#i don't want him to fall to the dark side

[justmymindandstuff]

your beloved Fury - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader

based on this ask.

summary: Cregan meets your beloved Dragon Vermithor for the first time. He is more than scared, he is terrified. Not that he would ever admit that to you.

words: 3.281

warnings: none I think, just a bit fluff

a/n: English is not my first language// Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with dark hair // Not proofread// No use of Y/N.

Have fun 🧡.

requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

Excitedly, you run ahead of him and pull on his hand. Happiness and joy radiate from you, your steps are light, you almost bounce off the ground. Cregan follows you laughing through the gardens of the Red Keep. At the sight of your happy state, his heart beats faster and he can't wipe the smile from his face, even though he would prefer to hide today. Your destination is your dragon, Vermithor. The last few days Cregan found excuses, but today he really couldn't come up with anything.

With wide eyes, you had looked at him. "But My Lord, how can you become my husband in three days without knowing my dragon?"

Cregan had to acept defeat. What could he say against this? That he is terrified to meet your Dragon? Not an option.

When he rode south to keep his word and support the queen, he never expected to fall in love.

Cregan arrived just in time to prevent a riot in King's Landing and to stop the storming of the Dragonpit. It took a few days for Queen Rhaenyra's rule to be secured, but know everything starts to settle down.

The only thing for Cregan to do know was going home to Winterfell. But not without you.

Cregan had just come from a council meeting when he saw you for the first time. Jace had mentioned a twin sister back then, and he knew that all Targaryens are good looking but as your eyes meet, he had to pause in his movement. Gods, you are beautiful.

"You must be Lord Stark." you slightly lowered your head before him. "A hero, I have heard. It is an honor to meet you."

Your voice is like music to his ears, and when you smile at him, his heart skips a beat.

"The honor is entirely... entirely on my side... Princess." he had stuttered. Cregan doesn't know when he last stuttered. He falls in love at that moment.

The gods were on his side, because you apparently feel the same as he did. You asked your mother for her blessing to your betrothal and the queen agreed.

So Cregan and you will marry in three days and after that you will join him on his journey back north. And wherever you go, your dragon Vermithor will follow.

For the last few days, Cregan has been able to avoid getting too close to the dragon. Unfortunately, today he doesn´t find a excuse. The thought of facing the dragon alone brings sweat to his forehead. Northman or not.

Not that he would ever admit that he is afraid. He wants to impress you. And besides, neither you nor your siblings are afraid of dragons. Your little brother Viserys is barely a toddler, but he still treats the fire-breathing monsters like they were puppies. Cregan can be just as brave as the little prince.

Arriving in the castle courtyard, two horses are already ready for you. Cregan hesitates again, watching you mount elegantly.

"Are you ready, My Lord?" you ask and look at him. The sun makes your skin shine, the strong contrast between your light skin and your dark curls, the deep violet of your eyes. Cregan's body begins to tingle. You are a sight for sore eyes. And when you call him my Lord with your beautiful voice, Cregan's heart explodes every time. Your voice is full of affection and love. Cregan can hardly believe his own luck. He enjoys the sight of his future bride for another heartbeat before he nods and also mounts his horse.

You turn your horse and ride off, as the guards prepare to follow you, you address them.

"No need to trouble yourself, Ser. I don't need any guards today."

"But my princess, you cannot ride out alone, it is still too dangerous."

"Don't worry, Ser. I have the honorable Lord Stark by my side." you grin at him and Cregan has to concentrate on not turning as red as a foolish boy.

The guards stay behind, and you ride side by side through King's Landing. When you don't steer your horse towards Rhaenys's Hill, Cregan stops briefly.

"We're not riding to the Dragonpit?"

You shake your head slightly, your dark hair blowing around you. You quickly swapped your Targaryen braids for northern hairstyles. A fact that filled Cregan's heart with warmth.

"Vermithor is too large for the Dragonpit. He lives in the Kingswood."

Cregan has to suppress a sigh. Of course, your dragon is too big for the Dragonpit, what else. With a cramping stomach and sweaty hands, Cregan rides on again. Quickly, you leave the city behind and ride into the forest.

The Lord of Winterfell takes a deep breath and relaxes a little. Now that the loud city is behind you, Cregan realizes once again how much he misses the peace in Winterfell. Not even a week more and he would be on his way home. And you will already be his wife.

"Why are you smiling?" you tiltel your head slightly and look over at him, your horse trotting along the path relaxed, seeming to know exactly where it needs to take you. Cregan didn't even notice that a smile had crept onto his lips.

"I was just thinking that you will very soon be my wife," he replies honestly. Your smile widens, the sparkle in your eyes intensifies, and Cregan thinks you become more beautiful with every passing second.

"I am looking forward to being your wife." you say. Although a slight blush creeps into your cheeks, you hold his gaze. Cregan would most like to lean over and kiss you, if only for the briefest moment. But he would never dishonor a princess. He just has to wait three more days and then he can kiss you as long and as often as you allow him. Cregan can be patient. "But first, you will meet Vermithor." you speed up your horse, excitement radiates from you, but Cregan's fear is stronger. Nevertheless, he speeds up his horse to catch up with you.

He has to swallow before he can speak again. "I thought dragons bonded with riders who resembled them," the young lord recalls from the few lessons he received about dragons long ago.

You slightly furrow your eyebrows. Did Cregan say something stupid? Or did he upset you? But when you respond, there isn't a trace of anger in your voice.

"Why do you think Vermithor is not like me?"

To his own surprise, Cregan has to laugh. "I heard they call Vermithor the bronze fury. And my Lady, please don't be angry with me, but you don't seem like a person who harbors much fury." if Cregan is honest, you are one of the gentlest people he has ever met. In this viper-infested place like King's Landing, you seem to him like a beacon of gentleness and grace.

Now it's you who is laughing, the sound makes Cregan's skin tingle pleasantly. "You have never seen my wrath because I have never been angry with you, my Lord. You should be glad about that."

Cregan's lips curl into a grin. "Should I?" he asks challengingly. He can hardly imagine you ever being truly angry. It doesn't seem to suit you at all. But he knows himself that he shouldn't underestimate your Targaryen temperament.

"I have five younger brothers, My Lord. Don't think that a charming smile and a little teaser could unsettle me. And believe me when I say I can stand my ground very well." you laugh and in the next moment you gallop your horse. Cregan hears you laugh and follows you. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you find his smile charming.

Its not long before you slower your horse again. You ride slowly into a clearing, looking up into the sky, Cregan follows your gaze. But he only sees blue sky and clouds.

You stop your horse, whistle loudly between your fingers. Then you turn to Cregan and beam at him. He can't help but smile with you. Excitement and anticipation are in your eyes.

"Don't worry. You will like him." your voice is full of love, as if you were talking about your oldest friend. You are indeed talking about your oldest friend. Cregan is captivated by your beauty, losing himself in your radiant eyes. Warmth spreads within him and his heart begins to beat faster. He can hardly wait to take you as his wife. Suddenly, the sun is obscured, a dark shadow falls over you and him. The horses begin to fidget nervously back and forth, and when Cregan looks up again, his heart sinks into his stomach.

He has read stories about the Targaryen dragons, he has watched Vermithor and Silverwing from his window in the Red Keep. Cregan even saw Vermax up close when Jacaerys landed in the courtyard of Winterfell back then.

Nothing could have prepared him for that. The gigantic body of Vermithor completely blocks the sun, the light catches in his bronze scales. His wingspan is gigantic.

As closer the dragon gets, the more uncomfortable Cregan feels. Vermithor lands just a few steps away from you, the entire ground trembles. Cregan's horse rears, the stallion can probably sense Cregan's unease.

Vermithor turns his head towards him, opens his mouth, and reveals a row of teeth, almost as long as sword blades and probably a hundred times sharper. In an instant, he could swallow Cregan along with his horse. It would only take a second, and his flames could turn Cregan into a pile of ash.

He has to swallow, his hands clenching around the reins. Why couldn't it have been a smaller dragon like Vermax being one? Or a hatchling like Morning? No, your soul bonded dragon had to be a damn war dragon.

Cregan has to take a deep breath to calm his heart a little. It beats so loudly that he is already afraid you will hear it. The air smells of smoke, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His body reacts automatically to the danger. His hand wants to reach for the sword on his belt, neverless he manages to prevent the almost reflex.

You don't seem to have noticed his fear at all, have already jumped off your horse and are now approaching your dragon. Valyrian words roll off your tongue with ease, your voice sounds calm. Cregan doesn't understand a word of what you say to Vermithor, but the foreign sound of High Valyrian in your gentle voice sounds like the most beautiful song he has ever heard. Cregan watches closely as you raise your hand and stroke your fingers over the dragon's nose. He snaps his mouth shut, blowing hot air into your face. You giggle, turning to Cregan.

"You can come closer." Again, that sparkle in your eyes. The sun catches in your dark hair, Cregan has to take a deep breath, drinks in your beauty, and feels the fear slowly release its grip on his heart.

In the next moment, Vermithor lifts his head, raises it above you, and pushes his large body closer to you, this time smoke coming from his nostrils. You stretch out and place your hand under the dragon's chin, stroking him as if he were a cat. Fear burns in Cregan's stomach like a metalball, cold sweatbeads forms on his forehead. Nevertheless, he dismounts from the horse. When his feet touch the ground, his stance is not as firm as he would like it to be. Everything in him screams to turn around and run away.

Cregan had thought the scariest thing he would ever have to do was stand on the edge of the wall and look 700 feet down. Getting close to your oversized lizard today is so much worse.

His stomach tightens, and he has to hide the trembling of his hands by gripping the hilt of his sword. You reach out your hand to him.

"Come on. You really don't need to be afraid. Vermithor is really sweet."

Cregan takes a few steps towards both of you, Vermithors eyes flash, and "sweet" is the last thing Cregan would think of to describe this dragon. He has to force himself to keep going. But when Vermithor lets out a dark growl, Cregan flinches and stops. You turn a little to Vermithor and speak a few Valyrian words to him. Cregan understands his own name and Winterfell. A moment after you finish, Vermithor shakes slightly and then lowers his body down to his knees, while his wings fold tightly against his body and he lowers his head so that his eyes are at Cregan's height. Cregan stares in shock from you to your dragon. Did he really listen to you?

"I understand that you are scared..."

"I am not scared" Cregan interrupts you quickly, too quickly. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you catch him lying. But you extend your hand again. Cregan takes a deep breath and forces himself to take the last steps. Gods, he has stood on battlefields, won wars, even had to fight for his place in Winterfell. He would describe himself as brave, but taking those steps onto your dragon costs him all his courage.

The air around Vermithor's body is warm and smells of sulfur. The Lord of Winterfell is by no means squeamish, yet he has to pull himself together not to wrinkle his nose. He is afraid of angering the dragon.

He reaches for your hand, your fingertips closing around the black leather of his glove. The touch of your fingers grounds him a little and he manages to take a deep breath and calm his heart a little bit.

You don't pull at him, giving him time until he stands directly in front of your dragon on his own. Vermithor doesn't move, only his eyes blink. Cregan has the feeling that the dragon is inspecting him closely, its eyes far too intelligent for a lizard. It sends a shiver down Cregan's spine.

"Do you want to pet him?" you ask, your gaze vigilant on Cregan and Vermithor as your fingertips glide over the scales beneath the dragon eye.

Cregan wants to shake his head and say no, but instead he carefully takes off the glove. He notices that his palm is sweaty, but he can't wipe it on his shirt, you would notice that. Slowly, Cregan raises his hand he cannot supress the slight trembling. He looks at you once more, you nod quickly. Cregan places his hand on the dragon's nose, the scales are hot and hard. Vermithor does not move, his breath steady while Cregan held his breath. Carefully, his fingers glide over Vermithor's nose, he endures it exactly four heartbeats, then he withdraws his hand and takes two steps back.

His heartbeat is fast, his breathing is unsteady and he notices the blush rising in his cheeks. He is sure that by now you know that he is panicking with fear. Nevertheless he looks at you.

