#here you go the angst

[korumimi]

Okay so, a while after the purgatory, everyone is back. Everything is fine. Mike is awake, everyone is in Christmas mood. So everything is fine. Pac is fine.

Cellbit and Roier are back and playing with Richas and Pepito while Pac watches from afar. Fit notices Pac and goes near him to say hi and see how everything is going.

Then he notices something. Something in the expression Pac is making. He looks distant. Kinda tired, maybe concerned. He is frowning a little. And before Fit says something Pac puts his hoodie back and warp away.

Fit is confused and goes check on the map where Pac is. He's on chume island. Without thinking he warps there too.

Pac is sitting in his armchair next to the water wheel. His with his knees next to his chest.

"Oi Pac!"

"Oh. Hi Fit!" His expression changes quickly to a happy face.

"Just wanted to check on you. You left without saying anything." Fit seats in the other armchair.

"Oh yeah I was about to go sleep. Organized some things in my inventory and all that stuff. Just seated here to... To appreciate the view!"

"Oh I see I see..."

They stay like that for a moment. Fit is a little worried so he doesn't want to leave yet.

"Do you mind if... If I stay here for a while?"

"No, no, not at all. Feel like this is your home too" Pac smiles.

Fit smiles back but stays quiet, appreciating the view too. He knows what happened in purgatory and Pac said that he even had fun in most of the time. Mike is awake now too. Richas is fine, and all his dads are back too. So he can't see the problem clearly. But he looks with attention and Pac seems a tired. Like he's not sleeping well.

"Are you sleeping good?" Fit asks in a lower voice.

Pac seems a little surprised.

"I thought no one would notice haha" He laughs. "I mean, I even tried to make that trick with the spoons to see if it get better but-"

"Pac"

Pac stops talking and see Fit is serious.

"Sorry Fit... Yeah but... I'm fine. I'm fine! Everyone is back on the island, commemorating the holidays, it's all fine!"

"Is there something bothering you? I mean, I'm here if you want to talk y'know. Like, don't feel pressured though, just- like- I want you to know I'm here." Fit is now inclined in Pac's direction, still sitting in the armchair.

Pac is quiet. First a little impressed but now he seems a little nervous, a little uneasy. He hugs himself.

"Okay so.... Im having these... These nightmares... So I'm not sleeping so well..."

Pac is fidgetting with his gloves and Fit waits for Pac to say more.

Pac sighs

"It's nothing! Like... It's just some dumb dreams, they are not real so don't need to worry about that."

"Do you want to talk about it? About the dreams?"

"I- I don't think... I don't know... Is just like..." Pac is now holding his leg.

"It's okay if you don't want to."

"Okay... Is just that- AAAARGH. I'm just so dumb, why I am like this!" Pac hides his face in his hoodie.

"I'm so useless..." Pac says just like a whisper.

"Don't say that!" Now Fit is next to Pac's armchair, crouching just to try and see Pac's face. "Can you tell me why you are saying this? I can help you Pac."

Pac peaks from his hoodie.

He exhales.

"Okay... So... I'm afraid of... Cellbit..." He hides himself. "You can laugh now, I won't judge, I would laugh too"

"Of course not Pac. It's okay to- to be afraid of things. Your feelings are valid Pac."

Pac stays in his little hideout. And Fit waits.

"Can you tell me why you are afraid of him?"

"Is just... He killed my friends once... He... He took my leg..." Pac grips his leg. Fit only waits with a surprised expression.

"And when we were in purgatory, he-he was there killing my friends! And- and- I-" He's voice is failing now.

"I couldn't do anything... I couldn't save them... I lost all my courage. And I was the lider! I was supposed to protect them!" Pac lifts his head trying to not cry.

"And I even said I could do things for him if he asked... It was like the prison all over again..."

And Pac tries to clean his tears before they fall. He doesn't want to look like this, even more not in front of Fit! But he can't stop crying. Why is he so useless. So afraid. Why he can't just, be strong! And stoic like any of the others! Fit could do that easily but he can't, because he is dumb and useless...

"But when we were together in purgatory you made it! You killed him and fought with him!" Fit tries to say in a optimistic way.

"That was because you were with me... You were by my side and I knew you could kill him. You could help me..."

"But it's okay Fit! You don't need to worry! Is just something dumb like me. Everything in the island is fine now, everyone is fine! So I will be fine..."

They stay quiet for a couples seconds. Pac is trying to clean his face with his sleeves.

"Can I hug you?" Fit is with a worried face.

And Pac is again impressed. Impressed that someone is by his side. Hasn't made fun of him. That someone is worried about him. Even though he's the most unluckiest guys on earth. And maybe he doesn't deserve anything happy. And he is even more impressed that this someone is Fit. He just wants to cry. But he cried so much already. Why is he like this.

But he accepts the hug. They stand up and they hug each other. And Pac cries a little more. But Fit holds him, and holds all the pieces that are trying to break and fall.

"Don't say that you are dumb or useless Pac. You are one of the most amazing person I have ever met. You make so many cool things, you are so smart. You made the fucking cure for that federation pill. You are awesome! You are kind and helps everyone in this island. You sacrifice yourself a little too much even, for the sake of others. Don't say bad things about yourself please... You are really good to me and makes me sad hearing that..."

"Sorry about that..."

"Don't be sorry! That's what fr- That's why I'm here for. I'm here to support you and help you when you need, okay?"

Pac doesn't respond right away. And now Fit is panicking a little. Did he talked too much? Is this going to scare Pac? Did he go too far? Now my heart is beating a little too fast. He will notice. Why my face is so hot. I just said I'm here for him, that doesn't make anything weird, right?

But Fit doesn't leave the hug. But they are quiet. And Fit is sure that anyone could hear his heart beating, so surely Pac is hearing. But Pac also doesn't leave. So maybe is fine. Finally Pac says something.

"Thank you Fit..." And Pac lifts his head to see Fit. "It means a lot to me."

And Pac is with the most honest smiles in his face. And he looks beautiful. The sunset is hitting his face making him glow. And Fit can't think in his panic anymore. Because he's stunned with how Pac looks.

Pac breaks eye contact and hugs Fit tighter, in a way of thanking him. And finally leaves the hug.

"Okay so I will leave for today. But thank you so much for what you said. It really means a lot to me. I know I still have to work on these...things... But I know that I can ask help if I need!" And his smiles so gorgeous.

"O-okay, but yeah! Anything you need just call me!"

"Thank you Fit! Bye!" Pac leaves for the wearhouse.

"Bye!"

And Fit is stunned. He just takes his warp and goes back to home. He doesn't move. Just place his hands in his face and blushes. Why is he like this.

On the other side Pac is just blushing and hiding himself inside his hoodie.

[technically-human]

Oh, Ivo. You are no Maria.

[r-aindr0p]

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun.

Sleeping, ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWeeping‎‎,

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWith You.

Lyrics from Sleeping Sun by Nightwish (symphonic metal) funny how the comments under the vid tell it's a "song for sinking ships" ahaha.... yeah in that case too :))))))))))))))))

I did hesitate greatly with Oceandeep by Beast in Black (power metal) because the themes are p similar (could work greatly with sea creature angst) (and unrelated but dang Beast in Black has such a great main vocalist, if you can listen to "blind and frozen" by this band you'll hear pretty much every way he can sing and it surprised me so much the first time I realized it was all the same guy (+ they filmed the MV at the Neuschwanstein ????!)

Music is a big part of inspiration in most (non chibi) art pieces I draw honestly I'm happy to share them even if a bit nervous at the same time-

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[sunsburns]

not you too

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

summary: for the first time in a long time, you're hurting, deeply. an old wound that's reopened, the knife that was once there finding its place back between your ribs. jason todd comes to you in the middle of the night, bleeding all over your floor, rubbing salt to an old wound.

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, angst, the good old cleaning the other's wounds after a rough patrol but this one has a little bit of plot and spice to it ngl.

based off of this request

You always try to keep your nights as simple as possible. Working under Commissioner Jim Gordon had its perks, but peace of mind wasn’t one of them. Between juggling case files, analyzing crime scenes, and trying to stay ahead of Gotham’s ever-growing list of threats, your days were more than chaotic.

Gordon, a mentor as much as a boss, trusted you with sensitive information that only a few had access to—and you took that responsibility seriously. What he didn’t know was how deep your connection to Gotham’s vigilantes truly ran.

While Gordon believed in the power of the law, you knew sometimes it wasn’t enough. That’s where Batman came in. Your dual role—an officer of the GCPD by day, and a secret informant for Batman by night—had become second nature. You fed him intel and helped him stay ahead of Gotham’s worst, all while maintaining the facade of loyalty to the department.

You weren't proud about it, but he gave you enough hush money that you don't question it whenever he appears by the office as you leave your later shifts.

