.” I compliment, tugging at the spandex material on her mid thigh.

“Yeah?” Raye asks, looking over her own body. “I was supposed to go to the gym and then you called.”

The statement brings an embarrassing smile to my face. The fact that she dropped what she was doing, changed her plans to come and see me.

I’m embarrassingly whipped over her.

“We can do sum exercise here. No worries.” I smirk. She’s quick to drop a hand from my shoulder to mush my face off to the side.

“Shut up.” Raye giggles, “you wanna get some food?”

I lick my lips as slyly as I can, which really is a lot harder than I thought. There’s something, something that makes my mind run a thousand miles a minute. Her eyes, which I swear I’ve been obsessed with since we first met. Her skin, it’s glowing, looking like glitter that covers her skin. The smell of whatever curl cream she used lingers in my nose.

“Well I needa shower first, and then I wanted to talk.” I explain. My hands trail down to the backs of her thighs, just under the curve of her ass. She lets me, not even fighting me off or telling me that all of this is wrong. It’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with her that hasn’t led to kissing her.

Which makes me want to do it even more.

“About?”

"You." I say gently pushing her back against my front door and Raye raises her eyebrows. "And me." I add on.

Her tongue slightly slips from her lips, poking at the corner in the way it does when she’s concentrating or listening or thinking. She holds the back of my neck with one hand, her acrylics grazing the hair at my nape. I shudder, finger nails subconsciously digging into her skin.

“Okay.”

—

I’m not sure what I thought Paige’s room would look like. Her apartment— large and spacious, floor to ceiling windows, lights that set the mood so well that i��m sure every girl she’s had in here was throwing themselves at her— fits her completely. But her bedroom, is almost bare.

Cream white walls and a bed in the center. Oddly enough, there’s no purple decorating it like I assumed. Her duvet is a tan color, pillows that match, and a white throw blanket that is a nice addition to it.

The mattress nearly sucks me in when I lay back on her bed. Her phone in my hand as I order us some Chinese as per her request.

I can’t help but let my eyes wander. The room is clean. So clean, not a single book or pencil or sock out of place.

A bible sits on her beside table, along with a journal and some pens.

Then the more I look around the more the room becomes Paige. The bible is her, the picture on her full length mirror of her and her siblings, the framed piece of nylon she cut down from the net in April, the affirmations on sticky notes above her dresser. It’s all Paige. Everything that I know makes her the annoyingly smart, beautiful, and sweet blonde that I know her to be.

And she gets to be mine. As soon as I tell her that Julian isn’t my boyfriend anymore, things get to be the way they should be. I get to feel good around her rather than guilty.

Even if I do. If I do feel guilty for enjoying myself around her, I’d live with it. Because it’s Paige, and no matter what she always finds a way to get my mind off of everything.

My ears perk up the second I hear the shower turn off and I swing my feet off the side of the bed, almost in excitement of seeing her face again.

Her phone buzzes avidly on the blanket, just slightly muffled but I still hear it. I reach for it immediately, thinking that It’s our DoorDasher confirming our order. I type in the password she told me, clicking on the message notification.

lmk when you get bored of that LA girl again

i’ll be right here like i always am 😂

When you’re like me, and have been in your fair share of shitty relationships, you sort of become numb to it all. The lying, the hurt, the yelling.

I deal with it through music. Spending hours in the studio or in my room writing. It works. It helps me remember that the Earth will keep spinning.

But for a second, it does feel like the world has stopped. Like the planet, that spins a thousand miles an hour, has come to a complete halt and everything is just crashing around on me.

I have to stop looking, protect what’s left of that goodness in my heart and not keep fucking reading. But my thumb moves anyway. I read this girl’s text to Paige from last Sunday. The day after I stood in her arms and told her I’d make a decision. The night after she told me she’d wait for it.

A texts that reads: “had fun ;)”

That fucking wink. It makes me seethe. I swear it’s meant for me, just to rub it all in my face. My heart thumps so loud, and I feel like I’m underwater just drowning.

Within seconds I’m scrolling through what seems like years of texts messages, years of pictures and intimate texts that make me nauseous.

This has to be what karma feels like. I did it to Julian, right? I kissed and touched on someone else while making a promise to him. And now it’s all getting thrown back at me.

Paige took everything I gave to her, and went and gave it to someone else.

Her bathroom door glides open, a cast of steam coming into the room and she follows. “Are you sure y’on’t want anything more comfy to wear? Y’look sexy, but I can—”

Paige stops when she sees I’m not looking at her but rather that my eyes are trained to her phone.

“Ma, you aight?”

“Let me know when you get bored of that LA girl again, I’ll be right here like I always am. Paige, do you take me for a joke?” I ask her, rereading the text out loud to her before finally looking up.

I can’t let her see my tears, the ones that build and poole at my waterline, but Goddamnit they sting. Everything does. My throat feels small, the lump in my throat huge in contrast. And I want to cry. Like all this, all the confusion and the trust and the happiness she made me feel was all for nothing.

I see all the color drain from her face in an instant. Her shoulders dropping.

Paige only has on a sports bra and some sweatpants, the white towel around her neck picks up all the water that drips from that perfect blonde hair, and I’m so mad at myself for thinking about how irresistible she looks.

It’s entirely too reminiscent of the first time we met, when she was all flushed as sweaty and standing there looking like everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now I look at her and just feel like a boulder is crushing my chest.

“Raye.” She starts, stalking over to me and I stand up, feeling like that’s the best thing I can do to stop her from touching me. “Baby, just listen.”

“Me? Listen? To what. Listen to you lie to me about how you just want me? Because you obviously don’t.” I shake my head at her. “It took you 24 hours, Paige. 24 hours and you were fucking some other girl.”

“I—” She starts, sighing and tossing the towel in her hand on the bed. “I thought you chose him and I got drunk.” She babbles. Each step she takes towards me sets me off just a little more, and I feel suffocated.

“I didn’t! God!”

“What?”

“I didn’t fucking choose him, Paige. We broke up, I ended it. But instead of communicating with me when I called you, you went all silent on me.”

My voice cracks as I feel my composure slipping. It’s unbelievable, the entirety of it all.

“But now it all makes sense. You were with her.” I laugh, except it’s not funny. I think it’s the only thing I can do to stop me from lashing out at her, screaming and crying and fighting her in a way that makes me look like the bad guy.

Paige’s eyes flicker. And I know her. The confident and slightly cocky blonde girl that would double down on anything. She’s stubborn, more than me, so when I see it; the slight hint of guilt in those crystalline blue eyes, I know she’s not going to say anything I want her to.

“Wait a minute, you don’t get to be mad at me over this.” She shoots. The words hit my heart violently, sharp, like a knife. “You were with him. The whole time, who I was with is not something you get to be mad over.”

“You knew, Paige! You knew I was with Julian. And I fuckin’ told you over and over that this had to stop. Don’t turn it back on me when it’s what you wanted.” I defend, my voice cracking under her gaze.

She’s nearly unrecognizable. This isn’t Paige. Or at least the Paige I knew and fell for, because I thought she would never do something like this to me, yet she did.

Paige takes a step back from me, running her fingers through her wet hair.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what I can and can’t be mad about. I trusted you.”

“Julian trusted you.” She says, bitter and harsh. “But that didn’t stop you from kissin’ me and tellin’ me you have feelings for me, right?”

“That’s not the same—”

“It’s exactly the same, Maraye!” She yells. “But I’m tellin’ you the truth. I’m tellin’ you straight what happened, and you ain’t even do that for him.”

Maybe it’s the way she says it all like it certain. Like she knows me so well that she assumed I didn’t tell Julian anything. Or even the way her voice is so animalistic, full of emotion that I’ve never heard from her. But I lose it. All that is left of my composure, if you could even call it that, goes down the drain and I’m breaking down.

The tears in my eyes finally slip, making my lashes stick together. They’re hot, burning my cheeks.

I hate that I’m letting her see me cry, hate that she gets to see me this emotional. She doesn’t deserve to see me cry. Paige doesn’t deserve to know that she hurt me this bad.

At the same time, I want her to see it. To understand how fucking stupid her actions were. That what she did hurt me to my core, because I don’t even cry in front of people like this. But I am for her. I’m crying, and the tears don’t fucking stop falling.

“You think you know me! You don’t know me, Paige.” My eyes narrow and my arms fall to my sides. “I told him everything. I told him that you made me feel different, so much better than he ever could. A-and I told him I was sorry. I fuckin’ apologized for having feelings for you. I owned up to it, and I messed up so many times but you, God, Paige, you made it all worth it.”

When I look at Paige she isn’t even looking at my eyes. She always does, but now she looks at the ceiling, frustratingly running her hand over her chin.

“And you didn’t. You didn’t tell me the truth, I found out myself like an idiot.” I scream until my voice is raw. Her phone in my hand feels like hot coal, burning my hand and then burning a hole in her sheets when I throw it there. “Fell for you like an idiot.” I murmur under my breath.

“Hol’ on, Angel. C’mon.” Paige says. It’s soft, the quietest her voice has been all night. Of course Paige hears me. She steps to me again, reaching for my hand that I pull back with haste.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“I made a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this shit out.” Paige reaches for me again, I throw my hands away from her, hitting my hand on her bedside table and breaking a nail in the process.

“Fuck.” I groan, shaking my hand off and turning away from her. “Move!” I yell, stepping to the side so she isn’t that damn close to me.

“Raye—”

“I don’t trust you.” I breathe, shrugging my shoulders at her and trying to wipe the tears that stain my cheeks. “It’s not about working this out. You broke my trust and y’can’t even apologize for it.”

“Jus’ listen. Please.” I hear her voice crack, that guilt I could pick up on when she first came out of the bathroom so evident in the way she looks at me.

Paige’s blue eyes are rimmed with red, I nearly scoff. She doesn’t get to cry. She did this, she went to her, confided in her instead of talking to me. I shake my head in an attempt to wrap my head around all of this.