You meet his gaze with a warm, proud smile "I told you, he is really sweet." you say and press your cheek against Vermithor. The dragon blows air out of its nostrils again, then gently nudges you and makes a humming sound, almost like a melody. Cregan is surprised that a hundred-year-old dragon is as gentle as a kitten.

Cregan grumbles in agreement, his fear still lingers in his stomach. "Can we go back now?" he looks at the horses, a few steps away. He did touch the dragon, but that doesn't mean he feels comfortable now.

You start to giggle. "Still scared?" you ask in a teasering voice. He looks at you, a smile dances around the corners of your lips. Vermithor nudges you lightly in the side, then straightens up a bit and takes a step towards Cregan. The ground trembles, the trees around sway, leaves fall to the ground.

Cregan has to swallow, needs all his courage not to run away. Vermithor slowly moves his head towards him, hiding you behind his body. Cregan's heart begins to beat faster, once again he has cold sweat on his forehead.

"Stay completely calm." he hears you say, not a hint of worry in your voice. Cregan isn't even surprised by how much trust you place in your dragon. Vermithor's head slowly comes closer, he sniffs the air around Cregan and then gently nudges him with his snout. The touch isn't even strong enough to make Cregan take a step back. He would never have expected such caution from the giant. The bronze Fury seems more like a kitten right now.

The dragon exhales, the air is so hot that Cregan's eyes begin to burn. Suddenly, Vermithor rises to his full height, his head hovering a few feets above the ground before he lets out a loud roar.

Cregan flinches in shock, the deep tone makes his bones vibrate, his muscles tense up, ready to run as fast as he can. Still, he remains where he is, looking at you.

You smile at him, pride in your gaze. Suddenly you run past Vermithor and throw yourself in Cregan´s arms. The Lord of Winterfell wraps his arms around you, catching you und pressing you close to him. Your warm laughter reaches his ears, and for a moment, he can forget the dragons three steps away. Still laughing, you take a step back from Cregan but reaching for his hand again. Your smile rivals the sun. You have to tilt your head slightly back to look at Cregan.

"Good, he likes you." you speak with conviction. "Now we can get married."

Cregan has to blink in surprise. "Wait this was up for discussion?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Of course, My Lord Stark. Never could I marry a man that my Vermithor has not approved of."

Cregan looks past you back to your dragon. He feels as if his eyes are watching every of his movements. He has to swallow. So Vermithor likes him? Cregan can´t tell why you are so sure about this.

You squeeze his hand to regain his attention. Cregan looks at you. You stand on your tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. It's just a brief moment, but it makes Cregan's stomach do somersaults and his heart pound loudly in his chest. Cregan wants to pull you into his arms immediately and claim your mouth as his. He has to hold back, contenting himself with pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. You snuggle into his arms.

"And what do you say? Do you feel like taking a little flight?" he can hear your laughter in your voice. You making fun of him, he knows that. If Cregan had a slightly bigger ego, he would force himself to climb onto that dragon's back just to avoid having to admit to his fiancée that he is too scared. It's a good thing Cregan's ego isn't that big after all. Not even an army of giants and the others could get him onto this dragon.

"Absolutely not." Cregan replies, also laughing and pulls you towards the horses. Vermithor lets out a growl and then spreads his wings. In the next moment, his body rises into the air and he takes off flying briefly over Cregan's and your head.

The Lord of Winterfell has to pull himself together not to flinch. He would never love this dragon as you do, but at least Vermithor didn't eat him at the first opportunity. That's a good sign Cregan thinks.

[burnforyou]

FIGHT & MAKE UP - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! a fight with your boyfriend, luigi, ends up causing you to be bent over the bathroom sink.

!WARNINGS! fighting, accused cheating (no actual cheating), a bit of crying, he's a little insecure, reader is sensitive, make-up sex (kinda public)

if you don't like this, don't read it.

“hey, lu...“ you approach him sitting on a kitchen stool with caution, the wound from your argument still fresh.

“i don’t want to talk to you.” he states curtly.

“please, we won’t settle this unless we talk.” you beg.

“well, i wanted to talk to you this morning,”

your stomach drops in realization, your heart aching.

“but you weren’t here. so i stalked your location and went to where you were, and of course, i saw you with luke.” he snarls, his voice echoing in your kitchen.

“we were just talking? I… i wanted his advice. i wanted to talk to someone else about it, get another opinion.” you cautiously place a hand on his shoulder. he stiffens under your touch.

“it’s always him, isn’t it?” he turns his head to lock eyes with you. his eyes are wide with expectation.

“no,” you pace in the kitchen and rub your head, a headache stirring. you stop and look at him. “this is a big misunderstanding.”

“no, i’m not misunderstanding anything.” he gets up from the stool and stalks up to you. you have to tilt your head up to look in his eyes, now dark. “i’m telling you as i see it. to me it looks like every time we have an issue you go running back to him. literally anyone else, anyone else, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

he loses himself in the argument and you see it in his face. he’s lost the color in his eyes, replaced with a darkness you've never seen before.

“i’m sorry luigi, i wanted his opinion because he’s a man and i figured he would try and understand your side too, and i’d get unbiased advice from him.” your ramble on and on, struggling to get him to understand you.

“in what world would you get unbiased advice from him?" the adrenaline courses through his veins, "he probably begged you to break up with me, called me a loser, an evil man, the whole thing!”

“no, that’s not what happened,” tears begin welling up in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. taking his accusations felt like walking on broken glass.

he grasps onto your shoulders with a force that almost makes you fall back.

“you can’t see it? that he just wants to get into your pants? he just wants to take you from me?” he growls in your face. his eyes search your face for any inkling of an answer.

“do you really think i’d leave you for him?” your voice comes out as sharp as a knife.

he opens his lips to reply, but closes them before saying anything. he doesn’t have anything to say to you.

he drops his hands to his sides after they left red marks on your skin.

“really, luigi? really?”

you start backing away from him. disappointment fills your heart.

“and since you care so much, he didn’t tell me to break up with you. actually, he told me i should apologize to you. but now, i don’t think you deserve my forgiveness.”

every stair creates a creaking noise as you storm up to your bedroom. once you meet the bed, you're out like a light.

you blink your eyes open, feeling a hand caressing your face softly. you're met with a stricken luigi looking down at you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"can we talk?" he proposes carefully.

you sit up and lean back on your hands.

“you talk and i’ll listen.”

he takes a deep breath and leans down beside the bed and brings a notebook up from the floor. he looks down at the notebook and up at you again.

“i wrote down what i wanted to say, um…” he stammers off.

a smile threatens to grace your lips. it’s hard to stay mad at him, with his big brown eyes and little apology script.

“i’m sorry y/n. i didn’t mean to accuse you of cheating on me. it’s just.. my parents didn’t have the most, solid, relationship, as you know, and my father made me believe every woman would leave me. i’m really trying to break the pattern, to prove him wrong, to let you prove him wrong, but it’s really hard for me. but i am really trying for us, y/n."

"okay." you sigh.

"I don't mean to make excuses for my actions. I know what I said to you was wrong, and I'm sorry. for all of it, for the fight last night too."

you're weak. you're weak and you know it. you can't stay mad at him for anything. you climb into his arms and let him cradle you like a baby, his warmth engulfing you. "I'm sorry" you mutter weakly into his chest.

his thumb caresses the back of your head and he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

"i know. l'm sorry too baby." his voice comes out soft, his tender touches holding you to him.

you gave luke a hesitant side hug, eyes locked on luigi. he gives you a lazy smile and winks.

"thanks for having me," luke politely shakes luigi's hand and you take note of their size difference. luigi looms over him, not just in height, but size too. luigi makes small talk with luke as he leads him to the rest of where the rest of his guests are sat.

when you finally get a moment where all the guests are distracted, you sneak off to the kitchen, where you know luigi is hiding away. you lean against the counter next to him.

“why did you invite luke to your birthday party?”

“i wanted to…" he turns to look at you with a coy smile and your heart flutters. "get on better terms with him.” he watches your shocked reaction with satisfaction.

“wow luigi. that’s really.. nice of you.”

his lips turn up into a slight smirk that you catch. a sneaky suspicion he’s lying arises.

"that's not the real reason, is it?"

he crosses his arms across his chest and his biceps bulge in his short sleeve shirt. you bite your lip.

"you want to know the truth?"

"um, yes?" you reply like it's the most obvious thing in the world. he grips onto the counter next to you and leans over you, forcing you to look up at him. he leans down right next to your ear, his breath making the hairs on your neck stand up.

"I wanted him to see that you belong to me," he nibbles on your earlobe, "firsthand."

"you're joking." you bite your lip. he retracts from your ear, his signature hung smile lighting up his face.

"nope!" he says, popping the 'p.'

"and I thought you were being mature." you shake your head and roll your eyes with faux annoyance, trying to pretend like his words don't make you inexplicably needy. he leans into your neck again and presses hard kisses on the soft skin where your ear meets your neck.

"you know you like it." he casually reads you like a book. his slight scruff scratches your neck just the way you like it. "you know you've wanted this all day, prancing around here in this short skirt."

"lu," you whimper, quiet so the party-goers won't hear.

it was risky, but the rush, the adrenaline, the fact that luke could walk in at any second, it made you weak in the knees and left you aching for more.

he comes up and leaves his forehead against yours, eyes dark with need, pupils completely dilated.

"bathroom?" your heart pounds in your chest.

you shake your head, going against your own wishes.

"they'll notice we're gone."

"not if we're quick enough." he smirks, grabbing your hand. "come on."

he leads you to the downstairs bathroom and closes the door quietly after you. he presses your hips against the cold counter top and roughly pulls down your panties from under your skirt.

he wastes no time getting down on his knees, holding your ass apart with his hands, and playing with your already wet pussy.

"you want this bad?" he slaps your ass and groans at your reaction, jolting forward with a small gasp and a red mark appearing. his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he pushes a finger in you, still watching your reaction carefully.

"i want it now," you whine and stick out your bottom lip.

"look at you, so desperate." he shakes his head, pulling his shorts down enough to pull his hard cock out. he lines the tip up with your pussy and pushes his hips right against your ass, filling you up in seconds. your mouth falls open but nothing comes out, your lips completely dry.

as he thrusts into you, his thighs meeting your ass make loud, obscene noises that slip through the door.

you try and look back at him over your shoulder, but he forces you to look into his eyes in the mirror, bent over and fucking you desperately. "i'm gonna make this quick." he whispers into your ear, "look at who's fucking you this good."

you open your eyes and meet his dark ones in the mirror. instantly, his hand finds your clit and rubs it, adding stimulation. a moan flies out of you uncontrollably and you bite your lip to silence yourself.

"don't," he groans, "be loud f'me." he moans as you pulse around him. he smiles at you, watching your head bob as he fucks you braindead.

"could luke ever fuck you this good?" he asked with a rasp.

you gasp and he watches you struggle in the mirror with pleasure. he brings his other arm around your throat, his bicep now pressed against your throat. you try and shake your head but he just squeezes you harder.

"say it.” he growls roughly.

his cock kisses your cervix with every harsh thrust. your eyes flutter shut and your lower stomach bulges, heat growing with every movement.

"n-no,” you stammer, face red and sweat dripping, “fuck!"

"say my name.” you hold onto his arm and try and pull the weight off your neck, but he prevails.

"Luigi, please!”

"there ya go, that's it." he moans and slows his pace, grinding into you.

"say who you belong to." he slaps your clit carefully and your legs begin to buckle beneath him, body convulsing with pleasure.

"you, luigi. I'm yours." you purr and arch your back into him more, watching his eyebrows come together in the mirror.

"I'm gonna cum,” you whine, digging your nails into his muscles.

"cum baby," he demands, "make 'em hear you cum with me.” your vision fades to black when luigi thrusts into you as deep as possible, your skin meeting his with a dirty slap one more time. you buck against him, throbbing around him while he fills you. he quickly slips out of you and pulls your panties back up before any of his cum could drip out, forcing you to spend the rest of the party with his cum dripping out of you.