Friday nights were your escape. After a week of handling reports, dissecting evidence, and sidestepping questions from Gordon about your mysterious late-night absences, you let yourself disconnect. You skipped the gym after work, came home early, and cooked yourself a proper dinner. By the time the sun set, you were showered, dressed in your comfiest pyjamas, and settled on the couch with a movie.

Tonight was no different. You’d just closed a case with Gordon’s team, a robbery ring, criminals now behind bars, but Gotham never truly rested. Tomorrow would bring another wave of crime, another set of challenges. Still, for now, you had this moment of peace.

The movie droned on in the background as you finished dinner, exhaustion from the week creeping in. Your eyes fluttered shut halfway through, the comfort of your quiet apartment lulling you to sleep. By the time the credits rolled, you were completely out, wrapped in the safety of your little corner of the world.

That is until a faint creak from your window broke the silence.

You stirred groggily, blinking at the clock. It was well past midnight. Gotham was still alive outside—sirens in the distance, the occasional rumble of a motorcycle passing by—but your apartment had fallen into stillness. You stretched, ready to drag yourself to bed, but something wasn’t right.

The creak came again. Your blood ran cold.

Someone was in your apartment.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. The faint sound of creaking had stopped, leaving an eerie silence behind, but there—a shadow moved. Your heart pounded, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you reached blindly for something, anything to defend yourself. The remote was the closest thing at hand. You gripped it tightly, feeling foolish but unwilling to let go, and scrambled to stand.

In the faint glow from the streetlight filtering through the curtains, you finally saw him—a large figure by the balcony door, hunched over, struggling to quietly close the glass behind him. He moved slowly, cautiously, as if he didn’t want to be noticed. But you had already seen enough.

The silhouette was unmistakable.

“Jason.”

His shoulders stiffened at the sound of his name, freezing in place for a second before turning to face you. Even in the darkness, you could feel the weight of his gaze through the red-tinted visor of his helmet, his expression unreadable beneath it.

You lowered the remote slowly, heart still racing, but now for a different reason. “You can’t—you can’t just break in like this,” you stammered, your voice tinged with frustration and worry. You’d seen him do this too many times, yet it never got easier.

He let out a gruff, annoyed sound beneath the helmet, shoulders sagging as he took a step closer. “Not like you were gonna answer the door.” His voice was rough, and the bitterness in his tone was impossible to miss.

Your irritation flared, but then you noticed something—a slight tremor in the way he moved. His steps were sluggish, almost hesitant, and he favoured his right side, trying to mask it.

He wasn’t just annoyed.

He was hurt.

As he stepped out of the shadow, the dim lamp light caught the outline of his armour. That’s when you noticed it—dark stains creeping across the front of his suit, and the way his hand pressed against his side, the faint sound of a pained breath slipping past his otherwise guarded posture.

“You’re bleeding,” you muttered, the frustration quickly giving way to concern. He didn’t respond, his gaze avoiding yours as he leaned back against the wall, clearly uncomfortable with being here. Jason never wanted anyone to see him like this—least of all you.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he grumbled, the words tinged with a mix of guilt and exasperation. “Go to bed. I’ll be out in a minute. Just needed some stuff. Still got that first aid kit?”

You shook your head, taking a cautious step closer, your heart sinking at the sight of him in pain. “Jason, you can’t just—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off sharply, pushing himself off the wall, wincing as the movement aggravated his wound. His stance was defensive like he was already preparing to run before you could offer to help.

But the moment his knees buckled slightly, the tough exterior he was trying to maintain cracked. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, the way he clutched at his side like he was barely holding it together.

He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Jason pulled the mask off his head, his breath coming in sharp gasps as if the helmet had been suffocating him. He tossed it carelessly onto your dining table before glancing at you, his expression tight. “You got it or not?”

His voice startled you into action. “Uh—yeah, I’ve got it.” You scrambled down the hall toward the bathroom, hands shaking as you rifled through the drawers for the first aid kit. His footsteps echoed faintly in your living room, boots heavy against the hardwood. Now that he’d been caught, his presence filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it was no use. No matter how many times you’d imagined running into Jason again, it was never like this. In your daydreams, you hoped you’d bump into him on the street, or maybe during work.

There were even moments where you’d foolishly fantasized about seeing him at Wayne Manor, handing over files to Bruce as a favour, only to lock eyes with Jason from across the room. But this? Jason bleeding out on your floor, breaking into your apartment in the middle of the night? This wasn’t what you wanted.

When you returned to the living room, he had already shed his jacket, revealing a deep gash along his side. It was messy, and the blood soaked into the fabric of his suit, leaving dark stains that made your stomach drop.

He’d settled into something uncomfortably familiar—boots kicked off by the door, sitting against the wall like old times, but this time he kept his distance, his body tense.

He didn’t want to be here.

You hesitated as you approached, the kit in your hand. “Jason, let me—”

“I’ve got it.” His voice was sharp, cutting you off as he took the first aid kit from your hands without so much as a glance. His glare kept you at arm’s length, and it hurt. The way he shut you out, even when he was barely holding himself together.

He didn’t trust anyone—not entirely.

Not after everything.

Still, seeing him like this made something twist in your chest. Bleeding and worn down, but too stubborn to ask for help. There was a heaviness in the air, lingering in the silence that stretched between you both. It wasn’t just about tonight—it was everything that had been left unresolved before, all the words that had gone unsaid the last time you’d seen each other. But now, with Jason sitting right in front of you, neither of you dared to speak.

You crouched a few feet away, sitting on the floor across from him, watching as he tried to clean the wound himself. His hand shook slightly, though he tried to hide it, his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth against the pain. It was bad—worse than he was letting on.

“Jason, stop,” you finally said, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re gonna make it worse.”

“I don’t need your help,” he bit out, refusing to meet your eyes. “I’ve done this a thousand times.”

He huffed, annoyed, but when he tried to move again, his breath hitched—pain breaking through the cracks of his tough exterior. His hand slipped, and the antiseptic bottle nearly fell from his grip. You didn’t wait for his permission this time. You slid over, taking the kit from his hand.

“Just let me do it,” you murmured, your voice firmer now.

Jason didn’t argue this time, though his jaw was still set in that stubborn way you knew all too well. You could feel the heat branching off him as you gently touched his arm to move it out of the way and clean the wound. His whole body stiffened at the contact like he wasn’t used to being taken care of—or maybe he just didn’t want it.

His eyes shifted to the far wall, jaw clenched even tighter, refusing to meet your gaze, but you caught the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when your hands moved over his skin.

He wasn’t saying anything, but his body told you enough. Every time your fingers brushed a sensitive spot or when the antiseptic stung, his lips pressed into a thinner line. He didn’t flinch exactly, but his posture—rigid, unmoving—betrayed how uncomfortable he was.

You weren’t sure what was harder for him: the wound or the fact that he was letting you help. His pride had always been a barrier, a wall he rarely let anyone get through. Yet here he was, in your apartment, wounded and unwilling to admit just how much he needed you.

As Jason shifted slightly, wincing, you took the moment to observe him. It had been a while since you last saw him, and for a second, you searched for something—anything—that might’ve changed. But he was still Jason. Still, the same stubborn man who couldn’t stay out of trouble. Even that white strand of hair was right where it had always been. He looked older somehow, but not in the way time ages people. It was something deeper, worn into him from the life he led.

And then his eyes flicked up, catching you watching him. For a brief moment, neither of you moved. His gaze softened, just barely, before the guarded look returned as quickly as it had slipped away.

He shifted again, his body tense, and glanced around your apartment—anything to avoid looking directly at you. His gaze lingered on your desk, the files from your latest case scattered across it, and his expression darkened. You could see it in his eyes—a mix of suspicion and something else.

“You’ve been busy,” he muttered, his tone gruff, though the edge in his voice told you there was more to it than a simple observation.

You didn’t look up, keeping your hands steady as you applied pressure to the wound. “You know how it is.”

Jason’s jaw twitched. “Yeah,” he said, his tone sharp. “I know how it is.”

It was a jab, even if it was subtle. You could feel the accusation hanging between the lines of his words. He wasn't just talking about your busy schedule—he was digging at the gap between you two, at all the things neither of you had addressed. Your loyalty to Batman. Your work with Gordon.

A little fucking traitor to everything Jason worked for.

You sighed, pressing a little harder than necessary to make a point. “You’re not here for that, Jason.”

He winced, and you almost felt bad. Almost. But the look in his eyes—calculated, like he was searching for the truth behind every move you made—made your chest tighten. His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

“You’re not going to ask why I’m here?” His voice was softer now, but there was a bitterness to it. He knew you weren’t stupid. He wasn’t here by choice, and you both knew it. You wanted to ask, but what was the point? Jason never came to you for help, never came to anyone unless he had no other option.

“I figured you’d tell me when you’re ready,” you replied quietly, not daring to meet his eyes. His presence in your home felt heavier than the blood on your hands.