“I’m sorry.” And I thought that hearing it would make it all better but my chest just burns. I’m honestly running out of patience because this isn’t working. I’ve made up my mind, she’s done something so fucking unforgivable and it’s sad. I never would’ve imagined it from Paige.

“Really, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I can’t do this.” I blurt like word vomit. “I just can’t. Ion even wanna look at you right now, Paige.”

“Maraye.”

“I’m gonna go.” I say under my breath, nodding as if that’s what I’ve decided to do. I reach for my phone on the dresser, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling in my broken fingernail. The room suddenly feels so small, suffocating. Filled with hot air and lingering insults.

Paige looks at me incredulously. Almost shocked that I was willing to leave it at this, that I didn’t want to hear her out. “I-that’s it? We’re not gonna talk? You just gonna leave like none of this shit matters.” Her voice is low, throat almost scratched raw.

“I don’t know what to say to you that’s not gonna make this worse.” I explain.

“I can fix it, Raye. Please.”

It’s so hard. Hard to not fall victim to everything that she is and give her what she wants.

Believe it or not, I want to, I want to hear her out and have her tell me just how much she regrets it all.

But every time I look at her, I keep thinking about that girl. That girl who had Paige first, seemingly long before I did. Who had her hands in Paige’s hair the same way I do when she’s laying on my couch with her head on my shoulder.

That girl who got to feel Paige’s lips. Soft and plump with that enticing color of pink. The same lips that told me she felt something for me, told me that she’d give me time. The lips that made me feel like I was the only person in the world to her.

Don’t even start on the image of the two of them— a girl who’s probably prettier than I am or funnier or impossibly more into her than I am, and my perfect blue eyed Paige— being together in a way that we haven’t. Kissing and touching and moaning together.

Being together.

It’s nauseating.

So I just turn around, dragging myself to her hallway and to her front door. I can hear her soft footsteps following after me fast. I sniffle as I slip my shoes on, hoping that if I leave just fast enough I can hang on to the words she said to me before she slept with someone else. The words that let me know that it was just us.

Maybe those are enough to get me to forgive her, eventually.

But right now. I can’t.

So I leave. The door slamming shut behind me, and more tears falling before I even get a chance to stop them.

[mini-ism]

thinking about lighter and his awfully cheesy romance movie fixation…

⭑ drabble; only slightly steamy (mentions of sex and porn), but he really likes romance movies tee hee… lighter is THE hopeless romantic. he’s got it worse than miss caesar king. maybe it’s contagious?

⭑ lighter lorenz x gn!reader, (mostly???) SFW.

it’s gotten quite late, but he can’t force himself to turn off the TV yet. it’s been hours, sitting in the same position on the couch, absolutely immersed in romance films. rom-coms, dramatic romances, forbidden loves, dying together… it’s all so alluring to watch. he can’t help but put himself in the leading character’s place, finding every chance they can get to impress or even capture their love interest.

of course, you whined with every embarrassing scene, covering your eyes when the leading actors kissed or did something “stupid.” you took every chance you could to dash away, maybe grab snacks or a comforter. but he never got up, not unless he needed to. lighter was utterly dazed, totally awestruck with each plot point, every twist, the passionate confessions, and even rejections — or worse. it made his heart race, the fantasy of being confessed to, or confessing his undying, torrid love to an interest. maybe that interest was laying in his lap now, sound asleep.

he forced his gaze down towards his lap, your face smooshed into his thigh as you laid there. if only you knew how cute you looked. you’d stir a few times, lighter’s hand instinctively coming to stroke your cheek or your upper arm, chastely caressing the skin with gentle movements. if you made a soft noise, lighter would give you a soft hush, smiling as you snored and sighed.

this movie, though, had really caught his attention. sure, it was under the romance genre, duh. he had made sure to keep enough movies playing for maybe an entire 24 hours. but, holy hell, his hands were trembling and sweaty…

the two lovers were entangled in a passionate embrace, their lips and bodies melding together. the room filled with the sounds of their love, but lighter couldn’t find it in him to take his eyes off the screen. his cheeks were stained a hue of red, eyes wide in shock. you rustled around a few more times under the thin blanket, “shh, shh, shh…”

with a quick hushing, lighter’s attention regrouped, the scene growing more steamy with each passing second. this was borderline porn, maybe with an artistic twist. he couldn’t deny he was excited, but it had him thinking, wondering if he could experience this type of love himself.

“are you watching porn?” a groggy voice spoke, you were sitting upright. oh shit, oh fuck.

“uh, no…” lighter froze, panicked, his face turned towards you as the scene played out. where was the remote? why couldn’t he grab it?! “it’s the movie, i’m not watching porn. i don’t do that. that’s weird, totally weird, i don’t look at porn. i swear.”

lighter was mortified, face tinted a deep crimson. you really couldn’t be bothered to nag him for watching porn, if he was. he quickly reached for the remote, pausing the movie. “see? it’s the movie, i’m not weird.” lighter’s voice was heavy with anxiety, though his tirade about how he ‘swears-he-is-not-a-pervert-who-looks-at-naked-people’ didn’t quite convince you. if he looked at naked people on the interknot or in magazines, that was his business.

“i think you already said that. i believe you.” your voice was raspy with sleep, vision still fuzzy as the movie was paused on a shot of the female love interest straddling the male protagonist, bust just out of frame. lighter’s breathing was heavy and frantic, though your lack of fussing and mockery calmed his nerves. before you settled in his lap again, you pressed the play button for him, the lewd encounter fading into obscurity as you drifted off once more.

what if he could put himself in those encounters with you? not just… this one, but all sorts of predicaments. he could buy you a bouquet, take you out somewhere, run along the beach with you with the hem of his pants rolled up as the sun sets. he could freely laugh, take all that weight and guilt off his chest as he holds you close.

his hand drifted down, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your arm again, the gesture bringing more comfort to him than you. would you fall for a sappy guy like him? he wouldn’t even have to be given the chance to fall for you a thousand more times.

he just can’t seem to understand why people hate romance movies, can he?

[sweetkpopmusings]

miserable (you & me) | s. changbin <3

a/n: i currently have a long weekend thanks to the thanksgiving holiday, so i'm in a bit of a writing frenzy. since i just posted some ateez fluff, i figured i should give into the stray kids angst demon again >:^) please enjoy a moment with changbin <3 pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none really! | pairing: changbin x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

어떻게든 같이 걸어가려, I feel so tired but I can't give you up, my babe / “somehow try to walk with you / i feel so tired but i can’t give you up my babe”

changbin stared at some indiscernible object in the distance–or, rather, the direction opposite you–biding time until he absolutely had to respond to the information you just shared. sure, he was happy for you, but he couldn’t ignore the burning in the back of his throat as he tried to say encouraging words. the inner conflict was eating him alive, yet he felt he had no other choice than to be here and listen, like any good friend would. 

it wasn’t the first time he had been in this position. he ended up here, again and again, because he didn’t know how to get out of it. behind every i’m rooting for you and they’d be crazy not to say “yes” was an i can’t get you out of my head, you know? every time i look at you, i feel my whole self coming undone, only being put back together when you look at me begging to be said. but he couldn’t. changbin wished he could. he practically pleaded with himself each time he saw you to finally say something. changbin pretended it wasn’t his fear of you rejecting him that held him back. he swore that once he had figured out the right words, he would find the right moment, and then, once everything fell into place, he would bare his soul to you. changbin convinced himself he wasn’t a coward by reminding himself that someone as perfect as you deserved the perfect confession. even if it meant he spent years hiding and hurting. 

“changbin? did i lose you there?” the corners of your mouth upturned as you gently and playfully waved your hand in front of his face.

instinctively he smiled back, laughing a little despite the growing pang in his chest, “no, no, i’m right here.”

“good! because i haven’t gotten to the best part of the story yet,” you grinned before continuing to tell changbin all about the cute interaction shared between you and the coworker you were crushing on.

he couldn’t believe the beaming look in your eyes could hurt him so much. jealousy would do that though: make something so beautiful of yours hurt because he wasn’t the one igniting that beauty. that wouldn’t stop him from relishing in it though. your energy, your presence, it was always a gift, even if it broke his heart.

“so that’s when i figured, what the hell? i asked them out right then and there. they got flustered–it was so cute–and then they said ‘yes!’ we’re going out this saturday. can you help me pick out my outfit?”

changbin, who always turned to putty when he saw your puppy-dog eyes, let out a breathy laugh, “yeah, sure, i can help pick out the outfit that will get them to fall in love with you, just so they can break your heart in a few months like everyone else.”

changbin’s face filled with shock and regret before you could finish processing his words. it hurt you, but, judging by the slump in changbin’s shoulders, what he said hurt him even more.

“i’m so sorry for snapping, y/n, i–”

“no, it’s fine. i talk about them too much. i’m sure you’re tired of hearing me ramble on about all my crushes, especially when my dating life is so unlucky,” you forced a smile, aware that changbin saw right through you, as he always did, “i should probably go, so you don’t have to suffer through my rambling any longer.”

the way changbin looked at you kept you frozen in place. you wanted to turn and walk away before tears slipped down your cheeks, or, worse, before either of you said something that would hurt the other. but the way changbin watched you, the way his breath staggered, the way his eyes revealed he had no intention of every looking away from you…it all kept your feet firmly planted on the ground. 

changbin, knees weak and trembling, felt adrenaline coursing through his body. he stood in front of you, hands in his pockets, unsure if this was the moment to finally reach out to you. when he saw you break your gaze away from him to glance toward your route home, he knew, deep down, that it was now or never. he may have already ruined things by snapping. he figured it was better to ruin your friendship by showing you how much you were loved, rather than leaving you hurt with harsh words.

