#i could write so much about her and how mentally ill she is

[jackass-jones]

Rebecca Gales and her “I’m the most mature person in this friend group I know what’s best for everyone here why don’t they listen to me” attitude that she has despite being the most fucking immature person in the friend group 💙

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

(from this video)

[musical-chick-13]

.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part five)

warnings ; hm. sex in a trailer, oc turns into a pornstar, you ride the shit out of him wearing your corporate heels, unprotected sex

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; we are SO BACK. listen, i promised you all that oc would indeed get her lick back, and she does. wrote this while listening to wrong by zayn ft kehlani and it’s truly a bop that encapsulates these two buffoons. honestly if i could describe this chapter in a few words it would be: two people who are terrified of admitting defeat. (also at the end im adding a picture of how i think she would ride him so you can see it better. it’s actually mentally ill.)

playlist here

series masterlist here

The flight back to Korea was supposed to be a reset. A cold, clean surgical cut with no frayed edges, no bleeding. It was supposed to be 16 hours to realign, rebuild, remind yourself who the hell you are. The Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein. The woman who keeps everything and everyone in check, not some sleep-deprived idiot who let herself cum at the hands of the one person she should have been immune to.

Instead, it was sixteen hours of psychological warfare because Jungkook was there.

Not technically beside you or talking to you. God, not even looking at you. He was two rows back, noise-canceling headphones on, hoodie pulled low, chewing gum like he didn’t just throw your entire mental state into disarray less than forty-eight hours ago.

His presence alone was enough to make your skin feel tight, like your body was suddenly a size too small. Enough to make your breath catch whenever you thought he shifted in your periphery. Enough to keep your arms crossed and your spine locked straight, mouthing emails you weren’t even writing just to avoid thinking about the way his mouth had felt on your skin.

It meant nothing, you told yourself on a loop. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.

Even days later, back on Korean soil, the ghost of LA still clings to you like a second skin. You’re jittery and constantly two seconds away from snapping, because no matter how much work you bury yourself in, no matter how many corporate fires you put out, your body remembers.

It remembers the sound of his voice at the base of your neck. The bruising grip of his fingers and the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your curves.

It’s invasive, the way it follows you. How easily the memory curls around you when you’re not paying attention. How you catch yourself thinking about him in the middle of meetings, in the elevator, in the fucking mirror. And it’s not even the sex — not really.

It’s him.

Jeon Jungkook. Annoying. Arrogant. Stupidly attractive. The human embodiment of a bad idea. The very same man who somehow lodged himself under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out without bleeding.

The most embarrassing part of it all is you don’t even know if he’s thinking about it at all. You haven’t talked about it or acknowledged it. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if Jungkook isn’t affected, if he’s truly fine, then it gives you permission to pretend too.

You also know pretending will only work until you walk into a room and catch him looking at you.

Even Korea as a whole feels different this time. The skyline hasn’t changed, yet somehow you have. There’s a fracture now, something jagged where your certainty used to be. You can’t focus. You’re distracted in meetings, missing details you’d usually clock with a single glance. Your schedule is packed, brutal even, but your body is restless.

The real problem isn’t seeing him. It’s not seeing him.

It’s when a full day goes by without a snarky comment or a smirk tossed across the room. It’s when you walk into a space and realize he’s not there, and your stomach drops before your brain can lie to you.

It’s a problem, and you hate problems you can’t fix. So, you do what you always do when things start slipping out of control: you work until you drop. Your days blur into a haze of fluorescent lights and bottomless Americanos. Your nights stretch past midnight, stacked with back-to-back revisions and Slack messages you pretend don’t irritate you. It’s a self-imposed exile dressed up as ambition.

If you just keep moving, if you keep clicking and scrolling and typing until your fingers go numb, maybe the static in your brain will settle. Maybe this thing, this itch under your skin that looks suspiciously like Jeon Jungkook, will stop feeling so sharp.

Eventually, you tell yourself, he’ll stop feeling like something. Eventually, your body will forget the geography of his, the slope of his shoulder, the press of his chest. He’s like a ghost you can’t exorcise. Like a stain you can’t scrub out.

He’s in the stupid curve of his name in your inbox, the subject lines stamped with CK Global Campaign: Urgent. He’s in every mockup and mood board and creative deck stacked haphazardly on your desk. He’s twenty stories high on the side of a building downtown, flexing in black-and-white while your cab driver tells you, “That kid’s really famous, huh?”

And you just have to nod, teeth clenched like he didn’t fuck you against a conference room table a week ago and then proceed to show up in your meetings acting like he didn’t.

Even Daniel knows. Or, well, he doesn’t know, but you have to guess he does. He side-eyes you every time Jungkook’s name is mentioned, like he’s just waiting for you to crack and spill some dirty little secret you swore you’d bury.

You keep having to remind yourself that night was a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. But if it really was a mistake, why does it still feel like the only time you’ve ever let yourself breathe?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On set, surrounded by your team, his team, an entire army of executives, creatives, stylists, assistants, photographers, lighting techs, and people whose jobs you’re not even sure of, you feel small.

Which is ridiculous, frankly. This is your campaign. Your brand. Your vision. You’re the one who’s been living, breathing, and bleeding Calvin Klein for years. You should be running this space like a general on a battlefield.

However, you’re struggling to breathe. The air is buzzing with the static charge of a shoot in motion; cameras clicking, stylists darting in to fix a hem or smudge of shine, assistants whispering frantically into headsets, executives murmuring behind you in languages you half-recognize.

And then there is Jeon Jungkook, standing under the studio lights like he was born in them. A living, breathing ad campaign. A nightmare of temptation.

He’s shirtless, obviously. Low-slung denim riding the edge of indecency. An oversized denim jacket half off his shoulders, barely hanging on like it too was seduced.

You swear every move he makes is calculated. The way he runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, or the way his lips part just enough, eyes hooded as he stares down the camera like he’s thinking filthy thoughts. The way the director mutters “Perfect” under their breath every three seconds, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe, too.

It’s all intentional. Normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. You’ve seen more male models strip down than a Las Vegas bachelorette party.

He catches you watching. He sees the way your gaze flits too fast and your lips press into a hard line when the camera catches the dip of his stomach, the flex of his thigh. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling coiling in his stomach as he enjoys every second of your despair.

So when the director finally calls for a break and the energy shifts, you don’t even need to look up to know he’s coming toward you.

He stops close enough to be annoying. “You look stressed,” he says, voice low like he’s genuinely concerned. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Your fingers tighten around your clipboard. God, you want to smack him with it.

“Or… wait,” he adds, tilting his head. His eyes flick down over your figure. “You looked a little… distracted out there. See something you liked?”

You finally turn to him, expression flat and unimpressed, exhausted in that way only Jungkook can conjure. “That’s rich coming from a man who just pouted at the camera like a sell-out in a shampoo commercial.”

He grins, all teeth. “Don’t tell me you were watching that closely.”

He hums, dragging the back of his hand across his jaw like he’s thinking. He is not. “Was it the jacket? You like it off the shoulders? I can keep that going. For consistency, of course.”

You exhale slowly, sharply. “God, you’re the worst.” You say it through clenched teeth, laced with loathing and the last threads of restraint, every syllable a warning shot.

He only grins wider “Hm.”

You scoff, turning away and focusing on the clipboard or the set — anything but him.

That won’t stop him though. He doesn’t back off. He never backs off, not until you’re ready to scream or throw something or break, which you’re dangerously close to doing.

He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, and turns to walk toward the camera again.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard, nails pressing into the faux wood. Your throat burns and your skin prickles with a righteous fury that should qualify as terrorism.

You keep your expression neutral, like always, but your pulse is a traitor. You swear he can feel it from across the room.

The second the director yells cut, you’re gone. Not in a polite, professional, thanks-everyone-it-was-a-great-shoot kind of way. You don’t wait for playback or linger for wrap-up notes. You don’t even pretend to acknowledge the creative director who calls your name as you stalk past the lighting rig. You just turn on your heel and leave.

You’ve fucking had it. You’ve had it with the games, the smirks, the infuriatingly casual way Jungkook manages to dismantle your sanity with the arch of one goddamn brow. You’ve had it with how easily he slips beneath your skin like heat under a doorframe. You’ve had it with the way your body — your own traitorous body — won’t forget him.

Most of all, you’ve had it with yourself. This isn’t you. You don’t get rattled. You don’t get flustered. You don’t have emotions; not in the workplace, not for men like him.

You don’t let some overconfident, maddeningly pretty idol throw your entire internal compass off its axis.

So that’s it. You’re done.

One time. One mistake. End of story.

It never should have happened, and it sure as hell won’t happen again. Jungkook is just a blip, a glitch in the system, a fleeting indulgence. A moment of weakness you will not allow yourself to repeat.

All that to say — you head straight for his trailer, where you had seen him wander off immediately after the crew had wrapped.

You don’t even knock. It’s more of a courtesy tap before the door swings open and you step inside, all adrenaline and simmering fury and terrible judgment.

Suddenly, a wave of regret flushes through your entire being when you spot him. He’s lounging on the small leather couch like he owns the world. The jean jacket is gone, chest bare under the fluorescent light of the 80-square foot box. His hair’s a mess, damp at the temples, curling in a way that’s just cruel.

You freeze for a second, mostly because he looks like sin reincarnate and knows it.

He looks up at the noise and raises one eyebrow. His gaze drags slowly, down the length of you like he’s flipping through a menu. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You cross your arms. It’s part defense mechanism, part reflex, part an attempt to ignore the way heat is already crawling up your spine. “We need to talk.”

He stretches with his arms overhead, back arching, every line of muscle flexing. He then sinks deeper into the couch like this is his show and you’re just here for entertainment.

“This should be good,” he says, head tilted, grin lazy. He doesn’t sit up or even pretend to take you seriously. He just watches you, slowly blinking.

“You know,” he drawls, “I get it. You’re fighting a losing battle. Must be exhausting after getting a taste of me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. “No, actually.”

You exhale, tighter now. Your arms fold tighter across your chest. You look anywhere but directly at him because one more glance at that ridiculously golden, unfairly sculpted torso and you’ll forget what English sounds like. “I came here to tell you that whatever that was in LA? That’s not happening again.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, “Oh? You sure about that?”

“Yes.” You snap the word too fast like you’re trying to cut off your own uncertainty before it can betray you.

But Jungkook catches it and his eyes flicker.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers loose between his thighs, body language all nonchalance and arrogance. His expression doesn’t shift much, just a glint of amusement threading through the dark of his gaze. Like this is funny to him. Like you’re funny.

“You sure?” he says, voice pitched just enough to grate. “Because you don’t look very sure.”

Well, fuck you. You’re not. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Not him. Not the trailer. Not the fact that his abs are ten feet from your face and he’s still smirking like the devil on a good day.

The problem is you. You’re the one who cracked. You’re the one who came to his trailer. You’re also the one who kissed him like you meant it and moaned his name and said ‘thank you’ like those were your favorite fucking words. You swallow the truth before it can rise, pin your spine straight, steel your voice, and meet him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “This will never be a thing, Jungkook.”

He blinks with faux curiosity. “This? What exactly is this? Because last time I checked, you were the one kissing me back.”

“It was a mistake.” Your voice cracks a little.

He hums like he’s rolling the next words around his mouth just to see how it feels on his tongue. “Yeah?” he says. “Seemed pretty fucking intentional to me.”

Your nails dig into your palms. You want to slap that look off his face. You want to scream. You want to throw something.

“Let me make this clear. Whatever happened between us is done,” you bite, every word clipped. “It meant nothing. And it will never, ever happen again.”

Jungkook just looks at you. Then, that slow, infuriating curl of his lips that says you’re lying and we both know it. That look that lives rent-free in the back of your mind no matter how many times you try to evict it. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

That’s what fucking kills you. It’s not the denial or the pushback or the audacity of the pet name. It’s that he doesn’t argue or protest.

He just sits there, calm and smug, like all he has to do is outlast your resolve and you’ll come undone all over again.

You inhale sharply, forcing the tremble out of your voice, trying to gather what little dignity you have left. “You think this is funny?”

Standing there in his trailer, flushed and heart pounding in your ears, the sting isn’t just in your skin; it’s in your pride. The way Jungkook leans back like your anger is amusing — it guts you in a way no man has before. This isn’t entirely new. You’ve built an entire career bulldozing men who thought they could outmaneuver you, talk over you, pat you on the head and call it a compliment. And yet he’s somehow doing what no one else ever could: getting under your skin. He’s dismissing you like you’re not the sharpest person in the room. That’s the part you can’t survive. Because if he doesn’t take you seriously, you lose everything.

“Let me remind you of something, Jungkook,” you say, cutting clean through the thick air between you. “I am in charge around here. I’m the reason you’re even working with us.“

He watches you silently. He’s letting you talk to see how far you’ll go before you crack again.

You step closer to him without your mind even realizing. You’re close enough for him to know you mean it. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. You’re just another contract. Another pretty face in a stack of numbers I’ve already filed away in my brain.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you add, tone like steel. “You’re just some guy. Nothing more.”

His lips twitch. It’s not a smile nor laugh, it’s a flicker that screams you poor thing, you still don’t get it, and he’s three steps ahead and generously letting you believe you’re in control.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says, soaked in condescension. “You do run all of this.“

He tilts his head, eyes sharpening. “But you don’t really run me.”

He doesn’t move but somehow, it still feels like you’ve been pushed back. He’s peeling your confidence off, layer by layer, without even lifting a single finger.

“You can sit there in your perfect little outfit,” he says, gaze dragging over your clothes with infuriating precision, “and pretend like this is nothing.”

His eyes pause on your mouth and linger. “But I heard you in LA. I felt you. I know exactly how you sound… how you taste.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” you quip. “You think you’re the first man who thought he could shake me? Get under my skin? Please.”

Jungkook’s tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. “I think,” he counters, “I’m the first one who actually did.”

You hate that you don’t have an answer to that, not one that doesn’t sound like a lie even in your own head.

The truth is a hell of a lot worse than anything he could say out loud.

You lean into him, deflecting all possible thoughts that scream at you in your head to do otherwise. You know him well enough now. You know what throws him off, what catches him mid-smirk, mid-thought, mid-breath.

“You know what I think, Jungkook?” you murmur, your voice the kind of calm that comes right before the storm. “I think you want me… and you’re mad I’m not begging for you.”

Your hand rises before you even think about it, fingertips pressing against the bare plane of his chest. Your hands trace along his collarbone, then glide downward.

His back eases into the couch with a quiet, reluctant exhale, his shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours.

And then suddenly, you’re hovering on top of him, hand gripping the couch headrest to steady yourself.

If he tilted his head, just barely, your mouths would meet. Your breath mingles with his in the space between you. There is a subtle twitch of his hands against the cushion, like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down.

You should really move away.

“Yeah?” he rasps like it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “What makes you think that?”

You should walk away. You should call it for what it is — dangerous, reckless, completely off-script.

Your painted nails drag lightly down his chest, and you lean down until your lips hover just above his jaw.

You let your mouth brush against the sharp edge of his jaw, a light kiss; it’s more suggestion than action, more threat than promise.

Jungkook goes still. When you finally pull back, his smirk is gone.

God, if you stay here another second, he’s going to grab you and make a liar out of both of you.

Jungkook’s breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips like you’ve got a hand pressed to a live wire.

The wire snaps pretty shortly after that. It’s just another lapse in judgement, right?

You’re kissing him. You don’t know who leans in — if it’s you, if it’s him, if it even matters —because the second your lips crash against his, the world narrows down to this one moment. This one reckless, dizzying, repeated offense.

Your hands dive into his hair, dragging through the strands as his fingers clamp down on your hips. Now you’re really climbing into his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions, your thighs bracketing his. Your skirt hikes up and his hands don’t help. He groans into your mouth like the sound’s been buried in his chest since LA and finally clawed its way out.

Maybe you missed this more than you want to admit.

This doesn’t feel like some impulsive relapse. It feels inevitable. Like the universe was always going to twist you back together, no matter how many warnings you whispered to yourself or how many times you tried to label it a mistake.

Your nails scrape against his scalp as he licks into your mouth possessively. Your body is burning from the inside out when he’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s been drowning.

He shifts under you, grinding up just slightly, and your breath hitches, completely out of your control. Right now, with his hands digging into your thighs and his tongue in your mouth and his cock pressing hard against you through his jeans, consequences don’t exist.

“Knew you’d come back to me,” he mutters, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Been dreaming about you,” he adds, “Every fucking night.”

Something volatile in you snaps. Maybe it’s the arrogance in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s right. Maybe it’s that he knows he’s right, and you’re sick of it. Your hand moves before you even register it, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing his face up until he’s looking at you. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles lightly.

Your nails drag down the side of his neck, a slow glide of pressure over his pulse, and you feel it kick against your fingertips. “Use that mouth for something better.”

Jungkook lets out a low, broken laugh, but he doesn’t waste a second. His mouth is on your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing and your head tips back.

Oh god, this is wrong. You know that. You knew it before you walked in. You knew it in LA. You know it now. But when his mouth hits your collarbone and his lips suck just hard enough to make you arch, logic doesn’t stand a chance.

His hands slide up, fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs like he’s holding you steady.

You hate how good he is at this. You hate how easily your body gives in. You hate that he’s smug about it, that he dreamed this exact moment and now he’s watching it play out in real time.

“You wanna pretend you don’t need this?” he murmurs, “Wanna pretend you don’t want me?”

“Fucking knew it,” he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, even as his teeth graze your jaw and his hips grind up into you again.

Your fingers dig into his hair, yanking his head back, and he gasps, eyes flying open, dark and glassy and so full of want it makes you ache.

“You think you know everything,” you breathe, drunk on the rush of having him under you, on you, wanting you.

His hands slide down, grabs your hips again, and grinds you down on him harder.

“I know you, angel,” he exhales. “I know that when I touch you like this, you lose your mind.”

Your stomach tightens, jaw clenching with the effort it takes to stay composed, but your body betrays you, thighs twitching around his hips. “Look at you,” he muses, grinning like the smug bastard he is. His hands slip lower,tugging at the waistband of your skirt like he has every right to. “Acting like you’re still in control when you’re probably dripping for me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulder, sharp enough to leave a mark, and your breath stutters, but it’s not because he’s wrong. It’s because he’s right.