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!TAGS!

@legendaryclancy @strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood @webanglikethat @croucify @cumdnmp @ga33y3 @zeervzn @marzipanlvr @seesaw-it @raekensluver @ddlydevotion @hujirose @babydollfacedangel @strawbxrryaxolotyl @bricapellan16 @darleneslane @uraharasfavoriteexperiment

[siriuslylantsov]

shut-eye

spencer reid x reader blurb. fluff. r's job isnt specified, feel free to make up whatever :) wc: 682

it wasn't often that spencer found himself at home without you–rarely, if ever. having finished his case, he got home sometime after sunset, stumbling into a dark? apartment, only dimly lit by the burglar's lamp that sat in the corner of the living room. where are you?

he sets his keys into the bowl and hangs his bag and coat up. a light blinks from the answer machine, signalling there's a message waiting, so he presses play, letting it ring out as he peeks further, looking for sights of you.

“hi, baby. an emergency came up at work, so i offered to pick up the shift. hopefully you get this, i think your phones dead. there's pasta in the fridge and brownies in the oven, they're probably cold, eat up. i’ll be home by 12. i love you.”

ah, so there you are. you're right, his phone is dead, so he swiftly plugs it in. a pout pulls at his lips as he makes his way to the kitchen. he wishes you were here. he wanted to come home to you, but he kicks himself for feeling sad because this is exactly what you have to go through every time he's away.

he eats in silence on the couch, pesto pasta with chicken and a brownie laid on a tissue for later. his mind drifts back to moments of you next to him, on the couch, also eating dinner. the soft glow of the tv illuminating your features, he usually spends more time watching you than whatever plays on the tv and has to look away guilt ridden when you chastise him for not paying attention. how can you blame him when you look so pretty? 

when he finishes eating, he decides to read, still dismal because your lap isn't there to lay on or your fingers to play with his hair. he lays back against the side of the couch with a pillow tucked under his arms. soon, unbeknownst to him, the book falls to the floor with a soft thump because he, unsurprisingly, falls asleep.

-

you drag yourself up the stairs, shaking out your limbs and clothes to air out the lingering scent of work that usually clung to you at the end of the day. you unlock the door with a jingling bunch of keys, dropping them into the bowl, where spencer's ones are already waiting. 

your actions mimic his from earlier, peeking out of the hallway to find him, and you do. dozed off on the couch clad in his undershirt and boxers. with quick tiptoes you change into your pyjamas because you have the slightest inkling that spencer will want you closer and you don't want to get your work germs on him. 

you carefully sit beside him, on the portion of the couch not occupied by his limbs. he's got this mopey frown on his face; he looks like a sad puppy, and it makes you chuckle fondly. you cup his cheek, caressing him lightly with your thumb and his features instantly soften.

“hi, sweet boy,” you whisper, smiling down at him.

your voice causes him to stir and break out in his own sleepy smile, elated to see you. “hey.”

“you wait up for me?”

“tried to,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing his eyes. he paws at your shirt, trying to pull you closer. “c’mere.”

you shift to lay beside him, and he immediately curls into you. “we can’t sleep here, spence.”

“mhm, just 5 minutes,” he mutters, entirely unconvincing as drowsiness takes over again, you can hear it in his voice, words drifting off at the end. a heavy arm falls over your torso and curls around your waist, binding you to him.

you toe the blanket on the other end of the couch, not so expertly kicking it up. you move too much and spencer whines petulantly, settling when you manage to throw it over your bodies. 

“goodnight,” you sigh, melting into the cushions.

“g’night,” he murmurs, laced in triumph as he presses a kiss to your neck and drifts back to sleep.

[vmlnrzmp4]

nsfw

a/n: this was a request. it was a bit embarrassing to post but i left shame back in 2024 so without further ado, enjoy<3

the bathroom door opened rather too loudly. too hurriedly. itoshi sae entered, seeing you sitting in the empty bathtub—your eyes hazy, your lips parted, your hair messy and your hand down to your panties—you were wasted.

you were in one of the rooms at the party, getting shots after shots till you got drunk and needy.

sae, tho your ex, rushed to find you the moment he got to know about your state—knocking on every door in the house till he found you there. "i'm taking you home," sae said in a firm voice as he walked in.

you pouted, "go away," you say childishly but that doesn't stop him as he warns you that he'll have to manhandle you out if you don't listen to him. to which you counter by saying that you will scream if he doesn't listen to you.

he runs his hand over his face, coming over to you and crouching down—almost giving up convincing you. he himself had a few shots but his was right in his mind(atleast that's what he thinks), sitting by the little stool, "what are you doing y/n?" he asks, a hint of pink coating his cheeks as he sees where your hand is.

"nothing," hiccup "nothing you should be worried about," hiccup "now go away or enjoy the show. i don't care," you say, rubbing yourself even faster and faster and faster.

"stop it y/n," he says firmly, reaching for your hand but oh, you already came all over your fingers.

giggling, you give him a mischievous look, "wanna taste?"

"you're out of your damn mind."

"maybe i am," hiccup "that doesn't answer my question. do you wanna taste or no?" you laugh giddily.

there was a silence. and maybe the shots of alcohol made sae feel something he couldn't put a finger on, "...give me that damn hand."

you snickered as he takes your middle and ring finger into his mouth, licking them clean. "can you send in some guy," hiccup "i wanna get eaten out."

sae looks at you in disbelief, "you're gonna regret this next morning y/n."

you laugh saying you regret nothing—saying that what happens will happen. you don't really care. you've left the shame back in to the time where you and sae used to date.

"i have one request i want you to fulfil, itoshi sae," hiccup "bring someone in."

the thought of some other guy getting his hands on you alone pissed sae off. pissed isn't even the right word. whatever emotion it was—jealousy perhaps—made sae pick you up from the bathtub bridal way, making you yelp.

sae settles you down at the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you, rolling your dress upwards till he has a perfect sight infront of him—the panties you wore on had a dark wet patch at the centre thanks to your own fingers.

before he could dive his head in between your thighs, you held onto his hair, tugging back, "not you."

"...not me?"

"not you." you hiccup again. then again as you say, "you're not my boyfriend anymore."

sae reaches for your hand that rested on his head, kissing the knuckles, "y/n...let me."

you were starting to sober up but the fire inside you didn't die down, "fine." with your permission, sae exhaled in relief as he places multiple kisses and occasional bites on the inside of your thighs, trying to mark you as his possession.

he slides your panties to the side, letting out a throaty hum at the sight of your pretty wet pussy, "fuck," he breathes out. without waiting much, he attaches his lips to where you needed him the most.

with his tongue, he drew little tight circles, zig-zags, figure eights, and every pattern he knew that would get you off—as he was basically making out with your pussy.

you keep squirming and whimpering—moaning his name and even the nickname you would call him when the two of you used to date. he groans at that, the vibrations on your pussy puts you over the edge and without warning, you come undone on his tongue, without him knowing.

and when you do so, you fall back on the bed, giggling to yourself, so tired, closing your eyes, on your way there to the dreamland.

you don't care—or even have the strength to complain about the overstimulation by the ministrations sae is providing you with.

when he's finally satisfied, he looks up at you but you were already fast asleep. sae sits besides you on the bed, running a hand through his hair, panting as he looks at your vulnerable figure.

you don't belong in her life anymore.

a voice echoed in his head.

she deserves better.

another one said.

sae gets up from the bed, fixing himself. one step, two step, three step...more steps and he'll be out of your life completely.

so he halts himself, turning around to you. you were carelessly sleeping. a drool rolling from your mouth to your cheek as you snored lightly—this elegant sight of you that sae loved dearly.

how can you walk back into her life like nothing?

"i can," he counters, making his way to you. adjusting your dress so you're not uncomfy. he pulls the duvet—covering you with it.

she deserves better.

"she deserves me."

[siri-ike]

(I put the painting at the bottom so you have to read if you want to see it)

Some encouraging comments, reblogs, and the occasional fanart. Danny's notifications were predictable and comforting. People really appreciated his work, and he loved to see it. The fanart was usually posted publicly, though, and so he rebloged them ofcorse.

But, what's the right reaction when someone d.m.s you a picture of an intricate and very personal looking portrait of a boy who looks a lot like you, in black and white on one side and red and ghostly green shrouded in darkness on the other?

The two separate mediums were incredibly impressive, but was this a threat? Did someone find out who he was? And find out about Phantom?? Well, Danny is no coward, so he replied.

What kind of Addams Family shinaniganary is this?

TheBloodSon was apparently 15 years old, same as Danny, so why is he responding to him in poetic cuplets? Poems, mind you, that also kind of sound like threats. Yet endearing at the same time. They had the general vibe of "if I can't have you, no one can."

And Danny's not falling for that a third time.

● ● ●

Anyway.

Danny fell for that a third time.

TheBloodSon 's real name was Damian. He didn't wanna reveal a last name, and surprisingly, he didn't wanna know Danny's either. Something about not wanting an oricle to find him. Not that it would matter since Danny didn't have a legal identity anyway.

It went on that way for months, until one day.

Sent 18:47

TheBloodSon: I am skilled in bloodshed, but know less of emotion. With great caution, i tread, to confess my devotion.

In one week's time, a ball is planned. Will you attend? Holding my hand?

Read 18:53

Danny didn't know how to react. This was such a big leap. Sure, they knew eachothers interests, hobbies, talents, and how anoying echothers families were. But meeting in person? At an event of some sort? From what he'd heard/read, Damiens family regularly went to big rich people parties. With fancy clothes, and got ambushed by reporters and/or costumed villains. Usually both. Should he bring a thermos? Does he know about Phantom?

Sent 16:14

AstroBoi13: Which ball? My uncle might be going.

TheBloodSon: The Wayne charity gala. Anyone who makes a donation can go, but you don't have to if you are my guest.

AstroBoi13: it's not that I don't trust you or anything, but I think I'd rather have someone I already know and a way to get back home.

TheBloodSon: Understood, I look forward to seeing you.

18:18

AstroBoi13: I talked to him, we'll be there.

TheBloodSon: Exelent, your presence will be dually noted.

Read 18:20

Damian would be shaking with excitement, were he not highly trained to control such urges. But there was something more to it this time. More than an urge to flap his arms about, more than wanting to run a few laps. He wanted to... tell someone? That can't be right.

Damian could resist the first day. Five more, and he'd be golden. On the second day, however, the urge got stronger. Usually, he could just smother it, and it went away. But it wasn't going away.

He didn't even want to brag or rub it in someone's face. It was a different need. He wanted someone to be exited with him. The thought of Grayson congratulating him on making a normal friend, followed, of course, by far too much touching. He pictured Stephanie "hyping him up," as she says, and it tied his stomach in the best way. He imagined how all his "family members" would react. Multiple outcomes for each of course. And by far, the most consistent was Cassandra. So that's who he could tell if it came to that.

On the third day, he started to falter. And in a house full of detectives, the slightest hint is enough. He was aware of this and had acted accordingly. Unfortunately, he had once again underestimated the butler.

On the fifth day, Pennyworth caught him pacing in the library and moving his hands in a fanning motion. He had thought, maybe allowing himself this would help him stay quiet. But he still wanted so badly to divulge.

"Master Damian, are you alright?"

Damian stopped abruptly. He pretends as though he hadn't just been displaying the most obvious signs of secrecy. The league taught him better than this.

"I, am, great." Oh, good job, that was very convincing.

Pennyworth, of course, did not fall for this.

"If something is on your mind, I will gladly lend an ear. And if not, might I suggest pacing in front of the bookshelves instead, so the wind might clear the dust." He retorted with his usual, frivolous jokes.

"My affairs are none of your concern."

"Then perhaps you may speak aloud to the library while I clean."

Pennyworth's notions on "telling people how you feel" were as pointless as all his opinions. Had it rubbed off on him? Is he the reason Damian feels this need to talk about Danny. So much that the idea of telling someone made his heart flutter and his breath quicken.