“y/n,” changbin took a deep breath when your eyes once again locked with his, “that was rude, and i hope you know that i never get annoyed by your rambling. i could hear you talk forever, even if it’s about someone you like, as long as that someone makes you happy. i just…it can be hard for me sometimes because…well…i like you. i have liked you for so long, but the timing never feels right, and everyone else seems to have the courage i don’t because you keep ending up with other people. if you’re happy, i’m happy. i guess i just can’t hide it anymore. i like you. i always will.”

changbin paused, eyes brimming with tears, and he mustered up a smile so you didn’t feel forced to comfort him, “i know you like them, your coworker. if your feelings for me aren’t the same, that’s fine. or, i mean, i at least can live with it, as long as you’re still my friend. i can’t give you up. if you need time away from me because of this, i understand. i hope this hasn’t made things too weird. i hope, more than anything, that we can still be friends. a life without you just doesn’t feel like the right life for me.”

you bit your lip, keeping yourself quiet until changbin finished. it was only fair to let him ramble after you had been talking his ear off all night. then, once you were sure he had said everything he meant to, you smiled. changbin, despite himself, let hope bloom in his chest when he saw the smile grow on your face.

“changbin,” you shook your head, laughing quietly in disbelief, “why didn’t you say something sooner? i like you more than everyone else.”

changbin’s eyes got so big you couldn’t do anything other than giggle. a few words from you, and he looked like he was over the moon.

“you…like me?”

“of course, changbin. are you free saturday? i just have to cancel some plans, but then i’m all yours.”i’m all yours turned changbin’s chest into a fireworks show, so, rather than answering you, he broke into a fit of giggles and wrapped you into his arms. he was, always and forever, all yours. he did not need any courage to tell you that, over and over and over again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[niallerspayno]

Heat of the Moment (Louis Tomlinson x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: I’d really love if you wrote about Louis and you getting into an argument

and

Anonymous request: Could you make a version of the bus with Louis? I have the impression that he is very rough type.

Tags: Smut!

The night ends in the same controlled chaos it began with. A throng of fans had waited hours outside the venue, and you’d pushed through with the boys, Paul leading the charge. The excitement, the noise, the adrenaline—it’s all part of the job. Now, the six of you are crammed into the tour bus, the hum of the engine a welcome contrast to the earlier chaos.

You’re leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchenette, a bottle of water in hand, laughing at something Niall’s just said. He’s mid-story, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and you can’t help but giggle when his Irish accent thickens as he imitates Paul’s gruff voice.

“That was spot on,” you say, nudging him with your elbow.

Louis steps into the space just then, his presence filling the small area like a storm rolling in. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you and Niall from the corner of his eye as he grabs a Coke from the fridge.

“Good one, mate,” Louis finally says, his voice sharp, cutting into the lightness of the moment. You glance over at him, confused by the edge in his tone, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins, pats your shoulder, and heads toward the back lounge.

The moment you’re alone with Louis, the temperature in the room shifts. He leans against the counter across from you, his gaze locked on yours, the Coke unopened in his hand.

“Having fun, were you?” he asks, too casually.

You blink, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Nothing. Just seemed like you and Niall were having a grand old time.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

Louis shrugs, but his jaw tightens, betraying the casual front he’s putting on. “Just saying. Don’t reckon you two need to be so friendly when, you know... certain things are meant to stay private.”

The words hit you like a slap, and your stomach twists. “Unbelievable,” you mutter, pushing off the counter. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

But you don’t get far before his voice follows you, sharp and accusing. “Of course you’re not. Why bother, right? It’s not like it matters to you anyway.”

You whirl around, the anger bubbling to the surface as your voice rises. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. The guy who decided we have to sneak around because ‘it’s easier this way.’”

The argument is brewing now, the tension thick in the small space.

“You think I want to sneak around?” Louis snaps, his voice rising to match yours. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the Coke bottle still clutched in his hand. “This isn’t exactly my dream setup either, love.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you fire back, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who said, ‘Let’s keep it quiet, yeah? Just between us.’ Like it was so bloody inconvenient for anyone to know!”

“And it’s worked, hasn’t it?” he retorts, his blue eyes blazing. “But not if you keep carrying on like that with Niall.”

“Carrying on?” you repeat, your voice dripping with disbelief. “He was telling a story, Louis. I laughed. You don’t get to turn that into some conspiracy against you.”

Louis lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Just a laugh. Nothing more to it, yeah? You’re always so good at pretending none of this matters.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “that I’m the one who’s got to watch everything I say, everything I do, just so we don’t slip up. Meanwhile, you’re out there acting like you don’t care.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger boiling over. “You think I don’t care? Are you serious right now? I’ve done everything you asked, Louis. I’ve played along with all of this—hiding, sneaking, pretending like it’s nothing when it’s not!”

“Then maybe this was a mistake,” he shoots back, the words slicing through the air.

It’s like the floor drops out from under you. For a moment, you just stare at him, his chest heaving, his face hard but tinged with something you can’t quite place—regret, maybe, or fear.

“Fine,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best effort to hold steady. “Maybe it was.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of you moves, the weight of the argument hanging between you like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Great,” Louis finally mutters, stepping back. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn on your heel and storm toward your bunk, every step heavy with frustration, hurt, and something else—something raw and unresolved.

...

The bus is eerily quiet now, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional creak of the chassis. The others are all asleep in their bunks, the faint sounds of steady breathing drifting through the narrow hallway. But you’re wide awake, your mind replaying the argument with Louis on an endless loop.

You can’t take it anymore.

Sliding out of your own bunk as quietly as you can, you make your way toward the back of the bus where Louis’s curtain is drawn shut. For a moment, you hesitate, your hand hovering just inches from the fabric. You tell yourself this is a bad idea, that you should just let it go and sleep it off. But you don’t.

You pull the curtain back just enough to slip inside, the dim light from the corridor illuminating Louis’s sleeping face. He’s on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, his features softened by sleep.

“Lou,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the bus.

He stirs, his brow furrowing before his eyes blink open. For a split second, he looks confused, but then he sees you, and his expression hardens.

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, his voice low and groggy.

You kneel in the cramped space, your heart pounding. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not my problem,” he replies, turning his back to you.

The coldness in his tone stings, but you don’t back down. “I’m not leaving,” you say firmly, your hand resting on his shoulder. He tenses under your touch but doesn’t move away. “We can’t leave things like this, Louis. I hate it.”

He sighs, rolling onto his back to look at you, his blue eyes shadowed in the low light. “Why do you care?” he asks, his voice quieter now, laced with frustration. “You made it pretty clear earlier that it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you whisper, the knot in your chest tightening. “You know it’s not.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. Then, finally, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You drive me mad, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“You’re not exactly easy to handle yourself,” you reply, your breath hitching as his hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night explodes in an instant. His lips crash against yours, the kiss desperate and hungry, as if it’s the only way to burn away the anger and frustration still lingering between you.

Louis doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. As soon as your bodies press together, he flips you beneath him with a roughness that sends a thrill straight through you. The bunk is cramped, the walls pressing in around you, but none of that matters when he’s this close, his weight pinning you down, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

“You drive me insane,” he growls against your lips, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Sneaking around with Niall, laughing like I’m not right here—like I don’t see everything.”

“I wasn’t—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with another searing kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding as his words sink in. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes, the raw intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“I wasn’t trying to make you jealous,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts defiance and desire.

“Well, you did,” he mutters, his hand sliding beneath your shirt, the rough calluses on his fingers sending shivers across your skin. “And now I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”

The possessiveness in his tone should probably annoy you, but instead, it sends a surge of heat straight through you. He doesn’t wait for your reply, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as you arch beneath him.

“Louis,” you gasp, your hands fisting in his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he’s in control now, and he knows it.

“You’ve got no idea how much you wind me up,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he works his way lower, tugging your shirt up and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. “But you’re mine. Got it?”

“Yours,” you breathe, the word tumbling out before you can think to stop it.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, coming back up to capture your lips in another bruising kiss. His hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming—and it’s all you can do to keep up, your body responding to him with a desperation that matches his own.

Louis’s hand presses over your mouth as you arch beneath him, your muffled moan swallowed by his palm. “Shh,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. “You don’t want to wake them, do you?”

The warning is sharp, but his voice holds an edge of amusement, like he’s relishing the power he has over you. Your heart pounds against your ribs, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. The cramped bunk feels smaller than ever, his weight pressing you down, his hands rough as they roam your body.

You nod beneath his hand, your breath hot and quick against his palm. His blue eyes burn into yours, a mixture of challenge and heat. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone dark and possessive, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trail down your side, dragging over your bare skin with enough pressure to leave you squirming. The cool air of the bus bites against the heat of your flushed skin, every touch from him a maddening contrast between soft and rough, tender and demanding.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his free hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

You try to shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. His thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don’t lie,” he growls, his fingers teasing you with agonizing slowness. “I can feel it. You’ve been like this all night, haven’t you? Thinking about me. Wanting this.”

A muffled whimper escapes from behind his hand, your body betraying you as you press against him. The knowing smirk on his face only makes it worse, his cocky confidence fueling the fire building inside you.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice barely audible, more vibration than sound as his lips brush against your throat. His teeth scrape along your pulse, sharp and deliberate, drawing a gasp from you that he quickly silences with a stern look.

“Quiet,” he warns again, his hand tightening on your hip. “Unless you want the others to know what we’re doing in here.”

The thought sends a flush of heat across your cheeks, but the thrill of the risk only heightens everything. Your senses are overwhelmed—the smell of him, the faint spice of his cologne mixed with the salt of sweat; the sound of his breathing, rough and uneven in your ear; the way his hands and mouth move like they’re staking a claim.

When his fingers finally dip lower, finding you soaked and ready, he groans softly against your neck. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough with restraint. “So ready for me.”