Your laugh cuts through the air as you grind down on him. The friction is deliberate, cruel, and so very satisfying when Jungkook chokes on a gasp, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers tense at your waist, trying to hold on.

“You think you know me?” you sneer, your fingers drifting up his chest, feather-light but scorching all the same. He feels you grind against him again, another sinfully slow drag of your body against the hard length straining beneath his jeans. “You’re the one falling apart right now.”

Jungkook groans and his palms dig into your hips as if he’s seconds away from losing whatever self-control he has left. “Aw,” you coo, your other hand twisting into his hair and yanking, just enough to make his head fall back, just enough to watch his eyes flutter and his lips part in a gasp. “All that talk, and now you’re sitting here, hard as fuck, just waiting for me to do something about it.”

His cock twitches beneath you, and you feel every inch of it. “Poor boy,” you purr “Thought you were supposed to be ruining me?”

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, his hands twitching like he wants to hold you still, wants to flip the script but you refuse to let him. You keep grinding and dragging him to the edge and smiling as he trembles for you.

“You gotta…” he pants, hips jerking up in a desperate, fruitless attempt for more. “Fuck, baby, you gotta stop—“

It slips out of his mouth mid-grind of your hips. It shouldn’t matter but it knocks the wind out of you like he’s pulled something tight from your chest without warning. Your brain stutters, stalls, like what the fuck was that, like who gave him permission to make it sound like more than it is. It’s not sweet or tender. But still...softened at the edges and intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for. He called you that before but this time it clings to your skin long after he says it, echoing in your head like a bruise you don’t want to look at too closely.

“Stop?” you echo sweetly, grinding harder, dragging your clothed core over the thick bulge in his jeans until he’s gasping, until his fingers go white-knuckled at your waist.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” you whisper, your lips hovering but never touching his. “Not as fun when you’re the one begging, huh?”

“Fuck, please,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, his body trembling like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Please what,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. “You gotta be more specific, baby.”

“Please, just… do something,” he begs,“I’m gonna fucking cum in my pants like a middle schooler if you don’t.”

God, the way you grin. Last time he had you gasping, whimpering, begging. Now it’s your turn.

“Aw,” you croon,“Sounds like a you problem.”

Your hand slips lower. When he realizes your palm is pressing down, cupping him through the heavy denim of his jeans… it’s game over.

“F-fuck, oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, full-body jerking into your touch like he didn’t mean to and his hips have developed a mind of their own. His fists clench around the cushions, chest heaving, his lip disappearing between his teeth with such force you’re genuinely concerned he might rip that lip ring straight out.

Your fingers start to move, lazy circles over the aching bulge beneath his jeans. “You’ve really been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you whisper, and the way his throat bobs is almost funny.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook chokes out.”You have no idea.”

“You looked so fucking good today.” His voice breaks on the word good, hips bucking up into your hand,“I couldn’t, I fucking… baby, I swear to god—”

“You swear to god what, Jungkook?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head, “That you’re gonna beg me to let you fuck me?”

“C’mon, please—” he pants, and god, he’s so far gone, his voice is just a thread now, pulled tight and fraying. His hands cup your ass, yanking you down harder, grinding himself into your palm like pride is a thing he gave up fifteen minutes ago. “Please, please, fuck, just let me.”

“Let you what, hm?” you purr. His mouth falls open and nothing comes out but the sound of a man breaking.

“Let me fuck you.” His eyes meet yours, a tinge of desperation behind them.

“Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a chore, like you’re granting a favor to a desperate fan, even as your hand drifts to the zipper of his jeans, fingers working it open painfully slow.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you add, as you finally shift, lifting your hips just enough to tug his jeans down over his thighs. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers — the Calvin Kleins, of course.

You push the fabric down and his cock slaps up against his stomach. He’s soaked with precum that smears wetly across the ridges of his tip, dripping down the thick length.

Jungkook gasps and his cock twitches helplessly. The sight of him panting and at your mercy makes your stomach tighten.

“F-fuck,” He’s barely resisting the impulse to grab you, flip you, shove himself inside you and end the torture you’re so expertly delivering.

Yet, he stays right where you’ve left him because he’s that far gone for you. You’ve taken him apart piece by piece and he’s letting you. If letting you stay in control is what it takes to fuck you again, he’ll give you everything.

“You look like you’re in pain, baby,” you say, mock-sympathetic, your register so sweet it might rot teeth.

“I am in pain,” he grits out, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “So fucking do something about it.”

He looks like he’s five seconds away from ripping through his own skin just to get to you.

The second you shift and start to lift off him, he lets out a choked sound. You stand up, reach for the buttons of your blouse, still absurdly corporate considering what you’re about to do.

You slide it off and the fabric slips down your arms and pools to the floor in one smooth motion.

His breathing turns shaky as his hand moves. It’s slow at first, wrapping around his cock, dragging his fist down the flushed, dripping length because it physically hurts to wait any longer. His thumb swipes over the tip, gathering precum, slicking the motion.

Your fingers trail down your sides, circling over the waistband of your skirt, watching the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s been starved. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

“So slow,” he spits out, his hand now moving faster over his cock,“You’re actually trying to kill me.”

The zipper slides down. The skirt pools at your ankles. You step out of it with ease, black heels still on, lace still clinging to your body like a perfectly wrapped gift.

“Take it off,” he demands, abs flexing with every ragged breath and precum now smeared across his hand and stomach.

“Ask nicely,” you purr, fingers drifting up your sides to snap the straps of your bra, not even touching the clasp yet, just taunting, because if anyone deserves to be edged to insanity, it’s him.

“Fucking please,” he begs “Please, baby, I’m gonna lose it, please just let me—“

And then, finally you reach behind you, unhook the clasp, and let your bra slip down your arms. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, one long torturous inch at a time, stepping out of them like you have all the time in the world.

And now you’re standing there wearing nothing but your heels.

“Oh my god,” he pants, his cock twitching violently in his grip, “Oh my fucking god.”

He stares up at you, and he’s not sure whether to worship you or find a way to survive you.

“Get the fuck back on me,” he growls, hand pumping faster and sloppier, like he’s seconds away from finishing. “Before I lose it.”

The second you climb back into his lap, it’s like you’ve triggered something primal. Jungkook’s hands fly to your waist, gripping tight. Like he’s genuinely on the brink of blacking out if you don’t let him inside you right now. Honestly, he might be.

His cock twitches against your entrance, dragging through your soaked folds as you hover above him, teasing both of you. The anticipation is borderline unbearable — it’s not even sexy anymore, kind of like pleasure and pain are having a screaming match in your bloodstream.

You take his cock in your hands, sink down and the stretch hits you like a slap, your mouth falling open on a sound you don’t even recognize. Your nails rake down his arms as your thighs clamp around his waist, the fullness hitting too deep.

“Oh my… fuck!” you gasp, chest heaving, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight. So f-fucking perfect,” he moans, and it’s not even cocky anymore.

His hands slip lower, grab handfuls of your ass, trying to coax you into moving. The stretch is insane. Every nerve in your body is screaming and your brain is trying to make sense of how full you are, how your walls are fluttering around him like you’ve already started to fall apart.

“Sh-shit Jungkook,” you whimper, biting your lip.

The second you move, it’s a full-body reaction: your back arches, another desperate sound spills from your mouth.

Jungkook chokes on some animalistic noise. “Goddamn… so good,” he mutters, and it’s barely a sentence, seemingly escaping his mouth before he could process the words.

You start to move, riding him hard. It’s just you, bouncing on his cock like you’ve got something to prove. The pace is rough, your body slamming down on him again and again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the trailer, your tits bouncing with every movement.

You don’t care if the entire team is standing outside the door right now. You’re not stopping.

You’re riding him like you’re trying to make him forget his own name. His jeans are a disaster, absolutely unsalvageable. Your slick is everywhere, dripping down his thighs, smeared across both your bodies, pooling beneath the waistband like a crime scene.

“You’re— fuck!” he gasps, his hips snapping up to meet you, “You’re so hot.”

You’d laugh at how basic that is, how scrambled his brain must be to resort to that, but you’re too busy falling apart.

The pleasure’s coming in these brutal, unrelenting waves. Every time he unknowingly thrusts up into you, it’s too much and not enough at once.

Your eyes meet his and something in your chest snaps, burns to ash on the spot. The look on his face is full of hunger and awe.

His cock twitches violently inside you, thick and buried so deep you can barely take it. “Oh my god.”

His eyes are glued to yours like you’re hypnotizing him, like he’s afraid to blink and miss the moment you break. “You’re — fuck! — you’re so fucking hot like this,” he gets out, his head falling forward. His body is shaking underneath you, sweat sticking to his skin.

Your whole body jolts, muscles clenching, heat coiling in your stomach so fast it steals the air from your lungs. You’re shaking now, the pressure building with terrifying speed.

“That’s it, baby,” he whines. His hips slam up into you harder now, fucking into you with everything he has left. “Fucking cum for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a car crash. Your body seizes violently, your thighs shaking so hard it feels like you might actually collapse. Your walls clench around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper even though he’s already as deep as it gets.

He nearly sobs, his hands tightening so hard on your waist you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, baby,” His thighs lock, his abs contract, his breath punches out of him in ragged bursts.

You don’t give him a second to recover, and you barely let yourself breathe, because no, this isn’t over. Not even close. You’re not done until he’s broken and he’s begging.

“That’s cute,” you tease, leaning in, nails digging into his arms. “If you think I’m done with you.”

You can’t be, not when there’s still more to take, not when he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, steadying yourself, lifting just slightly. You plant your heels in the couch cushions, spread your legs wider, adjust your angle. You drop, sinking down again.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” His eyes flick down and you feel the way his whole body seizes as he watches his cock disappear into you again, and again, and again. The new angle has him hitting deeper.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

You glance down for a second and… fuck. Your bodies are conjoined by a mix of your juices and some of his precum. You nearly moan again just from the visual.

“I’m not done with you, baby,” you breathe out, still high from the rush of your orgasm but already building again. You say it just to see the way his eyes snap to yours.

“Then fucking prove it.” He challenges.

You feel like a pornstar. Not in a glamorous, cinematic, airbrushed kind of way. The kind that lives in browser history and shame.

Your designer heels dig into the couch cushions, the extra height forcing your thighs wider, forcing your body into a position so filthy it should’ve been choreographed. You’re fully exposed and open, bouncing on Jungkook’s cock like you’ve never ridden anyone before.

“Holy. fucking. shit.” he gasps, each word punched out of him by another bounce of your hips, his hands gripping tighter like he doesn’t know what part of this is real and what part is a hallucination sent from hell.

His eyes trace the way your slick coats his cock, watching himself disappear into you. “Fucking yourself on my cock like you were made for it.”

“You love this, don’t you?” You manage to get out as your nails drag down his sweat-slicked chest, scoring red across tight muscle. You’re so far gone you can barely remember your own name, let alone why this is a bad idea.

Your walls flutter around him, dangerously close, your body already spiraling again.

“You love making a mess on me,” he grits out. You let out a whimper, fingers digging harder into his chest because you can’t stop now. You don’t want to stop.

The trailer is literally shaking. The walls rattle. The couch groans like it’s begging for mercy. Something in the ceiling creaks ominously.

Jungkook’s cock is slamming into you at a pace that shouldn’t even be possible, stretching you open so perfectly it hurts in the best way. Every bounce makes your breath stutter. Every desperate snap of his hips leaves you shaking uncontrollably, dripping around him, coming undone all over again.

You’re also being embarrassingly loud. Anyone passing by the trailer probably thinks someone is being murdered inside.

Jungkook sounds just as destroyed. His moan is guttural, ripped straight from his chest. “You love riding this cock, huh? Love how deep I get inside you?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, bouncing harder now. “Bet you don’t even care if people can hear us. Bet you’d love for them to know how fucking desperate you are for this pussy.”

His eyes fly open and he wraps an arm around your hips and slams you down on him, over and over, forcing you to take every brutal, devastating inch.

“Oh my god,” he groans, voice “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

His hands are shaking where they hold you, every muscle straining, every ounce of control hanging by a single, snapping thread.

The second he cums, his whole body goes rigid. He slams you down one final time, so deep you cry out, his cock buried to the hilt.

You don’t dare let him get lost in it. You lean in close, grab his jaw with one hand and force his eyes back on yours. “Look at me while you fucking cum.”

He listens, mostly because he’s so fucking gone for you. So wrapped around your finger that even now he gives you everything.

His eyes flutter open, but they stay on yours. Jungkook’s body trembles violently beneath you as you grind down slowly, milking every last drop from him.

“You talk so much shit, baby,” you murmur, “Thinking you’re the one who gets to ruin me.”

His cock is still buried inside you, still spurting the last desperate pulses of his orgasm so deep it feels like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

“But look at you now,” you purr, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “Cumming so hard for me,.”

“Fuck,” His lips are kiss-bruised and swollen, red from all the biting. His lip ring is cool against your thumb as you drag it across his mouth slowly, admiring your handiwork.

“Mhm.” You smirk, cocking your head, “Will there be no thank you?”

He just stares back at you, heavy-lidded. There’s something behind his gaze that you can’t quite read, something murky and not nearly as simple as it should be.

For the first time in a long time, it unsettles you.

You inhale sharply, trying to force air into your lungs like it’ll reset your brain. Like it’ll snap you out of whatever the hell this is, this thing tightening in your chest that has no business being here.

You shift off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, wet drag that makes both of you twitch. You roll over onto the couch beside him, eyes locked on the ceiling, your heartbeat trying and failing to find a steady rhythm.

You should leave. You should slide your clothes back on, straighten your spine, toss out some cold remark and storm out the way you did last time. Armor re-secured.

You should also say something biting that re-establishes the pecking order.

You just lie there for a few more seconds.

Finally, you sit up. You reach for your shirt, sliding it back over your shoulders, buttoning it with calm, practiced precision. You run a hand through your hair. You don’t even get all the buttons done before the regret slams into you, sharp and immediate, like a slap to the face you should’ve seen coming. It’s not guilt exactly. It’s worse. It’s that sick, sinking feeling when you make a mistake.

What are you doing?

He’s Jungkook. He’s smug and annoying and way too pretty when he’s cumming, and yet somehow, you keep crawling back like he’s the only drug that hits. All you can think is: you’re smarter than this. But god, the sex is so good it makes you stupid. Apparently, that’s your fatal flaw.

You glance over, and Jungkook is still watching you.

Something should be said here. You should say something. He should say something.

You force steel into your spine and venom into your voice. “Try not to get too attached, Jungkook.”

He huffs out a laugh. Somehow, it’s off, not with the same bite it usually has. “Please. I was over it before you even buttoned your shirt.”

Next, you would scoff, roll your eyes and toss another barb over your shoulder before strutting out like nothing happened.

You don’t quite believe him. You also don’t know if he believes it either.

You force yourself to move. Coerce your legs to walk, your heels to click, your fingers to reach for the doorknob. You walk out like nothing’s changed, like this is still just a game you’re winning.

But the thing is: it doesn’t really feel like a victory. It feels like a warning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

*link to pic in question here on twt also in the pic imagine jungkook sitting on a couch instead of laying down

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs @magicalnachocreator @wisebouquetbarbarian

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

PIERROT, THE SAD CLOWN.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Villain! Fem! Reader.

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

sinopsis ⸺ From the moment he first saw her, Dick Grayson knew he loved her. However, she could only perceive the sadness and darkness surrounding her. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t make her see the light he wanted to offer.

He firmly believed he could be her happiness.

warnings ⸺ Angst, ¿OOC Dick? Idk, Dark Themes, Dead, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Sexual Content, Noncon, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This, to be honest, is a headcanon I came up with about three minutes ago after I was left unsatisfied with the results of two headcanons I made about Jason. Since I didn't like them, I started writing a story that I had pending about Dick Grayson.