He scoffed, shifting to take the bandage from your hand. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Your hand stilled for a moment, hovering just above his skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a reminder of just how close you were to crossing a line neither of you dared to acknowledge. He was still the same Jason, still stubborn as hell, but the space between you felt like it had grown into a chasm. One you weren't sure either of you could cross without everything falling apart.

“Why are you really here, Jason?” you asked, giving in. He was a wanted man, or at least Red Hood was. If you were up to it, you could have him arrested within seconds.

His eyes snapped up, the guarded expression faltering for a moment before his usual defiance returned. “It’s not like I had a lot of options,” he admitted, though the words felt forced like he was offering you an excuse instead of the truth.

“I thought you always had a plan,” you said, words sharper than you intended. “Or is that just another thing you’ve changed your mind about?”

He flinched, and for a second, you regretted saying it. But the hurt between you two had been simmering for too long. His loyalty was always a wild card, and yours? Well, Jason had never forgiven you for staying close to the people he had walked away from.

Jason’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk, but close. “The Bat keeping you on a tight leash?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or is it Gordon now?”

You stiffened, the accusation hitting home more than you liked. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, knowing it sounded weak but unwilling to offer more. It was always the same with Jason—he pushed, prodded, and pulled at the places you tried to protect.

“Yeah, right. Because we both know where your loyalties lie,” Jason snapped, his tone harsher now. His eyes bore into you like he was searching for something—anything—that would confirm his suspicions. That you’d chosen Batman over him. That you were still working with the people who had crossed him.

“I didn’t betray you,” you said quietly, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow. You didn’t know if you believed them anymore.

Jason let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. There was too much between you, too many things left unsaid, and no amount of stitching his wounds would ever fix that. He was right, in a way. You hadn’t chosen him—not when it counted.

Not when he needed you. And for what? For comfort? A little bit of safety? An alliance with Batman? A raise at work? The questions ran through your mind like jagged edges. It wasn’t that simple, but neither of you had ever really said the things that needed to be said back then, too busy trying to fix things that did not need fixing.

His breathing had become more laboured as you worked, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The wound you were treating was deep, and too close to critical areas for comfort.

Jason’s hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling into fists as if he was fighting the pain, refusing to show just how much it hurt. But you could see it in the way his body trembled under your touch—he was reaching his limit.

“Let me finish,” you said, your tone softer, more insistent. "Stop fighting me."

For once, he didn’t argue. His jaw unclenched, his shoulders slackened slightly, and his eyes—usually so guarded—softened just enough to show how exhausted he really was. Physically, emotionally, all of it. He wasn’t invincible, and tonight, that truth was catching up with him faster than he could hide.

You moved closer, hands brushing against his skin as you worked quickly, trying to keep your focus. His skin was warm, slick with sweat and blood, and the faintest tremor ran through his frame as your fingers traced the edge of the wound. But the closeness was unnerving—both of you acutely aware of each other in a way that made the room feel smaller.

You caught his eyes as you reached for more gauze, and for a split second, neither of you looked away. His gaze burned into you, full of unspoken questions, of things he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say. And for the first time, you wondered if you weren’t the only one who had felt betrayed.

But you’d both been wrong. You could see it now, in the way his eyes darkened with unsaid accusations, in the way your heart ached with unresolved regret. You thought you were protecting him by walking away—by choosing the safer path, Batman’s path. And Jason, with all his reckless defiance, had been too far gone in his need for vengeance to understand why you couldn’t follow him down that road.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. “I can’t trust anyone anymore.”

Your fingers stilled, hovering just above his chest. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air between you.

"I never asked you to trust me," you whispered, the words hanging precariously on the line between honesty and regret.

But the truth was, you wanted him to. More than anything.

Jason’s lips tightened into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away. His muscles tensed beneath your touch as if bracing himself for another fight. His hand twitched, lifting halfway like he was going to shove you back, but he stopped.

The strain was written all over his face now, and you could see his breathing growing more ragged. His eyes were slipping out of focus, and you noticed the faint green glow flickering at the edges of his irises���Lazarus. It was always there, a reminder of how far he’d gone, how close to the edge he still was.

“Jason…” you said quietly, watching the pain ripple through him. He was losing consciousness, slipping into the darkness despite his stubborn refusal to admit it. His hand finally dropped, brushing against your arm before it hit the floor, the strength leaving him in waves.

“Just… get it over with,” he rasped, his voice cracking.

You pressed the final bandage into place, your hands gentle now, more careful. For a moment, you let your fingers linger, brushing against the rough skin of his shoulder as you finished. His breathing was shallow, but steady, his eyes fluttering shut. The tension drained from his body as the exhaustion finally won, leaving him vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen in a while.

It reminded you of when he used to sleep beside you. Jason had always been restless, even in sleep, twisting in the sheets, his mind never fully at ease. But there had been nights when he would finally relax, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, his head resting against your chest like he found his peace there, with you. You remembered how you’d stroke that same shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin as you whispered for him to rest, that you were there, watching over him.

And yet, here you were, caring for him again.

He stirred slightly, a soft grunt escaping his lips as he adjusted, trying to find a position that eased the pain. His face softened with the kind of weariness that came from more than just the physical strain. You watched his chest rise and fall, the quiet sound of his breath mingling with the hum of the city outside.

Jason’s hand twitched again, brushing against your knee, his fingers grazing your skin with a familiar yet distant touch. It made your heartache.

There was a time when you would’ve done anything to keep him safe, to protect him from the world—and from himself. But now, all you could do was sit there, hands still resting against his skin, wondering if either of you could ever come back from this.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit || Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU Agent!Reader

Status: In Progress!

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter goes out!

Main Masterlist || Hotch Masterlist

Gambit noun. an act or remark that is calculated to gain an advantage, especially at the outset of a situation.

Summary: Ten years after you first met Aaron Hotchner, you're placed on his team at the BAU. Ten years apart isn't nearly long enough to cool the hatred that began when you first met. In fact, it seems to have only gotten worse -- and the feeling is mutual.

General themes/warnings: enemies to lovers (these two HATE each other y'all), typical level of violence and cases for the show, depictions of panic attacks, eventual smut, chapter specific warnings will be given as well of course!

As always, ** indicates smut! Strikethrough means it's written, but not posted yet!

WC in progress: ~67,000

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

More to come as I write more!

Last updated: April 13th, 2025

[illbegottenfaith]

maybe stay here forever (inspired by packing it up by gracie abrams)

the holidays have you feeling sentimental over yours and theo's relationship (theo nott x reader)

a/n - 100 followers in a little over a month is very much insane for me, and like any other writer I rlly appreciate every interaction with my fics <3 also im trying to work on making mutuals (esp with other writers!) but man it does NOT help that im so incurably shy, anyways enjoy!!

tropes/warnings - tw descriptions of grief and anxiety, established relationship, domestic bliss, more angst than I anticipated, an outtake ft. petty!theo throwing down with a 13-year-old

word count - 2.6k

"Y/N! PHONE!”

You placed your butterbeer down with a thunk, weaving your way from your table to the telephone at the counter. Your friend Ivy handed it to you before disappearing into the crowd. You knew who it was even before pressing your ear to the receiver.

“This is highly illegal, as you very well know,” you said breathlessly. "Randy hates anyone using his phone."

“Relax. Ivy said he's gone into the back.”

Even through a telephone line, your boyfriend's voice gave you a giddy sort of thrill. Still, you glanced at the back door anxiously. “For now. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to hear you sound deliciously panicky.”

“Unbelievable. I’m risking being banned from Hogsmeade’s only pub for nothing?”

“What’s the point of having a girlfriend,” Theo wanted to know, “if she won’t enable your illegal endeavours?”

You rolled your eyes. “So, did you manage a game between the four of you?”

“Eh. It was…something. I’m not sure if anyone would call it Quidditch, though.”

“Oh?”

“You should join us next time. The flying, screaming - you’d love it.”

"Rude." The one time Theo had managed to wheedle you into at least trying to play Quidditch with him and some of your friends had not ended very well for you. In your defense, heading straight for the ground sounded like a much safer option than waiting around to be hit by a Bludger.

“You’re still watching the back door, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, eyes sweeping across the crowded pub. He wasn’t here, was he? He did love messing with you. You shook yourself. Of course not, you were using the only telephone in the vicinity. “Am not,” you sniffed injuredly. "Anyway, what are you up to now?"

"I'm about to go down to the shops to run your errands. What did you need, again?"

"Butterbeer fla - are you writing this down?"

"No need, I'll remember."

You frowned. "Teddy, you always say that, and you always forget something."

"Not this time. Shoot."

You huffed. With how aggravating Theo could be, he was lucky he had such a pretty face. "Butterbeer flavoured popcorn, for the popcorn garlands. If they only have regular, don't bother, I have bags and bags of those. New Christmas lights, because one of the bulbs blew out. Wrapping paper, someone's bound to need it. Hm, what else...that disgusting peppermint tea you love - "

"I don't love peppermint tea. It's...it's not bad, that's all."