You bite down on his palm to keep from crying out, the pressure of his touch sending sparks through your veins. He works you expertly, his movements precise and unrelenting, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hips buck against him, your body chasing the release that feels just out of reach. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Not yet. I want you to hold on for me, love. Think you can do that?”

You shake your head frantically, your breaths ragged behind his hand. He chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Too bad,” he says, his fingers moving faster now, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “But you keep quiet, yeah? Can’t have the others finding out how loud you get for me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, your body trembling beneath him as you teeter on the edge. He’s relentless, his touch driving you to the point of no return, and when you finally crash, it’s like every nerve in your body ignites at once.

Your muffled cry is swallowed by his hand as you shudder beneath him, his body pressing you down, holding you together as you fall apart. The intensity leaves you breathless, your skin slick with sweat, your limbs heavy and shaking.

Louis doesn’t let go immediately, his fingers easing you through the aftershocks as his lips press soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice soothing now, though the possessiveness hasn’t faded. “You’re mine, yeah? Say it.”

You nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally manage to speak. “Yours.”

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks of the first wave, but Louis isn’t finished with you yet. His lips trail down your neck, soft at first, but then they grow more urgent, more demanding as his hands move back to your body, caressing and pulling you closer.

“Did I say you could rest?” he growls in your ear, his voice rough, still thick with desire.

You shiver, the remnants of your orgasm still buzzing through you, but you’re already so hot, so aching for him. Your body responds before your mind can catch up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as he hovers over you.

Louis chuckles low in his throat, a sound that’s almost predatory, and his eyes lock onto yours, his expression dark and full of purpose. “I love how eager you are. But you’re not in control here.”

Without warning, he flips you over, your chest pressing against the cool, soft sheets of the bunk. His hand is at the small of your back, pushing you down as he hovers above you, his breath hot against your skin. You’re so exposed in this position, so vulnerable, and the way he’s taking charge makes your pulse race.

“Don’t even think about making a sound,” he murmurs, his voice barely a breath in your ear. “You’re going to be quiet, right?”

You nod quickly, the air thick with tension. His hand slides down your spine, the heat of his touch sending a shiver through you. “Good,” he says, his lips trailing a line down the back of your neck.

Then, without any more warning, he’s back between your legs, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, leaving you completely exposed to him. You gasp, your breath catching in your throat, but you bite your lip, trying to stay silent as he continues.

He spreads your legs apart, the movement possessive, and you feel the cool air of the bus against your damp skin. Louis watches you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice almost a growl, and you feel the weight of his words, the authority behind them.

And then he’s inside you, all heat and friction as he drives into you hard, filling you completely. You suck in a breath, your hands gripping the edge of the bunk as your body tries to adjust to the sudden force.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, not that you’d want him to. Louis is relentless, his rhythm pounding, pushing you forward into a frenzy, and you can’t help but let out a breathy gasp.

He immediately places his hand over your mouth again, silencing you before you can make a sound. “I said quiet,” he warns, his tone a low rasp. His hips snap against yours with force, the pressure making your whole body shake as he takes control of every movement, every part of you.

The world outside the bus disappears. There’s nothing but the sounds of your bodies colliding, the rhythm of his thrusts filling the small space, the harsh, desperate need building between you. You can’t think, can’t do anything except feel, feel the heat of his body against yours, feel the way he’s forcing you to come apart with every stroke.

Your body burns with every passing second, every inch of you drawn tight, coiled and straining as he brings you closer. The only sound you’re allowed to make is muffled behind his hand, but that only makes everything feel more intense, more urgent. You can feel yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building faster this time.

Louis can tell. He slows his pace just enough to draw it out, to make you ache, make you beg without words, until you’re almost pleading for release. And when he finally picks up the pace again, it’s overwhelming.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite down on his hand to keep from crying out. Every inch of you is on fire, your nerves a tangled mess of pleasure and desperation. You can’t hold back anymore.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled but desperate. “I—Louis, I—”

“Shh,” he breathes, pressing his palm harder against your mouth as he slams into you, his pace unforgiving, relentless. “I know, love. I know.”

And then it’s too much. Your body shudders beneath him, the tension inside you snapping like a tight wire, and you come hard, your whole body shaking in release. The only thing that grounds you is the firm press of his hand, keeping you quiet as your mind spins in a haze of pleasure.

Louis doesn’t stop, not even when you’re trembling beneath him, your body still pulsing with the aftermath. He continues to move, his pace unyielding, pulling you closer to the edge again as he chases his own release.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hand finally leaving your mouth as he holds your body close, pressing you against him, the sweat slicking both of you. “You’re perfect.”

His thrusts get more erratic, and with one final push, he reaches his peak, his body tensing as he groans your name, the sound rough and guttural, like a man finally getting what he’s been craving.

You collapse beneath him, your body spent, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet of the bus, the only sound the distant hum of the engine.

Louis takes a moment to catch his breath before collapsing beside you, his arm pulling you close, his fingers running through your hair.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp, full of that same intensity. “But for now... let’s just get some rest.”

You nod, your body still humming with the intensity of the moment, and let yourself relax against him, the weight of everything—your bodies, your emotions, the tension that had been building all night—finally starting to settle.

...

The next morning soft hum of the tour bus engine is a steady background noise as you try to fall back asleep, your body comfortably nestled against Louis’s. The warmth of his arm around you is grounding, though the weight of your secret makes everything feel a little heavier than it should. You’ve been sneaking around for weeks now, and it’s only a matter of time before someone catches on.

You’re caught somewhere between waking and sleeping when you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy and purposeful—outside your bunk.

Liam.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

Louis, still blissfully unaware, remains completely still, his arm tight around your waist. He doesn’t even stir. You freeze, holding your breath, but the panic starts to rise when the sound of footsteps gets louder, closer, until the soft knock you’ve been dreading comes.

“Oi, are you two up yet?” Liam’s voice, playful but tinged with annoyance, comes from the other side of the curtain.

Shit.

Louis shifts slightly, but his hold doesn’t loosen. “Just stay still. Don’t make a sound,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You barely breathe, willing yourself to remain calm, but your pulse is racing. And then… the curtain is yanked back.

The world outside is suddenly exposed, and the weight of reality crashes into you in that one terrifying moment.

Liam stands there, blinking in confusion, his eyes flicking from you to Louis. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something but nothing comes out at first. Behind him, the rest of the band—all four of them—are gathered. Zayn, arms crossed and looking thoroughly unimpressed, is standing beside Harry, who’s wearing an amused grin, clearly enjoying the sight. But it’s Niall who catches your eye last. He’s leaning against the side of the bus, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he already knows exactly what’s been going on.

Liam is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “What the actual fuck?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see his mind working overtime, trying to process the sight in front of him. “You two… really?”

Louis, ever the cool-headed one, just raises a single brow, his body still pressed against yours like this is just another normal morning. “Morning, mate,” he says smoothly, stretching lazily, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You, on the other hand, are frozen in place. You can’t hide your embarrassment, the heat creeping up your neck as you stare at the four of them, each one taking in the scene in their own way.

Harry chuckles first, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he says, leaning back slightly as though this is all one big joke to him. “Didn’t think we’d be waking up to this. You two been keeping this little secret to yourselves, huh?”

Zayn crosses his arms, the look on his face more unreadable than anything else. He glances at Louis, then at you, and simply shakes his head, barely hiding a smirk. “Never thought you were the type, mate,” he says to Louis, his tone a mix of sarcasm and amusement.

But it’s Niall who surprises you the most. He doesn’t look shocked at all. In fact, he just leans against the wall with a shit-eating grin, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Guess we all know who’s been sharing a bunk,” Niall says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Should’ve known.”

You want to die. The entire band is standing there, staring, and you can’t even hide your face.

Liam, still in disbelief, takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to say,” he mutters, half to himself. “What the hell is going on in here, Louis?”

Louis’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Nothing you need to worry about, mate. We’re just getting some rest, that’s all,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal. He adjusts himself, pulling you closer for effect, clearly loving the chaos.

“You two are unbelievable,” Liam mutters under his breath, though it’s not exactly in anger. It’s more like he’s resigned himself to the absurdity of it all.

Harry leans forward, clearly enjoying the moment. “Come on, mate,” he says to Liam, a teasing edge to his voice. “You know Louis. He’s always the one to keep us on our toes.”

Zayn just shrugs. “Not surprised, honestly,” he says, his tone a bit dry. “We’ve all been on this bus for months now. Could’ve seen this coming.”

Liam, still trying to process, looks at you with a raised brow. “How long has this been going on?”

Louis, completely unfazed, shrugs. “Long enough,” he says with that familiar devil-may-care attitude. “You lot need to lighten up. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Niall chuckles, crossing his arms and looking at you both. “Yeah, mate, don’t act like we didn’t all know. Just surprised you kept it under wraps for so long.”

Liam just gapes, his face going a little red as if trying to figure out what to do with himself. “This is insane. Are you kidding me?” He pauses, looking at the three of them and then back to you and Louis. “Can you, like, not keep it down a bit? We’re all trying to sleep, yeah?”

Louis grins widely. “Sure thing, mate,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm, not an ounce of shame in his demeanor.

Liam throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t even know why I bother with you,” he says, shaking his head as he pulls the curtain back over the bunk. “Just… keep it quiet next time. I don’t need this on my conscience.”

As the curtain slides back into place, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The bus seems quieter now, but the tension is still thick in the air. Louis, of course, is the first to break the silence. He pulls you back against him, his voice low and playful.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he says, flashing you a grin. “We survived the interrogation. And now, we can get back to our business, yeah?”

You want to strangle him for being so carefree about the whole thing, but at the same time, part of you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares. This is Louis Tomlinson, after all.