On another note, I want to thank you for the 500 followers ♡ I will keep posting more things and such.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... had never felt such a deep void until he saw you for the first time, a blurred shadow among the rubble of Blüdhaven. You, the villain who neither screamed nor laughed, only existed in a perpetual sadness, became his obsession. Pierrot, his very own Joker, trapped in a prison of melancholy, without the frenetic spark of the crazies he used to face. That sadness you emanated was his own reflection, a crack he wanted to mend with his love, a love that bordered on madness.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... from the rooftops, watched you wander the streets, always with that lost look, as if you didn't belong to this world. Every time they fought, he felt something breaking more inside you, something he could fix if only you let him get close. The nights were long, filled with endless watchings, as he silently followed you, keeping a prudent distance, until he could no longer bear it. He knew he was losing you. How was it possible that you couldn't see how much he loved you, how much he needed you? You were trapped in your own sadness, and he, in his obsession to save you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... one day, while watching you from the shadows, found you on top of a rooftop, and thought you were going to jump. But no. You were crying, again. It was always the same. You approached the edge, and terror engulfed him. He thought you would leap, and for the first time felt something beyond duty: he felt he couldn't lose you. So, he researched everything he could about you. Your past revealed itself to him as a dull echo of emotional deprivation, a devastated childhood, and that dark philosophy about life, death, and chaos that you admired in the Joker. You had lost yourself in that labyrinth of despair, and he swore he would bring you back.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when he finally caught you, instead of taking you to justice as he had done before, he took you to Arkham, believing you would be safe there, under his constant watch. He visited you, he watched over you. But it wasn't long before you escaped, thanks to the Joker. Time and again, you faced him, and time and again, Dick brought you back to that exhausting cycle. However, something in him broke the last time he caught you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when conventional methods failed, began to seek more extreme solutions. He took you to Wayne Manor the second time you escaped from Arkham. He locked you in a room from which you couldn't escape. It wasn't a cell, it was a luxury prison, but a prison nonetheless. He watched you day and night, ensuring that nothing and no one would ever hurt you again. The need to protect you had turned into something sick. He kept you safe, locked away. It wasn't a cold cell, but the walls suffocated you, and Dick's constant presence, ever-watchful, made you feel that freedom was just an illusion. Your protests became muted whispers drowned by his excessive devotion. He didn't understand why you couldn't see what he was doing for you, why you resisted. He believed that if he could control you enough, if he could protect you from yourself, you would eventually realize that you loved him.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... looked at Bruce and the others in the Wayne family with a mix of resentment and pity. They spent millions on therapies, on psychiatrists trying to "cure you," on initiatives to "reform you." How could they be so blind? He was the only one who understood what you truly needed. The Batfamily treated you like a project, while Dick saw you as the love of his life. Didn't they realize that only he could save you? But while the others saw your despair as an illness, Dick saw in your sadness a kind of beauty that no one else understood. To them, you were just a villain; to him, you were his everything.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... every time he found you on the edge of the abyss, when your empty eyes stared into nothingness, when everything around you seemed to break apart, he was there. He hugged you tightly, his hands gripping you as though they could tie you to the world. "I love you," he whispered in your ear, as if those words could heal the pain you carried inside. He felt your resistance, your hopelessness, but that only fueled his desire further. He was convinced he could tear you from the grips of your own sadness, even if he had to break you to rebuild you.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when you escaped from Wayne Manor, he searched for you with frantic intensity. Every time he found you, he only saw one more opportunity to prove to you that he was the only one who could save you. He surrounded you with his body, protecting you from the world, but also imprisoning you. Bruce confronted him one night, warning him that his obsession was consuming him, but Dick merely replied that love was like that, devouring and total.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... faced Harley when she tried to pull you from the abyss, believing that the chaos of the Joker would be your only salvation. But Harley didn't know what Dick knew. He could give you peace, love, not the unrestrained madness she offered. When he confronted her, the fight was not just physical. Harley mocked him, telling him he could never save you, that you would always be a tragedy, like her. And when Harley's blood stained the ground, Dick knew he had crossed a line. It wasn't a heroic battle, but a desperate act. He did it for you, to protect you from those who wanted to send you back to hell.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the days became blurred as he kept you in the Manor, away from the world that hurt you so much. He wanted you to understand that everything he did, every confinement, every possessive caress, was for your own good. Meanwhile, Alfred and Bruce tried to convince him that what he was doing was not love, but control. But for Dick, words were useless. He believed that true love required sacrifice, and if he had to sacrifice your freedom to save you, then he would do it without hesitation.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... decided that you could no longer be in the hands of others. No one else understood what you needed. He took you to his apartment, to a place where the windows were closed and the doors always locked. You were no longer free, but you were not alone either. Dick cared for you, spoke to you of a future where you would be together and happy. Every time you tried to escape, he stopped you, not with anger, but with a disturbing calm. "It's for your own good," he told you, as he held you tighter than seemed necessary. His caresses were gentle, but behind them, there was always something darker, a desperation that grew with each attempt to flee.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the first time he possessed you was, for him, an unforgettable moment. Your body trembled, amidst tears, as he whispered how much he loved you each time his pelvis met your backside. In his mind, you loved how he took you, how he made your intimacy cry for more of him, and how he filled you with his seed at the end of the night. Each of your sobs only reinforced his conviction that you were his forever, as he enveloped you in a mix of devotion and obsession from which you didn't know how to escape.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... followed you even into the darkest corners of your mind, where others dared not tread. When the Joker attempted to drag you back into chaos, Dick confronted him one night. The confrontation was brutal, swift, and when Dick was done, the ground was stained red. You, trembling and broken, watched as Dick tore apart the Joker's henchmen with a brutality you had never witnessed in him. That night, he took you back, covered in cuts and with a twisted smile, convinced he had saved you once more.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... dreamed of the day when you would come to your senses, when you both could walk hand in hand, form a family. In his dreams, you smiled, forgetting the pain, redeemed by his love. But those dreams never became reality, and with each passing day, you moved further away from that vision.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who... made you his in the only way he knew how. Without consent, without a voice to defend you, he took you before a judge and secretly married you. The marriage was not a celebration but an act of possession. The ceremony was silent, intimate in its darkness. Dick looked at you with that mix of devotion and madness as he bound you to him forever. In his distorted mind, it was the happy ending he had always imagined. You were no longer Pierrot, the tragic villain. You were his, completely. And in that possession, he believed he had found peace. Now you were Dick Grayson's wife, trapped in a bond you never asked for, but which he believed was your only salvation. He saw it as the perfect conclusion, the ending he had always desired. Because if you couldn't love the world, at least you could love him.

A/N ─── I hope you enjoyed this. Don't forget to leave a comment and a little heart.

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

[erose-this-name]

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo i did it again (rambled). i have no idea where i went with this but it really wENT yknow, but hey you get fluff!!!!!. ALSO (im looking at you cristi) if it wasnt clear this is set, like, pre-show T_T just before ep 1 lmao (ily cristi im just going through it with my writing) | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You did not realize being made a spectacle would be as exhausting as it was. Truly, all you did as your prince brought you to the training quarters of the City Watch, was stand, force a smile and feel their gaze upon you as Daemon instructed them to roughhouse for your (but really his) entertainment. Yet, it felt like you had been running nonstop and only now found reprieve.

Perhaps it was because it was really your mind that was running with the thought of how you snubbed your twin. In truth, you knew Gwayne understood your actions, for he was really the only person who understood you, and yet that was precisely why it ate at you so much. How could you do such a thing to your brother?

At some point, Daemon is too distracted by his sparring soldiers to remember you were there. By the time they began to drink, you gave word to one of the guards and made your way back to the Keep yourself.

You head for your brother's chambers, set on setting things straight. You do not find him there however, and your mind begins to wander. Was he avoiding you? Was he cross?

Upon asking one of his servants, you find that he was tasked with duty from the Lord Hand. Part of you feels comforted by the answer, but then you wonder if the task had something to do with you. You try not to think about it as you head back to your own chambers.

You are ripped out of your train of thought when you hear your name called.

Queen Aemma stands across you, hand on her belly, smile on her lips, "have you come to worry on me, good sister?"

Your back straightens and you clasp your hands in front of you, "my queen. I-I-"

"I do hope not," she stretches, leaning back into her hands, "the last thing I want right now is to have yet another person try to tell me what is best for me and my babe."

You shake your head, turning to your feet, "the last thing I would do is impose my inexperience of child bearing upon you."

Aemma's face softens. She's seldom seen someone who looks as though they suffer more than her. "Excellent."

You lift your gaze.

"Come keep me company then and distract me with tales lacking child bearing."

You are taken aback by the invitation and watch the queen slowly waddle back into her quarters. You delay to realize you should be assisting her then promptly rush up to her side. You offer her your arm and she gratefully takes it. She is exhausted by the time you reach her bed.

"Thank you," she sighs, wiping the sweat on her temple.

"Of course," you help her put her feet up. You look over your shoulder momentarily, "have you no one to call to? Shall I call for someone?"

"No," she waves you off, "I merely walked out of the room and looked out of the window for a while. I am fine."

You nod and pull away, fidgeting with your fingers, "is there something I might do for you?"

"Yes," she reaches for your arm, "sit."

So you do.

"And tell me, why on earth did Daemon bring you to the City Watch?"

You freeze upon hearing that.

There is a playful curiosity upon Aemma's features, but you do not think she asks to embarrass you. Still, you open your mouth and begin to stutter, "h-how did you kno-w?"

She chuckles, leaning deeper into her pillow, "oh, my dear," she rubs her belly, "I am privy to all gossip in the Keep. Tis the only activity one such as I can do in my state. Incidentally, had the opposite been true, it is all the servants speak of—" she slowly reaches for you, pushing your hair back.

You are made acutely aware of the marks on your collar again.

"—how the fragile lamb tamed the ferocious dragon."

You chuckle dryly and stare at your lap. You pick at your nails, feeling your throat tighten, "I tame no one, my queen."

As Aemma looks at you, she thinks again she's not laid her eyes upon someone that looks more pained than herself. The sun was already setting, but the marks on your collarbones were still visible. She wonders if you at least enjoyed yourself when you received those marks. "Perhaps not yet."

You chuckle once more.

"He is stubborn and brash, but he is also loyal and passionate."

"Loyal to himself," you turn to her, "with a passion for deviance."

You are unnerved by the sudden call of your name. Your heart races at her misplaced familiarity.

This might be why you blurt out, "I am no fool."

She straightens up, "I did not say you were."

"I know I am feeble in form, but not in mind. I am a mere piece in someone else's game of chess, but every piece has its purpose, even pawns."

Aemma frowns. Her forehead curls, "and pawns can turn into the most powerful piece."

You stare at her belly.

"The Queen."

You do not tell her it is only true in board games.

"Does it frighten you?"

Your eyes quirk up to hers. Her violet orbs are much softer than Daemon's. She does not clarify, but the way in which she rubs her swollen stomach makes it clear to you what she meant. You rub your own as dread pricks through you, "I do not know how it is possible for anyone not to be frightened."

It is her turn to chuckle.

It perturbs you.

"I will not lie to you," she shifts in her spot, "there is no greater pain in the world than becoming a mother, I think..."

It is mortifying to hear, considering you know how many times Queen Aemma has conceived and given birth. How much more painful it must be, as she remains to have one child. You do not think all your years of pain could ever prepare you for such loss.

"... that can be the most gratifying."

You are taken aback when she reaches for your hand. Her palms are soft, just as her expression.

"I do not presume to know you, but I find that whatever pain I have is eclipsed by love I feel for my babe. Still, when the thought of childbirth gets too much, I retreat into something I loved before my babe."

Your brows furrow.

"Tapestries and tea time," she tilts her head, "and Viserys."

You do not know how to feel as she pulls away.

She rubs her forehead, "even speaking is exhausting when you are with child. Forgive me, but I think I would like to go to sleep now."

You shake your head and stand, "there is nothing to be forgiven. I will leave you to your own comforts," you curtsy.

You roam the candlelit halls as you digest the queen's words. You were on your way back to your chambers, then you remember your brother. You promptly head to his room, finding the door open. "Gwayne?"

Emerge two servants carrying a trunk, greeting you before walking off. Your brows furrow as you watch them. You turn back when you hear your name called.

Your twin walks over, still in his doublet and leather shoes. You begin to get nervous, "you're leaving?"

"Preparing to," he says, eyes falling on your collarbones, "there is still the matter of the tourney."

"Tourney?"

"The queen is set to give birth soon— you must not let that man dishonor you so," he quips through clenched teeth, pulling you into his room.

You are dragged inside and he releases you once you're in front of his bed. He grabs his blanket and drapes it on your shoulders. He gathers your hair and pulls it out from underneath, "play dumb if you must."

You knit your brows.

"Bat your lashes at him to have your way."

You tighten the blanket around yourself, "I already have."

"To protect me," he tilts his head, "protect yourself, sister. Put yourself first, always."

You clench your jaw.

"He will be kinder if he believes you to be a bimbo."

You scoff, "must I do such a thing?"

Gwayne narrows his eyes, "he is shaming you purposefully out of spite— for me and our father."

The idea makes you queasy because you knew it was true. Your brother was sensible because he got his sense from you, and yet... is it so farfetched for the prince to simply want to show you off proudly? Even in something like this, you were not even being thought of. "And acting a fool will save me from spite?"

He looks at you the way he did whenever you said something stupid. It offends you because it was not a stupid question. He speaks to you, as if you were four, "if he asks you to wear something compromising again, tell him all your dresses are being washed."

You chuckle dryly, "you honestly think he would believe such a blatant lie?"

"He need not have to," he scoffs, "it's not like he'll go through the trouble of inspecting your closet." He places a hand on your arm, "come. I will walk you to your room."

Something unpleasant bubbles up your throat as Gwayne leads you out. As you exit his chambers, you pull away and choke out, "do you think me a fool, devil?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "do not be-"

"Do you truly think that I am slowwitted and senseless?"

Your ears ring because of how says your name. You step back when he tries to take your arm again. Gwayne raises a finger and a brow, "I've had a long day. I do not wish to quarrel."

"And I have not?!" you quip, "answer the question!"

He says your name again, firmer, as though you were a petulant child.

"Just fucking tell me!" you snap.

"Gods!" he wipes his face, "you're acting fucking stupid, I'll tell you that!"

You scoff and shove him with all your might. It barely makes him recoil, but you get your point across, especially when you walk away.

Gwayne sighs and calls your name, following after you.

"I hate you!" you spit back, unwilling to turn back as you feel your eyes begin to water.

"I did not mean it," he calls, quickly coming up to your side, "why would you ask me something you clearly know is not-"

"Then why would you reduce me as such?" you stop in your tracks to glare at him.

Gwayne freezes and scowls back, "why do you think I tell you anything?"

"Stupidity will not save me, you fucking idiot," you blurt back, doing your best to hold back your tears.

"It will fucking save you from scheming rats," he grabs your arms and shakes you gently.

You shake your head as tears stream down your cheek.

"H-"

"Do not make me."

He purses his lips.

"You know I will do it if you tell me to," you mutter, "do not make me."

Guilt eats him whole as you weep. It never gets easier. You'd think that he'd be indifferent to it by now, but he knows the great effort you put in withholding your emotions. It hurts him even more, if anything. He sighs in defeat, dropping his head before wiping your cheeks. He attempts to hush you.

You only further fall apart, "I would be remembered as a stupid, dying girl."

He speaks your name, as if to correct you.

"Please don't leave," you mumble weakly.

"Listen to me-"

"No, promise me you won't le-"

"I am heir to Oldtown," he interrupts, "my place can never be at your side."

"So you forsake me now?"

"Listen," he speaks firmly, "you are my twin sister. There is nothing I have not shared with you, and you know this."

You look down for a moment then shake your head, "I wish you kept a few things to yourself..."

Gwayne releases a breath at your words. He leans down to look you in the eye, "says the woman who bares love bites on her neck for all to see."

You shove him away and tighten your arms around yourself, "ass. That's different."

He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, "how?"

"I did not chose this," you mutter.

His expression falls. He balls his hands into fists, "I would call our house to banner for you."

You scoff, looking away, "don't be ridiculous."

"An affront to my twin is worse than one to myself," he points a finger to the ground.

"I am his wife," you look back to him.

"And I am a man of honor," he proclaims, "if he kills me, then all will know I died protecting my sister from his malice."

"You idiot," you shake your head at him, "do you think the people would believe the words of a prince or a dead man?"

"A princess."

You stare at him.

"With a tender heart," he takes your arm, leading you off.

You take a moment before responding, "you mean a stupid, dying princess."

"You are not dying," he gives you a serious look.

"We are all dying."

He sighs, "a jolly thought."

"I am dying sooner than you howev-"

"No," he interrupts, "you will outlive me. I will die in battle."

You glare at him, "we cannot both be yearning for death, moron."

"I do not yearn no more than you do," he raises a brow.

You stare at him for a moment. He is in denial. You almost tell him that you still pray the same prayer he caught you praying all those nights ago. You do not.

"You will get better, sister," he says, "I simply won't allow you not to."

You look away, "ever imperious."

His expression slips for a moment as he imagines a world without his twin. It is so grotesque, he cannot bear it. He hides behind humor, "you mean charismatic, dashing, and valiant."

"And stupid."

"And incredibly well-spoken, witty, charming-"

"Shut it."

"-attractive, gallant, seemly—"

You bid each other good night with a smile. Neither of you knew how broken your spirits were after your conversation though, and you never will.

Your head lies heavy on your pillow. You are unsure if you are grateful or resentful that you sleep tonight by yourself.

Meanwhile, Daemon is startled out his sleepiness by the words of his subordinate. He sets his cup of ale down and chuckles in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at one of the three men he had been drinking with, "what?"

The man clarifies, shifting in his seat adjacent his commander, "you've changed since being wed, my prince. For the better."

The prince chuckles yet again, "pray, tell."

Someone else answers for him, "you have been more gracious during drill training."

Daemon's brows quirk.

"And you have been more forgiving as of late," another blurts.

The first who spoke finally says, "you do not drink with us as often as before. This is the first since you've gotten married."

He scoffs and shakes his head, "so. You think I've grown soft?"

The three immediately straighten up and even manage to muster in unison, "no, commander."

Daemon downs his ale and shakes his head, "I'll show you soft."

The next morn, the queen's words repeat in your mind as you awaken. Retreat in what you love. What was it that you loved? You think of Gwayne, but he is set to leave, Alicent, but you do not wish to burden her with your woes... your father...

Oh... your mother. You could retreat in her.

You sit up and rub your face when your servants enter to wake you.

You lose your resolve to light a candle at the temple at when you realized you'd be dying girl retreating to her dead mother. Pathetic.

By the time your servants are helping you fix your hair, you ask them, "if you could do whatever you wanted for a day, what would you do?"

The servants turn to each other then break into giggles. One says, "I would spend a day with my Gwilym."

You watch them in the mirror as they squeal under their breath.

You turn to your nails. You cannot retreat into Daemon.

After they're finished squealing, the other speaks, "mmm. I might go foraging for fruits and flowers."

You lift your head upon hearing that.

"And if I had my pay that day, I'd buy myself some lemon cake."

Your lips part at the idea, "you absolute wit." You turn to her as much as you could as she fixed your hair, "what a brilliant idea."

She chuckles and curtsies, "thank you, milady."

By the time your ward comes, you're already at the door, eager to greet him.

He examines your smile. His brows knit and belly feels uneasy as you take his arm.

You narrow your eyes at his face, doing your best to distinguish who exactly you were face to face with. You forget if it was Arryk with the longer beard or Erryk. You mumble as you make a face, "Erryk?"

"Yes," he nods, feeling stomach rolls, "how are you, my princess?"

You grin, squeezing his steel clad arm as much as you could, "oh, how good of me to get it right. I am glad to have guessed well."

Erryk chuckles under his breath, "you wound me. Am I not set apart in your eyes?"

You stiffen at his expression. You mistake the softness in his eyes for hurt, which is why you release his arm and begin to apologize, "oh, ser. I do not mean to offend, I-"

Erryk raises his hands, "no, my lady. Twas a jest."

Your eyes widen at the clarification. You laugh awkwardly, "ah... apologies."

"Nay," he shakes his head, "I apologize. I do not wish to cause you discomfort."

You huff and give a curt nod, "then," you take his arm again, "I ask that you humor me today, ser Erryk."