Damian turned his head toward the butler. Paying close attention to his body language while keeping his own face out of view. "You must promise not to tell anyone."

Alfred just kept dusting the bookshelves, never even looking at Damian. "I give you my word. Anything you say stays between us." He placed his hand on his chest, but he still didn't look Damians way.

Pennyworth has no history of being deceitful. At least not towards them.

"I, I invited someone to the galla on Thursday... We have not met before." Confessing felt good, like he'd been holding up a large weight, and now he was finally relaxing his arms. He could feel a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And I find myself concerned whether he will like me in person. Or if he will even show up." Where did that come from? Of course, he'll show up. Why wouldn't he?

Damian sat down on one of the couches. "He didn't want to go as my guest. He said he would ask his uncle to take him, but what if he was lying. What if he just doesn't want to see me. What if I already scared him off?" That was it, not just a weight. A giant lead ball just got removed from his stomach.

Alfred stopped cleaning. "This boy, is he your age?"

"Yes, he's fourteen." Damian leaned his arms on his knees.

"How do you know each other?" He turned his head towards Damian.

Damian avoided eyecontact. "We send messages over the internet."

"For how long?" He put down his duster and stepped closer.

"Seven months." He's going to be in trouble for sure. Inviting a stranger to the manor? What was he thinking?

Alfred was only a few feet away. "In these seven months, has he shown to be the kind of person who would stand you up?"

Damian thought for a moment. "No." Guilt, remorse, how could he think so little of his friend? Damian felt Alfred's hand on his back and, for once, didn't fight it.

"If he shows up, you'll get to meet each other in person. If he doesn't, then it'll be just another gala. You've survived those before." He assured with his typical dramatics.

On the sixth day, four hours before the early guests would start to arrive, Damian was at the tailor getting his suit (he got it adjusted every other week due to his current growth rate). Jebadiah "Bread" Carlson was nice to spend time with. He was always calm and rather monotone. Damian found comfort in his demeanor. Sometimes, he would stay there longer than he needed, and he'd even learned how to properly mend a stabwound on multiple materials. Mother would surely not approve. This was one of those days. He came up with excuses to stay longer like he always did, and Bread talked about his granddaughters' first steps, stitching techniques, and the camps. He was soothing to listen to. Before Damian knew it, three and a half hours had passed, and Jayson was there to pick him up.

18:18

AstroBoi13: I talked to him, we'll be there

TheBloodSon: Exelent, your presence will be dually noted.

Read 18:20

This is fine.

This is fine.

The fruit loop didn't even ask for much. Which was super out of character. He's definitely planning something. But it'll be fine.

Day one went... by, for Danny. His hands clamed up so much that he lost count of how often he washed them. His stomach felt queezy. Not in a sick kind of way, more like, ate too many boiled eggs kind of way, but slightly to the left of that, ya'know?

Unfortunately, he, Dani, and Dan (long story) got stuck in the triassic period along with Ember, Young Blood, and Box Ghost (longer story) for nine full months. The eyeballs wanted to send him home nine months later than he'd disappeared but there was absolutely no way he was skipping all the way to the start of a semester right after not only finishing one but also forgetting everything he'd learned in school. The thing is, Danny's human form had aged by nine months. His ghost form, on the other hand, was exactly the same as it had always been. So Clockwork was able to convince the council, through witchcraft or something, to let him go back to the right time period as long as he stays in his ghost form until his peers are the same age as he is.

OK, great. He can do that. As long as his parents don't go ghost hunting or turn on the ghost shields or he gets knocked out or sleep freezes something or a dozen other things that could happen. He'll deal with it when something inevitably goes wrong.

Somehow, his parents bought the "bleached hair" excuse and didn't even notice his eyes. Jazz helped, of course, but the real challenge came knocking at their door 4 days later in the form of Vlad calling about his suit preferences. That was when panic set in. They were leaving now. Staying the night at a hotel in Gotham because the gala is at 15:00 and according to Vlad, etiquette states they have to come an hour or two early since he was invited by one of the hosts. What do you mean one of the hosts? Damian invited him.

Well, apparently, Damian wasn't just a rich kid. He was the rich kid. Damian Wayne Al-Ghul, all the articles Danny had frantically looked up during the private jet trip seemed to agree that he was either a spoiled short fused brat with a soft spot for animals, or a dead faced con artist who was only taking advantage of Bruce Wayne's tendency to keep every child that crossed his path. The second category also seemed to sing the same song about Cassandra Wayne and Duke Thomas Wayne. Danny just assumed those were the racist tabloids and wrote them off. Especially after seeing a clip of Bruce Wayne puncing one of their "reporters".

Danny then reread all their messages. How he had presented himself mattered, a lot, more than how magazines saw him. After all, Danny knows what it's like to be misrepresented by the media.

Their hotel room was as fancy as he expected. Infact "room" was an understatement. It was a spacious living room with two bedrooms connected to it. Danny's temporary hotel bedroom was bigger than his permanent bedroom at home. Not as big as his, Dani's, or Dan's (he's like 11 now, seriously long story) rooms at Vlads mansion. And deffinetly not like their rooms at the Cheese Castle. But still ridiculously hoighty. All for the low price of pretending to be Vlads son in front of some rich people.

It was kind of nice sharing a room with the other two. Even back home, he never really had to share his bedroom for non emergency reasons. And in these forms (Dani also had to stay ghost and Dan didn't have a human form), they looked more like Vlads kids than His parents'.

10:02

TheBloodSon: At what time will you be here?

AstroBoi13: my uncle wants to bring us by at 2 30 or 2

TheBloodSon: You and who else?

AstroBoi13: Dani and Dan they are 13 and 11 but they can do theyr own thing

TheBloodSon: Are they your siblings or your cousins?

AstroBoi13: kind of

TheBloodSon: perhaps that will be better discussed in person.

Read 10:12

Damian hated greeting the guests, but this time, he didn't complain. It no longer mattered if Father became suspicious because soon he would ask to leave his side. One by one, people arrived. He stared down every limousine that entered their courtyard, and each one disappointed. At 14:36, he wondered if he might have missed their arrival. He was pretty sure Danny was actually Daniel Fenton from Amity Park, son of the Doctors Jack and Madeleine Fenton, and that the "uncle" He had mentioned was Vladius Masters. He couldn't find anything on Dani and Dan, but he had chalked that up to lack of time. Just then, Damian recognized the limo driving in. Anthony and his parents are here.

"Father, may I be excused, I have matters to attend."

"What kind of matters?" Father looked over to the limo approaching and cought on. "Right, I see."

Damian went back in, but rather than staying in the ballroom, where he would eventually be ambushed by Anthony and forced to waste hours hearing about the latest prank videos and "seacret gaming rooms," he went all the way to Father's office before he pulled out his phone.

14:41

TheBloodSon: Where are you?

AstroBoi13: were almost ther Dan threw a tantrum and it slowed us down a bit two minuts promise

TheBloodSon: When you get here, don't go into the ballroom. I'll sneak you away.

AstroBoi13: ??

TheBloodSon: There's an anoying classmate there. I would prefer to avoid him.

Read 14:48

14:59

AstroBoi13: at the gates now

TheBloodSon: Copy

Read 14:59

At 15:03, Damian made it to the front door, just in time to see a very tall, very pale man walk in, followed by a small boy with blueish white hair and sickly white skin, after him was a slightly taller girl, who also had white hair, still pale but not as much as the boy, and behind her was Danny Phantom, guardian of Amity Park, the second biggest city in Illinois. There was no mistaking it. That was the ghost boy Damian had read about in father's files.

Damian cought Bruce's expression from outside. Signaling him to talk to these people, or at least keep an eye on them.

"Ahem." Damian cought their attention. "I am Damian Wayne Al-Ghul, I don't believe we've met."

"Ooh, I'm Danny." Danny said. "Vl, father, may I go with Damian for a while. I'll be back in half an hour to greet your friends." He addressed the tall man. From this close, he looked like he could be two meters tall. Almost as tall as Bane.

"Don't bother, Eleanor won't be here until 4:20," Damian had heard that number be referred to as humorous, but endless research could not explain why. "Just come back some time after that."

"Looks like we got an hour and a half." Danny started in the direction Damian had come from. "Do I get to see your other paintings?"

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[viagracex]

could you do a George Clarke one shot where him and maxs sister are secretly hooking up? All good if not x (love your work btw)

Off Limits

george clarke x balegde!reader

summary: george is secretly hooking up with max's sister. what starts as no-strings-attached turns into something more

warnings: brief mentions of sexual content

note: if this feels a little rushed im sorry, i tried not to have to write it as two parts.

4.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

You weren’t meant to be here.

The rational part of your brain knew that.

Yet, lying in George Clarkey’s bed, tucked under his sheets, skin still warm from his touch, you feel the weight of his arm draped over your waist. You know this is a disaster waiting to happen. But at this point, it’s almost tradition.

A night out turns into tipsy flirting. Flirting turns into one of you cracking first and texting where u at? And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re tangled up in him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth pressing hot, lazy kisses against your neck, and the world shrinking to just you and him. The way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his hands gripped your body—it always felt like an electric current between you.

This had been going on for months now—longer than you ever expected. What started as a drunken mistake had turned into a routine. Nights out ended with you texting him, or him texting you, or one of you finding an excuse to be at the same place at the same time, until you ended up here. Sweaty, satisfied, and entirely too comfortable in his bed.

It was just sex. Really good sex. That’s all.

But it couldn't be more complicated.

For one, George Clarkey was one of your brother's closest mates.

And Max had made it painfully clear that dating YouTubers was off the table.

"They’re all walking red flags, babe," Max had said once, waving his hands for emphasis. "All of them. You’d just become another London Content Creator’s Girlfriend, and I won’t be having that."

Not that you and George were dating.

You were just… shagging George Clarke in secret.

And maybe that was worse.

But that was the key difference—the thing that made this somewhat okay.

You weren’t a couple. You weren’t sneaking around because of some grand forbidden romance.

You were just fucking.

And it was casual.

Totally.

Absolutely.

…Okay, maybe there were some complications.

Like the fact that George could be an oblivious idiot at times and that you were slowly falling for him.

As you turn your head on the pillow, watching George lazily stretch in front of you, his hair a messy tangle on the pillows, you can't help but admire how good he looks even after just waking up. He catches you staring and a smirk tugs at his lips.

"You're thinking too much," he says in a rough, sleep-filled voice, and when you glance over again he’s watching you through lidded eyes, his dark hair sticking up in every direction.

You scoff, turning onto your side. “I’m thinking about how screwed we’ll be if Max ever finds out about this.”

George smirks, his grin only grows wider as he pulls you closer until you’re pressed against his chest, his warm skin against yours sending shivers down your spine. “Then we just don’t let him find out.”

You let out a resigned sigh. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with him."

George chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and fuck—that should not feel as nice as it does.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your skin. “We’re being careful.”

You want to believe him, but a nagging doubt persists. "Are we though? Being careful?"

George's fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Course we are. Max hasn't got a clue, has he?"

You bite your lip, remembering all the close calls. The time Max almost walked in on you two in the kitchen. The suspicious glances when you laughed too hard at George's jokes. The way your cheeks flushed whenever he was mentioned.

"I don't know," you mumble. "Sometimes I think he suspects something."

George's hand stills on your waist. "You worried?"

You turn to face him, studying the lines of his face in the dim light. His blue eyes are soft, filled with concern. You hate how much you like looking at him.

"Maybe a little," you admit. "It's just... Max has always been so protective. And he's made it clear how he feels about his friends dating his sister."

George's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Good thing we're not dating then, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help smiling back. "Right. Just fucking."

"Exactly," George says, pulling you closer. "Nothing to worry about."

But as he kisses you, slow and deep, you can't shake the feeling that this is far more complicated than either of you want to admit.

Weeks pass, and your "arrangement" with George continues. The sneaking around gets easier, the guilt less noticeable. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there are nights when you catch yourself staring at him too long. When your fingers linger in his hair, when you laugh too hard at his jokes, when his hands slip under your hoodie, and you realize—this doesn’t feel casual anymore.