[theonlymanny]

Male reader x Bruce Wayne pt.2

Sneak peak

Pt.1 ⬆️

_______________________

It’s almost bent a year since you killed the joker. You thought Bruce would’ve understood you but he didn’t. Apparently people like the Joker deserve another opportunity. You felt anger at his words. “Do you think I fucking care!?” Dick, Bruce and Tim were shocked at your response. You were so calm even if you were angry. “HE KILLED MY SON! HE FUCKING DESERVES TO ROT IN HELL!” You couldn’t even care if you divorced Bruce after all he was defending the guy who killed Jason. “I’m sorry M/n, you leave me no choice” Bruce handcuffed you “Don’t you dare to touch me!” He knocked you out with a punch. “Wow what are you doing!” Dick quickly asked “he needs help. I’ll take him to a psychiatric center.” “Wait what!? You can’t do that!” “He is not mentally stable he needs help” Dick snarled at those words “So your telling me saving your son and killing a KILLER who murdered more then I don’t no how many people is bad!? Bruce he literally did something you couldn’t do in all your years of being Batman!” Bruce barely paid any attention to Dick. Once he put you in the Batmobile he left. “Don’t leave me here Bruce!”

After a year in the center which you spend trying to study and finding out a way to get out. Usually Bruce and the kids would show up and watch you. Because obviously as them being civilians they couldn’t get any closer. Not like they came together oh no, Dick never talked to Bruce unless necessary. Tim stayed by Dicks side, it hurt him seeing you like this.

“He doesn’t speak to anyone, and he seems tired everyday we don’t know what’s going on Mr Wayne.” “Well find anything! If there is something wrong with him solve it!” Bruce stoped being the playboy he was before. He started being more reckless against other people. He tried to talk to Dick and Tim but they ignored him.

You were alone again. That’s how you preferred it being left alone. Suddenly you heard gunshots and people screaming. The door that was I front of you cracked open showing a man in a jacket with a red mask. “Let’s get out of here” “who are you?” The guy thought for a bit before saying something. “I’m red hood”

_______________________

Hey so this is a short part of the Batdad x Bruce Wayne pt.2. I’m doing this at 1:23 am so it might have some errors.

Anyway yall pt.2 will be coming soon! Hope you all will like it. Now to sleep

Bye

[winchesterwild78]

Silly Rabbit

Master List

Characters: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, fluff, language

A/N: Just a quick story from a tagged post by @jackles010378. Reader is an emotional drunk and Dean becomes aware one evening after returning home and finding her crying.

This was written fast and not edited good. All work is my own, don’t take it or copy it. Reblogs, likes, and feedback are always welcomed.

Minors DNI 18+

Dean’s footsteps heavy on the bunker steps as he descended the stairs. He had just gotten home from a hunt and was ready to hold you in his arms. 

As he walked towards the kitchen to grab a beer he heard sobs coming from the dining room. Turning on his heels he quickly went in, finding you at the table. Glass of whiskey in one hand and a cereal box in the other. 

A smirk grew on his face. “Hey sweetheart, you okay?” “Oh Dean, you’re home. No, I’m not okay. We protect people, why can’t we protect rabbits?” Your speech slurred, Dean knew you were drunk. “Rabbits?” “Yes, rabbits.” You held up the box of cereal and Dean saw the cartoon rabbit on the box. He chuckled, “Sweetheart, he doesn’t need protecting.” 

You tried to stand but stumbled. Dean caught you. “Yes, all he wants is some cereal and those mean kids won’t give him any. Why, Dean, why?” You sobbed into his chest. Dean rubbed your head, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “Honey, he’ll be okay. I remember he got some one time, years ago.” Your eyes shot up to his, “Really? So they tease him with a bowl one time and then keep it away. Oh my god, monsters.” Louder sobs came from your lips. “I tell you what, tomorrow we will write a letter to the company and demand they give the rabbit some cereal.” Dean laughed. “Really? You’d do that for me, for the rabbit?” “Of course sweetheart.” He kissed your head. 

Dean had seen you tipsy before, but he’d never seen you this drunk. He knew something happened that caused you to drink this much. 

“Darlin’, talk to me. What’s this about?” “I told you, the rabbit.” He lifted your chin, “No, it’s not.” Your head dropped, “Yes it is.” You cried harder. Dean knew something else happened, but he also knew you’d keep it from him while you tried to work it out for yourself. The two of you were very similar that way. 

Dean grabbed your hands and held them to his chest, “Baby, please talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. Is anyone hurt?” You shook your head no. “Did someone die?” Again, you shook your head no. “Do you want a divorce?” Your head shot up and you gasped, “No!” “Good, just checking.” “Darlin’ I hate seeing you like this, please talk to me.” 

You took a deep breath and swallowed hard, “I ran into her today. She asked about you. She wanted me to tell you she still loved you and wanted you back. I told her we were married, and she said she already knew that. She already knew, but wanted me, your wife, to tell you that she loved you and wanted you back. He was with her, and I know she said he’s not yours, but he looks just like you.” 

“Sweetheart, I told you I don’t want her. I want you, I’m married to you. She can try whatever she wants, but she’s not going to get me. You are my wife, my love, my home. My emotional, big hearted, sweet, caring, sexy as hell, wife. There is nothing that will ever change that.” He pulled you flush to his body and kissed you deeply. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have drank so much, but that fucking rabbit still deserves some cereal.” Dean laughed, “Come on sweetheart, let’s take the cereal with us to the bedroom. I want to show you how much I love being your husband.” 

He picked you up, carrying you and the box of cereal to your shared bedroom. Laughter and giggles filled the bunker as Dean carried you down the hallway. 

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[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 60

Wow we really made it 60 days huh?

Okay so i’m not gonna yap long for this part. You saw the image, you see the read under. This is a small comic adaptation of @vanadisvalentine’s “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed” fanfic. And it adapts the end of Chapter 4 which is pretty fuckin pivotal in that story. So if you haven’t read that fic yet I’m actually begging you, please read it and don’t let this comic be your first experience.

Second warning, this is going to be a long one. How long? Who knows. I haven’t written it yet, but this Day represents one of the biggest turning points in the whole project for me. 

When you click the read under you’re gonna get just the comic, and then you're gonna get hit with a gigantic fucking wall of text. I apologize in advance for the amount of rambling I’m about to do but I got a lot to say here.

Okay so you read the comic, you ready? Cause not only am I gonna yap about making that comic along with all the behind the scenes stuff, (amidst other tangents), but I’m also going to talk about the fic this is based on. This is probably going to feel a bit disorganized but i’ll try my best to keep this legible. Apologies in advance.

So your first thought is probably “Jem why the fuck did you do that?” and you’re correct for thinking that way. Rest assured, you’re going to ask that question again later but significantly louder and more exasperated in the future. 

Answer is simple though. I wanted to do something big for Number 60, cause every 10 images I wanna do something Big. For Number 50 I came out of retirement and wrote a fanfic and some art to go with it. So I wanted to go up. How do i go up? Well I am a comic artist, and making a webcomic is my general goal in life and what directs me forward. Sooo, why not a comic?

Okay but a comic of what? Well, why not a fanfic? And at the time the real answer was obvious.

There are Three Fanfics made for Junkan that are pivotal to this entire event. Without all three of them combined ya’ll would not be having Junkan art pop up in your feed every day, questioning what the hell is in my bloodstream to make me draw all this. The answer is Junkan, junkan is in my bloodstream.

I plan to talk about all three of those fics in this event, in as much detail as I can muster. That said not only are we going in reverse order, as todays fic “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed” is the last piece of the puzzle for why I went off the deep end and drew this much Junkan. But also the other two fics aren’t gonna be discussed for a long time due to their placement in the event order. I’m talking within the last ten days. Oops.

But at the time it was, pretty fucking easy to choose this one to adapt. The other two either wouldn’t really fit my style that I had been working with up to that point, or were just not made to be a comic without way more energy.

And as a reminder this was before I had actually gotten to know some of ya’ll. Within the realm of Junkan Val was the only friend I had. I did have other people who liked DR and were on board with Junkan after I showed them my supply and stated my case, but Val was the only person I knew at the time who was as brainrotted for this ship as I am, granted I think she has like, a normal amount of brainrot. I think by the end of the project I’ve fully snapped and now I can’t stop thinking about these two, like I have actually tried to stop thinking about them but they keep popping up. What was I talking about- Right! Point is, you can consider Day 60, or as I would call it in casual conversation “The 22 Page Junkan Comic,” my most excessive thankyou to her for helping me stay motivated throughout the project and playing a massive part in its inspiration.

As for making the comic.

It was a very bold mix of “I’m having the time of my life” and “Hell,” that's the shortest way I could put it. The longest way? Wellll

So by this point I wasn’t just showing these pics to Val alone. I had a few friends even before Val who I showed the art too. I’d get compliments and feedback and all that nice stuff that keeps me going.

As I’ve stated in the past (i think) one of the hardest parts of this project for me was the lack of validation for my efforts. I do not make art purely to be complimented, I make art in order to hopefully bring a smile to someones face. However I do still take a lot of joy when I see my art being positively received, it shows that my efforts were worth it. Seeing peoples reactions helps me remember why I’m doing this and that I’m doing a good job at it. So if I  don’t get a lot of that, especially on something i put a lot of effort into, it can be a little demoralizing. It’s something I’ve tried to work past during this year, but at the time it was a big issue. Day 60 took around 2 weeks to finish, as I was managing other projects and commission work at the time. The whole time I barely showed anyone, Val was obvious because this was a surprise gift for her, however the rest is because I was very adamant about not spoiling the Fic it was based on, and say for a single person amidst the people I would show these pics to none of them had read the fic. So I went from showing a small handful of people these to showing one guy (admittedly one of my best friends) for the span of 2 weeks while grinding away at the comic. It wasn’t until the very tail end that my girlfriend surprised me by reading the fic, meaning I could show her as well finally. 

Was it worth starving myself of a majority of positive feedback for 2 weeks when I haven’t had to do something like that for years? Oh god yes but we’re not there yet I still need to talk about the actual comic.