His brows furrow. He is intrigued.

"I..." you trail off, gathering your resolve, "wish to go out and pick flowers today." you profess with a soft smile. You raise a finger, "I am not a fussy passenger. I do not mind sitting in front or behind you on horseback, but I fear I do not know how to control a horse on my own very well," you look away in thought, "we do not have to go very far out of King's Landing, so if it is not possible to get a horse, I will not complain if we walk."

Erryk finds himself smiling as you continue to justify yourself.

"I would not take very long to pick flowers, but if I do," you turn back to him, "I would not refute you if you think we must away."

He nods at your words, "have you broken fast yet?"

You both walk off. You shake your head, "I have not. But I will be quick!"

He shakes his head, "my brother mentioned that you do not like eating alone. If it be agreeable with you, we can break fast together."

You stop in your tracks upon hearing this, "ser Arryk mentioned this?"

Erryk simply nods.

The thought pinches your heart, "it... it was a passing comment. I did not think it noteworthy."

His brows knit at your expression, "do not be so surprised. It is our duty to care for you."

Care for you. You turn to your feet, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. It takes a moment for you to comport yourself, but then you manage turn back at him and smile, "how the gods have blessed me."

His gut reacts to your smile. He releases a breath to calm himself, "we can pick flowers after breaking fast, my princess."

You gasp, "so you agree?!"

Erryk face falls in confusion.

"You would allow me to pick flowers?!" you pull away, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.

"I..." his mouth hangs low, "I do not allow you."

You tilt your head, chuckling in confusion.

"If you instructed me to bring you the moon, I would do my best to claim it for you."

You laugh. You laugh because you miss his sincerity, for it is unfamiliar. You laugh because you only know the kindness of your brother, who cherishes you dearly, yet ridicules you in the same breath. This is why you say, "do not mock me, ser. It is not a crime to enjoy picking flowers."

You expect him to reply the way your twin does: 'I did not say it was a crime,' but you are taken aback by the novelty of his response. Erryk says, "the crime lies with whom would mock such a gentle soul."

You are glad he does not wait for you to respond, because you did not know if you had anything to respond with.

Erryk is silent as you eat in the solar. At first, it was because he second guessed his offer to break fast with you, as it felt so obvious that he was overstepping. But then it was because he was enamored by you and the great many tales you share of eating with your family, picking flowers with your siblings, swimming in rivers with your brother. He did not expect such a temperate outpour from you. He tells himself that he must do all he can to preserve it.

He is selfish in wanting to forfeit a horse. He knows soon enough his brother will come to have his shift, and he wants to keep all your stories to himself; walking will make his time with you longer. At the same time, he fears your body might give in if you were to walk very far, so he settles that you ride on horseback and that he lead your horse on foot.

He is glad of his choice, for had he been on horseback with you, he would not have seen the way your face shone at the sight of the meadow upon reaching it. The moment is quickly fleeting however, and he soon jolts to catch you when you nearly leap off the horse.

Erryk helps you down and is soon forgotten as you run off to gather flowers.

He follows after you with no sense of urgency. He allows you to frolic to your hearts content while he slowly leads the horse towards your general direction.

"ERRYK!" you gasp in horror. It is so sudden, he releases his reins and runs towards you.

"My prin-"

"We do not have a basket!" you slap a hand on your forehead, "I am doomed."

He freezes at your words, debating if that is truly the cause of your distress.

"I am doomed to pick flowers only until my hands are full," you sigh and shake your head. You frown at him and point, "but just over there I see a hundred flowers I wish to bring back home with me."

Erryk's forehead curls but then he realizes you were serious. He finds himself chuckling before sighing in relief.

You scowl, "and you mock me again"

He chuckles louder, placing a hand on his breastplate, "I do not mock! I merely find amusement in such an issue so easily solved."

You scoff, "pray, tell how would you solve my issue, ser knows-a-lot?"

Erryk belly laughs. He shakes his head and offers his hand, "I will hold your flowers for you."

Any trace of offense instantly disappears. You perk and step forward, "oh! I have been blind!"

He tries to take the flowers from you but then he's frozen in place as you suddenly begin tucking in his beard.

"Indeed," you snicker, "blind as a bat."

You are both covered in flowers when you return to the Keep, him more than you, for Erryk's skill in securing flowers in people's hair was not nearly as good as yours. Most of what he had put in your brown hair had fallen when you reached the gates. The rest are threatened off by the wind as he helps you down the horse. His on the other hand—

You chuckle, catching a flower that slipped from your head, placing it by Erryk's ear, "they should call you the knight of flowers, ser."

He bows, "I would be honored to be known as such."

"Oh, gods."

You both turn upon hearing the voice.

Gwayne looks at Erryk as though he was stabbed on the side, then turns to you, "you've victimized the poor man."

You roll your eyes.

"-held him captive and tortured him with pretty things," your twin points a finger as he walks towards you, "no wonder you could not be found. You were doing evil things."

You shove your brother, but he dodges.

He makes a face, "laggardly fellow."

You turn to Erryk then point at your brother, "why do you delay? Seize him at once!"

Gwayne gasps, placing a hand on his chest, "behold: the cruel princess."

Your upper lip curls, "the ugly thing insults your lady," you shoot Erryk a look, "apprehend him!"

Erryk watches the two of you bicker, unsure if he should, in fact, apprehend Ser Gwayne.

When he does not, your brother says again, "behold!" the auburn haired man gestures vaguely, "your cruelty inspires no loyalty from you— aw!"

You snatch your his ear and pull him down. You drag your brother all the way to a crate and force him down, "I'll show you cruel."

"Do not think— AW!" Gwayne clutches his cheek when you slap him.

"Silence or your torture will be more severe," you hiss, promptly placing flowers you still had on hand on his head.

Though Gwayne grumbles the whole time, he makes no attempt to save himself from the proclaimed torture. Very truly, he loathed it so when you made a dolly out of him, but after you sobbed so bitterly when he fled you one instance when you were still children, he could never stomach the thought of attempting such a thing again.

And— he catches the way your lips tug upward, you only ever smiled the way you did now when you were torturing him. Still, he cannot help his scowl when you grin at him to behold your work.

You pinch his cheeks, "my lovely twin."

Gwayne groans and swats your hands away, glaring as he stands, "I abhor you, sister."

You giggle and take his arm, "and I do so love deeply, my brother."

"Unhand me," he says flatly.

"You cannot command a princess, you lowly lord," you snuggle into his arm.

Gwayne turns to Erryk, "retrieve your thing."

Erryk opens his mouth, but then catches the look on your face. He is powerless against your pup-like expression. He clears his throat, "my shift has ended, ser. I will notify my brother at once to see what can be done."

Gwayne's jaw drops.

You throw your head back in a laughter.

He scoffs, turning to you, "how uselessly loyal you've made him."

"What is the meaning of this?"

You three turn. You pull away from your brother upon seeing Daemon. He is covered in dirt, and blood, and anger.

He glares at you, "why is it I find you here twice, wife?" He scrutinizes the flowers on Erryk's beard and hair, then quips harshly as he turns to your brother, "should you not be waiting on me?"

"Why do you think I am here?" you mutter, not missing a beat. You walk over to him, and he tries to intimidate you with his expression.

Gwayne and Erryk are ready to act but then Daemon's face falters when you grab your skirt and try to wipe some of the dirt off his face.

The truth, of course, is that you were not waiting on your husband; him finding you here was simply a coincidence, but the genuine concern that clouds your features makes it the lie indistinguishable.

He is so wholly bewildered by your gentle touch, he is unable to react.

You release your skirt and wipe his cheek with your long sleeve, "I shall have a bath drawn for you." You take his hand, "come, I-"

He pulls out of your grasp.

You expect him to lash out on you. He does not.

"I have a council meeting to attend."

A line forms between your brows when catch the blood on his armor, "but you are hurt."

Daemon is stoic. He stares at the lone flower by your ear, "it is not mine."

You release a soft breath and nod. A gust of wind makes you aware of the bud by your temple. You pull the flower out of your hair and stare at it for a moment. You show it to Daemon, who spares but a moment's glance at it. He involuntarily pulls his head back when you place the flower in his hair.

You are unfazed by the look he gives you. You secure the flower then swipe the dirt off his chin, "I will make sure your bath is finished after your meeting."

It is your turn to be taken aback. You freeze when he catches your wrist before you pull away. "Wait for me," he mumbles.

You raise your brows.

He does not repeat himself.

You nod slowly, "I shall... after having the servants dra-"

"Your princess requires you to accomplish a task for her," Daemon looks past you, looking between Erryk and Gwayne. He grits his teeth, pulling you toward him, "do it."

You look over your shoulder, "please inst-"

"They know what to do, wife," Daemon blocks your vision, "tis I your attentions must be fixed upon."

[riality-check]

DILF!Steve concert saga, featuring Eddie POV for this part! part 1, part 2

"I have to open it."

"Nope."

"Gareth. I need to open it."

"The vault is sacred," Archie says.

At the same time, Jeff chimes in, "The vault was your idea, Eddie."

Eddie thunks his head against the wall. "I know. But I need-"

"They're on the last song," Archie says, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it feels patronizing as shit.

Eddie is a good friend, though. He doesn't shrug him off.

"Once they're through, I'll unlock it," Jeff says, dangling the key slung around his neck.

"But you could do it now," Eddie protests.

Gareth sits protectively on top of the black lock box. "Absolutely not."

Eddie sighs and waits for the guitar solo onstage to end, nodding his head along to the beat.

It's what he usually does when they're backstage, but this time, it brings a smile to his face. Miss Anna was a natural yesterday for her first time headbanging, and her dad is the reason Eddie wants to break the sacred vault tradition.

He wants, no, needs to know if he got the note. If he decided to write something. If he wants to go a little further than PG flirting.

Eddie for sure wants to go further than that. God. Steve's handsome face and his big hands and his thick thighs (deliciously exposed by his shorts in the summer heat) are all wonderful incentives to skip a few steps and go straight to ramming him into a mattress.

Or, with how that shirt clung to Steve's biceps and how his shorts clung to his ass, let him ram Eddie into the mattress. He isn't picky.

(He isn't desperate, either, thank you very much, Gareth. And no, he won't admit how long it's been since he got laid.)

From the house, the audience roars, and Eddie jumps off the arm of the couch he was laying on.

Gareth sighs and gets off the lock box.

"Jeff, open it," Eddie says, staring at the vault and subconsciously making grabby hands toward it.

"Is that how we ask?"

"I could always yank the key off you."

Archie sighs and, ever the peacemaker, takes the key from Jeff and unlocks the vault. The second it's open, Eddie snatches his phone and turns it on.

Please please please let the DILF text back, he thinks to himself as he waits for this stupid metal brick to turn on and give him a resolution to this whole ridiculous situation.

Because, first, Eddie doesn't really jive with kids. Sure, they flock to him in the same way they flock to every other vaguely cool-looking person, but aside from asking if he has to draw his tattoos on every day or if his mommy is okay with him having his hair that long, they generally leave him alone.

And that's okay. Eddie easily made his peace with not having kids about ten years ago. Between his strong preference for men and the way that significantly decreases those odds and the choice to not pass on his truly abysmal family history of mental illness and addiction, it seemed obvious and a lot more selfless.

But Anna was cool as hell. Smart as hell, too, in a way that made Eddie feel like he was looking back at a time before school punished him for being bright and verbose and energetic.

Anna didn't make him want kids. Again, the whole family history thing is a real vibe killer. But she did give him enough fuel, for just an instant, to think that dating someone with a kid might not be a deal breaker anymore.

Or maybe Steve was just that hot.

He whined a lot yesterday, in the hotel, about how hot Steve was.

His phone turns on, and, front and center, is a text from an unknown number:

I guess I don’t have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we’re even on that front, I’m a teacher, and Anna’s full time job is preschool.

Eddie grins so hard he feels like his face will split in two.

"Is it him?" Jeff asks, trying to look over Eddie's shoulder.

"Of course it is," Gareth scoffs. "Look at his face."

"What did he say?" Archie asks.

Eddie takes the easier way out and lets him have the phone.

Gareth and Jeff crowd over Archie's shoulders, and Eddie watches their faces change as they read the message.

"Oh, he's bitchy," Gareth says.

"That means he's perfect," Jeff says, with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie shoots Archie a clear "back me up" look and gets a shrug in return because all his friends are assholes who know his type way too fucking well.

"What do I say?" he asks.

Archie tosses him the phone. "I don't know. Flirt back."

"I don't know how!"

"You ground against a guitar-"

"And kissed me onstage," Jeff continues. "But you don't know how to flirt?"

Eddie puts his head in his hands. "I didn't have enough sex in high school to know how to do this!"

"That's not an excuse when none of us did!" Gareth says.

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"Just ask if he's free tomorrow," Archie says, like the rational, wonderful friend he is. "This was the last stop of tour. It's not like you have to get anywhere else at a specific time."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that," Eddie says, hyping himself up. Before he can second guess himself, he writes back.

Since it's summer, I'm assuming you both have off. Can you fit it in your busy schedule to have dinner with a humble musician tomorrow night?

"Oh, shit, did you send it?" Gareth asks, snatching his phone.

"Wait," Archie says, like the rational, horrible friend he is. "Do we know if he's single?"

"Oh, shit," Jeff whispers.

Eddie takes his phone back and refuses to look at it. He wants to shut it down. He wants to drop it. He wants to drive to nearest river and throw it there.

"Am I a homewrecker?" he asks absently.

"Only if you succeed," Jeff says.

"He might have a wife," Archie muses. "He might be straight."

"Okay, dude, enough," Gareth says. "This was supposed to be exciting! Eddie was supposed to get ass!"

"He might be ace."

"Archie, shut the fuck up."

He holds his hands up in surrender, and Jeff pats his shoulder, a little comfortingly, a lot condescendingly.

Eddie sits down on the couch. Puts his head in his hands. Breathes.

He's flirting with a married man. He's absolutely flirting with a married man. This is a new low. This is worse than the time he licked the floor of a restaurant, drunk, for five bucks. This is worse than when he greened out in the parking lot of a Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse than when he accidentally told the gas station cashier that he loved them and immediately walked into the glass door behind him.

This is. So bad.

And then his phone rings, so it'll get worse. It has to. That's how these things go.

Eddie has always been self-destructive, so, of course, he looks at the screen.

I can't swing dinner, but how's lunch? Fair warning: it might be a playground picnic if my babysitter bails.

"Holy shit, I'm not a homewrecker," Eddie says.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Jeff says.

"He's single!" Gareth cheers.

"Can I talk now?" Archie teases.

"I'm not a homewrecker!" Eddie says, and he launches off the couch to hug the nearest person, who happens to be Jeff.

They have to get out of the venue. He has to figure out the logistics of the date and how to be normal by the time he gets there and what to wear and everything else.

But, right now, Eddie is over the fucking moon that Steve is even giving him a shot. And he hopes, giddy as all hell and hanging off of Jeff's shoulders, that Steve feels even a little bit like this.

He writes back, once he's calmed down:

Lunch might just become my new favorite meal.

[shmlnbstrcnd]

Season 1 failed Vi too. Jinx was always the writers' priority.

The way Arcane (even in Season 1) didn't address Vi's trauma from being imprisoned in Torture Jail as a child, gets even more egregious when compared to how Jinx's trauma was handled. From the very beginning, it was clear that the writers cared far more about Jinx than Vi.

I'm gonna focus only on Season 1 and ignore Season 2 (which is a whole other can of worms), because I want to highlight that the problems with Vi's writing already existed since the first season. So many people who are critical of Vi's writing in Season 2 praise her writing in Season 1, so I want to push back on that. Because Season 1 already failed Vi. Season 2 just multiplied that by 100.

Now, what Jinx went through in s1e3 was horrific and definitely enough to break a child's sanity. No denying that. Add to that her entire childhood leading up to that point, as well as preexisting mental illness, and the mental state of Jinx that we saw in episodes 4-9 was 100% realistic and believable. Even though she was taken in by Silco, then raised with tons of affection and validation, none of that was enough to heal her trauma. Good writing, no notes. Then we have Vi. Vi also went through season 1 episode 3, and her side of things were, in my opinion, just as potentially sanity-breaking. Then, she was immediately kidnapped and thrown into Torture Jail. As a child. In this jail, she was taken in by no one. Given affection and validation by no one. She got brutally beaten so many times that the wardens lost count. She felt crippling grief and guilt and worry the whole time but had no one to confide her feelings with. She had nothing.

At the same time as all this, Jinx had affection. She had validation. She had someone to confide her feelings with. Someone who even related to her trauma and could empathize. If anyone had hurt a hair on Jinx's head, Silco would have had them skinned alive. Silco was also the richest man in Zaun and its crime leader, so Jinx essentially grew up as the closest thing Zaun has to a princess. A mafia princess with an overly doting dad/trauma buddy. Remember, despite all this comfort, Jinx was still realistically shown to be horribly mentally damaged, and her trauma explored deeply and extensively in the show.

But Vi, who had none of the comforts Jinx did during the same duration of years, and received all the physical and mental abuse that Jinx didn't, somehow came out of the timeskip considerably saner and more well-adjusted than Jinx. Not only that, she also came out of the timeskip more forgiving and charitable towards enforcers than she was before her torturous imprisonment. And significantly more forgiving and charitable towards enforcers than Jinx, despite Jinx being immune to any enforcer abuse during the timeskip thanks to Silco having Marcus by the balls.

..........

Do you see why this writing is completely unbelievable and illogical? The excuses people give for this are:

1) "Vi is just that tough. She is mentally stronger than Jinx so it takes more to break her."

... sorry, but no 15-year-old on earth is so mentally tough that years of prolonged physical torture, verbal abuse, minimal sunlight, poor nutrition, no love or support, zero positive relationships, no proper medical care, and no psychological or psychiatric intervention, doesn't destroy them. Find me an example of a kid in real life who went through the equivalent of that and came out mostly sane, quipping and immediately ready to flirt with the cops.

2) "But Vi's trauma was shown in Season 1! She hallucinates Powder in the slums and also has a few lines saying how much prison sucked".