You don’t just look forward to those stolen moments—you need them. You tell yourself it’s about the thrill, the secrecy, the rush of slipping out of Max’s flat unnoticed. But the truth is, you like waking up in his sheets. You like the way he pulls you back into bed, groaning that it’s too early. You like how he makes you tea in the morning, knowing exactly how you take it, without needing to ask.

And suddenly, the thought of this ending makes your stomach twist.

You should say something. You should ask him if he feels it too.

But you don’t.

Because once you say it out loud, you can’t brush it off anymore. 

If you admit it, you can’t take it back.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for that.

One night, after a particularly wild party at some private club celebrating another one of the Sidemen’s achievements, you end up with a group of friends back at George‘s. The bass from the music downstairs thrums through the walls as George presses you against the door, his lips hot on your neck.

"We shouldn't," you gasp, even as your fingers tangle in his hair. "Someone could come up..."

George grins against your skin. "That's half the fun, innit?"

You're about to retort when the door handle rattles. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear a familiar voice on the other side.

"George! You in there?"

It's Max.

You freeze, panic flooding your system. George's eyes widen, but he quickly springs into action. He shoves you towards his closet, motioning for you to hide. You slip inside just as George opens the door.

"Yeah, mate. What's up?" George's voice is impressively casual.

"Have you seen my sister? Can't find her anywhere."

You hold your breath, praying Max doesn't decide to search the room.

"Nah, sorry. Maybe she went home early."

There's a pause, and you can picture Max's suspicious frown. Your heart pounds as you listen to the conversation through the closet door. You can practically feel Max's suspicion radiating through the wood.

"Right," Max says slowly. "Well, if you do see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

"Course, mate," George replies smoothly. "I'll let her know if I spot her."

You hear the door close and let out a shaky breath. A moment later, the closet door opens and George's face appears, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes.

"Coast is clear," he whispers, helping you out.

You stumble slightly, the adrenaline making you unsteady. George's hands catch your waist, steadying you. The touch sends a familiar spark through your body, but the fear of almost being caught overshadows it.

"That was too close," you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

George nods, his expression sobering. "Maybe we should call it a night. I'll sneak you out the back."

You agree, and with George's help, manage to slip out of the house unnoticed. As you make your way home, you can't shake the feeling that your luck is running out.

The next few weeks are tense. You find yourself jumping at every sound, convinced that Max is about to burst in and catch you in the act. George notices your unease and suggests taking a break, but the thought of not seeing him makes your chest ache in a way you're not ready to confront.

As autumn creeps in, painting London in shades of gold and crimson, you find yourself spending more time at George's flat. The cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms, start to feel dangerously domestic. You catch yourself imagining a future where you don't have to hide, where you can walk hand-in-hand with George down the street without fear of being spotted.

One chilly evening, as you're curled up on George's sofa watching a movie, the weight of the secret becomes too much.

"George," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to tell Max soon."

He turns to you, surprise etched on his features. "You sure? I thought we agreed to keep this under wraps."

You nod, twisting your fingers nervously. "I know, but... I'm tired of sneaking around. And honestly, I'm starting to think that this might be more than just casual."

George's expression softens, and he pulls you closer. "Yeah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've been thinking the same thing."

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

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

but apparently, George is an idiot.

The tension in the air was palpable as you walked into your shared flat to find Max holding George's hoodie like a piece of evidence at a crime scene. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why is this in our flat?" Your heart raced as you tried to play off the situation nonchalantly. "Maybe George left it here," you suggested with a shrug.

Max's gaze flicked between you and the hoodie. "In your room?"

Your throat tightened as you replied, "Maybe."

Max's mind worked like a detective on a true crime documentary at that moment, piecing together the puzzle before him. And then, his expression changed from confusion to horror, his jaw-dropping.

"You're shagging George," he exclaimed.

You winced and tried to downplay the situation. "Max—"

"YOU'RE SHAGGING GEORGE," he repeated, his voice growing louder.

Frustration and embarrassment washed over you as you dropped your head into your hands. "For fuck's sake, can you not say it like that?"

But Max was already caught up in the drama of it all, looking around wildly like he was in an episode of punked. "How long has this been going on? When did this start? Why am I just finding out now?!"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...a while?"

"A while?!" Max's disbelief was evident.

"...A few months?" You offered weakly.

"MONTHS?!" Max couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It's not a big deal!" you insisted.

"Not a big deal?! You’re shagging my mate!" Max's frustration reached its boiling point.

You flinched and pleaded with him to lower his voice, but he continued to express his disbelief that this was happening behind his back. In a desperate attempt to calm him down and protect your relationship with George, you blurted out, "It's nothing serious! We're just...having fun. Casual."

Max blinked in surprise. "Casual? With George?"

You nodded, trying to defend yourself. "Yes?"

"With George?"

"Yes, Max!" you exclaimed in frustration.

Max's expression shifted as he absorbed the information and then whipped out his phone.

"What are you doing?" you asked nervously.

"Texting George," he replied, his thumbs flying across the screen. "He has five seconds to explain himself before I track him down and make him piss himself."

Before you could stop him, George walked into the flat at that exact moment.

Perfect timing, you thought sarcastically.

George froze upon seeing the tension between you and Max. His eyes flicked from you to his hoodie in Max's hands, and it was clear he knew exactly what was going on, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"So it's true!" Max shouted. "You absolute little—"

But before he could finish his sentence, George raised his hands like a hostage negotiator. "Alright, before you get mad—"

"I'M NOT MAD!" Max yelled, which only confirmed how mad he actually was. "I'M JUST CURIOUS AS TO WHY YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?"

Max paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe this. My best mate and my sister. It's like a bloody soap opera!"

You and George exchanged nervous glances as Max continued his tirade.

"How long has this been actually going on? And don't lie to me!" Max demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

George cleared his throat. "About... six months?"

"Six months?!" Max's voice rose an octave. "You've been sneaking around behind my back for half a year?!"

You winced. "We didn't mean for it to go on this long. It just... happened."

Max let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, it just happened, did it? What, you tripped and fell onto his dick?"

"Max!" you exclaimed, scandalized.

George stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly. "Look, mate, I know this isn't ideal—"

"Ideal?!" Max interrupted. "This is the opposite of ideal! This is a bloody nightmare!"

He turned to you, his expression a mix of hurt and betrayal. "And you. I warned you about getting involved with YouTubers. I told you they were all walking red flags!"

You felt a surge of defiance. "George isn't like that. He's different."

Max scoffed. "That's what they all say. And then next thing you know, you're just left high and dry”

"It's not like that," George interjected, his voice firm. "This isn't just some fling."

Max's eyes widened as he looked between you and George. "What are you saying?"

You took a deep breath, reaching for George's hand. "We didn't mean for this to happen, Max. But... it's more than just casual now."

George squeezed your hand, a small smile on his face. "We care about each other. A lot."

Max stares at you both, jaw clenched so tight you think he might actually crack a tooth. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s debating whether to pace, punch something, or just scream into the void.

Finally, he exhales a sharp breath and rakes a hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping in front of George. His glare could burn a hole straight through him.

"You," he says, voice tight. "You, out of all people."

George swallows, standing his ground. "Look, mate—"

"Don’t 'mate' me," Max cuts him off, shaking his head. He lets out a humorless laugh, but there's no amusement in his eyes. "This is actually happening. You—" he jabs a finger at George's chest, then turns to you, scandalized. "And you?!"

You don’t answer. What could you possibly say? Sorry I broke your one rule? Sorry I fell into bed with your best mate and accidentally started catching feelings?

Max lets out another deep, exhausted sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—" He levels George with a look so sharp it could cut glass. "You actually give a shit about her?"

George doesn't hesitate. "Of course I do."

Max narrows his eyes, searching George’s face like he’s waiting for him to blink, to crack, to say something stupid that will give him an excuse to deck him. But George holds his gaze, unwavering.

After a long beat, Max scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuck me."

He turns away, pacing again, muttering something under his breath. You barely catch the words "This is my villain origin story."

Finally, he stops, pinches the bridge of his nose, and points a finger directly at George.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. You could practically see the gears turning in Max's head as he processed this new information. Finally, he looked up at you both, his expression resigned.

"You're serious about this? Both of you?"

You and George nodded solemnly. "We are," you said softly.

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe this is happening. My best mate and my little sister. It's like some bad rom-com."

He stood up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at George. "If this is just some game to you, Clarke, I swear to God—"

"It's not," George interrupted, his voice firm. "I care about her, Max. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Max's gaze softened slightly as he looked between the two of you. He could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you unconsciously leaned towards each other.

"Fine," he said finally, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can see this isn't just some fling. But I swear, George, if you hurt her—"

"I won't," George assured him quickly.

Max continued as if George hadn’t spoken. "—I will end you, I will make your life a living hell. I will start beef with you publicly. I will make a YouTube exposé, I will get you cancelled on Twitter. I will make sure your brand deals drop like flies. I will be so fucking annoying that you will never know peace again."

George nodded solemnly, as if this was a completely resonable response  " Understood."

Max turned to you, his expression softening. "And you. You're sure about this? You know what you're getting into, dating a YouTuber?"

You smile softly at Max, touched by his concern despite his outburst. "I'm sure, Max. I know it won't be easy, but hes worth it."

Max groans dramatically, flopping back onto the sofa. "I can't believe this is my life now. My best mate and my sister. What's next, Mum dating KSI?"

You and George both choke back laughter at the mental image. The tension in the room eases slightly as Max's dramatics break through the awkwardness.

George chuckled nervously. "Does this mean we have your blessing?"

Max shot him a withering glare. "Blessing? Don't push it, mate. I'm still processing the fact that you've been sneaking around with my sister for months."

You winced. "We really are sorry about that, Max. We didn't mean for it to go on so long without telling you."

Max ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "I just... I don't understand how this even happened. When did you two start... you know?"

You and George exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, you took a deep breath and launched into the story.

"It started at Cal's birthday party," you began. "We were both a bit drunk, and one thing led to another..."

Max groaned. "Please spare me the details."

You rolled your eyes. "Nothing happened that night. But after that, we kept running into each other at events and parties. We'd flirt, maybe share a dance or two. It was harmless at first." As you speak, Max's expression cycles through disbelief, anger, and grudging amusement.

"...and then we just kept finding excuses to see each other," you finish lamely. "We didn't mean for it to become anything serious, but..."

"But it did," George adds softly, squeezing your hand.

Max groans, flopping back dramatically on the sofa. Muttering something about how this wasn’t how his day was supposed to go.

He sits up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at George. "And you! What about all those girls you're always banging on about in your videos? That better all be a lie?"

George has the decency to look sheepish. "Ah, well... might've exaggerated a bit there, mate. For content, you know”

Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Exaggerated? Or flat-out lied?"

George shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

You jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension. "Look, Max, the point is, George and I are together now. For real. No more sneaking around or lying."

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I still can't believe this.” He stood up suddenly, pacing the room. "And what about when this all goes public, eh? Have you two geniuses thought about that? The fans will go mental. You'll be harassed non-stop."

You and George exchanged glances. It was clear neither of you had given much thought to the public aspect of your relationship.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," George said finally. "For now, we just want to focus on us. And making sure you're okay with this."

Max scoffed. "Okay with it? I'm far from okay with it. But..." he trailed off, looking between you and George. Despite his anger, he could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you instinctively leaned towards each other.

Then, after a beat—reluctantly, begrudgingly, like it physically pains him to say it— " I mean, I'd rather you weren't shagging one of my mates, but honestly?" He turned to George with a knowing look. "You could've picked worse. At least I know George. Even if he is an idiot sometimes."

George protested, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Max was right - he could be an idiot sometimes. But when it came to you, he was determined to do better.

Relief washed over you as you threw your arms around your brother. "Thank you, Max. Really."

He hugged you back, then pulled away to point a finger at George. "And you. No funny business when I'm around, got it? I don't need to see my best mate snogging my sister."