So when you compare the fic to the comic you’ll notice I skipped a decent portion of this scene, this is mostly just for the sake of not making this take too long, I think I picked a pretty solid starting point but also I won’t lie and say there isn’t a part of me that wishes I took like an extra week or two to adapt the whole scene sometimes. Sometimes.

Mukuro acted as the pseudo cover for the comic, both because it was a small detail noted in the scene that she was watching the door, and because I could call back to the “Mukuro Notes” bit I did on the Vampire Junkan comic, which seemed like a cute call back. I also used this as a way to skip past some of the initial dialogue of the scene in terms of adaptation. I’m really happy with how this page turned out visually, I remember having to fiddle with Mukuro’s anatomy and smaller details for awhile.

As you can probably tell, like usual the art for this was still being done as a sketch which I colored rather than what I do in my usual comic stuff, that being Sketch > Lines > Colors > Shading. I did shade a few of these pages cause I think the extra effort was warranted for some pages. I wouldn’t know this without like, actually time traveling to check but I think there was even a time this would be just uncolored sketches. Clearly that didn’t last because yeah, the chick who’s drawing 100 days worth of junkan art is going to make a 22 page comic and NOT color the whole thing, keep telling yourself that Jem.

Once again since I was directly adapting this fic like with Day 20, I tried to be semi accurate in what I assume Junko’s appearance would be, giving her the bunny and bow clips in her hair. I didn’t go all the way since honestly I think i would have gone a little crazy if I drew both characters in their actual Hope’s Peak uniforms for the whole thing, so I mostly stuck to their killing game designs with that small change to Junko. And yes, I did have to edit Junko’s hair to remove the bear clips multiple times throughout the first few pages because I kept forgetting not to draw them. For the first time having these two memorized was a hindrance. 

If you’ve ever seen me draw a Question Mark with a cross instead of a dot when drawing Mikan, it’s cause of this comic. Val said it was a cute detail so I decided to stick with it when applicable.

I think I have read the segment of the story this is based on like, 30 times bare minimum. Now some of those times were just because I often reread this fic to help me relax before sleeping, but the majority are because I kept looking at this scene over and over again so I could try and get every detail of this perfect. The posing, expressions, and other visuals, while a little rough around the edges were all possible after going over every paragraph to get the vibe as close as possible.

The dialogue is word for word, punctuation for punctuation ripped from the fic itself. Mildly difficult to pull off without having to extend certain pages, but in the end I managed to pull it off.

Page 7 is one of my favorite pages from the experience. Originally the visual was supposed to be Junko in literal chains of despair with Mikan coming in with a key to unlock them, however chains are agonizing to draw. Not drawing them was a form of self care, even if I think it would have been a bit of a stronger metaphor. 

Mikan’s expressions were very difficult to get just right in this, which was half the fun. Do you know how fucking satisfying it was to draw her happy crying??? Very.

Page 10 is another one I’m really happy with. I don’t know exactly what the original plan was beyond the fact that I wanted the shot of Mikan reacting to that being a lot more visually extreme for the colors and amount of space it takes up to make it as overwhelming as possible. But I went in reverse  and made the initial heart stop moment of her realizing that Junko just said that more prominent than the rush of emotion hitting her right after.

There were going to be more visuals of Mikan being cute in the following page, however not only was I struggling for ideas but also my energy was fluctuating to hell and back by this point in the comic.

It took awhile to get the initial kiss to look good because by this point I was still really figuring out how the fuck to do that. I can’t remember if I mentioned it but the kiss in the Vampire Comic is one I actually edited after the fact before the post was scheduled because it looked really weird and pissed me off. Luckily this one doesn’t bother me at all. I remember being super paranoid i made the posing look too sexual, I don’t know what the fuck past me was on about but I’m not here to question I’m here to curse you all with knowledge and funfacts.

On page 15 Junko’s blush and smile are a bit more intense compared to the other panels on this page while she wipes away Mikan’s tears. This is because in future stories by Val it is confirmed a few times that Junko has dacryphilia, meaning she thinks Mikan looks really hot when she’s crying. Yes I’m really working in details from other fics into this comic, you should not be surprised this isn’t even the weirdest thing i’ve put in this whole event.

Peak comedy that I mentioned the question mark with the cross dot earlier and on Page 16 I didn’t do that, immersion broken, back to square one Past Jem!

Junko with no contacts!!! I mentioned during one of the Vampire AU days that while I don’t feature it in that AU alone I like the idea of Junko’s real eye color being red. Something I can never remember whether it’s actually canon or just strongly implied. I think this is the page I put the most amount of effort into, both to make it look well lit, and also to make sure her god damn eyes look as pretty as humanly possible. The end result may or may not be my favorite page of the whole comic? I dunno

I said Mikan’s expressions were hard to draw for this since I wanted to get them just right, she requires a lot more work on the smaller details to make everything feel right. Junko however? Oh no I was thriving by this point, her more lowkey expressions do need a bit more thought and effort, but by this point in the comic I was in my element with her. 

But speaking of expressions, Page 19.

That smile on Mikan in the middle panel took 20 fuckin’ minutes because I had never drawn Mikan looking that happy and I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I did actually edit the page last night (as of the writing of this post), however it wasn’t for the expression. In the original version of the page, Junko looked really fuckin weird in the last panel, like I don’t know how I let that slide but her whole face and neck looked way off. These pages aren’t like, perfect quality but that one was just egregious. Also edited Mikan’s blush in that panel just cause I was already there.

Junko’s surprised face was very fun.

And I think if I were gonna ever redo any page in full for this comic it’d be the last one. I don’t think this one looks bad I just know that I could I could do way better nowadays even if I stuck to just coloring a sketch. Maybe sometime down the line.

And that’s the comic itself! I can’t think of any other fun facts or thoughts on the art itself at this point. Uhhhh, I guess the cover I made last minute for this post is technically a reference to a future day? What does that mean? Oh you’ll fuckin’ see.

So 2 weeks of effort with little feedback and rereading the same scene over and over again, was it worth it?

God yes it was.

When I sent Val the Google Drive folder with the comic I was jittery for hours as if I had too much coffee. I was nervous as shit over whether she would like it or not, since this was when I still was a perpetual nervous wreck with very little self respect who was viewing her as “Coolest Person Ever” rather than “That’s bestie.” I was also nervous because it was the first time I actually asked for a more detailed response rather than just letting her respond in whatever way she wanted.

But when she responded?

I have lived the past several years doing weed, I’ve recently quit (i think by the time this posts it’ll be close to 3 months since I went clean), but that’s besides the point. I’ve had mild highs, crazy highs, bad highs, good highs, sad highs, and highs where I don’t feel anything. 

I severely doubt that any drug or vice on this planet will ever match the feeling of reading that response. I was shaking, I bit my knuckles until it left indents for like a full hour minimum, an adrenaline rush doesn’t even begin to describe what I was experiencing. I rode out the happiness from this moment for an entire week, I worked on comm jobs that would normally leave me feeling aggravated as hell and did so with a smile because I was just that fuckin excited over it. This probably sounds embarrassing as shit but there have been times where I go back to read that response when I just need a pick me up.

I had a fuckin epiphany at that moment. Who fuckin cares?

24 fucking years (25 starting tomorrow) I’ve lived my life as a people pleaser perfectionist with extreme paranoia problems with absolutely no self esteem and a whole wealth of other mental health issues. I would feel like dogshit if I halfassed a comm even if it was a really bad one. My whole goal in life was to make a webcomic that would make EVERYONE happy, be a positive part of their week. I was paranoid about pissing off the wrong people, starting shit, how people perceive me, about what ideas for my comic would be problematic or not. But after this? Who gives a shit?

It ain’t about making People Happy it’s about making Yourself Happy and the People you can reach happy. My goal is still to make a webcomic that people will come across, and look forward to every week as an escape to give them some positive vibes every week, but I ain’t gonna do that if I’m desperately trying to appeal to every single person on the planet while trying to stay as uncontroversial as possible. I wanna make art that makes people happy, and if I make it the way I wanna make it then it will eventually reach the people that it can make happy.

But enough of that shit, the actual big thing that happened because of my complete reassessment of my personal values and entire goal for life is that I fucking finally stopped giving a shit about whether people were gonna throw me in a woodchipper because I shipped Junkan. And it will continue to get funnier and funnier that after all the time I spent scared out of my fuckin’ mind over what people would think, that absolutely fucking nothing happened. It is day 49 at the time of writing this and STILL I have not had anyone give me grief or issues over this whole project, nothing but support and even some new friends over it. You cannot write something funnier than that.

I think if I went back in time and told myself at the beginning of the year that her fears were completely unfounded she would bleed out the eyes and pass out, and I would laugh. I’d laugh so fuckin’ hard.

So yeah, this Comic and the reaction it elicited changed my entire perspective on life and being an artist, I can’t say It’s been perfect or that I haven’t faltered on certain things, but  I think to an extent I have been a lot happier as a result. Is it a little weird that this niche version of a niche ship is now directly tied to a drastic change in my mind? Is it any weirder than the fact that I transitioned into a woman because I binge read like, all of the Tokomaru I possibly could on AO3 and it made me think that wearing a skirt might be cool?

Alright so how’re ya'll holdin up? Drink some water we ain’t done. This is already getting up to 7 pages on the google doc that I prepare these posts on and now I have to like, talk about Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed properly. So bare witness to me trying to figure out how the hell to format talking about what might just be my favorite fic of all time.

But first lemme go reread the entire thing, I know the passage of time doesn’t exist in the context of these text walls but i’ll be back in like, a few hours to a day.

Okay i’m back-

I’m honestly not sure where to start here. Normally with my biggest obsessions I could probably go on lengthy rambles about why I love them so much, but this? I struggle to find a proper place to start, or even how to format this. I don’t want to just give a beat for beat plot synopsis while talking about the things I like, but also how do I talk about something this good otherwise.