"Fibber. You cleaned us out last year."

"And I'll do it again if you keep throwing around these unlawful accusations."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, listen - bring Mattheo along with you, will you?"

Having just broken up with his girlfriend, Matteo's Christmas plans fell through at the last minute. You couldn't help it was in your nature to worry. You heard the distant rustle of parchment crackle over the phone. Ah - ha, fibber indeed. "Alright, but for the last time, he's doing perfectly fine on his own." You heard him folding the list up. "He's a grown man, Y/N."

Your tone turned reproachful. "It's the holidays. No one should have to spend the holidays alone, remember?"

"Don't you have your own friends to fret over?"

"They're all going home. You only have yourself to blame for being within arm's reach, you know."

"If I'd known you were going to be this meddlesome I'd have stayed far, far away."

"Please. Like you could have resisted my charms."

You could imagine the teasing look he'd be giving you.

"Speaking of charms, how does a charm bracelet sound? Would you like that?"

You sighed. For some reason, you were having a particularly difficult time thinking of something to ask for this Christmas. You kept putting it off, and now it was less than two weeks away. Theo was doing his best to help, though it did get a bit grating when he'd point out every item in a shop one by one.

"I still don't know," you said helplessly. "Rain-check? Again?"

"Fine. But you don't have much time left." You heard him unfolding the list. "So, for today, butterbeer flavoured popcorn, Christmas lights, wrapping paper and peppermint tea?"

"Yep. Thanks, Teddy."

"Anything for you, doll." Theo cleared his throat and dropped his voice a couple of pitches.

"So what are the odds I can convince you to wear that green little number to tonight's party?"

You grinned at the pub counter flirtatiously. "I don't know. How badly do you want to see me in it?"

Theo groaned. "Going to make me beg for it, baby?"

"In a manner of speaking." You glanced back at the back door, just in case. "Haven't you learned? Sweet-talking will get you everywhere with me." Your eyes drifted to your table, where Ivy was impatiently waving you over. "Damn. I have to go. Ivy looks like she's about to have a coronary."

"Wearthedre-"

You wore the dress. You could be cruel, but not that cruel. It was a cosy sort of party, with friends and friends of friends milling around. You were sitting in Theo's lap on one of the couches, the two of you trying to talk over the music.

" - and so I said to Ivy, if he can't be bothered to even say hi when there's other people around, then that shows how little respect he has for you, and he'll only get worse the more you let him get away with it, and - and I'm rambling."

Theo's mouth quirked into that special smile he reserved just for you. "Only a little. It's very becoming, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah, right."

"It is, but only because it's coming from you."

You fiddled with Theo's hair, trying to fix a cowlick of his. "So what did you do today?"

"We got the popcorn, the tea, the wrapping paper. Matteo got a little too excited with the lights."

You raised your eyebrows. "Do tell."

"Mind you, he's never shopped for anything in his life. He has house elves for that."

"Kind of like you when we first met," you teased lightly.

"I don't think he was expecting so many options. He kept winding each type around his limbs to compare. I think the insulation was faulty on one of them so he got a mild electrical shock."

You gasped. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, as far as I could tell. I think he kind of liked it, to be honest."

"Of course he did." You wrinkled your nose. "Then what did you do?"

"Freed him, obviously."

"And then?"

"Then we got the same lights we always do."

"And then?"

Theo shook his head, bemused, and tugged at a lock of your hair. "And then nothing. And then we left. And then I changed and came straight up to the party to find my nuisance of a girlfriend."

You laughed. Theo wasn't being particularly funny, but it was hot and your hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you were high off the thrill that came with being perfectly in sync with your favourite person. In short, you were too buzzed to care. You were flushed, either from the alcohol or the feel of Theo's hand steadily creeping up your thigh.

"I have some bad news, though."

You sat up and scowled. "What?"

"I couldn't get us out of my family's Christmas dinner."

You groaned. You had half a mind to drown Theo in what was left of your drink.

"C'mon, Y/N," he cajoled, "iwe'll only be there a couple of days. Tis the season of giving."

"Sure, I'll give them a push down the stairs."

Theo stifled a snort and plucked the drink out of your hand. "Okay, that's enough punch for you. Speaking of..." He glanced somewhere behind you, sitting up a little and, frustratingly, pulled his hand off your thigh. "The punch bowl might need refilling."

"Don't," you whined, dragging his hand back to where it was a moment ago. "Let Enzo do it. We don't get to see enough of each other as it is."

Theo sighed. "So you're just never going to let me leave?"

"I can't help it," you said, "I like the way you speak. I love hearing you talk." You rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering close. "Promise you'll never quit talking to me."

"Done," he murmured against your lips, a hand sliding to the small of your back.

Hours later, you felt yourself stirring. It was the middle of the night, long after the two of you had gone to bed. You regretfully peeled your eyes open, trying to figure out what had woken you up.

Theo was lying next to you. It took a few more blinks to see that he was breathing harder than normal, the moonlight filtering through the window casting a sickly pallor on his face. His breathing quickened till it bordered on hyperventilating, a restlessness spreading through his body as he uselessly clenched at the sheets.

The first night you had witnessed this, you had gone absolutely ballistic. You thought he was having a seizure. After an awkward conversation between a highly uncomfortable Theo and a panic-stricken you, you learned that it wasn't its first, or last, occurrence.

They weren't nightmares, exactly. If they were, Theo would forget them by the time he was shaken awake, and only the residual tremour in his limbs would be left. They were more akin to bouts of subconscious panic and despair surfacing from the recesses of his mind. Some nights, he recovered quickly, falling back to sleep in under an hour. Other nights, you'd hear him creep out of the room so as not to wake you while he whiled away the hours to dawn.

As hard as Theo tried, bless him, he struggled to put an explanation for these attacks into words. You guessed that it might have something to do with the sudden, unexpected departure of certain loved ones from his life after one mildly confusing fight. You had slipped out of bed early one morning, while Theo was still asleep, to get a headstart on your work for the day. A couple of hours later, when he found you in the Slytherin common room and immediately started going off on you, still in his pajamas, you found out how much waking up in an empty bed freaked Theo out.

Now, you shoved Theo hard on the shoulder. His eyes flew open, anxiously twitchy, as his breathing started slowing down. Still half-asleep, you snuggled up to him, pressing an ear to his chest. You could hear his heart pounding under his T-shirt. After a moment or so, once he'd recovered from the shock, he tentatively wrapped his arms around you.

You squeezed an arm around him as well. "'M here," you mumbled into his shirt. You could feel him taking deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down as he distractedly stroked your hair. Slowly, bit by bit, you felt him relax around you as you started to doze off. There the both of you stayed, a tangle of limbs, till the morning.

one year ago

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower one chilly autumn night, having escaped from the party your friends had dragged you to. The holidays had just begun, and in the coming days, most people would be going home or carrying out their respective plans. Most people didn't include you. This year, more than anything, you wanted to be alone. Your friends assumed you were going home for the holidays, and your family assumed you were spending them with your friends at Hogwarts, and to be completely honest, you didn’t see the need to correct either of them.

You looked up, straining your ears as you heard disembodied footsteps approaching you. A minute later, Theodore Nott emerged from the shadows.

“Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head as Theo settled with his back against a pillar, stretching one overly-long leg towards you while bending the other. You had seen him at the party for the first fifteen minutes you were there. He looked delightfully comfortable in a loose, casual denim button-down. It felt a little odd to think of him as an acquaintance when you saw him nearly weekly while your other friends caught up. But at the same time, there was a tinge of awkwardness in the silence stretching out between the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he knew your name. Now, he was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket.

“Is it okay if I -?”

You shrugged wordlessly, still in a bit of a daze. As far as you could remember, you had never been in a one-on-one setting with Theo. It wasn’t that you avoided each other; it just never came to it. You had plenty of mutual friends acting as a buffer between you two.

All you knew about him was that your families’ tax brackets were far apart enough to mean you’d likely never see him again after Hogwarts. And after getting bruised and beaten by one too many failed relationships, you were kind of over trying to reach out or connect with new people.

And so Theodore's familial prestige was all you took note of. That, you thought as you watched him sigh in relief after the first drag of his cigarette, and his mildly concerning nicotine addiction.

You risked a sidelong glance at him to find him unabashedly looking right at you. But with him sitting perpendicular to you, you were in his direct eye line. Where else was he supposed to look? Literally anywhere else, you wished, as you returned his gaze with an awkward half-smile.

“So, Y/N,” Theo was saying, tapping ash off his cigarette. So he did know your name. You decided then that you were right - you had never been in such an intimate capacity with him before. After all, you weren’t one to forget someone saying your name like…like that. Like he harboured some secret fascination with it, from the way he let it linger on his tongue. “Any special holiday plans?”