The Powder hallucinations occured while she was stabbed and delirious from blood loss. In every other scene, she showed no signs of mental illness. Her one or two lines saying Prison Bad were just that. Throwaway lines. If you removed them, would you be able to guess that Vi suffered in prison as a child? The Vi who is flirting and rapidly falling in love with an enforcer? No, from her behavior, you'd have no idea what she went through. Compare this to Jinx: If you removed all the verbal lines talking about the events of s1e3, would you still be able to guess what Jinx went through? Yes. Because it is shown in her character through more than just throwaway lines. It is shown visually, mentally, behaviorally.

3) "Vi just got lucky in genetics. Schizophrenia is hereditary and Powder was the unlucky child."

But Jinx's hallucinations aren't the only way her trauma is shown. Her entire personality is a response to her trauma. Even while lucid, she behaves in such a way that it's unmistakable this girl went through something fucked up as a child. Vi doesn't necessarily have to hallucinate or speak to dolls in order to show her trauma. The show just didn't bother to show it in any way whatsoever.

4) "Vi was hyper focused on her goal of killing Silco, and was suppressing the prison trauma."

So that means it should have been shown in Season 2 right? After Silco died and the dust settled? Guess what. It wasn't. The hallucinations she had in s2e5? All about Caitlyn and her break-up. Nothing about prison, Jinx, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Benzo, Ekko, nothing. But then again, even Jinx's trauma responses were erased in Season 2 so like I said, Season 2 is another can of worms.

5) "Caitlyn is just that wonderful and kind and perfect and sweet that only 3 days with her undid 7 years' impact of torturous jail time and prior 15 years of class oppression."

Lol. Lmao even. That's all I can say.

TLDR: Vi during the Season 1 timeskip arguably faced a shit ton more physical, emotional, and mental torture than Jinx did, and it's illogical writing that she wasn't equally or even more damaged than Jinx. Even taking into account factors like Jinx's pre-existing mental illness or Vi's super duper ultra internal strength, it's still not believable. The fact is, Jinx has always been the writers' favourite. They did not care about writing/developing Vi's character as much as Jinx's. Season 1 already showed this. Vi deserved better from the start.

[natsaffection]

I’m sorry if this is too much to ask

I recently went through a breakup with my girlfriend (recently as in last night) and I need some Natty fluff and comfort. For an idea reader and nat are bestfriends and have been through S.H.I.E.L.D for many years before Nat was promoted to an Avenger and reader was left behind as an agent.

Reader broke up with their relationship a day before Nat got home from a mission(clarification that nat n reader share apartments) injured and its just the two worrying about eachother to mindlessly cuddle and comfort eachother.

could add in soft sex for plot but ill let you decide the rest 😞✊

Held Together. | N.R

Warnings: friends brake up, injury

Word count: 2,3k

A/n: Hey you. I know this isn't going to help you much, and I definitely want to lend you my ear if you ever want to talk about things like this. I know how it feels, and I also know that saying it will get better doesn't exactly help. So please don't hesitate to write to me. 🩵

The first time you saw Natasha, you were both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, hidden deep within the confines of a classified location. The facility was stark, all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, with the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air. You were new, just another recruit with a mysterious past, handpicked for reasons that weren't fully explained to you. But then again, secrecy was the foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you had learned quickly that questions were often better left unasked.

Natasha stood out immediately. Not just because of her striking red hair, which seemed to catch the light even in the dullest corners of the room, but because of the aura of quiet confidence she exuded. She moved with a precision that spoke of years of experience, each step deliberate, each movement economical. It was clear that she was in a league of her own. But it wasn’t her skill that drew you to her, it was the look in her eyes. Beneath the stoic mask, there was a flicker of something familiar, something you recognized in yourself. The guarded pain of someone who had seen too much, too soon. The training sessions were brutal. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t coddle its recruits, and you were pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. But every time you faltered, Natasha was there, a silent presence at your side, pushing you to keep going. She wasn’t the type to offer comforting words or a reassuring pat on the back, but her actions spoke louder than any words could. She trained with you, sparred with you, and when you were both covered in bruises and gasping for breath, she would sit with you in the quiet moments, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, what began as mutual respect grew into something deeper. You found yourself seeking her out, not just in training but outside of it. Late nights in the common room, nursing cups of coffee and talking about everything and nothing at all. You learned that Natasha wasn’t just a hardened spy. She was fiercely intelligent, with a dry wit that could cut through any tension. She had a past that she kept close to the vest, but in those quiet moments, she would let slip little pieces of herself, and you would do the same. It was during one of those late-night conversations that you both discovered just how much you had in common. You shared a dark sense of humor, born from lives that had demanded you grow up too fast. You both knew what it was like to be used as a tool, to have your choices stripped away, and to fight tooth and nail to reclaim some semblance of control.

The turning point in your friendship came during a mission in Prague. You had been sent in as backup for Natasha, who was deep undercover, trying to extract a high-value target from an enemy compound. The mission had gone south, bad intel, compromised routes, everything that could go wrong did. Natasha was pinned down, outgunned and outnumbered, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought you might lose her. But you didn’t hesitate. You stormed the compound, using every skill you had learned, every lesson drilled into you during those grueling training sessions. You fought your way to her, the two of you battling side by side, back to back, until you managed to extract the target and make your escape.

When you were safely back at the extraction point, covered in dust and blood, Natasha had turned to you, her eyes fierce with a mix of adrenaline and gratitude. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was all you needed. From that moment on, you were partners in every sense of the word. There was an unspoken understanding between you..a bond forged in the heat of battle, one that neither of you questioned. Over the years, that bond only grew stronger. You became the team that everyone wanted on their mission, the pair that could get the job done no matter the odds. You were the calm to her storm, the steady hand that balanced her fierce determination. And she was your anchor, the one person you knew you could rely on, no matter what.

But it wasn’t all about the missions. There were moments of light in the darkness inside jokes that no one else understood, late-night movies when you both should have been sleeping, and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone inside and out. You knew her favorite coffee order, the songs she hummed when she thought no one was listening, and the way she always checked her weapons twice before a mission, even when she didn’t need to. And she knew you, knew the nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night, the reason you kept your distance from most people, and the way you always carried that one memento from your past, a small token of a life you barely remembered. She never pushed, never pried, but her presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this world.

Then came the day when everything shifted. Natasha was summoned to Nick office a meeting that would change the course of both your lives. When she emerged, she looked different, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but there was something else too a distance, a sense of something slipping away. She told you about the Avengers, about the offer Fury had made. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the way her posture straightened as she spoke about it. And why wouldn’t she be excited? It was a chance to be part of something bigger, something that could change the world. You listened, nodded in all the right places, and when she asked what you thought, you plastered on a smile and told her how proud you were.

But inside, your heart ached. You knew that things would never be the same. You didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to be the reason she missed out on something extraordinary, but the thought of losing the connection you shared filled you with a dread you couldn’t shake. And slowly, that fear began to materialize.

As Natasha got more involved with the Avengers, the calls became less frequent, the visits even more so. You found yourself spending more time alone, throwing yourself into missions to drown out the loneliness. The once unbreakable bond you shared felt like it was fraying, the threads pulling apart one by one. The more you tried to reach out, the more distant she seemed, until one day, you realized that the Natasha you knew was almost a stranger to you now. She had new friends, new responsibilities, a new life. And where you once stood side by side, you were now watching from the sidelines, unsure of where you fit in her world anymore.

But the memories remained. Every time you walked past the training room, you could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations, the laughter that once filled the empty spaces. The ghost of what you had once had lingered, haunting you in the quiet moments. You didn’t know what the future held for you and Natasha, but one thing was certain: the bond you had shared was changing, evolving into something you couldn’t yet understand. And as much as it hurt, you knew that you had to find your place in this new reality, even if it meant doing it without her by your side.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence oppressive as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the empty walls. Your things were mostly packed, boxes lining the hallway, and the last remnants of your life here waiting to be sealed up and carried away. You had made your decision the day before, the weight of it still sitting heavily in your chest.

You had ended it. Ended the friendship, the partnership, the life you had built with Natasha. The pain of watching her drift further away into her new life as an Avenger had become too much to bear. Every day had been a reminder of how much you were losing her, and it had finally reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand being the one left behind anymore, always wondering when or if things would go back to the way they were. So, you had left a note on the kitchen table, explaining as best you could, trying to make her understand why you needed to leave, why you couldn’t keep living in the shadow of her new world. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it to her face, not after everything you’d been through together, so you had written the words, packed your things, and left the apartment.

But now, sitting in the empty space you once called home, the reality of what you’d done settled in, and it hurt more than you could have imagined. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up on what you had with Natasha, but you didn’t see any other way to protect your heart from breaking further. It was supposed to be simple. You would leave, and Natasha would come back to an empty apartment, read the note, and understand. She’d move on, and so would you. That was the plan.

Except plans never go the way you expect them to.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart stopped as you heard footsteps heavy, uneven. Natasha was back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be gone, far away, already beginning the process of moving on. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet. You stood up, feeling your heart race as you heard Natasha’s familiar footsteps drawing closer. When she finally appeared in the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale, and there was a grimace on her face that she couldn’t quite hide.

But what really terrified you was the blood on her jacket and the way she was cradling her side as if trying to hold herself together. “Natasha..” you whispered, the word barely audible as the shock of seeing her like this hit you. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process that you were really there. “Y/n..?”

“You’re hurt.” you said, your voice trembling as you took a closer look. "It’s not as bad as it looks..” she replied, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as she winced in pain. “Stop pretending.” you snapped, though your voice was laced more with worry than anger. “Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a strained sigh “I just..needed to come home.” she said softly, her eyes flickering around the room, taking in the packed boxes, the half-empty closet. “I thought you would be gone..?” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with the tension of everything that had happened, everything that hadn’t been said.

“I was supposed to be..” you admitted. “Come here, let me help you with that.” She didn’t resist as you guided her to the bed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to stay composed. You carefully unzipped her jacket, wincing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages underneath. It wasn’t the worst injury you’d seen her with, but it was bad enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the first aid kit. She winced as you peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing a nasty gash along her side. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to require stitches.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion as you began to clean the wound, trying to keep your hands steady. “I didn’t want you to worry..” Natasha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess that plan didn’t work out too well.”

“Damn it, Natasha..” you muttered, blinking back tears as you worked. “You can’t just..you can’t just keep doing this. Keeping things from me. Pushing me away.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just..I didn’t know how to handle all of this. You, the Avengers, everything. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong.” You paused, your breath hitching as the weight of her words settled over you. “Nat-” you started, but she cut you off.

“I read your note.” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked down at you. “I know why you left, and I can’t blame you. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot about the one person who’s always been there for me. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you finished dressing her wound, your hands lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. “You haven’t lost me.” you whispered, your voice shaking. “But I can’t keep living like this, Natasha. It’s tearing me apart..”

She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes as the warmth of her hand seeped into your skin. “I know.” you whispered. “But things have to change. We can’t keep going like this.”

Natasha nodded, her own tears spilling over as she pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid to let go. You buried your face in her shoulder, the scent of her familiar, comforting even through the layers of blood and sweat. You both held on to each other as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the sound of your combined breaths, the rise and fall of your chests in sync, the steady beat of her heart against your ear. “I don’t want to lose you..” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“You won’t.” she promised, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I won’t let you.” There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotions, and then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly to hers. The kiss was tender, hesitant, as if you were both afraid to break the fragile connection between you. But the moment your lips met, it was like something inside you both clicked into place, the distance and the pain melting away, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with each other. Natasha kissed you back, her lips moving slowly, carefully, as if savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Shh..” Natasha murmured, her hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “We’ll figure it out.” You nodded, unable to speak as you felt the tears slipping down your cheeks. Natasha gently wiped them away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what the future held for you both, but in this moment, with her arms around you and her lips still tingling from the kiss, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Carefully, you helped her lie down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow as you pulled the blanket over her. But before you could move away, Natasha caught your hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her exhaustion. “Stay with me.” she whispered, her eyes pleading. You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you crawled into bed beside her. Natasha immediately curled into you, her head resting on your chest, her arm draped over your waist. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, as if you were afraid she might slip away if you let go.

The two of you lay there in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts. The tension, the hurt, the fear..it all seemed to fade away as you held each other, the warmth of her body against yours a balm to the wounds that had been festering between you for so long. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her hair as she sighed contentedly against you. “I love you, Nat..” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I love you too.” she murmured, her voice filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache. You tightened your hold on her, burying your face in her hair as you let the weight of the day finally slip away. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[losers-clvb]

got the one thing that i want // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

summary: you were in love with dean winchester. unfortunately for you, he was in love with someone else.

content: unrequited love, reader is kind of lovesick over dean (but she isn't stupid!!!), suggestive content towards end, dean is kind of a heartbroken asshole, soulless sam makes appearances, nickname "kid" used (but there is no significant age gap), angst, sam x reader if you squint

word count: 3.3k

note: as always, this is unedited. now, personally I am a sam girl first, however dean fit so much better into this idea. hopefully when i write for dean again it will be less angsty (even though i love angst). the storyline revolves around dean with lisa but the timeline and events may be off or not fit into the episodes including it. in that same vein, soulless sam may seem to have a little soul. the title is from lacy by olivia rodrigo as it was the song that was spinning around my head as i wrote this. also: lisa is not the evil woman who is insecure over the reader. i tried to make that obvious, but it may get lost in translation from not being outwardly mentioned. anyways, enjoy!

masterlist

----

Dean wasn't happy with his life. He hadn't been for a while. Driving around the country and hunting the things that go bump in the night was all fun and games until it cost him his brother. Even then, he could try to grapple with the grief he felt as long as he played house with Lisa and Ben. It was almost natural how he fit into their lives. Golfing, PTA meetings, the whole domesticity of it would have made him ill before, but now he was just happy to be safe. Of course, he never really felt safe. He was waiting for the ball to drop, for some god or witch to come out and tell him it was all a sick game to toy with his mind. There was no way Dean Winchester could ever be out of harm's way.

Then it came. The Djinn were there to tear down the dream life he had built for himself. He knew after that he could never be normal. There was just too much on the line for it. He had to be a hunter, it was in his blood. At least he had his brother back again. But, as time went on and he attempted a long distance type of relationship with Lisa, he knew something was wrong. His little brother who he had practically raised was different, cold and calculated instead of kind and intelligent. He figured he couldn't ask for too much, at least Sam was alive.

Then came you. You came from a family of hunters, dating back further than his mother's line. He hadn't seen you since you two were kids, you 10 and him 12, but you had grown up. He couldn't lie, you were hot as hell and under different circumstances he would have been all over you, but he was a taken man. He was loyal to Lisa and would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship. You, on the other hand, had been falling in love with the Winchester since you had reconnected. When you were young you had a small, school girl crush on him, but it had blossomed into more once you had gotten to know the man he had become. It wasn’t lust. You wanted to be around him all the time, wanted to make him smile, wanted to be the one who reassured him when he was feeling worthless.

You had halfway become that for him. You were one of the only people who made him lighter, someone he confided in about pretty much everything. Of course, that meant hearing about Lisa. You tried not to feel jealousy when he talked of her. It wasn’t her fault Dean thought she had molded the sun and stars while thinking of you as merely a friend. You knew it made you a terrible person when you mentally cursed the woman. Maybe you had never really been a good person. How could you when your life revolved around killing? But it certainly didn’t make you better to hope that Dean would leave her for you.

That was the situation you were in now. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala, sipping on a once cold beer while Dean talked of his recent trip to visit Lisa.

“-cooks the best turkey. Juicy on the inside, crispy on the outside.” Dean had been rambling about her cooking for over twenty minutes now. It wasn’t the first time he had talked about it and there was only so much you could say in response to her culinary skills. You nodded along as you mentally counted the stitches of the seat. There it was again. The pit in your stomach as you thought of all the nasty things you could say about Dean’s partner.

“Any romantic prospects for you?” Dean asked cheekily, which broke you out of the trance. He asked you this nearly every time when he was done gushing about Lisa. Your answer was always the same, a lie you told perfectly to his face.

“Not looking right now, maybe once we’re done with this case.” You looked up to him with a forced smile. He chuckled lowly and drank his beer, finishing it off.

“One day you’ll find him, kid.” There it was. The nickname he had chosen for you as kids that had somehow stuck in his brain once you were grown. You cringed at it, hating the way it made you feel.

“I’m two years younger than you, Winchester, don’t call me that.” Your tone was playful, trying not to hurt him. Even when you were sticking up for yourself you were still looking out for him. He shook his head as he looked out the front windshield of the Impala, laughter still in his eyes.

“Still a kid.”

----

Dean was gone now. Off to go help Lisa with some problem she had run into with Ben. It was pathetic, you thought, the way he dropped everything to run to her. Instant regret came with the words. No, it wasn’t pathetic. You were. If it was you he was running to you would have thought it was sweet. You were a pathetic, horrible person for thinking this way. You wallowed in this self pity as you worked on cleaning the gun in your hand.

“I see the way you look at him.” Sam mumbled as he worked on researching the case you two were currently on. He had been watching you, and he had noticed for a while now how your eyes lit up when Dean came around. He had also noticed how that light dulled when his brother spoke of Lisa.

“What?” You asked with irritation. There was no way you were talking with Sam about this. Bobby had tried once, but after getting a door slammed in his face he had thanked God for never giving him any girls to look after.

“You looking at Dean like he’s your lifeline.” Sam’s words made you clench your jaw. You weren’t angry with him, just angry with his words. They were true, of course, but you would have rather a demon take you as a meat suit before admitting it out loud.

“Just shut up.” You snarled at him before feeling just as guilty again. It wasn't his fault you were in love with a man who wouldn't love you back. You continued cleaning the gun as the guilt gnawed away at you. Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“All I'm saying is it's not worth it. Dean's happy now, but he's never going to love you back.” Sam's words were harsh, just another reminder that he was soulless. He had tried to be a little less direct with you after getting berated by Dean, but it seemed his patience had worn thin. Normally, you would have snapped back, telling him it wasn't true, none of what he said was true. But you knew it was. Dean would love Lisa until she stopped letting him, but he would never love you.