So fair warning this might be completely incoherent at points, sorry??

This was not like, the third Junkan fic I ever read despite it being one of the three fics vital to me becoming the inhuman machine of pure Junkan brainrot that I’ve become today. A lot of things are blurred but if I remember right the exact timeline of events was Read a cute Junkan fic which made me think “Wait this ship can be soft and cute???” and then I read Smile by Kayleen, which is funny in hindsight because I really went to tooth rotting fluff to one of the darkest Non-Abusive Junkan fics out there (dark by my standards at least and I think my frame of reference is out of sorts). I think after that I just stopped for awhile, partially because Smile wasn’t finished at the time, partially because I still wasn’t sure how to navigate the Junkan tag to find what I was looking for in the ship.

Smile comes to a thrilling conclusion and I think to myself “maybe this author has more?” which is how I found Kayleen’s series of One-Shots for these two (along with separate three other pieces), I read through those in a day and would continue to check the tag to see if it updated, like, every day.  Eventually after a couple months (possibly way longer), something came over me and I finally started seriously looking over the tag to try and find more Soft Junkan, whether there were others I read before it or not, I honestly can’t remember. 

What I do remember is I came across “The Marvelous Makeover of Mikan Tsumiki” by VanadisValentine. I don’t know how I found that before the fic of today’s subject, if I had to guess I wasn’t reading the tags first on this run through. I was likely reading the name of the fic, and THEN i read the tags to see if it has what I was looking for (I wasn’t a starving animal for the ship by this point so I was a lot more picky with what I was willing to risk my time on). And this fic’s name was slightly more eye catching for me at the time I guess??

Fun fact when I first read this fic I wasn’t even sure if it actually was a shipping piece at first, not until finishing it at least. How? Poor reading comprehension is my only guess lol. Anyway, I finish that, loved it, and made my usual move of checking to see if the author had written anything else like this fic, and oh boy did she. 

This finally brings us to me finally reading “Everything You’ve Ever Dreamed.” Took us fucking long enough.

It was perfect, it was everything. I fucking loved reading it the entire time. It had everything I could have wanted out of this ship without me even realizing what I wanted at the time. The weirdest part that my immediate response after wasn’t to go on an adrenaline fueled binge of the tag like I did for Tokomaru way back when I first got into Danganronpa. The most I did was read the other Junkan fics in Val’s library at the time. Otherwise I just stopped again. 

It was then that I drew the first three days of this event, the original sketches. I kept them a secret between myself and a small few friends, too paranoid to let anyone find out. And things just kinda stayed like that, for awhile. And then sometime in December, of last year I decided to give that same fic another read, and something just kinda, fucking snapped?

I went up and down the Junkan Tag on AO3, reading whatever I could, I was reading stuff I wouldn’t have ever risked reading with variable amounts of success. I only skipped a small handful of fics, including one that we’ll come back to way later in the project. Everything else I was scraping even the smallest crumb of fic to read at times. After that I scoured the tumblr tags, taking in whatever soft art or headcanons that I could, I went to Fanfiction.net, a website I still barely know how to fuckin’ navigate to try and find ANYTHING. I went to Deviantart to try and find any art or fics, no results not helped by the fact that it would include results that were slightly related. And not to sound like a Youtuber with no personality who’s built their career on punching down at whoever they can because otherwise their audience would see they’re a complete shell of a human being, but it being deviantart you can imagine what I was finding more often on that search. 

I even went to Wattpad, and that ones it’s own mini story that I’m saving for Tomorrow because the art for Tomorrow doesn’t have a lot of talking points on it’s own like this one does. But Wattpad had no fuckin results either.

I cannot remember the last time I had ever been this obsessed with a ship, this desperate. So, 100 Days of Junkan began, even if it wasn’t planned to be this big project. All cause of this fic turning a switch in my brain with a hammer.

Hey look we’re talking about the fic again, I told you this was gonna incoherent.

Anyway so the fic is just, perfect? To me at least? Before I had even realized why I liked the ship in the first place it did everything that I love about it at it’s core. It practically set the standard for the ship in my brain, at bare minimum within the context of a Non-Despair AU. And overtime as Val’s continued to write for these two her portrayals of the character are practically just how I view them at this point.

It’s not 1 to 1 but you can likely trace every aspect of how I portray Junko and Mikan whether through art or writing back to Val’s writing, down to even using certain pet names for the characters because of their usage in her work. I’d worry that I’m being way too much, heaping an overbearing amount of praise and respect. But also this fic unintentionally sent me careening into the direction of drawing 150+ Junkan pictures, learning various new skills and techniques as an artist, rekindled my love of writing (despite the horrors of actually having to write), making new friends both in and out of this community including some who I consider close, coping with mental health issues, and then performing this gigantic project at the tail end of the year. So I might actually be underselling this a bit in actuality. And don’t worry when I get to talking about a few other fics later in the project I’ll be doing my best to give equal praise to them as well, it’s just gonna be a bit sdlahfljasdfhas.

I’ve already said it but the fic has everything, at least of the core reasons I love this ship from the non-abusive perspective that this blog has built its foundation on.

To me I love Junkan because it’s two people that could not be anymore different from one another, who arguably should despise one another finding happiness in each other. It adds a new layer of depth to Junko to ponder how someone like her, whether in canon or in a non-despair AU like this could fall in genuine love with a total wreck like Mikan and how that would affect her character. It’s fluffy moments of Mikan getting to be genuinely happy for what might be the first time in her life while Junko showers her with affection. It’s Junko being fucking hilarious while Mikan can barely keep up with her humor and teasing because she’s so flustered. It’s Junko grappling with newfound emotions. It’s Junko and Mikan bringing out the best in each other and inciting positive change through their influence. It’s that perfect blend of hurt/comfort. And so much more beyond that, all contained in this one god damn fic. I might even be forgetting things I like about the ship too, there’s just so much that goes into this!

Obviously this is all specifically in a Non-Despair context, the Evil Girlfriends angle has a myriad of other reasons to enjoy the ship which I’ve become fond of. Especially in some of the parallels it can have with a non-Toxic Yuri angle of things. But that doesn’t really apply for today’s subject and I’m not someone who’s deeply knowledgeable or equipped to sing its praises at the moment. Maybe in the future though?

Is there anything else I can yammer on about with this fic? Uhhhh- Oh. I love how it uses the supporting cast. I think Val has a really excellent grasp on how to write Mukuro and Junko’s dynamic without dipping into the territory of DR3 where it just gets a bit uncomfortable. I think that’s better exemplified in one of her other fics rather than this story, but I still do love Mukuro’s portrayal and role in the story. This was my first time learning who Yasuke was, I hadn’t properly heard of Danganronpa Zero by this point so I was really confused as to who the hell he was. Certainly left a strong impression in the story though. I think Kaede’s sudden appearance and role in the plot progressing towards the stunning climax of Chapter 4 was really good! 

I very often go back to Chapter 1, 4, and 5 whenever I need to go to relax before bed. I’ve reread this fic multiple times as a whole but an absolute fuck ton of times as separated pieces, they’re so god damn soothing on my mind. 

The fact that I haven’t left giant fuckin’ comments on any chapter of that fic is quite frankly one of my deepest sins, but one of these days I’m gonna buckle down and write up on those because they deserve every ounce of praise in my scrawny lil whitegirl body. 

I think I’ve said everything I can for now but even now I feel like I haven’t gotten across how much I love this fic. It genuinely is my favorite fanfiction out there both just for the quality of it’s writing and the comically massive influence it had on my life this year. If you somehow haven’t read it by now, please do, if you like the art I’ve drawn of this ship over the past 60 days I can almost 100% guarantee that you’ll like this story. And read the rest of Val’s fics too! Please! 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[thetypingwriterficblog]

skyfall

[loki x f!reader. part of the moonlight sunrise compilation. this is the enemies part of the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers. takes place during The Avengers (2012). canon divergence. this is basically the premise chapter. feedback is greatly appreciated!] TW: some graphic descriptions of injuries, canon-typical violence Word count: 1.3k

My city crumbles all around me. I sprint through the falling ruble, grabbing whoever I can to safety.

“Guys, what the fuck is going on over there?!”, I yell into comms.

“Sorry Doc, but Rudolf here just keeps setting off explosives.”, Stark chimes in. 

I threw down a shield around a family before a block of cement could crush them. I usher in the stragglers in the street to the subways underground to take cover. Looking up, alien ships whizz through the air. My eyes land on Cap on a cop car giving out instructions. 

“...I need a perimeter as far back as 39th.”, Cap says before beating the shit out of the aliens that popped up behind him. I run over to him, catching the attention of the police, “Make sure the buildings are evacuated, too. Those things are airborne and they got bombs.” I turn to Cap, “You guys need me over there?” He shook his head, “We’ll be ok. Right now, I need you on the ground doing damage control.”

“Got it.”, I throw Cap a thumbs up before turning on my heel to follow the sounds of destruction. Note to self, I need Stark to build me some fancy hyper-mobility shoes or something because I cannot keep running around like this. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“He’s stable.”, I say to the EMT before moving on to another body, my hands emitting a warm glow. The next one was a kid - couldn't be more than 7 years old - his chest caved in and his mouth full of blood. My heart gets stuck in my throat, but I try to shake off the feeling. I place my palms on his chest, and focus my energy into regenerating his rib cage. The kid sputters out a cough. Judging from the blood, his lungs may have been punctured. I take one of my hands to slide under his back to start healing his lungs. Soon, I can feel his ribs get solid under my palm and his wheezing soon stops. I breathe a sigh of relief as wave of exhaustion hits me. 

I can’t keep this up at this rate. 