You shook your head wordlessly. Theo gave a slight frown.

“You do speak, don’t you?”

You scoffed. “…yes. Obviously.” He’d seen you talk in front of him. Maybe not to him, but he knew you could speak perfectly fine. Your tongue currently feeling like cardboard was an entirely separate mystery.

“Going home?”

You hesitated. Theo was neither friend nor family, but for some inexplicable reason, that made it all the more difficult to lie to him. You blamed it on the smoke, it must have been making you nauseous. That, or his relentlessly demanding stare.

“I only ask because Ivy mentioned you were.”

You gave him a look, mildly peeved. If he already knew, what was he prodding around for? The cooler, more rational part of your mind pointed out that he might just have been trying to make polite conversation, and that a normal person who didn’t keep secrets like you wouldn’t be having this kind of a reaction.

“Yeah. I leave…soon.” Not for the holidays, though.

“That’s funny,” Theo continued pleasantly, “because I heard you mention to Matteo that you were staying here with the girls.”

You froze. Crap. How were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“So?” You couldn’t keep the defensive edge out of your voice. Maybe if you acted confident enough, he wouldn’t realise anything was amiss.

“So…you’re lying to someone.” He tapped his cigarette again, irritatingly casual, as if you were only discussing the weather.

“Why are you so interested in my holiday plans anyway?” you asked crossly, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as a chilly breeze started picking up.

Theo raised his eyebrows. He had the gall to look thrown off, as if he wasn’t the one pursuing the topic.

“People don’t normally lie about their holiday plans. You do realise that, right?”

Oddly enough, something in his tone made you feel embarrassed over being caught in a lie. Scratch that, it was embarrassing to have Theodore Nott catch you in a lie. What for, anyway? He was hardly the most honest person himself. Probably. You felt the back of your neck heat up. You desperately wished he would look away.

“What’s it to you?”

Theo opened his mouth before closing it again. He stewed in his thoughts for a minute while his jaw worked, as if he were trying to find the right words.

“You shouldn’t be alone on the holidays.”

You worried your bottom lip. Was this…concern?

“Maybe I want to be alone.”

“Do you?”

His otherwise dead eyes looked so inquisitive - so piercing yet unnervingly honest for someone as prone to manipulation as him. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to those eyes. You dropped your gaze to where your fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

“It’s complicated.”

“So explain.”

You laughed humourlessly. “They wouldn’t understand.”

You watched the shadows on the tower’s floor shift. You looked up to see Theo finishing off his cigarette as he moved to join you, looking out at the same Hogwarts grounds you were facing. It seemed to make it easier, this pseudo-confession, without the brunt of his needling stare.

Here was someone you didn’t feel the urge to explain yourself to. You felt…less alone. Like you finally had someone unequivocally on your side. It had been a long time since you felt that way.

Even with the slight distance between you, you could feel the body heat he radiated. You leaned towards him slightly, but you told yourself it was only because he was blocking the wind and you were sick of shivering. Perhaps you weren’t as subtle as you would have liked, because he stretched an arm around you, running his hand up and down your arm to warm you up as you sank into his heat gratefully. You didn’t have the heart to pull away. You didn’t want to pull away.

“You could explain it to me, you know.” Theo glanced down to where you were resting your head on his shoulder. “If you wanted.”

You toyed with the idea. So, basically, I’m sick of every relationship I’ve been in falling flat, and lately I’ve been feeling like even my friends don’t understand me, so you’ve caught me just as I’m giving up on it - love, that is, romantic or otherwise. You pulled a face. It sounded far too melodramatic even in your own head. Still, you tried.

“Have you ever felt like…giving up?” Theo’s brow furrowed even more. “No, not - I’m not suicidal. Just…when everything gets too exhausting, and reaching out just feels so…”

“Once.”

You hesitated. You weren’t expecting him to agree. Sympathise, maybe.

“After my mother died.”

“…oh.”

Could you sound any more stupid? But you couldn’t help it - in a group of friends who regularly made cracks at each other’s Death Eater fathers, Theo’s mother was a strictly off-limits topic.

"It was a couple of years back." Theo's voice sounded different now; blithe and almost aggressively neutral. "In front of me. I didn't realise until it was too late, but she was my best friend." He paused, idly tracing the lines on his palm, but you got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard to discuss something that was very difficult to talk about.

“I was -“ he broke off with a sharp bark of laughter that sounded as painful as it was unexpected. “I was angry, actually. Fucking livid. Angry at my dad, for being such a piece of shit. Angry at myself, for every time I thought I was too cool to spend time with her. Angry at her because…because it was too soon, and she was all I had. And she knew that.”

Theo had a white knuckle grip on the edge of the tower’s floor, looking dangerously close to trembling. Every ridge in his face stood taut with the ache of poorly healed emotional wounds. “She knew it. She fucking knew it.”

You placed a hand over his. He drummed his fingers restlessly against the floor, and you could feel the agitation seeping out of him as his breathing evened out.

“How did you get over it? The anger?”

Theo gave you a strange, almost pitying look.

“I’m angry nearly every day of my life, Y/N.”

He sighed and dropped his head, finally leaning into you as well, his hand drifting innocently along your arm as he talked, as if you were old friends. “But if Matteo and the others have drilled anything in my head over the years, it’s that isolating yourself is the real killer.”

Your fists were clenched tightly in your lap. It was almost comforting, seeing how your body language mirrored each other's. You didn't think you would ever feel ready to do it once more, letting yourself be susceptible to heartbreak or loss, in this lifetime or the next, but perhaps...perhaps you could manage. For him. You turned slightly, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes.

“I suppose…I could try," you started in a small voice, partially muffled by Theo's shirt. You took a deep breath in. God, his neck smelled so good. "One last time."

“Of course you can,” Theo murmured, sounding unreasonably patient. “You’re stronger than this.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You let him keep holding you for a little while longer, just until you warmed up to the idea The quiet felt nice. Theo felt nice, in every sense of the phrase.

“I’m starting to think you didn’t come here for just a smoke break.”

"Ivy might have mentioned something," he confessed. You bit back a smile. You should have guessed. "Your friends really care about you, you know. And you've really worried them."

The bitter taste of guilt hit your jaw. You idly traced the stitching of Theo's jean's pockets. Someone else also seemed rather worried, though you weren't about to point that out.

"Have I?"

"Afraid so. You're lucky you're so precious."

Theo tapped your nose, and for the first time that evening, you grinned. After weeks of wandering in a cloud of grief, the motion felt achingly familiar. Theo returned the smile, as if you couldn't help but amuse him.

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

He looked momentarily speechless again. You frowned. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you made him as nervous as he made you.

“Nothing,” he mumbled hastily. “Can we go back down? It’s freezing up here.”

present day

"Morning."

With some difficulty, you extracted yourself from Theo's embrace. You cleared your raspy throat as you stretched out your stiff limbs.

"H'llo."

Theo leaned down to give you a peck on the lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck. As he pulled back, your hands slid to his face, then down to his shoulders. You weren't entirely sure what you were looking for. "Better?"

"Yes." You saw the sleepy bliss fading from his face. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," you lied. "I was up anyway."

Theo quirked an eyebrow interestedly. "What could a respectable girl like you be doing at three in the morning?"

You giggled softly and pulled him on top of you, and you thought he gave a rather appealing demonstration on what you might have been doing. A while later, you glanced at the clock, and saw that it was getting dangerously close to afternoon.

"We should probably get up."

"Mhm. You still need to decide what you want for Christmas, by the way."

Cold air rushed in as Theo rolled off of you, pulling his clothes on. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, still trying to figure out what to ask for. When you stepped out, feeling much more human, Theo was missing. You wandered into the empty common room where he had already set out two steaming mugs of that disgusting peppermint tea on one of the tables, complete with candy canes.

His eyebags are terrible as ever, and he's yawning, but he looks happy. Content. As content as you feel. And you think, this is all you want. For Theo to always get the cold side of his pillow, all the peppermint tea he could want, pleasant Hogsmeade trips...a real break, for once. For him to get everything that he asks for, and more.

bonus outtake

"Let's talk about something else. Anything else." Theo pulled you into his lap. "Like what an adorable elf you make."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm not sneaking you into this year's gift donation drive."

"Why not?"

You should have known this was coming. "Listen, you got yourself banned last year."

"It wasn't even my fault. You didn't even hear how snarky that guy was being. 'Oh, where's your present?' Jackass."

"The jackass was 13, Theo."

He sniffed with an injured air. "It's not like I lied to him or something, you know."

"Again, for the last time, I cannot impress enough how incredibly inappropriate it is to point out one of the helper elves as your 'present' to a 13-year-old boy."

"But you were my present. I got to unwrap you and everything afterwards."