----

Dean had called you that night to check in. He knew you were hunting and even if he had no romantic interest in you, he still cared if you were living. You had been waiting patiently by your phone. He had promised to call every other night and you had promised to answer within the first three rings.

“How's it going kid?” That was how Dean chose to greet you. You squeezed your eyes shut in response. Why did he always have to make you feel so small?

“It's, uh, it's fine.” You stammered out as a Sam watched you. You ignored him and chose to fidget with a loose thread on the comforter of the bed. You heard Dean's chuckle through the phone.

“You don't sound too sure, but ill take your word for it.” His voice was gravelly from fighting off sleep. He had almost skipped the phone call in exchange for more sleep but had decided he didn't want to disappoint you. A silence fell over you two. You cleared your throat.

“How's Ben and Lisa?” You spoke, opting to ask something you knew would bring on a wave of talking. You just wanted to hear his voice.

“They're great. Ben, he, uh, has a crush on this girl in his school. I've been giving him tips on how to win her over.” This pulled a laugh from you.

“I don't know if I'd take your advice, Dean. You don't have the greatest track record of keeping relationships.” You teased him, drawing another chuckle from him. You heard rustling on the other end and a female voice laughing quietly enough you almost didnt hear it. Almost. There she was. Lisa.

“Hey, I've done a pretty bang up job keeping this one.” Dean replied, which triggered another laugh from the other line. You could assume Dean had motioned to Lisa. You smiled bitterly before Sam took the phone from your hand. You sat up quickly to argue the sudden thievery of the item, but his raised hand silenced you.

“Dean,” Sam greeted his brother. He watched you as he spoke. You shrunk under his stare, knowing he was frustrated about something you had done.

“Sammy! How are ya?” You could hear Dean through the phone, even with it being a couple of feet away.

“Fine, listen, we gotta let you go. Early morning.” Sam was short with the man on the other end of the line. You could hear Dean bidding a “good night” to Sam before they ended the call. Sam sat on the side of your bed before handing you back the phone. You watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything to explain why he had interrupted your time with Dean. Sam stretched his neck then laid his eyes on yours.

“I told you to back off of him.” He said. If you didn't know any better, you would have swore you heard caring come through in his words. You swallowed down the shame you felt.

“I was.” Your voice was more fragile than you intended it to be. You looked away from Sam, but could still feel his soulless gaze on you.

“No, you weren't,” were the last words said between the two of you for the night.

----

Two weeks later, you heard the slam of a door. You and the Winchesters were staying at Bobby's while waiting for another case to pop up. You had been lounging in the room you had been calling yours for the past few days, reading a book. Sam was God knows where while Bobby was running the phones for Rufus. It had been a quiet afternoon. Quiet up until Dean entered the house.

He had received a text from Lisa stating to call him immediately. Which he did. Immediately. That had been an hour ago. You hadn't known what the woman had to talk about with Dean, nor had he. By the sounds of not only the door but his angry footsteps as he entered your room, he was upset about something. He shut the door when he made it inside. Dean started a slow, furious pacing, but didn't say anything at first.

“Did something happen?” You had put your book down and had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Your eyes trailed the path he made as he moved. He rubbed his face after stopping in front of you.

“Lisa said,” he paused and took a deep breath. “She said to leave her and Ben alone. That I crossed a line, pushing him.” Dean's voice was wavering between anger and heartbreak. 

“Oh,” you breathed out. You felt sorry for him, you did, but a small part of you, one that was buried deep within, was overjoyed. Maybe either Lisa out of the way Dean would see what he was missing with you. Of course, the second this thought popped into your head that sinking pit in your stomach appeared, the one that only seemed to show up when you thought about Dean and Lisa. You were watching him still, waiting to see what he was going to say or do next.

“It was either eat him or push him! What was I supposed to do, let the kid die?” Dean was frustrated. That was obvious with the way he was rambling on, ignoring any reaction you could have had to this information. You remembered this. A week ago, Sam and Dean had gone on a hunt which ended in Dean becoming a vampire, temporarily. Long story short, he ended up at Lisa’s house before taking the cure, and instead of opening up, he had almost killed them both in a fit of vampiric hunger. You were unsure of why exactly Dean had never told them the whole truth, but he hadn’t. Maybe he thought it would make it worse? You were sure it couldn’t have gotten worse than this.

Dean collapsed down next to you. He held his head in his hands. You sat next to him, blinking at the floorboards. How could you comfort him when you had been praying for this day since they had started dating? You weren’t great with words, words of comfort especially. Hug him? No, that might make things weird. You reached a hand over to place on his back, hesitating before ultimately making contact with his shirt. He was tense. Obviously he was tense. You stayed there, sitting next to him, hand on his back, waiting for him to make the next move.

Dean’s world was crashing down around him. It sounded dramatic, but it was true. Just when he had finally gotten to a place where he could at least be halfway happy with his life, it blew up in his face. Was he cursed? He didn’t know, but it felt like it. He didn’t know much of anything, actually. He had spent so long pushing his emotions away from the surface that he was clueless as to how to deal with it. Drinking wasn’t enough. He needed to get it out some other way. He looked up at you, eyes brimming red on the edge of tears.

Dean knew you loved him. He had known for a while, but knew you wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t worried about how it would affect the friendship because he would simply ignore it. That was what he did with most things that didn’t benefit him. Ignore it until it got too big, let it blow up his life, then find a way to clean up the pieces. That was what was happening now. This thing he had ignored was suddenly so big, and he knew he could use it for himself. It was a wrestling match in his mind as he looked into your eyes. In the end, there was a winner and it seemed to be the little devil on his shoulder.

You were surprised as hell when Dean lunged towards you. That surprise only increased when you felt his lips on yours. It was strange, the kiss and the fact that you had almost immediately melted into him. You were underneath him as he cupped the side of your face. His kiss was feverish. It wasn’t passionate in the way two lovers kissed, it was more sexual than that. You knew this was wrong, not just morally, but the whole situation. Dean was just grieving the end of his relationship a split second ago. Now he had suddenly found the urge to kiss you? No, it wasn’t right.

“Dean,” you mumbled against him. In response, he kissed you harder. It would have been a lie if you were to say you didn’t enjoy it. Dean Winchester knew how to kiss a girl. You felt his hand go to your side before wrapping around to your back. He pulled you up closer to him as he kissed down your neck. Your own hands found his chest and you tilted your head to allow him better access to you.

“Dean, I have to tell you-,” he cut you off with a sharp nip at your collarbone. He was working his way down you, preparing to do only the things you had dreamed of. You felt that guilt creep in again. Was he doing this because he thought he had to?

“Dean, please!” You pushed him off you, scared you had somehow manipulated him into doing this. Dean scrambled back. He looked upset, not from what you had done, but from what he had done. You were both breathing hard, from the rush of what had happened or from the tension in the room, you didn’t know. You swallowed and tried to keep your eyes on him.

“You don’t have to do this. We can wait.” You managed to get the words out without your voice breaking. You offered a smile, which fell when Dean shook his head. He wore a pained look on his face, which panicked you.

“I love you, Dean.” The words fell out before you could stop them. It wasn’t like they were a lie. You just hadn’t expected to tell him, not now, not like this. Your eyes were wide as you waited for a response, hoping for a good one. It wasn’t as if it was completely unexpected. It couldn’t have been. You spent all your free time either with him or helping him in some way. You laughed with him, cried with him, confided in him. He was charming, which he knew. All of this you knew to be true. Yet all of this hadn’t mattered anymore when Dean turned away from you, sniffing before he spoke.

“I know.” Dean’s reply was only two words, but they held meaning. Meaning you understood. You could read through Dean. He knew the whole time. He also didn’t feel the same. He hadn’t ever loved you. He hadn’t even wanted to try to love you.

“You kissed me.” At this point tears were daring to spill from your eyes. He had known you loved him, known he didn’t love you, and he had still kissed you. He had been more worried about soothing himself that he hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen afterwards. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that you were about to cry like the kid Dean always called you.

“I’m sorry.” Those were Dean’s last words before he left your room. The door was still swinging when the rumble of the Impala’s engine roared to life, triggering a sob to rip from your throat. You hugged yourself and dipped your head between your knees. Everything had changed and you knew it wasn’t for the better. You hated yourself for even putting yourself into this situation. You knew the risks of falling in love with Dean Winchester.

The bed dipped down next to you, signaling the arrival of someone else in the room. You didn’t have the heart to look up. It wasn’t Dean. You knew that. He wouldn’t have come back so soon unless it was to tell you he had lied, he actually reciprocated your feelings for him. But he wouldn’t have done that, because he didn’t. It was Sam. That much you knew from the way he wrapped an awkward arm around you. He was trying his hardest to comfort you without saying “I told you so”. You knew he wanted to, knew it was taking everything in him to not be cold to you. The two of you sat wordless as you cried over a love you imagined you would never feel again.

[daisyjonesgf]

let me down easy // finnick odair x f. reader

based off this blurb

summary: finnick pushed himself away, isolated himself, and you're slipping through his fingers like sand.

masterlist

3.8k words

warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff at the end, a little smutty but also very brief, mental illness, insecurity, paranoia, allusions to cheating (no one is actually cheating), slightly mean!finnick, self destructive behavior on all sides, more insecurities, arguments, feeling isolated, slight blood and injury, female rage things, male masturbation, unedited, no use of y/n, brief mentions of vomiting, girls girls all around, annie cresta my beloved being a girl girl, people pleaser reader

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Once every day had felt like it was full of sunlight, even if there were ups and downs you always had each other by the end of it. Now you weren't even sure if you had yourself, let alone Finnick. Worst of all you had no idea what you'd done wrong, at first you chalked it up to how he'd just returned from the Capitol. But usually his isolation was a day at the most before he'd succumb to your comfort. Instead it had been nearly a month of radio silence.

He stopped the way he'd pepper your face with kisses to wake you up and bring you to the kitchen where he'd have made breakfast, telling you mindless stories about his morning swim. Now if he did anything for you it felt robotic, out of necessity, there was no helping you with your hair, having fun picking out your outfits, he was barely around. Never would you have thought you could be such an outcast in your own home, your own relationship.

At first you'd thought you just weren't doing enough, that he needed some extra love to help him open up. Reluctantly you'd fully wake yourself up when you felt him rise for his swim, take up the position of making him breakfast instead. Busying yourself with his favorites until he returned and you put on your best smile when he did, hopeful it would be somewhat successful.

“Good morning!” You greeted and were met with a confused look, a nod. You'd always hated getting up this early yet here you were and he did nothing.

“I have to take a shower." He muttered and was up the stairs. It was a disappointing resolution, but then your hopes had still been high. So you kept making his favorites throughout the next few days, scattering gifts for him throughout the house, writing notes to hide where he might find them, desperate to show him how much you loved him.

“Where are you going?" Your voice startled him and he slowly turned his head towards you.

Finnick's voice was so dry, rigid, “Fishing."

“Oh, let me get my shoes on, I'll come with!" Bright smiles, you reminded yourself when it felt like wavering.

“I'd rather go alone."

“Right." It wanted to falter so bad, “How long are you gonna be gone? I could make you lunch to go or something."

“I'm okay."

You fidgeted with your fingers, “Yeah, okay, well, um, have fun." Then he was gone, without a kiss, even a hug goodbye. Come to think of it there hadn't been any at all for a while, not even in the morning which is something he'd always do. So after a few days failing with those attempts you'd convinced yourself of a different reason.

“Annie, be honest with me, do you think I'm pretty?" The two of you had been out in the garden of Victors Village and she seemed taken aback.

“Honey, of course you're pretty. You're beautiful, what brought this on?" She dropped what she was doing to look at you.

You darted around the specifics, “What about the way I dress, is it too frumpy?"

“No! There's nothing wrong with anything about you." Her voice was so soft and she felt like the only person you could talk to now that Finnick had pushed himself away from you. “What's going on?"

You felt yourself finally crying all the held back tears you'd hid for the moments alone, “What if he's found someone prettier and more exciting?” You sobbed out and Annie hugged you.

"Finnick worships the ground you walk on, he'd never do that.”

"He barely even talks to me anymore, Annie. It's like I don't exist.”

“He's just going through a rough patch, it's not your fault."

Regardless of what Annie said, you disagreed. He must have had someone else, but you couldn't confront him about it. No, if you did then it would become real and he'd leave you for them. There had to be someone else taking on his hardships and loving him the way he'd once let you. So you bought new makeup, new lingerie, new clothes, tried to feel more attractive, more desirable. Yet it didn't seem like he even noticed.

You'd waited for his return all day, he'd left so early you hadn't even seen him. You made dinner praying that he'd see the effort you made, and find you irresistible once again. Of course, this effort seemed to be in vain.

“Welcome home, Finn!" You greeted when he walked through the front door, pained by the sound of your own faux bubbly voice. You put a plate down in front of his usual seat.

“Thanks." He mumbled and you smiled cheerfully. Perhaps you'd been too solemn and he'd prefer someone who exuded more sunshine-like behavior. “How was your day?" His voice was sharp, curt, but it was a conversation nonetheless. Always better than nothing.

“It was good!" You lied through your teeth, there hadn't been a single moment where your brain hadn't been infested with the thought of him pushing you away, him with someone else. It was something you desiped, you preferred to be in the moment. When you had been confident in yours and Finnick's relationship you could immerse yourself in the company of others, enjoy menial tasks with humming and daydreams, but now the isolation haunted your mind. “Annie and I planted some new flowers and cut some that recently finished blooming. I finally changed our vases out." He didn't even glance around, just kept eating. Your Finnick had always made an effort to look around, praise you for anything you did, he took pride in you, now the only thing he took pride in was being able to avoid you.

He curtly nodded his head in response and you felt like you might snap. Especially as the silence persisted, nothing except the sounds of the house and his fork clinking on the plate. You chewed at your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down waiting for the smallest bit of conversation, but nothing came. Eventually you shot out of your seat, grabbed your plate, which you were sure you wouldn't be able to stomach, and began cleaning up dinner. Hands gripping each dish so hard as if to contain all the rage you'd been repressing.

“I can clean up." Finnick murmured as he rose.

Being lazy was another thing you thought could be a reason. He did so much for you and whatever you had to offer must not have been enough. Yes, he'd always insisted that you should just be his pretty girl that he could look at when he did the tasks, but in secret he must have just wanted you to resist and do more. So you vehemently shook your head, “No, I've got it!" Your voice was strained and several pitches too high to sound natural.

“It's fine, I can do it.” How dare he have the gall to sound annoyed with you.

“I've got it Finnick, just go to bed!" Or whatever the fuck else is he does to be away from you. You regretted how snappy you were, he wanted someone easy going, not how uptight you were being. But god, hate that man for how he looked like a wounded puppy dog. “Sorry." You muttered, only partially genuine. Harshly grabbing a glass to clean, hands gripping around it, so harshly it seemed that when you went to put it to dry, it shattered in your hand. Your reaction was delayed as you stood there in disbelief, you hated your life, “Fuck.”

Then his hand was on your back and you involuntarily jerked at the contact you hadn't felt for so long. “You're bleeding." How the hell was his voice still so stony, a mystery you'd never know the answer too. It sent tingles up your spine the way his hand was on your back, you missed his touch. He led you to the bathroom where he carefully tended to the cuts in your hand. Carefully taking out the pieces of glass and although you occasionally winced, it was like your brain couldn't comprehend the pain over the buzzing about his hand touching yours. But once he bandaged it up the touch was gone and so was he with a, “I'll clean up."

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. But you hated being angry with him when he was probably going through something, he'd struggled so much and just needed help. Was it really excusable though when it was tearing you apart to be in all of this. You got up and without a second thought walked straight out the front door. Feet guiding you to the comfort of the beach. Of course it invoked memories of all the better times spent with Finnick, but out here at least you had the ocean. It has started to rain and you didn't care. Walking out into the sea, as far as you could touch, and letting the freedom of the waves surround you. And you screamed, at the sky, at the waters, into the night. Trying so desperately to let go of the aggression, so you could keep trying. Inhaling the salt air before you walked back inside, you could do this. Every relationship had trials and tribulations, but you could be stronger, stick together.

As you were walking back, Finnick was jogging towards you, “Are you okay?" There was actual emotion in his voice, you longed to be privileged to it more often.

“Yeah."

“I thought I… " He trailed off, hand running through his hair. The way he looked like he might cry sparked guilt in you, but also a sick pleasure that he actually cared. “You're gonna get sick." Just as quickly his tone returned to being straight-laced.

You didn't care, if you were sick maybe he would take care of you. So you walked inside and he said nothing. You showered and changed, you'd gotten a new nightgown that left little to the imagination. Maybe you could get a rise out of him, get him to touch you more. But he seemed to be fast asleep by the time you left the bathroom, so you slipped into bed beside him. In the past he'd always sleep with his arms around you, but now you slept beside each other rather than with one another. It left you cold, despite the blankets, which were barely there as he'd always been a blanket hog, which you used to tease him for, but was fine because you were attached to him. Now you laid there and felt yourself crying. You cursed yourself for it, not right now, but you couldn't stop. So you covered your mouth with a hand as you sobbed into it.

The next morning you felt him wake, but there was no energy to make breakfast. You were exhausted and it hadn't made him love you again anyways. So you drifted back off until the sound of floorboards creaking when he returned woke you up. You sat up in bed as he entered the bedroom. “Morning, Finn." The smile you worked hard to maintain was back.

“Morning." He mumbled and then his eyes faltered on you. That's when you remembered the nightgown, it was a relief for something to keep his eyes on you. ‘Love me, even if it's just for my body, love me in some way.’ Your brain begged to no avail. “Shower." He slowly said even though he'd very obviously grown hard.

You felt humiliated, completely embarrassed to be dressed the way you were and him to still not want you. It made you want to cry again, but you had to persist. Rising to get dressed until you heard your name. It took you a second to process that he was moaning it, you were right there and he was getting himself off to the thought of you when he could've just had the actual you. That had to be a new type of low. You hadn't even dared to touch yourself no matter how badly you wanted him because you knew nothing you did could match the things he'd made you feel. Yet here he was, so easily jerking off. There was nothing you could do except seethe as you got ready for your day. At least it was your name and not some other girls.