George nodded solemnly, though you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate."

Max gives him one last death glare before sighing dramatically and turning back to you. “I hate this. I hate it. I swear, if I ever walk in on anything, I'm moving out and never speaking to either of you again."

You laughed "Deal."

You and George share a glance, and suddenly, it doesn't feel as scary anymore. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for months lifts, replaced by a giddy lightness. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, mirrored on George's.

As Max continues to grumble and mutter about the unfairness of it all, you and George gravitate towards each other. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you close, and you lean into him, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to do this openly.

The autumn sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, you can hear the bustle of London life - cars honking, people chattering, the distant rumble of the Tube. But in here, in this moment, the world has shrunk to just the three of you.

George's thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, sending shivers down your spine. You breathe in his familiar scent - a mix of cologne, laundry detergent, and something uniquely him. It's comforting, and grounding.

Max catches sight of you cuddling and makes exaggerated gagging noises. "Oh God, it's starting already. I'm going to need therapy after this."

You and George laugh, the sound mingling together in a way that makes your heart skip. You realize that this is the first time you've been able to laugh freely together in front of others, without worrying about giving yourselves away

As the days turn into weeks, you and George settle into a new rhythm. No more sneaking around, no more hushed whispers and furtive glances. Instead, there are lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in his sheets, the London rain pattering against the windows. There are impromptu double dates with Max and Andrew, where you catch yourself marvelling at how natural it feels to be out in public with George, his hand intertwined with yours.

You find yourself falling deeper in love with George every day. It's in the little things - the way he makes your tea just right without asking, how he laughs at your terrible puns, it just makes your heart swell.

The YouTube world explodes when news of your relationship finally breaks. Your social media notifications blow up, a mix of excited fans, shocked friends, and the occasional hater. Your DMs are flooded with a mix of congratulations and jealous messages. You learn to ignore the hate comments and focus on the supportive messages from friends and fans.

Max, true to his word, makes a show of dramatically covering his eyes whenever you and George so much as hold hands in his presence. But you catch him smiling softly when he thinks you're not looking, and you know that deep down, he's happy for you.

As autumn fades into winter, you find yourself spending more and more time at George's flat. Your toothbrush migrates to his bathroom, your favourite mug finds a permanent home in his kitchen cupboard. One night, as you're curled up on his sofa watching old Sidemen videos (George insists it's "research"), he turns to you with a nervous smile.

"Move in with me," he says, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart skips a beat. "What?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

George takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Move in with me," he repeats. "Half your stuff is here anyway. And I... I want to wake up next to you every morning."

You study his face, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks.

Your heart swells with emotion as you look into George's eyes. The nervous hope there, the vulnerability – it's a side of him you've grown to cherish over these past months. You think about how far you've come from those first furtive encounters, sneaking around and convincing yourselves it was just casual fun.

"Yes," you whisper, a grin spreading across your face. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

George's face lights up, and he pulls you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. When you finally part, you're both laughing, giddy with the promise of this new chapter.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of boxes, packing tape, and furniture rearrangement. Max helps you move, grumbling good-naturedly about being demoted to "pack mule" status. But you catch him giving George a stern talking-to when he thinks you're not listening, something about "taking care of my little sister, or else."

As you unpack your life into George's space – now your shared space – you're struck by how seamlessly your belongings fit together. Your books nestle comfortably next to his on the shelves. Your favourite blanket drapes over the back of the sofa, adding a pop of colour to the room. In the bedroom, your clothes hang side by side in the closet—proof that you’re done sneaking around, done pretending this is casual. Proof that this is real.

[prlssprfctn]

It is no secret that Jason Todd has a soft spot for kids. His family knew it for a while, figured by the way he always changed the intonation of his grumbling voice around them, and stopped to help them out with whatever was puzzling their little, chaotic minds.

But it is still so unusual for them to see Jason actually acting soft around random kids.

So, when Dick accidentally walks on Jason and a little crying kid in the alleyway, during the patrol, he... freezes a little. There is something absolutely cute in a way big bad Red Hood kneels in front of the kid, while animatedly telling some stupid, funny story with all sounds effects rolling down his tongue, and big gestures. The kid giggles, gasps, and eventually stops crying, wrapping little arms around "brother's Hood" neck. Jason gets grumpier when he notices Dick staring at them, but that's fine. It is still cute-cute.

The next week, Tim stumbles across Red Hood, distracting a homeless boy scared of explosions by playing with him. When the boy jokingly hits him on the shoulder, Red Hood dramatically falls on the ground, gripping his "wound," and Tim can't help but stifle a laughter along with a boy.

Barbara listens through the comms as Red Hood hums some lullaby to a girl, he saved from Black Mask's goons. Damian catches Red Hood taking off his helmet for a toddler to stop crying at the sight of an unknown big guy around.

But the point stands: Jason always finds a way to protect kids, and that's something they all are used to.

...They just don't expect kids to protect Red Hood.

When Jason gets hit with a fear toxin — again — and Bruce figures out that he mindlessly, in a total state of panic, went to the Crime Alley, Bruce is... alarmed. None of them handle fear toxin well, but Jason has guns on him, and his memories are the worst. He practically sprints to the location Jason's tracker is, and... stops in the tracks.

Jason is here, full in his armour, curled in the dark, dirty alleyway with kids surrounding him. There tenths — maybe more of them — and they are trying to calm shivering and panicked Red Hood down. A little girl pats him on the helmet, and another boy hugs him gently. They all murmur something, debating about what to do, and Bruce needs a good minute to remember why is he even here.

'Hey!' Some kid from the crowd notices him first, instantly frowning. 'Back off from there. Don't touch brother Hood.'

Bruce doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry.

'I... I am here to help,' he softens his voice. 'Don't worry, kiddo. Thanks for keeping him safe, but—'

'Uh-uh,' the girl glares at him under uneven bangs while shaking her finger in the air. 'We don't trust you. Back off.'

...Jesus, surely Bruce remember times when kids were scared of him, but this is the first time they are actually so bold around him. And it is definitely the first time someone stops him from taking care of his own kid.

Kids from this side of town are really built differently.

'I—'

'Hey,' some taller teenager runs towards them, slightly out of breath as he shakes a can in his hand, addresing his next question to other kids: 'I bought his favourite beer. Do you think it is going to help?'

Should he be concerned that kids on the streets know Jason's favourite beer and bought it despite them being... clearly not of the age of drinking? Probably. Is it also a little bit amusing that they think alcohol would help? Yeah.

'I have an antidote,' Bruce clears his throat. 'I just need to inject it, alright? Please, trust me. I am here to help.'

They all exchange questioning glances between each other. Jason is still pretty much out of it, muttering some nonsense under his breath, shaking as a leaf — not crowbar, not again, please — but when a little girl in dress asks him if he wants to see Batman, his eyes clear just for a split second, before he mouths a small, scared Dad.

By the end of the day, when Jason falls asleep, recovering from the toxin, and kids finally seem to trust Batman enough not to hurt their big brother and let them go, Barbara and Dick tease Bruce non-stop about how kids humbled him. Still, Bruce feels a strange softness settling in his chest.

Maybe he wasn't always here to protect Jason. Maybe he still fails to do it sometimes, not knowing what to do with his son, but... at least Jason still has someone in this world, someone so loyal and loving.

So, yeah. Jason Todd is great at defending kids. But so are they.

[bitchface24-7]

Could you do part 2 of Yanderes Viktor and Jayce, please... What would it be like if the reader chose one of the boys to follow?

(Maybe you could do what it would be like for each route, for Yanderes Jayce and Viktor)

THE CHOICE IS NO LONGER YOURS PT 2 - VIKTOR X READER | JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you couldn't choose who to side with, so they decided for you. Here are the routes if you went with either Viktor or Jayce. Hopefully, everything goes well…

warnings: yandere V + J, possession, obsession, suggestiveness, angst, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. this is pt2 to “It’s time to choose…” but I wanted to name it something different that still applies to the first fic. Thisll be under pt1 in my masterlist. Hope y'all enjoy our boys being unhinged for us!

VIKTOR X READER

You don't know who to choose, so they choose for you.

Viktor takes one of your hands and leads you out the lab as you look back and see an enraged Jayce watching you two. His jaw is clenched and his fists are shaking at his side.

Viktor just continues to walk, ignoring everything around him but you. He ignored the people in the academy, the people out and about in Piltover, and walks down to Zaun.

He heals Huck, he becomes a well-known miracle, a desperate plea many have prayed for. He heals the land, builds a forge, and a commune. He becomes a messiah. He becomes the Herald.

And you're right there by his side. You're his. His right hand, his partner, his heart. Everyone knows not to mess with you. You're essentially royalty to the commune.

You help Viktor keep his humanity, your very presence fights back against the arcane. The arcane whispers to Viktor to be rid of you, he’ll never listen to it.

You're his and his alone, nothing will change his mind.

He cares for you, loves you, and worships you. He's unbelievably perfect. Sometimes you miss Jayce, and you tell Viktor. He always grimaces and looks upset, but he admits the same.

Vi, Jinx, Isha, and Vander show up for some healing, it almost works. Then everything kind of goes wrong. You fight, you live, your life continues on.

The two of you are quite happy at the commune, until Jayce shows up to kill Viktor.

You won't let that happen.

He's yours, and you're his.

JAYCE X READER

You don't know who to choose, so they choose for you.

Jayce's arm wraps around your waist as Viktor leaves solemnly. You ache to reach out and grab him, force him to stay; but Jayce's grip on you is too tight.

The two of you are despondent as you watch Viktor’s frame exits into the darkness of the unknown.

The two of you have work to do.

You aimlessly search and research into the arcane. You try your best to find the answers you are desperately seeking.

You don't find it.

Then you go on a wild goose chase with Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger, getting touched by the arcane, and you all split up.

Ekko and Heimerdinger are no where to be found as you and Jayce are transported to a post-apocalyptic version of Piltover.

Its horrifying, terrifying. The humanoid monsters, the wasteland that was once the city of progress. You're not sure how it happened, everything was happening to fast for you to process anything; but you both fall into a cave of a canyon. Two massive rock walls surrounding you, and the only way to escape is up.

Jayce cushioned your fall, and his hammer broke his leg. You try your best to care for him, but there aren’t many supplies you can use.

The two of you get extremely close. Huddling for warmth alongside the fire, tending to his leg and helping him destroy his hammer to make a brace, carving on the wall as you feel like you’re losing your mind, crying together.

Eventually the two of you slowly climb the rocks, helping each other out to the best of your abilities. The two of come across a stone figure that looks eerily familiar, and a mage that shares a face with a man you thought you’d never see again.

He tells you that in all timelines, and all possibilities, only we could show him this. And that we must stop him.

We must kill him.

The stone figure gives Jayce a modified version of his hammer, and you’re sent back to your timeline.

Your bond is intrinsic, unshakeable. But the two of you hesitate to harm Viktor. He’s changed, but he’s still your partner.

You’ll stick by Jayce no matter what, but you can’t be there when he kills Viktor. You almost lost Jayce and freaked out, you don’t know what you’ll do if you see a friend die.

But you’re Jayce’s rock, his pillar, his shield. You’ll be there to pick the broken pieces up.

He’s yours, and you’re his.

Jayce’s is longer accidentally. I did just post about herald Viktor x reader and I guess my brain went “i don’t think many people want to read the same thing twice.” So yeah… hope y’all enjoyed this pt2!! ❤️❤️

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟑

(2,663 words)

part 1, part 2

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"So..." Luigi has his hand on yours, not wanting to leave.

The date, as he so confirmed, went wonderfully. The giggles were like butterflies filling the atmosphere while you noted the intensity of his stare in your eyes.

"Is this your go-to phrase when you're dumbfounded?" You smirk while still holding onto his hand. Luigi snickers in response.

"I'm smartfounded-" "That is SO fucking lame." You groan at his response, fake-disgusted at the cop-out answer he gave but he pulls back, both hands next to his head implying that he isn't guilty. You tilt your head back down, giving him a seriously? look that only made him happier.