[fumifooms]

Homegrown

Thistle and Delgal - Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

^ Fernando Pessoa / Killing Flies, Michael Dickman / A Brother Named Gethsemane, Natalie Diaz / Antigonick, Anne Carson v Oats We Sow, Gregory and the Hawk

[ellestray]

elle's favorite ateez fics. f = fluff ; s = smut ; sg = suggestive ; a = angst. ✧ = absolute favorites, must read. (only adding notes for these few fics to ensure readability for the overall list!) word count in brackets. last updated: may 2nd, 2024

authors; if you wish to be untagged, please let me know!

currently no individual fic for hongjoong, yeosang & jongho. please refer to the OT8 section, or come back for future updates!

성화 SEONGHWA

✧ [11,1k] plastic flowers — @bobateastay ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: this fic revolves around abortion, so please keep this in mind before reading. i read this on a flight— and i don't know if it was the altitude, but it broke me. the author beautifully wrote this, in a way where unconditional love, hope and pain are intertwined. one of the most pleasantly surprising and touching reads i've had on this platform by far.

✧ [2,3k] essence — @hwaightme ( f ) ↪ note: this one is for the poetic, hopelessly romantic fics lovers. everything i've read from this author was beautiful so far! the poetry in this fic was so pretty that i felt the need to share it to my friends... although i usually never share fics out of tumblr. i'm excited to read through more of your writings, bai!

[1,2k] the first snow and being in love — @i-luvsang ( f )

[884] 02:36 — @hwapetals ( f )

[642] adoration — @kisshwa ( f ; sg )

[8,6k] both — @hwaightme ( s ; f )

[200] 10:24pm — @hotteoki ( f )

[986] anguish — @kisshwa ( a )

[n/a] bf texts — @hotteoki ( f )

[79] 9:22pm — @cozykpopblurbs ( f )

[1,6k] i'll be with you — @cheollipop ( f )

[519] lazy make out sessions — @crazyforhwa ( s )

[1,2k] realistic sex — @byuntrash101 ( s ; f )

윤호 YUNHO

✧ [13k + 18,2k] unprofessional attraction ; pt.1 , pt.2 , [tbc] — @jk97 ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: i was so engulfed into this fic that i skipped a lecture to continue reading. fics that are heavier nsfw-wise usually aren't my thing, but here, every single line pulled me in. hell, i felt even more insane about yunho after reading this. saying i'm excited about the next chapters would be an understatement.

✧ [14k] closer, face down — @ncteez ( s ; f ) ↪ note: again, although i usually prefer fluff over smut, i absolutely loved this fic... the build up made it so enticing! i don't know if a re-edit still is in the works, but i'd absolutely re-read it regardless!

✧ [84,5k] project: make you love me (series) — @hwaslayer ( f ; a ; s ) ↪ note: pulled an all nighter to read the entire series in one go... it was that fun to read! the relationship was built up at a nice, natural pace, while still keeping the reader on their toes. (this made me very excited about the seonghwa series in progress..!)

[1,1k] bedfellows — @sungbeam ( f )

[1,3k] he knows he loves you — @honeyhotteoks ( f )

[2,5k] convenience store chances — @ohmyamor ( f )

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[300] nothing sweeter — @i-luvsang ( f )

[1,1k] nsfw alphabet — @yunhobug ( s )

[425] 3:52am — @edenesth ( f ; sg? )

산 SAN

✧ [3,7k] leave the window open — @sungbeam ( f ) ↪ note: so sweet. so comforting. the kind of heartwarming fic that feels like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. (also made me feel insane about san... but let's not talk about that.)

[1k] always available — @everyonewooeverywhere ( f )

✧ [1,6k] capturing us — @03jyh23 ( f ) ↪ note: another sweet, poetic, hopelessly romantic fic— my favorite kind! finding fics like these always feels like discovering a little treasure. looking forward to all the wips!

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[2,6k] take a break - @cheollipop ( f ; s )

[249] 21:23 — @petitemingi ( f )

[350] boyfriend headcanons — @i-luvsang ( f )

[600] one more minute — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[1,3k] no strings, no expectations — @seonghwaddict ( a ; sg ; f? )

[468] stretch marks — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[475] valentine's series : movies — @whimsicalwritingsandmore ( f )

[n/a] instagram stories with bf san — @lwtqts ( f )

[371] hold me — @cheeseceli ( f )

민기 MINGI

[800] untitled — @cheollipop ( a ; f )

[2,8k] mind over matter — @mingisaddctn ( s )

[256] 23:22 — @petitemingi ( f )

[1k] 23:46 — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[447] princess treatment — @cheeseceli ( f )

우영 WOOYOUNG

✧ [1,2k] broke you heart, i'll put it back together — @dairyminki ( a ; f ) ↪ note: loved this so much that i had to read it twice. something about wooyoung hopelessly in love wanting to fix this... name twin, if you're reading this, hi- i'd be seated for a part 2 if you ever have the time to write it!

[2,2k] vacation — @bobateastay ( f ; s )

OT8

[700] when you don't say i love you back — @jjunberry ( f )

[2,4k] romance tropes — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[n/a] situationships (texts) ; pt.1 , pt.2 — @yunhoszn ( f )

[2,9k + 3k] as boyfriends ; hyung line , maknae line — @honeyhotteoks ( f : s )

[n/a] sex ban (texts) — @kisshwa ( sg ; f )

[n/a] sending you a pic of themselves (texts) — @bombuni ( f )

[1,3k] outfit turn-ons — @starillusion13 ( sg )

[1,2k] make-up sex — @nateezfics ( f ; a ; s )

[944] showering — @seonghwaddict ( f ; sg )

[1,6k] as boyfriends — @atiny-moon ( f ; sg )

[2,5k] that one specific habit they do that highlights their love language — @sanhwaism ( f )

[1,1k] top 3 kinks — @seonghwaddict ( s )

[2,8k] making out — @sxcret-garden ( sg ; f )

[n/a] asking them to draw a flower (texts) — @eightmakesonebraincell ( f )

if any link is broken, or if i made any mistake when tagging fics— please kindly let me know!

[kruegerspillow]

Another hollow apology (is it?) ; bruce wayne

Creators note: um I think I have a new favorite here... Haha... It's okay anyway I love my man unstable and a bit ill in the head. Here's another fic with this lovely emo bruce! I made this while I was half awake so sorry for any mistakes lmao

Warnings: cunnilungus, OBSESSIVE BRUCE, angst with little to no comfort (?), bruce doesn't know how emotions work, afab! reader, argument, bruce doesn't know how to take care of himself, NOT PROOFREAD and reader knows who batman really is.

Word count: 1k

"This is just straight up silly."

You spat your words at him with such venom, causing him to take a cautious step back. His eyes followed your figure, clearly taken aback by your outburst. And even for you, his sudden movement did not go unnoticed.

"You expect me to just sit back, relax and watch you limp back into my apartment, again and again, Bruce?" You practically growled.

The muscles beneath his armor tensed, your frustration becoming even clearer to him. The hand that once pressed against the wound on his leg had stopped applying the pressure. Your eyes burnt through his body, and he swore there was much more pain from the glare that you'd given him compared to any physical injury that he'd ever gotten.

And oh, he'd never felt so guilty in his life. For ruining someone even by his mere presence. He wished that he could mend all the pieces of you back together and act as if nothing had happened. As if he was never here, even.

God, he wanted to punch himself.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts, focusing on you and your wellbeing now. Guilt was now present in his eyes, but he knew that it couldn't fix everything. It can't fix him and get rid of his responsibilities, can it?

Meanwhile, your eyes searched for anything—any signs of him that could hint to a need to walk away, again. But you wouldn't let him walk away from you. Not anymore, and especially not now. You needed him to tell you the truth, to speak to you about his feelings and needs. To ask you for help with actual words—like how a normal human being would converse. You needed him to understand your frustration.

He suddenly struggled to find the right words—or the right thoughts. His mind was occupied by the sight of your tears that were threatening to run down your cheek, though it was gone as soon as you blinked them away.

And then, it was silent. But you couldn't bear silence, not when a man dressed up as a bat was bleeding out right in your living room, at least.

"Forget it." You dismissed quickly, the frustration still evident from your voice. "You don't listen anyway, do you?"

His free hand clenched as he watched you approach him hastily, feeling smoke coming out of your ears at his distance—both emotionally and physically. Your hands reached up to tug at his armor, and before you knew it, he was bare right in front of you.

You did not know how you got here.

"Fuck," a string of broken curses left your lips.

The gloves that were once on his hand were thrown away somewhere—though he didn't seem to care. His control had slipped, and you knew that he'd fallen into his desires. His want and his need for you, it was too much for him to bear.

His hands worked on your pants, tugging them down swiftly as he let out a huff from under his cowl. The sight of you—so vulnerable and sweet—he felt like he was in cloud nine already. His eyes shifted away from your dripping cunt to your face, watching the way you furrow your brows as he laid in front of his dessert. His arms locked around either of your legs, making sure to spread them wide enough.