You were in the kitchen when he walked downstairs, “Going to the market." He announced and you got up from your chair.

“I'm coming too." It wasn't a question.

"No, it's okay. I've just got a couple things to grab.”

"So do I, so I'll just come along to grab them. You don't even have to stick by me, I'm just going.” You were exasperated. Honestly you hadn't left the confines of Victors Village for a while, besides when you tried to recall your look, and this would be a good opportunity to see if he was being honest. There was nothing you really had to get, but at least you'd somewhat had his company.

He said nothing but waited as you put on your sandals and then the two of you set off. The silence was deafening as you two walked, your Finnick would always hold your hand, would've taken you from booth to booth and ramble on endlessly, buy anything you glanced at with interest, but now he stood too far away for your hands to even brush by each other. The bustling of the market was a relief and for the first time in a long time you naturally smiled. Although it was jarring how quickly Finnick put on a smile, made conversation with all these people when he hadn't blessed you with the same thing. In fact, it instantly dampened your mood.

“Haven't seen you in so long, missed seeing that pretty smile!" All your favorite vendors gushed and you'd smile, make small talk. Even if everything made you think of Finnick. When was the last time he'd called you pretty? When was the last time he kissed you?

“You look a little sad, are you alright?" And you'd insist you were just feeling a little under the weather. You'd somewhat kept your distance from Finnick until you saw him laughing with a girl in the market. When was the last time he'd laughed with you? Is this what he did, found pretty girls in the market, charmed them, and went back home with them?

You'd slowly approached and showed fake interest in one of her necklaces. “They're real pearls." She said. She was so pretty, stunning. What did she have that you didn't? You hummed, smiling and without a word, Finnick was handing you money.

‘I don't want your money, I want you to pay attention to me.’ You thought and shook your head, “I don't need your money, Finn." The only thing you'd want from him was something he'd pick out because he wanted to give it to you, something he'd always done if you hadn't been there with him. Showing up at home with little treasures to show off to you. He looked at you quizzically, it wasn't like you had any money of your own on you.

“Is this your girlfriend?" The woman asked, her voice was sweet like sugar, you were too gruff, that's what you were missing.

Right now though, your voice was breathy, anxious. “Yeah." The woman must have been able to sense something off because she looked at you with pity. Finnick left the money on the counter by you regardless of what you said and walked off. You sighed.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know."

You gave a sad smile, “It's okay, not your fault." You picked the money up, ready to go find him.

“He's just a guy, even if he's Finnick Odair, don't let him dim your spark." It should've been encouraging, except you knew you loved him too much to ever leave him.

You found him, chatting and smiling as he bought produce. You missed his smile. “Here." You said quietly, handing him his money.

“Where's the necklace?"

“Didn't need it." You didn't care about needing it, you care that he would rather have you buy things for yourself then make you feel valued.

He huffed, like you were frustrating him, annoying him. “Okay, use it to find something else then. You said you weren't going to stick around me." You couldn't stop yourself from physically recoiling from his venom.

“I just came to tell you I was going home." You said weakly, staring at the ground. “Have fun." Your voice cracked slightly and you didn't even bother looking up as you walked home. Immediately settling yourself into bed where you refused to move. Eventually he came home, something clicked onto the dresser table, the sun went down and you stayed put. When he crawled into bed the most movement you made was flipping onto your side to have the protection of your back facing him.

For days it was a cycle of laying in bed, only rising once he left, usually to stand under the burning hot water in the shower until your skin felt raw. Then immediately returning back to bed. He'd return, put something on the dresser, and you'd stay still. Eventually one night he'd come home and sat at your feet, mattress dipping. “We need to talk."

Your hands clamped over your ears, this was it, he was done with you, all that effort for nothing. The anxiety knotted in your stomach, “I'm gonna be sick." You forced yourself up and found yourself throwing up in the toilet, Finnick holding your hair back.

“Hey, it's okay. It's okay, sweet girl." When you were done you said nothing as you brushed your teeth, praying he would leave and forget whatever bad news he was surely bearing. But he didn't, he waited and sat on the bed, waiting for you. Who exited, arms crossed, trying not to cry.

“Please don't break up with me." It was pathetic to beg for but he stood up, looking bewildered.

“No, no, no, I'm not gonna break up with you, sweet girl. I wouldn't even think of it." His hands cradled your face and you melted into them.

Finally you let the tears fall, "Then what are we talking about?”

"I've been so terrible to you, a terrible partner, a terrible person. I…” He took a deep breath in, "I had a rough time in the Capitol, I always do, especially last time though. And I knew you would be able to tell and try to help, but it was easier for me to just block you out so I didn't have to deal with it. Because it hurts to think about." He was crying and it made your heart ache. "And I took you for granted. I didn't try to be there for you, I was selfish and I can't make up for it enough. I will spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

You were both sobbing and he pressed his forehead to yours. His hands were so warm, his touch was so perfect. "I want to help you.”

"I know.” He pulled his forehead away, putting his hands on your shoulders. "I need you to tell me how you felt. Not the sweet way you usually explain things, be honest, so honest.

You shook your head, “No, it's okay. It was just miscommunication."

“No, I think I nearly broke you and everybody else noticed before I did. I need to know your raw feelings, so I can attempt to make it up to you.” He let go of your shoulders and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I thought you were cheating on me.” You said quietly, anxiously playing with your fingers. He already looked hurt, "Like you found someone else because I wasn't, I don't know, fun enough, pretty enough, hardworking enough. And you didn't want me to do anything with you ever or notice anything I did for you." You took a deep breath, you could feel yourself getting angrily worked up and he could tell.

“If you're angry, be angry." He said and you obeyed.

“And I bought new clothes for you, changed my makeup routine, smiled more, made all your favorites, woke up earlier, tried to take on burdens and you said nothing. Do you know how lonely I was? How bad that made me feel about myself? One day you weren't letting me lift a finger, telling me you loved me, now pretty I was, and the next I thought I'd never hear any of that again, let alone have you touch me. No kisses, or hugs, you didn't even hold me when we slept! And you were so closed off and sometimes mean on top of that and all I wanted was your attention. Until finally I gave up because at least even if you weren't really with me, I still had you, and I didn't want you to leave me just because I found out there was someone else, which is so fucked. And then I thought, maybe at the very least, he’ll have me for my body, I had new lingerie, I tried and you didn't give a fuck. No, you got yourself off in the goddamn bathroom and I was right here!” Your voice had risen and your inhales were sharp between the ranting, "And everytime I hated what you were doing to me, I'd feel bad because what you've been through is so much worse and I should still try to be there for you. So I tried and then you'd be annoyed with me and it was like torture. And I swear to god, if you ever do that again, I'll leave.” A weight lifted off of your chest and he hugged you.

“I'm so sorry, I won't ever do it again, I love you so much, you're so pretty and kind and I need you in my life." You held onto him like he would slip away, kissing away your tears that were falling even though he was also crying. He held you until the sobbing had mostly subsided, “You know I bought you all these stupid gifts when you were laying there, thinking it would make you feel better, but I don't even think you noticed." He chuckled and you turned your head, not wanting to tear away from him. All you could see was the necklace from where you were standing. “Not that it would've done anything after all the time I spent letting the castle crumble around us.

"Thank you.” It was muttered and then he tried to pull out of the hug which made you whine. Trying to cling on forever.

His hand tilted your chin towards him, “You wanna put one of those sets on that you got for me so I can show you how pretty you are and how sorry I am for neglecting my sweet girl?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

sorry y'all angst is my default settings. thank you for reading, comments, likes, reblogs, feedbacks is all super appreciated. asks and requests are open, love you all, sorry again 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

[dark-raven-666]

Can u write fluff for mr.human:3 i saw the one u wrote for mr.masque and i thought "hey! side chars content😍" like wowwww ok anyway i love the way u wrote for masque🥰 was hoping mr.human could get some love too:33

Reader isn't adami btw, other than that ill eat up pretty much anything

Mr. Human x reader (fluff)

A/N : sorry this took forever I am struggling with my mental health currently and things have been coming out slower. Enjoy either way :))

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬

Had she never stepped into that room. Had you never picked up the bodyless creature and walked you would have never met him.

He was hesitant, not shy, but scared.

Yet now, he laid in her arms his blond hair scattered across the pillow.

How had it all started?

"DUCK DOWN!" Was what you had yelled tackling the blonde man to the ground, at first he thought you were attacking him, but when he saw the machete impaled into the wall above him he realized she had saved him.

Sitting down by one of the tables he had spoken to her, asked about her, and wondered why she had saved him, in return all he got was a gentle smile.

He was even more confused.

With how dangerous this world is you let him walk with you, numerous times you would save the man and he would thank you.

One particular time he still remembered. It was the very first time, the machete incident. How could he forget it? Back then he barely knew you, yet he had you so close. Your chest on his, your face in his neck and your legs intertwined with his, he would do anything to have you that close again.

He had fallen in love with the strong and brave woman. His saviour.

Well back to present time, you pet his hair as his face lays in your chest. He looked so adorable, so comfortable... So safe...

You wanted to protect him. You had to protect him.

Stirring awake the man's eyes met yours, with a smile he greeted you "good morning"..

Had his voice always been this beautiful? Yes it was deep due to sleep but how handsome did he look. You return his wish and caress his cheek.

" Good morning to you too my dear. " you say in a hushed voice not wishing to disturb this morning with your loud voice.

Now it was time to start your day until you felt a hand grasp you.

"Stay.. " was whispered lazily by the man with hair of gold.

"I must go... We need to find the exit to our world. " you say back to him. It did annoy you but it was better to be found before that vicious machate carrying man returns.

Pulling you in he whispers. "I already found my world... She's in my arms..."

What a cheesy man, you thought and wrapped your arms around him, perhaps another five minutes wouldn't hurt.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

hello I hope your having a good day! I was wondering if you could write for the arcana mane 6 comforting reader when she had a bad/stressful day? Js something fluffy and cute :3

Case of the Blues

|| main 6 x fem!reader

|| Warnings; reader feeling down, the main 6 comforting her, brief hints at sex but nothing actually said or overly hinted at

|| Summary; when the main 6 find reader, they comfort her to the best of their abilities. Each in their own styles.

Requests open!

Started; November 9th

Finished; November 9th

~~~

Countess Nadia

She knows by now what all your tells are, it didn't take her long to figure out you were feeling down. Nadia would call for Portia, requesting your favourite comfort food to be made for dinner that evening. Then Nadia would call off anything she had to do for that day. Luckily, today there wasn't anything too major. Just small meetings with the court that Nadia could just reschedule anyways.

Getting you in her arms would be her top priority. Once Nadia had you in bed, she'd shower you in kisses. Asking what was wrong and if there was anything she could do for you. If you told her, Nadia would sit and listen. Providing advice should you ask. She always seemed to know just what to say, especially when it came to you.

If you decided on being silent with her, Nadia would never force you to speak to her. But she would feel a little hurt that you were shutting her out. Instead, she would focus on the physical comfort over emotional and mental. Giving you any kind of attention you wanted... yes, any. Nadia was yours just as much as you were hers; something she would never let you forget. Not that you had any complaints, though.

And it worked nearly every time, making you feel better than you had all day.

Count Lucio

Believe it or not, he does notice when his favourite magician is feeling down. Lucio doesn't always know what to do at first, asking some of the palace workers for advice until he settles on something he likes. And figured you would like too.

When he finds you, he scoops you up into his arms. Ignoring your protests at being carried, saying how he's "trying to be your hero! let me do my thing!" and eventually you calm down. Allowing him to carry you to the palace's luxury baths.

At the baths, he tells the servants there to leave the two of you be. Then disrobes you and himself before heading in, gesturing for you to follow him.

Once settled in his arms, he holds you close. Pampering you and kisses and asking how you're feeling. If you tell him, he does his best to listen. And if its a rant about someone in particular, Lucio hates that person along with you. "ugh I can't believe they did that!" "no way???" "nobody speaks to my mc like that and gets away with it". Honestly Lucio lives for the drama.

But if you choose not to tell him, much like Nadia he's happy just providing you with kisses.

Portia Devorak

Just like you, Portia's pretty exhausted after her day in the palace. But when she comes home to find you looking rather down, almost subconsciously petting Pepi in your lap... she knows what she's gotta do. Portia's the type to worry about herself last; if at all. So you know this girl is doing everything she can for you.

Making you a calming tea, your favourite snacks, then cuddling up with you and Pepi. Listening as you rant to her. Much like Lucio, if the rant is about a particular person... Portia is your number one defender. You may need to hold her back from marching out of the cottage and finding whoever it was that wronged you herself. How dare someone make her favourite girl in the world sad? She'd handle it, if you let her.

Julian Devorak

Oh boy. When he found you feeling down, he was all over you with concern. First Julian made sure to cross off any illness possibilities; checking your forehead, etc. When he was satisfied that you were alright in that sense, he'd run off to get you water and a snack. Just to be extra sure about your health and all. And when he'd return, Julian would sit and listen as you talked to him about your day.

He would feel bad for you, wishing that whatever had you feeling down was happening to him instead. Despite Nazali's warnings at not being so self sacrificing. Julian loved you, he couldn't help it. He hated seeing those he cared about in any kind of pain he couldn't fix.

But Julian would damn well do anything he could to try and fix it. Giving you whatever kind of comfort you needed. Cuddles? Stories? Kisses? Laughter? You name it, you got it. Even if he may have to pull a few strings.

Asra

Asra's known you for ages, after all he taught you to be human again. So of course he would immediately recognize that look in your eyes. He'd ask you what was wrong, bringing you upstairs to talk about it as Faust came and joined you. Lounging in the space between the two of you.

You would talk to Asra; there was little you felt you couldn't admit to him. It had always been easy having conversations with the magician. He'd listen, letting you get everything out before offering comfort and especially advice. Even offering to do a tarot reading for you, should the situation require another set of eyes and advice.

You'd listen to everything he had to say, taking in his words like a fresh breeze on a rough day. Finding it was exactly what you needed to hear. As it often was. He'd then give your hand a squeeze and lips a kiss, before making your favourite meal for dinner. Comforting you was something he had become skilled in doing over the years. After all, you were his mc.

Muriel

Muriel would return to his hut to find you cuddled up with Inanna. He could tell you weren't quite yourself. He'd give you the time you needed, knowing that sometimes people just need to be left alone until they're ready. And by the time you were, he was making dinner for the two of you as he felt your arms try to wrap around his back. Muriel would look to you, bringing you in a little closer. Placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

He wouldn't ask what was wrong right away. Waiting to see if you would start the conversation. If you did, he would listen. Occasionally nodding to show you he was paying attention as he made dinner. But if you didn't talk first, he would feel a little flustered as he'd awkwardly stutter out the question. Asking you how you were feeling.

Should you decide to say nothing about it to him, Muriel would respect that. Being a man of so few words himself he hardly minded. But he would be bothered about whatever seemed to have you so down. Wondering if it was something he had done or someone else. As long as you assure him it wasn't his fault, he'd be okay.

~~~

Notes; not used to writing for Portia, Julian, Asra or Muriel. So I hope you all found them to be decently accurate 🙏

[zorosnavigator]

Timebomb fics rec

A lot of timebomb fics are hiding through a lot of CaitVi/JayVik tagged works on ao3 (while many are also CV orJV centric) so i made this rec post for everyone who dont want to spent 1 hour scrolling or missing some of them bc you're filtering other ships!! (sorry for the short summaries/ i didnt write my thoughts as thoughtfully as i would have liked because.yk.time and all. update chapter count/add of new fics every week)

AU/crossovers fics

Je t'aime (Je t'attends) 3 chapter, WIP.

Hunger games x Timebomb/Arcane, the way the system of the games from the og novels are mixed in the Arcane universe is really masterful, the writer dont lose too much time explaining it but you understand the dynamics of the 2 cities and the characters perfectly anyway.

Where would you be now ? by enaven 5/6 chapters, WIP.

family/modern AU, timebomb feels, Ekko and Jinx are Isha's parents, CaitVi are just silly aunts and i'll never stop recommending this fic

you're the best thing to ever happen to me (but also the worst thing to ever happen to me) by grey_toiletpaper ( @greytoiletpaper ) 3/8 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Timebomb inspired by 10 things i hate about you.

We Moved Into a Real House (a Wild Field Behind it) by smokesatellite 3/10 chapters. WIP. Rated T.

Modern AU, Timebomb roommates/friends to lovers, Isha is a foster kid...you know where this is going .. (Ekko as a nurse is not something i expected but its surprisingly good. Also the in law feud between Jinx and Cait is very funny)

s1 fics

Silco is less of an asshole

The Heart of Zaun by 1ts_Br1tney_B1tch 8/ chapters. WIP.

or: Silco try to rally the Firelights to his cause (in this case, Zaun - he's much more involved in doing better for his city than in the show) but of course they're bound to have some..tension between them, since they hate him - and Shimmer. (it has the good parent Silco tag so i'd say that all in all, this Silco is a little less...Silco than in Arcane, but manage to keep some of the bite he has in canon...) i only read 2 chapters, and what i can say is that it does a good job with the general cast, the interactions between Silco/Ekko-Firelights are believable, i think the one thing that could have weird me out is the way Silco is said to be 'proud' of the Firelights in the summary (for me 'pride' is something he'd reserve for Jinx yk?? anyway i stop the rambling) . The Timebomb relationship has more or less the same push and pull as in the show, with Ekko thinking about the girl Jinx used to be/ Ekko being a link to the past before Jinx and all that entail...so yeah, i'm loving it!