Breaking me out of my daze, a voice comes through my earpiece. “Got Loki, gonna go out for shawarma, you want anything?” My stomach growls on cue, but as I look around at the wounded people on stretchers and makeshift beds on the ground, my feet stays firmly planted. “I dunno, Stark. Things aren’t look so good down here. I don’t think I should-”

“Go.”, the EMT spoke curtly without looking up from the arm she was dressing, “We got it from here. Thank you.” I nod, “Thank you, too.”

Promising to come to the hospital to help later, I head over to the shawarma place.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pushing through the doors of the Shawarma Palace, I’m greeted with the sight of Nat, Clint, Banner, Stark, Thor, and Cap huddled around the table, eating their meal with a chained Loki sat in between Rogers and the Asgardian. 

“(Y/N)! So nice of you to join us.”, Stark motions to an empty chair next to Nat but I instead make a beeline for the tied-up god. “Thanks for having me.”, I smiled at Stark before pointing at Loki, “This is the guy right? He’s the one that opened the hell portal and blew up my city?” The others look at me weird as a couple nod their heads with a soft “Yeah?”

“Ok, cool.”

I deck Loki in the jaw.

“Oooh, whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath, Doc?”, Stark winces. “I’m not an actual doctor, I am held to no such oath.”, I turn to the cook with a smile before making my order. 

Loki, annoyed, whips his head to look at me, “Nice to meet you too, (Y/N).” I send him a death glare before sitting down next to Nat with my shawarma in hand. “What did I miss?”, I said before starting to eat. 

“Nothing much. Stark flew into the hell hole, closed it, fell from the sky, we met up to catch this guy,” -Nat motions to Loki- “and now we’re here eating this… really good shawarma.” Tony has a smug look on his face at Nat’s approval. “Man, it sounds like you guys had a lot of fun.”, I manage in between bites. “How were things for you?”, Banner interjects. “Oh, you know the usual. Shielding people from falling rubble, running around evacuating people, spent a lot of time with really wounded people with sunken in chests and heads trying to bring them back to the land of the living. You know,” I shrug before reaching down for the last bite of shawarma, “Usual damage control.”

I’m met with looks of sympathy and discomfort, and I never wanted to change the subject more. “So, this shawarma really hit the spot!”, I laugh, hoping the mood will change. “Yeah, you devoured your food so quickly, I’m surprised that you weren’t breathing it in!”, Thor chimes in heartily before turning to the cook, “Another! Another one of these shawarmas for the doctor lady.” 

“Not a doctor.”, I quipped while sending Thor a thankful smile.

Eating my second shawarma, I can feel myself regaining some energy, but I still need to recharge in the sun for a bit before I start using my powers again. “So,” I look over at Loki, “what are we going to do with him?” Steve leans back and crosses his arms, “Well, Thor is planning on taking him back to Asgard, but S.H.I.E.L.D is trying to keep Loki and the tesseract under their jurisdiction.” I nod, “I think we should keep him here, better to use him to help clean up the mess he made. Call it community service.”

I turn to Thor, “What would he be doing in Asgard anyway?”. Thor shrugs, “Knowing our father, he’d probably have him locked up for a few hundred years for treason, but knowing our mother, Loki wouldn’t be punished too severely.”. “Exactly, my point!”, I start cleaning up the table, taking the others’ empty baskets and throwing them into the garbage, “What’s the use of him sitting in a cell, when we can use his magic or whatever to help rebuild New York?”

“That’s not how my magic works, darling.”, Loki interjects. “Then you’ll do it the old-fashioned way without magic.”, I retort. Loki puts his hands up with a ‘whatever you say’ look on his face. Steve, Bruce seem to be on my side, while the others seem unconvinced. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous to just let him run wild?”, Clint asks with a furrowed brow. “It wouldn’t be unsupervised. I’ll be able to watch him and organize what he needs to do, plus he has those-”, I motion to the chains and cuffs on Loki, “magic erasing thingies on him so he can’t use his magic to get away.” I turn to Thor, “Is there something in Asgard that are like those but less movement restrictive and he won’t be able to get out of?” Thor hums in thought, “No, but I know a blacksmith.” I light up and look at Clint, “See? We could secure him.” I can hear more approval for my idea. 

“I don’t think S.H.I.E.L.D will need much convincing on this.”, Nat pipes up, “I can help win them over on this plan.” 

“And I can go to Asgard to see if I can get Odin’s approval to keep Loki on Earth-”, I pause, “if it’s ok with Thor.” Thor gives me a thumbs up as he downs his glass.

“Alright, sounds like a plan!”

[lewis-just-lewis]

Hello Viktor enjoyers I make my return..I have thoughts about this latest season. Before getting into full criticism, huge props to the artistic talent that worked on this show. Fortiche as a whole has genuinely changed tv animation, the combination of 2D and watercolor sequences-the super stylized music and fight scenes, absolutely thee best animation I think I’ve ever witnessed. The music, the art, the animation-even the character designs. While I don’t care for certain choices, the designs have so much artistic talent put into them. I adore cosmic horror, and to see that utilized was very cool!

To see the character it was used for, I have thoughts on. But I enjoyed the design as it was-the writing on the other hand..I’m upset with.

Admittedly, the first watch through I had was pure adrenaline. I went into this season with two things I wanted. I wanted to see Viktor evolve closer to his league self, and I wanted to see what route Sevika and Jinx would take-whether that path be together or as individuals, I wanted to see how they helped Zaun. And technically, in a way, I got what a wanted..for a moment.

There was a rumor in circulation, that arcane was meant to be five season long. I genuinely believe this wasn’t a rumor now. There was so much missing, there were so many interactions that were needed to feel this story the way it was felt in season 1. With everyone, but primarily with Viktor and Jayce. There’s that rebuttal old as season one that goes: “Arcane is meant to be about the sisters!”

Okay, how did the sisters mend their connection? Did they ever talk about it-the fact that Vi made Jinx-or how Vi committed chemical warfare on people-HER people?? Additionally, if Viktor was meant to always be the big bad we absolutely needed more time with him!! We needed to see the wedge driven between him and Jayce, to see when that good intent took a turn to the extreme. We needed to see him have more interactions with different characters-or expand further upon his already existing relationships!

There were seeds planted that the writers completely forgot about and let decay in dried up soil. In act 3 of season 1, Viktor starts getting snippy-and then outright mad at the people around him. Someone on here did address that, Viktor does have a temper. One that we were shown, when he snaps at Jayce on the bridge-literally smacking his hand away when he tries to help him up after being outright discriminative. When Mel even alludes to hextech weaponry, he gets upset-and then outright angry-teeth bared angry at the fact she would bloody their work-HIS work with Jayce in war. He and Jayce linger on it-he begins experimenting on himself because he realizes Mel has gotten to Jayce in a way he can’t pull back. The promise to destroy the hexcore, the thing he MADE Jayce promise his last wish was violated.

He stumbles out of this upright chrysalis entirely changed, amalgamation of flesh and organic looking metal-braces permanently encased to his body. He sees the blueprints for hextech weaponry, he SEES the schematics for Catelyin’s rifle. And he just..leaves, just “I must say goodbye to this place.”

I’ve seen the argument made: “the hexcore is controlling him!”

Then why does he show clear emotion in episode six? Why then and there can he express fear, concern, gratitude, outwardly. Not in the astral realm! Outwardly-his sass is even shown to be intact when Jinx thinks she has jokes! So why the hell did he never once get angry about his agency being robbed, about his life literally being left in someone else’s hands when that was something season 1 was alluding too?

And what about sky? I’m still so throughly confused on what her purpose of being back was about. Writers have had to clarify what she’s meant to do because of the lack of context! It feels like we have four, forty-five minute episodes missing. And not just of context and story for Viktor but of Sevika-of Jinx-The underground-Zaun’s conflict with piltover! The crux of what season 1 was, these two sisters and the two cities. A Zaunite and Piltovian, we had Cait and Vi, Jinx and Silco, Jayce and Viktor-dynamics that were mapped out. That needed to be explored, how did the undercity come to forgive Jinx after her father exploited most of the residents with Shimmer?

There was an entire lead up to Cait’s role as a dictator and we see..none of it? And the aim changes to finding Warwick and then to Viktor and there is so-so so much happening. It really does feel like three seasons compressed into one, but to the worst extent that the characters don’t feel like themselves. Viktor’s confidence he exudes in season one, that defiance, that determination, the anger we see him hone later. It’s gone, we he does fight Jayce there is not a HINT of anger or resentment-just: “Oh well-I was trying to be peaceful-I am going to kill you now though.”

Sevika’s urgency to make topside pay, is still there-she’s rallying people together, but then we just don’t see her until the big fight. Sure Scar is with her there-but that doesn’t say anything about it she’s leading whole different factions of Zaun after the prison break!

The finale left more questions than things answered, and I extremely dislike the usage of a time loop. Jayce’s line to Viktor of about his disability and his disease made my blood boil on my first watch through. There are so many others ways to say humanity’s imperfections are what make us perfectly human. Use emotions for example-scientifically we as humans have the highest range of emotions, but they don’t make us weak. Our ability to feel things vastly is what drives us to do certain things, art, writing, music, creation as a whole is driven by emotion. Creation can be good or bad, enlightening or destructive, but as humans we have that innate urge to do it because of emotion. Especially those who are artists, by far my favorite part of season two is how many artists looked at what was given and went:…so. I’m going to take this, and make it my own because you clearly cannot be trusted.

In conclusion, when writing fanfic or making art it will be of season one Viktor and the Machine Herald, not the Herald of the Arcane. Shoutout to The Boy Savior though, Ekko also has issues but man did he get the best end of the deal. Viktor enjoyers take care of yourselves, canon isn’t the end all be all. Have fun with making your Au’s or fixitfics, have fun drawing versions of characters you enjoy. And if it helps, season one does end on a very bleak point, but it could be seen as the ending.