"Bruce," you mewled, despising the sound of your own weak voice.

He took that as permission, leaning in as his tongue flattened against you. His pupils immediately dilated, the taste of your juices sending shivers down his spine. Your hand, though reluctantly, went to tug on his cowl—pressing him further into your cunt. You murmured his name under your breath once again, earning a pleased hum from him.

"I'm sorry." He grunted in the middle of devouring you.

Your head was too cloudy to give him a proper reply—but you caught his words. A small groan left his lips as you bucked your hips up at him.

"For leaving you," a desperate lick.

"For not being there for you," another lick.

"For not being the perfect one for you."

His thumb pressed against your bud, rubbing smooth circles to soothe you through the overwhelming feeling from his tongue. A pathetic whimper left his lips as he bucked his hips into the sofa, his cock struggling against his tight pants.

"What—" he cut you off with a suck.

You threw your head back, feeling yourself nearly tipping over the edge. His free hand caressed your thigh comfortingly, a stark contrast to his appearance.

"I'm gonna—" you choked on your own words. "Cum—need'ta cum..."

His own breath hitched at your words, feeling himself chase his own orgasm from all the times his hip snapped against the seat. He didn't care anymore—the burning sensation in his muscles from the late night patrol to the sting on his wound—all he could focus on was you.

You and your noises. You and your pleasure. You and your needs.

His mind was unhealthy, and he knew it. It was full of you. Memories of you and your voice—along with the occasional glances the both of you share during a patch up session. God, even his heart was filled with you, did you know that? You belong there with him. It's just you and him against the whole damn world. And nothing would change that—nothing's going to stand between him and you.

Before he knew it, your orgasm crashed onto you like a wave—at the sight of this, Bruce immediately cummed in his pants. Pathetically, almost.

He panted, shaking his head to get rid of the blur in his visions. His thoughts snapped back to reality. You were passed out before him, one of your arms hanging over the edge of the sofa while your head rested against the armrest. Fuck, you're perfect.

How long has he been staring at you? He's doesn't know.

But what he does knows is that he belongs to you. Every part of his body belongs to you.

And the same goes to you, right?

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[shouyuus]

unfading memories/price of perfection

vi is married with cait, living in a grand kiramann household, with a secure job. There’s nothing to really complain about, however one day she reunites with the reader by chance and realizes the perfect life she’s living in isn’t what she wanted.

She decides to wash out the dirt beneath cait’s nails.

send me one + a character and i'll write you a drabble

─── Ⅵ LIKE MY WHISKEY NEAT (or, the price of perfection)

violet; sfw, fluff and angst; vaguely implied infidelity

it was a good life, vi thinks, smiling at caitlyn from across the market, the bright progress day sun beating down on her shoulders, making her skin go tacky beneath the thick fabric of her enforcer's uniform.

it was a stable kind of life, vi reflects, letting cait lace their fingers, lean down to murmur something about a trinket or other. there's a badge heavy around her waist and the dull buzz of the crowd humming somewhere behind her ears.

"— this year… vi?"

vi blinks, shaking her head, "huh? oh — sorry cupcake, got distracted." vi flashes cait a half-strung grin. cait smiles, the uncertainty that had once sat behind her ocean eyes having flashed off the with the passing months, years…

vi swallows, following behind cait as they work their way through the vendors on the bridge of progress, ostensibly on "patrol" but vi knows (and so does everyone else who sees them) that its just a glorified shopping trip.

this is what you've always wanted, vi thinks, staring up at the moon-slatted ceiling, cait lying by her side. her breathing is steady, her honeyed scent familiar and slightly cloying. its a scent that vi's grown to love, she tells herself — to love.

"do i really have to wear this?" vi asks, plucking at the dark red organza monstrosity currently strapped around her torso. cait tuts, glancing at her in the mirror.

"its not for long — you know how big this council gala is —"

vi sighs, her hands dropping to her sides as she watches cait fuss with a pair of sapphire drop earrings the precise color of her eyes. something inside her flops — its a soft, sagging kind of feeling — and vi wonders why it feels so suspiciously close to where her heart used to be. she takes a breath and puts on a smile, the kind of smile she remembers offering to powder when she wanted to placate her, the kind of smile that's tight-lipped. the kind that doesn't quite touch her eyes.

this shit itches — it's the only thought vi has as she waddles her way through the piltover glitterati, cait laughing softly behind her hand at something someone's said, the sound prickling at vi's skin till she can't help but to scratch at the material of her top. thankfully, cait had spared her the horror of wearing a dress and had only insisted on a pair of tight black slacks.

someone somewhere tries to press a glass of something into her hands but cait only smiles and waves it off.

"sorry. gin, vodka, or champagne only, please."

vi purses her lips into what she hopes is a convincing grin before turning away.

the music starts, and a stream of feathered burlesque dancers flow onto the small stage situated at the center of the room, surrounded by a mote of champagne glasses. guests gasp with delight as the dancers start to sway in tandem with the music, a few clapping as a few dancers fall into graceful flips, each layer of brightly colored bodies falling away like the petals of a blooming flower, and at the center, rising above all the rest —

vi's breath catches; her heart thumps like a fist against her sternum, heavy and insistent.

you.

you'd always been beautiful, the kind of beauty that is in and of itself a defiance, especially in a place like zaun. vi can't believe how much she's forgotten, but it also startles her how much she can remember the moment she sets eyes on you — the sound of your laughter, the coco butter smoothness of your skin, the twinkle of lost stars caught behind the twin mischief of your eyes.

you'd been friends, once — or perhaps even more. but neither of you had been old enough to know the name for the unspoken thing that had strung between your bodies, glimmering and gossamer thin, caught with the pendulous dewdrops of adolescent longing.

the world falls away as you start to dance, twisting your body around a long metal pole striking up to the ceiling. men and women alike share appreciative, covetous glances at you, and you bask in the attention, glowing beneath the attention and concentrated stage lights — glowing. vi hears nothing of the music, but she feels the breath and swell of it in the way you move; she doesn't know the words but she knows that it's a love song without ever having to stop and listen.

for a second, your eyes flicker down to meet hers, and the recognition she sees there paralyses her.

a breath, and the dance has finished. the song tapers out even as the room rumbles around her with thunderous applause. you sweep into a deep bow, and vi fights for a breath you've long since stolen. she grapples at her own chest with a hand, gasping. by the time she looks up at the stage again, you've gone, but she's pushing her way through the crowd before she can stop herself.

a pair of hands catch her arm and she twists around to see cait's wide, questioning eyes.

"vi? where're you —"

vi swallows, licking her lips, "i'll — i'll be right back," she says, and her stomach clenches at the taste of the lie — she's long since forgotten how sweet they could taste. she sees the worry flicker out of cait's eyes as she lets vi go, nodding.

vi turns and tries not to gag around the bitterness already welling up the back of her throat.

she finds the dressing rooms without much difficulty, following the soft laughter and click-clatter of dancers heels and the tantalizing smell of perfume oils. when she peers around a slightly opened door, she catches sight of one of the other dances, who glances at her as the door creaks, a knowing grin slung around her hips.

"ah — she's here," the dancer says, shooting vi a playful wink, jerking her head towards the back of the room. vi doesn't even have time to question how this dancer knew just who she'd been looking for before her gaze falls on you again and the words slip from her, as does all coherent thought except —

"oh."

you turn, your eyes limned with kohl, your cheeks dusted with rouge. there's a sparkle to your skin that vi suspects isn't entirely natural, but the way you smile is everything she remembers and more. a thrill tingles down her spine, and suddenly, the dressing room feels too small and too big all at once, space pressing in and pushing out till she's stumbling forward.

"if it isn't zaun's very own piltover enforcer," you say, drawing out your vowels as you twist around to grin at her. the oxymoron of your words don't escape her, and vi feels heat flush into her cheeks as she presses her lips.

"i — it's —" she clears her throat, curses inwardly, and tries again, "it's been a long time."

you bite at your bottom lip in a gesture so familiar vi's entire stomach flips.

"yeah, i mean —" you wave a vague hand at the shape of her, standing awkwardly in your dressing room, her itchy, tulle-pleated top making her skin prickle worse than ever. an amused grin spread across your lips even as vi resists the urge to yank the entire thing off, "i never thought i'd see you in something so…"

you trail off, searching for a suitable word. finally, you settle on —

"festive."

vi frowns, shoving her hands into the blessedly deep pockets of her slacks.

"it was just for the party," she says, feeling more defensive than perhaps absolutely necessary. you shrug, light and uncaring, turning back to your mirror, picking up a small white pouf to dab at the bridge of your nose.

"even so, i hear you've been living the good life," you say, glancing at her from the reflection in the mirror. vi crinkles her nose and takes a few steps forward, something very much like a scream building in her chest, though she doesn't quite know why.