"No, really. If I told you my resume I've got half the mind to say you'd be impressed." Luigi explains himself but two can play that game.

Especially since you want him to compliment you more.

"Yeah, but I bet you've never worked as hard your girl," you emphasize the your to which he raises his eyebrows, "doing everything with a cast on." You watch as his features soften impossibly more and you're thinking bingo.

"T-That's true." In fact, it isn't. Luigi remembers having to use crutches while preparing for the competition of a lifetime but honestly... he was willing to lie just to put you above himself.

It is an honest, selfless act.

You smile, happy that your little guilt-tripping line has worked its wonders before you remember your hangout with Ash. You check your phone and you already see a few texts.

Ash: heyyyy i miss u. i need to rant so bad istfg

Ash: Girl where tFFFF R yA i'm drunk and heartbro-Ken

You shake your head. This girl and her heartbreaks.

"Is everything alright?" Luigi cocks his head to the side, concerned about the expression on your face that changed so suddenly. You look up, immediately smiling and shaking your head.

"Oh, just a girl problem a friend of mine is having. I guess duty calls." You giggle and Luigi lets out a sigh before he stands up, extending his arm out.

"I'll walk back with you because it's getting dark and it's cold outside. Casts don't mesh too well with this...environment the universe has so cruelly subjected you to." You smile at his borderline philosophical monologue, throwing your head back in laughter and responding in equal vigor.

"Oh, whatever would I do without such a gentleman to guide me through the blazing waters of an Ivy League campus?" You stand up before he's already setting a hand on your waist and nuzzling his nose into your forehead.

"I guess we'll never know." Luigi responds and your heart soars. He couldn't give a better answer than that.

He knows it all too well.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"Why did you get the injury in the first place?"

You and Luigi have been walking at a leisure pace for about 15 minutes, thankfully since you shot a message to Ash who was kind enough to understand, happy that you found yourself a date.

"It's such a long story but let's just say... heels, stairs, and ice. Put one and one and one together." You reply with a mock serious tone and Luigi groans, his arm around you tightening with a sense of protectiveness.

"I swear, I'll never understand the expectation women have to wear these stupid heels and dress up to look a certain way. Just use 15-in-1 body wash and call it a day." You turn around, slapping your hand over your mouth at how he managed to switch from being so sentimental to talking like, well, what you'd expect a guy to talk like.

"I'm impressed." You say, genuinely impressed.

"That's my goal." He replies.

You walked straight into that one.

"What was the event?" Luigi follows up and you find yourself half-surprised he even cares this much.

Your mind flutters away, picking out the pieces of the night.

"It was a sorority wide gala. I wasn't really up for it but my friends pushed me to come and somehow, the night ended with me regretting it altogether. I'm a homebody, honestly. I like keeping to myself and it's definitely on me for bending to the peer pressure." You respond, sighing at the stress of just thinking about the day that landed you with the case you have on now.

Luigi bends down, placing his lips on your temple for just a second before pulling off.

"If you ever need help, bambi, just remember I'm there for you." He stops but quickly adds a comment. "I wish I could've seen the dress you were in." You stare at his side-profile, wondering how his tone could change yet flow so flawlessly.

"Yeah." That's all you say, finding yourself lost in appreciating this man in his entirety.

"Yeah?" He stops walking and so do you, letting your fingers take the risk and reach over to grab his hand, pulling it closer towards your waist. He understand the assignment, gripping onto your hipbones before his other hand is drawing a line from the small of your back, up to your neck.

"Yeah." You repeat yourself, but this time, your voice is more breathy, hyper aware of the way he's touching you and staring into your eyes.

He looks dreamy, you think, the way he looks at you with not just a superficial sweep of his eyes, but as though he's looking into you, trying to grab at the pieces that make you whole and if possible, soothe and piece them together better than they just were.

Dreamy.

Unknowingly, you both start walking but the pace is even slower as you're lost in each others eyes, asking the question neither of your dared to utter.

Luigi is still looking at you but his breathing has picked up.

He's trying his very best to just take you home and drop you off but there's a pull coming from your eyes and goddamn calling you bambi didn't help him much because the purity and innocence behind that name was driving him insane.

He saw you through those lens too and somehow, it seemed to be enough for him because he barely knew you. Yet, he felt he'd known you for years and he could explain how exactly your soul and body were weaved into one.

You find your way to your dorm building, stopping in front and Luigi's lips immediately part.

"I need to kiss you." He says and you're taken aback, but the blush on your face and ever-so-slight present smile in your eyes tell him you want that too.

He comes a few inches closer while shaking his head, driving his fingers upwards and cupping your face. You take your own hands and place them overtop of his, enjoying the size difference.

"You have no clue, bambi. Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I have seen in this world. I don't care if someone showed me the world's largest diamond and held it up to the sunlight because I'd just have to turn around and look into your eyes and I'd see the light of millions of gems sparkling. I'd see galaxies valiantly painted into poems. I see so many things you don't and the more I stare into them, I-" He falters at the end and you're panting, processing the awe-inducing words that just fell from his lips that you really want to kiss.

"Luigi you- you-" You don't know what to say. That wasn't a normal compliment. It wasn't a usual compliment. Hell, it wasn't even a compliment.

That was a love letter that came straight from his adoration for you.

"What the fuck?" A sharp, broken voice cuts through the warm and giddy atmosphere that was hugging the two of you closer together. You both turn your head and you realize, it's Ash.

Your smile drops but picks up when you turn around and walk over to hug her, but in all her rage for reasons you still don't know, she pushes you back. And she pushes hard.

"You fucking BITCH!" Ash screams while you're falling back, thankful that Luigi has caught you from behind. "Ash what is wrong with you?!" Luigi raises his voice and snap at Ash, who is staring at you both in tears.

"Yeah, that's right. Let me ask YOU that." Ash is pointedly speaking to you and you're feeling tears crowding your vision.

"A-Ash I have no idea what's going on-" "You're sleeping with the guy I asked out to prom?" She interrupts your plead and your eyes go wide before you're looking at Luigi, who spares you a stare and goes back to visibly fuming at the sight of Ash in front of him.

"Get the fuck out of here Ash. You're the one who tried to pressure me into saying yes to your stupid proposal-" "Stupid? Stupid? You're trying to act like you didn't know what your friends were doing and it's your fault that I asked you Luigi!"

"STOP." You yell and watch both Ash and Luigi freeze in place.

"Ash, tell me what the fuck happened and please explain why it justified you pushing me to the ground when I have a cast on?" You put your hands on your hips, watching her eyes go wide when she realizes you have a cast. Her lips part as she stutters and explains herself.

"I-I asked Luigi out for homecoming and he said he didn't like me despite his friends making me think otherwise. I got embarrassed because he did it in front of everyone and I-I-" There's guilt written all over Ash's face and you catch it. Luigi opens his mouth but you shoot him a look, which he respects.

"Everyone who Ash?" You ask, starting to think Luigi was right.

"You know what I mean." Ash scowls lightly before continuing. "Cassidy, Rachel, our friends, and the entire hallway like-" Ash stops, waiting for you to respond.

"So you voluntarily asked him out when there were several people around and expected him to say yes and when he said no you got upset?" You asked, slightly accusatory in your tone and she nods. You then turn to Luigi.

"What did you say to her when you said no? I imagine you said more than just no, correct?" You ask Luigi and he nods, speaking his words confidently.

"I told her that I'm glad she felt comfortable enough to ask me, but that I didn't like her despite what my idiotic friends were making it seem like and that I'm sorry on their behalf, but I couldn't go out with her. I was truthful and I was respectful bam- I mean-" Luigi stops and it takes everything in you to bite back a smile. "I was respectful." Luigi ends his sentence and you hear Ash sharply exhaling.

"You still didn't explain why that justified you pushing me to the ground." You whip your head back to Ash, whose face is pale with guilt.

"I thought he would've told you. So I thought he did and I got upset you were still hanging out knowing he rejected me." Ash says, a streak of anger in her eyes when she remembers the rejection.

You shake your head in disappointment. Even if he had told her, you still would've spent time with him because it's true - Ash is in the wrong.

"You're still in the wrong Ash. He was respectful about it and you made it a bigger deal than it has to be." You finally say and Ash flexes her jaw, staring at you with contempt.

"Of course you think it's my fault. Here you are, all perfect and in order with your life when I'm trying to find my footing." You're taken aback, glancing at Luigi who raises his eyebrow, but doesn't look at you. "You're so perfect. Perfect grades perfect everything-"

"You have all that too, Ash." You cut her off, confused what her annoyance is about.

"Yeah well you know what you have and I don't? The ability to make men fold. Every man I bring back stares at your like you're a goddess and it irks me like hell. You're pretty you're perfect you're everything I want to be. I fucking hate you and don't think for a second I find you any less guilty." Ash's voice is dripping spite and jealousy, getting even worse as she watches your face change...none.

"Ash, you were my closest friend and I always looked up to your for the same exact reasons, but I never tried to make men look at me or give me attention or something. I'm always being myself and it seems like you are unable to do that, which explains your jealousy." Ash's face is still angry, but you can see her lips quivering.

"I don't care. I hate you." Ash says, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"I don't hate you Ash, but I certainly don't want to deal with your baggage. Get out of my face." You say calmly and Ash freezes before crying and walking away. You watch as she's stumbling over herself, remembering she was a bit drunk when she texted you.

Luigi finally lets out a breath and turns to face you.

"I'm proud of you standing up for yourself. You've got a clear head and a strong will bambi." Luigi smiles and you smile back at him.

"Stop, oh my god. Just telling the truth I guess. Thanks for catching me Lu." You let the nickname slip and Luigi gives you a mockingly smoldering look.

"I'm Lu now, bambina?" Your jaw drops.

'Wha-Wh-Where do you pull these from UGH!" You slap his arm before he's scooping you into his arms and in giggles and laughter, you agree.

You hand him your ID card which he scans, carrying you into the room where he sets you on your bed, paying special attention to your cast.

"When are you getting this off, bambi?" You've gotten used to the nickname now, simply answering his question.

"In a week or two. I'm bummer out because I'm going to look stupid at homecoming." You frown a bit but Luigi comes over, lightly setting his finger under your chin.

"I don't know if you'd want to come with me or not, but no matter what you choose, I'm telling you that your eyes, body, and smile make you the most stunning woman anyone will ever set their eyes on." He's leaned in now, speaking his words right over your lips and you find your hands on his t-shirt, clutching the fabric so tight your palms start to sweat.

"I-I-I-" "Need to go, bambina." Luigi pulls away and you gasp as he turns around at the door, shining a smile and walking out the door before you can say his name.

Part of your sags, shoulders falling since you thought he'd ask you out to homecoming, but the way he did it... if he really did, was frankly, underwhelming.

Was this just a fun thing for him? A date that he could brag to his friends about? But how could it be?

You're lost thinking about all the words he'd said and spun you around in ribbon with, trying to fight every urge that told you he was playing with your feelings. You bounce back on the bed before wincing.

Something sharp scratches your head and you turn around before seeing a small card, folded into two and now showing a few words inside. You frown, wondering where it came from.

The moment the card slides between your fingers, it feel thick and rich, making you wonder what was possible written on it.

bambi,

if you're willing to come to homecoming with me, keep an eye out for a package tomorrow before noon.

here's my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

~ luigi

Your heart flutters once again, all the doubts melting away as you pull the card close to your chest.

What did this boy have in mind?

~

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please comment beneath my pinned masterlist post on my blog!

@madkohi

[chosaraki]

Being a pregnant wife.

————————————

You were in the room, arranging some papers that were scattered on the table, when you heard Gitae's familiar steps. He entered the room with his firm posture, but something in his gaze had changed. The expression on his face was less impassive and more... tired.

"You're standing again," he observed, the tone of his voice loaded with a concern you rarely saw. He knew that, despite your strength and determination, you needed rest. The pregnancy was at an advanced stage, and he somehow worried about his well-being, but he would never know how to express it in a conventional way.