Powder doesnt become Jinx

The Alpha Command by typewriter_in_galaxy 13 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

ABO/Reverse AU where Powder doesnt become Jinx and is raised by Viktor, Ekko is taken in by Silco. btw i dont read a lot of abo fic (im very nickpick) but this one does every characters justice, and actually dwelve in depth in the abo universe.. (everything by typewriter is good to be honest, but my favorite thing is how they write Powder, who even when she doesnt become Jinx, is still shaped by a very violent world/trauma and it shows through her mental health issues and very, very low self worth/need to prove herself. )

everything's better with a friend by typerwriter_in_galaxy 7chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Timebomb centric rewrite of Arcane, Jinx is Powder, she doesnt fall under Silco's hand (or in his arms precisely), Ekko is Ekko, and 1, i need to hug Powder, 2 she deserves the world and 3 the characterization of everyone, everyone is so brillantly written and the timebomb relationship (damn even the CaitVi one too) oh, the timebomb of it all... they feel so, so real and it hurts, Powder's insecurities, her mental illness, her guilt, her need to prove herself but in same time she doesnt feel herself worth of anything (or anyone) good... just.read it. read it, because i just did, after like 2 years of not doing that and. im like mad bc why didnt i??? but in same time so grateful to just discover it now, taking my sweet little time reading it; it rewinded my brain its amazing, (like this work in another fandom, the first time i read this rebelcaptain's fic A Love song by skitzofreak - did i just linked it for you to read even tho its a timebomb rec post??? yes. yes i did. thats how much i love, adore, worship this one guys - so everything's better made me think a lot of this TB fic, and also of RC (the abandonment issues, thinking that you have to leave first before everyone leave you, Jyn and Powder damn).

Shattered Web by Firewolf2132 1 chapter. WIP. Rated M.

you know how everyone make the comparaison between Ekko and Miles?? well, the author found a way for Ekko transform into a spiderman that feels right in the arcane verse (end of act1) and damn its so good. Ekko slowly morphing and gaining his powers while everyone still have some focus on them (mostly Powder), but it still manages to keep the suspense of the fate of other characters. fabulous. author note: [I have seen so many comparisons between Ekko and Miles and a lot of fanart. So it felt that I had to do this. I can't promise future chapters right now (busy), but I am eager to see if this inspires any stories with a similar premise.]

S2 fanfics

fics covering Timebomb moments between ep 8 Ekko saving her /they painted each other and ep9

Go Back For Her by A_Lily_In_The_Moonlight 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Ekko's pov -i only read 1 chapter - we see his thought's process on his relationship with Powder AU/ Jinx, and how he came to the conclusion he must go back to her. the moment where he help Jinx with his Z-drive comes a little differently than in ep8 (well, the aftermath) aaand another fic where Jinx's grief over Isha's death shatters me, the pain and the self loathing/blaming from Jinx really devastating.

I dont believe in God, but i believe you're my savior by mquesterminds One shot. Rated T

[summary: every time Ekko has to rewind time to stop Jinx it cuts to a different moment from throughout their love story because I'm allergic to happiness the moments covering their shared past really make their present 10 times sadder.]

I'm sure we're taller in another dimension by hallwayheart One shot. Rated M. i have nothing to say because i'm still processing what i just read.ty.

Fires That Were Set by ilophilia ( @ilophilia on tumblr) 1 chapter. WIP.

the conversation after Ekko helped Jinx in episode 8. Loved the banter, the emotions (the grief is there and its important to feel it but damn i want to hug them so bad). They tell each other what happened when Ekko was gone, and you feel the distance/the closeness, near intimacy building again and its beautiful..

Hope is a winged beast by Grey_ Unicorn 4 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

prepare you tissues because i was myself not ready for chapter 3 and the emotional wreck of Jinx processing her grief. but here we are.

fics from AU Powder pov/exchange between Jinx and AU Powder

what we left behind by re_dragon_rising 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated T.

Powder traverses to the og arcane universe 1 year after Ekko's visit. (the insight into her life after Ekko leaves is wholesome and also give the reader a glimpse of the Mylo/Claggor/Powder siblings dynamics + the impact of Vi's death on them. really great. a little sad too.)

The other Ekko by GrammarThyEnemy Oneshot. General audience.

Powder knows this Ekko is not her Ekko.

memento vivere by fuwaaa 1/2. WIP. General audience.

covering the AU episode, Powder knows something's up with Ekko.

See Ya On The Other Side by moth_dust 3/5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Powder also travel to the og universe.

these forgotten faces by whippindippin ( @whippindippin on tumblr too!) 6 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx and Powder body swap and its both the worst and best thing that could ever happen to either of them. great reading and their reaction on point.

Isha is alive

Astrantia by AelinCreativ ( @aelincreativ they're on tumblr too!) 5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

canon divergence where Ekko saves Isha. a lot of angst. but also a lot of happiness. so we can cry while smiling along with them. great. ty author!!

Ankle-Biter by darkfire1220 8/9 chapters, WIP. Rated M.

Isha is Jinx's biological daughter, Silco is a not so bad (grand) father, and their mother/daughter bond is one a the greatest thing ever. (very slowburn timebomb). Also Vi. i love you Vi.

post s2

we made our peace with weariness (and let it be) by The_FlamingTiger 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated M.

Ekko and Jinx reconnect in Bilgewater..(and Jinx goes to therapy. that too. its nice)

I don't believe in God (But I believe that you're my savior) by yeonatsu Oneshot, general audience.

Ekko is mourning.

this hunger for love won’t disappear by Amuria Oneshot, rated T.

Months after the battle for Piltover, Ekko begins to dream of Powder. He thinks it’s his grief playing tricks on him. She has different theory.

Francesca (Do You Think I'd Give Up?) by PoetProlific 2 chapters. WIP.

Ekko tries searching for Jinx...(with the help of Caitlyn, yep. and its well done, because I think Cait would help, for Vi. And i love how Ekko-Cait's dynamics might evolve because of this..)

So I met him there and told him I believe by ijustwanttoreadinpeace 3 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx begins a new life in Bilgewater but is forced to come back... (edit: be warned, this is now an orphan account so idk if there will be more chapters.)

all the 6 timebomb one shot by atabex (the other fics are not timebomb) they're all rated E and oh boy is it worth it. most of these oneshot are gut wrenching and do smut + characters so well... the most recent one is just Ekko and AU Powder ahem doing the boombayah on the rooftop, but yk, with bits of sad and tragedy here and there.

i'm a little ashamed i'm only adding it now but every TB os fics by @shroomystar is 🤌 nothing else to add because each one of them are good. so. (if you want the explicit one-shots it's here and if you prefer without, it's here )

[theyluvlyss]

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 & 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲...

my head is all but consumed with thoughts only of wade wilson, logan howlett, and remy lebeau. they're all I can process in my head (besides shazam, but that's a given considering no one loves shazam the way I do, so🤷🏽‍♀️) and I y e a r n desperately for an influx in "wade x y/n x logan" fics and the "remy x y/n" fics... dare I even ask, humbly ofc, hear me out... for a splash of "wade x y/n x remy". genuinely, I'd kill for some of that ngl.

and I bet you're wondering, "lyssa, why not do it yourself🤔?"

short answer: I am swamped with requests, and even if I wasn't, I'm not ready yet lmao I fear I do not possess the skills to capture them in my writing perfectly😔 ... yet😈.

in the meantime, tho *😈evil little laughter😈* may I plz suggest the following prompts and pairings to and for anybody willing to work with them or wanting ideas (begging any writers that see this to please write these and tag me plz plz plz plz plz 😭🙏🏽😃plzplzplzplzplzplzplzpl-)...

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

⚠️trigger and content warning btw lol -

mentions of fighting/violence/bloodshed, death, gore, (like c'mon,,, bffr, look at who you're reading about😐🤨), anxiety/panic attacks, harsh words/themes/elements/physical injuries, abuse and/or negelct, separation anxiety, mental disorders, brief mention of sickness/illness, drugs (just 🍃 and painkillers), age gap (nothing illegal, chill out🤨✋🏽), use of a derogatory term (not used in a negative sense tho lol), and some semi-common smut themes that I won't list here, but be wary if that stuff makes you uncomfortable :)♡. also, these are all under the pretense that the reader is a cis girl, she/her/hers pronouns (so ig you could think of this as one, big, mass request to all writers willing from me lol🤭🥴🫶🏽).

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭/𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 :

- reader having a panic/anxiety attack and ofc being comforted (causes my vary; maybe right after a fight/battle, or because of over-worrying or too much pressure, maybe after a fight with another loved one, etcetc). definitely wanna see this with all three of them, but separately, tho. like, one fic or list of "preferences/headcannons" for logan, one for wade, and then one for remy.

- near death or death (followed by resurrection swift after). it could be reader almost dies or dies (then gets resurrected, get creative with it/how, fr, yk?) or the reverse; the POI (person of interest) dies, although given two of the three's abilities, y'all might have to get creative if you want it to translate for logan and/or wade so this one would be mainly for a remy x reader.

- I personally love a good "POI says sumn mean/outta pocket, hurts reader's feels, stuff happens idk, but they eventually kiss and make up" trope. I'd eat that up, especially cuz OHHH,,,, wade taking a joke or playful argument or something too far? logan being a little too mean/angsty to you for comfort?? remy saying something that gets lost in translation, so it comes out harsher than intended??? 😫😫😫‼️‼️ AND IF YOU WANNA GET MESSY WIT IT, RUNNING TO ONE OF THE OTHER THREE FOR COMFORT🙈🙈⁉️⁉️⁉️.

- a classic; reader getting injured (mildly or worse, doesn't matter), needing to be taken care of, but is stubborn about it?? always a good one.

- getting a little crazy and silly here, but I like a good "abusive and/or negelctful ex/current partner" trope. like hell yeah, one of you big, strong men get over here and save me, whisk me away and show me what I really deserve😻‼️. NOT romanticizing/glorifying it obvs, like no, I mean that wade, logan, and/or remy would not be the red flags in this scenario, they're the one(s) doing the saving FROM the red flag ex/current partner lol.

- getting a little crazier and sillier with this one, but one where reader gets snatched up🙂? oouuuu, miss girl got kidnapped?! once again, somebody come save me, and if "somebody" is not wade, logan, and/or remy, then don't bother, I don't want it. matter of fact, just gon' on ahead and leave me, I'll figure it out myself🙂✌🏽. I think I'd want these separate, actually, bc I wanna take in the individuality of their reactions, like,,, logan going feral?? pretty predictable tbh lmao but still hot. remy?? idek ngl, y'all gon' have to figure him out. BUT WADE BEING SERIOUS AND NOT AS TALKATIVE FOR ONCE UNTIL HE KNOWS YOU'RE SAFE???? OOOHOOHOOOOOOO, GIMMIE🖐🏽👹🖐🏽✊🏽👹✊🏽!!!

- ig this could be put in the panic/anxiety attack category, but I also feel like this might be it's own separate thing, so idk, but... separation anxiety on reader's part. whatever the circumstances may be to breed it, reader is just (not in a unhealthy way) attached to the POI(s), so them leaving for whatever reason is pretty hard on her (and the POI(s), too, because hello, they don't wanna make their reader upset, but things gotta get done fr yk😫🥲),,, lots of reassurance, comforting, and maybe distractions ensue??

- reader with an alter ego/inner beast, whether that be a result of her powers or a mental disorder (think like,,, split personality or maybe DID or something like that, but I do wanna say, if you're gonna go the mental route, make sure you do your research so that you're representing it - not only accurately - but you're not dehumanizing or dumbing it down as well) or just anything that would cause the reader to, as I said, have a different side of themself,,, werewolf type deal, yk? "normal" for the most part, but then has her moments where she be on demon time and then when she's back to herself, she's just like "???" while everyone else is like "!!!". I suppose this could then be followed up/solved with a "the sun's getting real low" typa thing/moment from the POI(s), but that's neither here nor there, do what feels right fr♡.

- reader (just barely) escapes cassandra nova??? that could be cool (a.k.a. very, very angsty bc surely the encounter has messed the reader alllll the way up both mentally and physically, especially knowing what typa timing cass be on lmao😃). love a good hurt/comfort, I can't get enough, actually. this one (given the movie context) may or may not work with wolvie and/or pool (again, up to the writer to get creative), but gambit?? he's been in the void his whole life, he knows cass, sooo it'd make more sense for him to have a higher understanding of the situation in full, but do what y'all want, I'm just the idea woman🤷🏽‍♀️.

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 :

- morning cuddles and softeness and ughghfhfhdjd♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!! and then the opposite, night/bedtime cuddles and softness and uugjfjdkwkfke♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!!

- height difference teasings and shenanigans. we can always stick to the classics, ofc, short reader, tall wade, logan, and/or remy. maybe its an advantage in fights - fast, lethal, and small + big, shielding, and strong - but sucks in more domestic/calm cases like reaching for shit on the top shelf or wanting to kiss somebody. but I'd also love some tall gworl reader type shit, miss strong, lean, runway model energy, stepping on any heads and wooing any men that are in her path🥴😻. bending down with a smile so she can hear him, mindlessly playing with his hair, occasionally makes a quip here and there on the difference without thinking lol and he haaaaateeees all of it (but he looooveeeessss all of it🤭).

- reader being THAT GIRL, literally being in a 1v26 or sumn crazy like that and she's just kicking ass and shit the whole time, and then there's the POI(s),,, gawking and in love like "damn that's MY GIRL fr\😻/!!".

- *imagine a vine boom after every bolded word, okay, go* teen/minor/young PLATONIC NONSEXUAL NONROMANTIC (literally I can not stress this enough) NOT DATING AT ALL EVER reader and one/two/all of them. I think it'd just be silly seeing them (wade, logan, and or remy) working/paired with/having a bond with this little gremlin yet sweetheart of a reader who's somehow able to tolerate/put up with/ignore/maybe even indulge in their craziness lmfao. maybe just as or is even more crazy than they are, chaotic and desensitized type shit. you could even get ansgty with it, have this teen reader need saving or something like that, yk?

- sparring match and reader BEATS POI(s) in said spar cuz she's cool, awesome, and mega baller like that. lots of tension and goofiness, especially from the reader, cuz she knows damn well she's the shit. or, a different route!!... total dumb luck that she beat him/both/all of them, and is very obviously playing it off/acting like she won on purpose lmfao, cockiness ensuing.

- can't go wrong with a sick-fic lol. who doesn't wanna be taken care of?

- reader needs/wears glasses🤷🏽‍♀️. it can be the discovery of actually needing them, reader always squinting tryna read/see shit, or nearly getting herself in and out of danger bc again, she blind lmao. or it's just the case of reader never wears them out and about, but in calmer moments (where she doesn't run the risk of breaking them) she'll put them on, so she decides to bust 'em out one day and it's just the POI(s) being like ":O...😻😻!!".

- *olivia rodrigo voice* JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY, YEAA-aAAH😫😫‼️ ... reader who just,,, she don't play that shit, man, lmfao it's called you can prove yourself either friend or foe,,, stay tf away from my man or get your ass beat. pick one. and it's the POI(s) just absolutely flattered and amused with this energy from reader lmfao, reassurance ensuing quick after ofc. or, if you wanna get silly with it (and by silly, I mean violent♡), reader with a girl who can't take a hint😀 *eye twitch* so she finally makes shit clear one way or another (one way; does sumn with the POI(s) that makes the girl uncomfortable so she fucks off. another; reader pretty much beats that girl up and it's the POI(s) laughing but also trying to pry reader off of her cuz "stop it, I'm yours, I promise, you don't have to kill her, she didn't know any better😭!"). or just completely switch it up, vice versa, role-reversal POI(s) get jelly and it's reader having to deal with whatever may happen after/due to the fact lol.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 :

- shameless flirt reader!!!! she's not obnoxious or out of character/proper timing with it, but definitely a reader with helllllaaaaa rizz. is mainly on some "is somebody gonna match my freak?" type shi. wade would find it very silly and he'd match the freak ofc. logan,,, maybe he'd start off annoyed by it, then get used to it, only realizing you've actually grown on him once you start to pull back a little/stop completely? REMY WOULD LOVE AND BE AMUSED BY IT, so all I'm gonna say here is this: rabbits🐇🥰. iykyk♡.

- a smoke sesh leading to some good, old fashioned high/sleepy sex🥰. that's it, that's the prompt♡.

- lord, free me from my sins🙏🏽, plz don't judge me y'all😔 ,,, age gap😃? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or two🤭) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's all🥰.

- that moment when reader is a whore and is actually literally prancing around without a care in the world, fucking three different guys (wade, logan, and remy obvs) because "they're hot lol" - not necessarily behind their backs - but no one's saying anything or telling her no, nor does anyone seem to have any issues with it/are opposed, sooo😗🤷🏽‍♀️.

- do y'all think,,, because wolverine is yk...wolf-like-ish-whatever.... do y'all think that he,,,, that maybe he goes thru... a rut🙂?? lmfaoGDHAKXKPQPRR okay that's enough, that's enough🥴✋🏽-.

- you know how some smut has certain labels/themes/tags that are gonna be, yk,,, in said smut?? well, cuz I'm out of any specific ideas for smut, I'm just gonna leave some here, m'kaaaay, and whatever y'all wanna dooooo is up to youuuu, just as long as I get to seeee😗☺️🫶🏽~...

⚠️ also don't say I didn't warn y'all, I mean, there's literally a whole ass trigger warning at the top, so do not start fckn trippin' because you disagree with me or saw sumn you don't fw, cuz tbh, I don't care and you can honestly block me if it's that serious♡.

dom-sub, daddy/praise/breeding/spanking kink, knife/gun/blood play (and/or just mutant/power ability play in general hehehe), food/wax play, cnc (I don't suggest full blown non-con seeing as none of them seem the type to do such, no matter the circumstances, plus it's just not my thing personally but hey, I'm not currently writing for pool, wolvie, or gambit rn, so that's up to whoever is🤷🏽‍♀️), hunter-prey (y'all might see this and immediately think wolvie, which is understandable fr, but I beg y'all to get creative and let remy and/or wade hunt reader down, it can be done and done right, I promise, plz, I need it, 😫PLEASE!!-), friends with benefits,,, OHHH ENEMIES with benefits🫢🫢!!, overstim, jealousy/possessive/yandere, unprotected/creampie/oral ... that's all that comes to mind lmao wow what a crazy note to end this on, anyways-

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yeah, so, do with all of this what you will (and plz spread this around, I genuinely do wanna see these get written and myself tagged like I am PINING for these fic ideas to be turned into reality😭🙏🏽), I just had to get my thoughts out before I forgot (at least in the fanfic department), because if someone were to ask me my thoughts on the movie itself !!!!! OMG I could run my mouth forever, but I don't wanna do that (lazy) so lmao for now, that's all lol byeeee~ /ᐠ-˕-マ!!