"it's —" her breath cuts off as she realizes the knee-jerk denial that had bubbled up out of her before she could even think to stop it, acerbic and mind-numbingly honest. you pause mid-pouf to pin her with a look, and for a single, solitary second, vi can almost pretend you're both kids again, her watching you primp in the reflection of a shard of mirror (broken, of course — probably stolen), leaning against the edge of her and powder's bunk bed.

"it's… not all bad," she finally manages, to which your answer is a single derisive ha of laughter as you continue to dust a fine shimmer of light powder over your already flawless skin.

"sure," you say, your voice going saccharine in a way she's always hated. vi sighs, dropping her eyes. she realizes then that she'd been fiddling with her fingers, an old nervous habit she thought she'd kicked years ago.

"it's not —" she says, though her voice wavers, and when you make a noncommital noise, vi huffs out a breath. "this — this is what i've always wanted — what we've always wanted — i — i'm — happy —"

you set the pouf down and lean forward to straighten a few strands of artfully loose hair framing your face before twisting and pushing yourself up from your chair. like this, you're almost nose to nose, and vi has to suck in a breath to keep from the tantalizing thought of tipping forward, if to find out if your lips were still as sweet as she remembers them to be.

you cock you heard, watching her with dark, light-stricken eyes.

"vi… i never said i thought you were unhappy…" you say, your words low and steady.

vi's heart skids; her stomach clenches. a dull, pulsing ache is settling behind her eyes that she does not have the name for but perhaps, once, it'd been a familiar thing — want. that sparrow-wing thing, desperate as it beats up against her chest, threatening to crest like a tide of feathers into her throat — back when she could still remember what revolution tasted like on her tongue.

"r-right…" she breathes, falling a half step back, even though you haven't made a single move towards her. she runs her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends just to ground herself in the sting against her scalp.

"but…" you say, and vi's eyes snap up again to find you watching her with a grin curling at the edge of your lips, a molten, midnight light caught behind the flicker of your lashes. you take half a step forward and vi feels the air rush from her lungs at your advance, "if you want… we could sneak out for a drink," you offer.

vi nearly gasps as the sudden rush of certainty that floods through her, thick and hot as adrenaline, at your words.

"y-yeah — i think — i think i can swing that."

you laugh, softly, lightly. then, you peer at her from beneath your thick band of lashes, a wicked grin twisting at your mouth as you cross the gaping cavern of space between you.

"tell me, violet…" you whisper, brushing your lips by her cheek if only to feel her shiver beneath you, "do you still take your whiskey neat?"

a whine almost works its way out of vi's throat as she hisses out a breath, nodding.

"yeah — fuck — yes. i — i do."

[themilfsland]

Here we go again

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: When a trip with your best friend unexpectedly brings you face-to-face with your first secret love, old wounds resurface and long-buried feelings awaken. Things don’t go the way you expect — maybe they’re exactly what was meant to happen. You swore to yourself once but now you really know, you could never let her go.

tags: mostly slow burn, angst, silly lovers, fluffy. +18 tags will be add during the chapters.

A/n: If you got the hint, this fic is inspired by Mamma Mia movies vibes, but not the entire plot itself; and some chapters will also have lyrics from ABBA songs.

Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (coming soon)

[mynameisvarian]

"You might not be able to fix everything for them, but showing up means more than you think." - Unknown

David works as a homeschool teacher and is well known in the neighborhood as someone reliable and capable. Recently, a family hired him to homeschool their only son, Max, And from what David has heard from his bestfriend, Gwen, Max has a reputation for being foul mouthed and violent specifically to adults.

Over time, David begins to understand why Max is the way he is. Max doesn’t trust adults and avoids socializing because of the verbal abuse and neglect he faces from his parents. But in the eyes of the law, that isn’t enough to justify removing Max from their care. As long as they provide food, shelter, and financial support, the courts wouldn’t consider them unfit.

Despite this, David and Max slowly but surely begin to bond like father and son. David promises Max that one day he’ll find a way to get custody of him and even if it takes a long time, Max holds onto that hope.

Do you wanna know something, Dear Reader? This Dadvid AU does not have a happy ending.

[dollyfetti]

　𐔌　heaven ₊˚ ♡

summary: katsuki doesn’t speak much these days, or listen for that matter. he just tries his best to hold on, like he can keep you here if he never lets go. but the rainy thunder rolls, your breath slows, and goodbye lingers on his coffee mug where your final stain of lipstick clings.

notes: katsuki bakugou x sick!reader, based on heaven by mitski, angst, death

word count: 881

˚○ ୨୧ masterlist navi

all of our love filling all of our room your low warm voice curses as you find the string to strike within me that rings out a note heard in heaven

your hand is warm in his. damp with sweat, your fingers curl weakly around his. katsuki presses his other hand over yours, as if his touch alone could anchor you here. his eyes stay fixed on your chest, watching the slow, unsteady rise and fall, it being his only sense of hope.

you're sick, and all you can talk about is what heaven will be like. he can't bear to listen, so he's tuned you out.

your voice is quiet, raspy at the edges, murmuring names of people you’ve missed and places you hope exist on the other side. he nods when he needs to, hums in the right places, just enough to convince you he’s with you in the conversation.

you’ve made peace with dying. you speak of it with a strange calm, like you’re planning a trip. he hates it. hates the way you’ve described your own funeral in detail. hates that you made him promise things he doesn’t remember because he was ignoring your stupid rambles. you have no hope. any shred you once had left as soon as you became bedridden.

every morning, you ask your fiancé to do your makeup. you hate watching him sit and stare at you, all of the words he has stored inside of him unable to spill out. and anyhow, it gives you something to hold onto— a little routine, a little vanity, even as your body withers. he painted your lips with a shade you used to wear out on dates, even though it only ends up smudged on his mug as you sip from it with shaky hands. it's cold now, he only took one sip before forgetting about it entirely on the nightstand.

katsuki grunts softly, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. when your voice finally quiets, he exhales like he's surfaced from underwater. "you look pretty." he murmurs.

really, you're far from it. your hair is tangled, skin pale and stretched thin, your lips cracked beneath the lipstick. but it warms your slow beating heart.

you hand the mug to him, letting him put it back on the nightstand. your lipstick's a little smudged, worsening how it looks on your dried out lips.

"when i die," you begin to croak out after a passing moment, and he’s slipping back into the fog, blocking out your words like static. small curses tumble out, his voice low and gruff. your head turns to a window in the shared bedroom, watching as rain begins to pour from the sky, hard and heavy.

katsuki knows you like the rain. you liked snuggling up with him in bed as he read to you, his voice gentle and warm. you liked going outside and kissing him, all soaked like in the movies. you liked the adrenaline of running to the car when you were both on an unprepared walk back from a restaurant.

his grip on your hand tightens. he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your engagement ring, his mouth lingering there like a prayer.

your eyes are glued to the glass, smiling faintly as you spot lightning. "zeus is saying hi!" as you used to say whenever you spotted it. you don't now, because truthfully, you know this is one of your last if not the last moment of your life.

katsuki's finding it harder to tune you out. he's overwhelmed by the loud pattering of rain against the window, deep thunder growling every few seconds, your nonstop rambling, still going on about heaven this and heaven that.

"i love you, katsuki bakugou." you mutter, finally turning away from the window to look at your lover one final time. his eyebrows pinch, the wrinkles on his forehead deep as he scowls.

"don't do that." he says, soft but firm. it slips from him like he's been rehearsing to tell you. he squeezes your hand, his gaze intense as a tear slips down your cheek. he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he drops his head, drowning out your words. he doesn't want to hear it. it's not your time yet. the world can't really be this cruel, not to you.

he doesn't hear you as you mutter, "i'll see you in heaven, husband" with a weak smile and tears falling down your tired face.

thunder rumbles again. katsuki releases your hand just for a second, rising from the bed to shut the curtains— the ones you insisted on picking out. the light vanishes. the room sinks into gray and quiet.

it's dim and gloomy, but as he steps to sit next to you in bed again, he can just barely make out your closed eyes.

he stares, frozen right in front of the bed. his hands clench at his sides, blinking profusely. he swallows, reluctantly sitting down, the mattress shifting beneath his weight "you goin to sleep?" he whispers, clinging to the illusion, of the one strand of hope you offered to him.

when you don't respond like he thought you wouldn't, he hesitantly presses two fingers to the pulse point on your wrist. and the shred of optimism handed to him by you falls away into the abyss. there’s nothing waiting for him except for silence. the kind that swallows everything whole.

now i bend like a willow thinkin of you like a murmurin brook curving about you as i sip on the rest of the coffee you left a kiss left of you

[demaparbat-hp]

Want to know what I believe? It's right here

Dig a little deeper and it's crystal clear

.

(WIP)

[itsalrightmeow]

Happy 20th Anniversary!