You smiled softly at him, aware of the way he balanced the emotional distance with an almost discreet care. "I just wanted to end this," you answered calmly. "But I'm already going to rest."

Gitae approached and, with a strong hand, took your shoulders, gently forcing you to turn towards her. His touch, although possessive and firm, had a gentle and cautious touch. His dark eyes were fixed on you, and there was a visible internal fight on his face.

"You've been trying too hard," he said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I can't... I can't lose you or our son. I don't know what I would do without you."

The vulnerability he expressed was rare, a loophole he only showed when he was alone with you, away from the eyes of his subordinates or rivals. The power and control he always exercised over his life and others were momentarily suspended, and he seemed, for a moment, just a man who loved his wife and feared for the safety of his family.

You looked at him, feeling the seriousness of his words. Even if you knew that Gitae did not show his emotions easily, you understood the weight he carried. He was unbeatable for others, but with you, he allowed himself to be more human, more fragile.

"You're doing all this for us," you said, putting your hand on his that was still on your shoulder. "I know that, Gitae. But you also need rest. You don't need to carry the world on your back alone."

He was silent for a moment, as if pondering his words. Gitae's expression was no longer so rigid, and his eyes seemed deeper, as if they wanted to say more than he was able to verbalize.

Finally, he gently pulled you into a hug. The gesture was unexpected, but it was one of his ways of showing that, despite his hardness and his position, he also had a vulnerable place in his heart - a place reserved for you and for the future they were creating together.

His hug was not like the others you had already received from him. It was not controlled, nor authoritarian. It was a hug from someone who allowed himself to be weak, someone who, for the first time, felt the weight of responsibility for the life that was about to begin with his son.

"I just... don't want to lose you," he whispered against your hair, the pain in his voice something he rarely expressed.

You felt the sincerity in his words, and although you knew that he would continue to be the ruthless leader he always was, at that moment, Gitae Kim was just the man who loved his family and wanted to protect her at all costs.

You gently stroked your back, offering a comforting smile. "You won't lose me, Gitae. We're together in this, always."

The silence that followed was comfortable, with only the sound of the rain falling outside, and you knew that, despite the emotional storm that sometimes took over him, he would be by your side - your authoritarian "king" and your vulnerable man at the same time, struggling to balance everything, but willing to share with you the heaviest burdens.

—————————————————————————the tension between Gitae's power and vulnerability is more palpable. He remains the man of strength, but opens up in a way that he rarely does, revealing his fear of losing his family and his desire to share the burden with you. Interaction is a balance between affection and the weight of your responsibilities, and it is precisely this contrast that makes your relationship so intense and full of emotional layers.

—————————————————————————

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

I hope you are well, sorry if there are any errors (English is not my native language), I love your stories, I would like you to write one of anguish, sadness, as sad as you can, about Rafe. I would appreciate it very much

long sleeves- r.c. x reader

OMGG my first request!!! i'm good and i hope you are as well <3 thank you for asking bb. sorry i took so long, i just started school and i hadn't seen this for some reason, but i gotchu. and don't worry about the english, it's not my first language either, so i see you hehe I HOPE THIS IS SAD ENOUGH!! if not lmk, cuz i'll crank it up. a/n: i actually had this idea earlier today so i think i can do this. i hope you like gracie abrams cuz it's inspired by long sleeves and i've wanted to use this song in something since it came out lol. warnings: drug mentions with addiction portrayal and domestic violence, as well as depression. if it's too much don't read it, take care of yourself first! <3

i don't know what it is about how you breathe.

his chest rising and falling, his face turned away from me even in his sleep. it seemed like it was always this way now, so much so that i couldn't even remember the last time his eyes warmed my soul instead of turning it into ice. i turned to face the ceiling and took in a few deep breaths, before i untangled myself from his sheets and padded toward the bathroom. i turned on the light before locking the door behind me and turned to face the mirror. my hollow, tired face staring back at me. when had i become this girl? i stepped closer as if in fear of seeing up close the sadness that invaded my features. dark circles looked permanently etched to my skin a shiver passing through me. i looked down at my arms, which were covered by rafe's long sleeved shirt. i lifted them slowly and saw the bruises that circled my wrists like a twisted version of bracelets.

he hurt me. not just emotionally this time, he physically hurt me.

i'll never hurt you, okay? how stupid i'd been to believe those words, when all he ever did was hurt me. again and again and again. the worst part being that i always forgave him, but i couldn't this time, not when the evidence was staring right at me in the mirror. i had to do this for her, for me. i pull the sleeves down and left the sad girl in the mirror forever. the doorknob somehow felt like the scariest thing in the world. it's just a door, don't be an idiot. i rolled my eyes because that was the only thing i could be these days. a fucking idiot.

i gathered what little courage i still had left and opened the door silently, relieved to see him in the same position as before. i went to the side of his bed as quietly as i could and looked at his face for what felt like forever. his hair fell over his forehead in a childlike manner, no angry lines or hateful glares in sight.

when had i lost him? the love of my life, my soulmate, my best friend?

this was all my fault, i turned my back at the wrong moment. his stupid friends encouraging him to try out this new 'kicker'. snow, they called it. ridiculous. when i came back he was cutting that ivory into skinny pieces, then he cleaned it with his face. i remember standing there in shock and a sizzling rage began brimming to the surface. i stalked towards him pushing his face back, then dragging him by the arm outside of whatever stupid kook's house we were at.

that was the first time we'd ever fought and i felt my heart crack a little. he knew how much i hated drugs, the way they ruined people. hell, i even hated drinking but it wasn't my body so whatever. this was different and he knew it, but of course he always had to be the coolest guy around his friends. i'd walked home that night, waking up to him blasting my phone with calls and text messages. he'd apologized and i'd believed him.

then he apologized again, then again and again. the cycle had already formed. i'd accepted his outbursts despite them hurting me emotionally, maybe because i couldn't see the bruises up front.

it was hard to believe this was the same boy who'd screamed at me. who told me he hated me to my face with his hands wrapped around my wrists hard enough to bruise just a few hours earlier before passing out after getting high again. he almost looked like his old self, almost being the keyword. his nose still had a bit of white powder on it, a baggie of cocaine and a rolled up $100 bill at the side, along with some pills that i didn't even want to know what they were.

i turned and took out the bag i usually brought when i was staying over at his house, before walking towards the dresser and opening the drawers. i had a small haul of clothes for when i was here for more than a day or two and couldn't help but let the tears start streaming down my face. i remembered the day he'd made this small space for me, the gesture solidifying our relationship in my head. i remembered his smile and the way he'd kissed my face for what seemed a million times. "i love you, kid." he always called me kid in a teasing way because it irritated the hell out of me but when he said it like that, i knew i'd let him call me whatever he wanted and i'd gladly accept it.

the memory was a stark contrast to the now cold room, with the moon as my only witness. i finished packing everything before putting on sweatpants and my shoes. i felt him stir a bit and i pleaded to whatever divine power was out there that he'd just pretend it was only wind.

i looked at his beautiful face one more time, a single tear falling to his side, the irony not lost on me.

i turned and left him behind. the tears blurred my vision just enough that i couldn't record the final moments in which i would ever walk these halls again.

y'all why she so dramatic with her packing up, lmaoo. (i literally would’ve been worse)

ok but on a serious note, if you or anybody you know is in a similar situation, please try your best to break the cycle <3 i'm thinking of maybe writing a part two but i don't know if i should sooo lmk. div creds!!- by @anitalenia

[a-ikuoliver]

w/c: 0.6k tw/s: f!reader, mentions of alcohol, finally starting some of the LOVERS lmao notes: part of the ode to a conversation series + archive link if you prefer <3

there are times you think you're completely over whatever happened between you and oliver. where you don't think about him for days, weeks, months.

and there are times where he's all you think about.

when you smell that god forsaken cologne. when you see his name flash in your contacts. when someone kisses you.

never more than when you drink.

when you're tipsy and the lights are dim enough to pretend.

when you're dancing and the bass is bouncing around in your ribs, you have a pair of hands on your hips that feel almost like his did, their hands just the tiniest bit smaller than his if you really focus on it. and they don't have the same feel oliver does.

your limbs feel airy when the phone rings, like they'd float away from your torso into the sky, never to be seen again.

if your fingers didn't twist around the strap of your purse and did fly off, it'd disappear into the gorgeous dawn sky; morphing from the deep dark blue to a baby, powder blue as the sun rose, only the tallest buildings glowing orange.

"hello?"

the phone's loud in your ear, the sound of sheets rustling in your ear nearly making you pull it away.

the groggy voice beneath it all keeps it tight in your hold.

"oh. you answered?"

"why'd you call me if you didn't expect me to answer?"

"i don't know," you kick a stray pebble with the tip of your shoe, "were you asleep?"

his laugh startles you, the way heat blooms from your heart down to the tips of your toes scares you, an anxiety swirling in your stomach with all the alcohol

"am i meant to be doing something else at four in the morning?"

you can't help the smile on your cheeks hearing the smile in his voice, a giggle bursting out of you when you shake your head, forgetting he's not by your side.

"why are you up so early?"

"i'm walking home, i don't know."

"you need me to pick you up?"

"you don't even know where i am," you giggle again, your head feeling lighter than helium even as the chill in the morning air began to sober you, "i could be across the world right now."

"i'd still come and pick you up."

a laugh that has your stomach aching is torn from your chest, a proper cheek splitting, eyes scrunched, belly shaking laugh, "ugh, i'm too drunk to be laughing that hard."

there's a laugh from his end, the kind where you breathe through your nose with a smile, you picture him with that stupid half-smile he does when he doesn't want to admit that you're funny.

there's a beat of silence. a bird singing its first song of the day.

"do you mean it?"

"hm?" he sounds half asleep again, like he's laid down with the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow to listen to your voice, to fall asleep listening to you like he would as a kid (if you asked oliver he'd say he was only blinking, resting his eyes).

"you'd come get me? across the world? sail across oceans, hike mountains… all that shit."

"'course i would." he yawns, but still doesn't hang up on you, "do all the shit poets write about if you said the word."

you chuckle, getting quieter with every step closer to your door, "me too."

there's a beat. the sound of your key sliding into the door, the click of the lock. the sound of his even breathing on the other side of the line. a sigh of your own when you finally slip off your shoes. a gentle snore.

"i miss you."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[calkestis]

STAR WARS JEDI: SURVIVOR (2023)

[shapelytimber]

not sure if you've answered this before but for the sapphic au... how did leia and luke get made if their parents are both cis ? are they force babies, created by anakin meddling with the force just as sidious did and thereby killing padme? or maybe they just went to star wars sperm bank idk. desperately curious to see if you have an explanation in mind or if they just kind of popped into existence (sorry I just get wrapped up in silly details with everything)

Oh am I glad you asked !

Only hole in my flawless explanation..... There is no way in hell Anakin in topping regularly in this relationship. So gotta assume the moment they tried to switch it up a bit they got magic stap babies.

[beastsovrevelation]

I recently found out people ship Cassandra with Apollo.

My initial reaction was...

Just tan their hides. You know what happened to her because the the bastard, don't you?..

Then, I was overwhelmed by morbid curiosity, and checked AO3. People are writing rape fics about them. ...Why?..

Could I ever see Cassandra x Apollo?.. I don't know, maybe. But, definitely not the nonsense I mentioned. Dubcon at most. I guess, he might somehow coerce her into sleeping with him, and later rescue her from the fall of Troy, because she's pregnant with his child, or something (Zeus would be pissed, I'm fine with that).

Sounds like an intriguing story, with a lot of morally questionable elements. I can imagine Apollo confiding in Artemis, wondering why his wife is so upset. She'd just go "are you serious rn?.. -_-".

...What, you're surprised I'm among those I wish to hide with a broom? Don't be. It happens quite often, actually.

[kittlyns]

One day I am gonna start journaling again and then I won't post all this sad shit on here but until then! *posts another sad post*