#like no guys youre free to use me but like i do have to go through some tapes so like either we do it doggy style so i can watch or-

[m1ckeyb3rry]

LEVIATHAN I: ECHOES IN A SHALLOW BAY

Series Synopsis: The sea spits you out at Phainon’s feet and tells him to save you. You wonder if he will ever regret that he falls to his knees and obliges.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader, Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.9k

Content Warnings: it’s me again writing for amphoreus baddies despite being like an eighth of the way through 3.0 AT THE MOST, fantasy au (amphoreus?? i hardly KNOW us), i make up lore + magic because i can, i world build also because i can, random luocha relevance fsr, amnesia trope, love triangle (we are not getting both at the same damn time i fear), violence and blood and whatnot most likely, screwy timeline bullshit, screwy spatial bullshit (this makes no sense but it will), an ending i personally would not consider angsty but some might, don’t ask me who’s endgame i oscillate sm it’ll probably just be left vague, wherever you think this is going it definitely isn't, slapping that ooc warning on here because who even am i without her (it's really bad this time though SLDKHF sorry)…

A/N: guys i thought i knew fear posting part one of threefold but no THIS is fear LMAOAOA i'm subjecting you all to my slop T_T...i don't love this by any means in fact i on the whole despise it but whatever sometimes you just gotta post anyways #enjoy farmer phainon 😭 I WILL LOCK IN FOR LATER PARTS I PROMISE

Sand slipped between your fingers as you scrabbled for purchase, dragging yourself out of the vicious currents which clawed at your legs, wailing and trying to pull you back to where your certain death awaited. Your side screamed in protest, and with a low groan, you pressed one hand to the weeping wound in an attempt to silence it, your stomach roiling from the sticky sensation of blood gathering at the site of the frayed, greening flesh.

With only one arm left free, you continued to pull yourself up the shore, but you made it a scant few paces before your trembling wrist gave out entirely, leaving you to collapse, your cheek pressed to the rough, crumbling bits of shell that littered the coast. The tide licked at your ankles victoriously, and you were dimly aware of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as they fluttered shut and the great song of your doom filled your ears, echoing somewhere deep in your bones like an army’s march.

Each pump of your heart was fainter than the last until your pulse all but crawled to a stop, and although the roar of the beast was in a foreign and guttural tongue, you understood what it was saying anyways: end. Your end was here, and there would be no one to witness this demise, no one to cradle your body and decorate it with anemones so that you were suitably beautiful for your journey to the underworld. 

“Hey!” 

You wanted to tell the man that he should leave you to die, that there was no need for him to run when there was nothing he could do to change this outcome, but his voice was so sweet and dear that you could not stop the burst of inspiration which compelled you to push yourself up and watch him as he sprinted barefoot across the beach towards you, his alarm palpable even from such a distance.

“Who are you?” he said as he knelt by your side, shielding you from the sun and the sea alike. The clamor surrounding you quieted when met with the heaviness of his vast, boundless irises, and as the rest of the world darkened into nothing, everything you had ever known dissipating as readily as mist in the morning, you focused only on the skies contained in his worried gaze.

“How beautiful you are,” you said, and then you were coughing and he was gasping and you were saying words that you were sure did not belong to you but to someone else, someone many years older and some measures wiser. “Forgive me…I have kept you waiting for so long…”

“No, no, please don’t die, please don’t — who are you? What happened to you?” he said insistently, taking your face in his large, warm hands. Your eyelids drooped as he shook you, and you did not feel as frightened anymore, your dread fleeing in the consolation of his panicked embrace.

The last thing you felt was the weight of his palms upon your heart and the heat of his mouth against your own as he begged you to come back, to answer his many questions and stay with him in the realm of the living. Perhaps you might’ve, but you succumbed to the bleakness of finality and were met with a blissful emptiness not too dissimilar to sleep before you could attempt to; then, it was all you could do to lie there and think to yourself how wonderful it would be if you spent the rest of your existence exactly like this, freed from trials and tribulations and terrors alike…

You awoke with a sharp inhale, half-expecting to be met with the biting sting of sand on your skin — yet to your surprise, you were in a bed, feather-stuffed pillows propped behind your neck and a pale blue quilt tucked neatly around your shoulders. Furrowing your brow, you stared at the white ceiling for a moment, and then you sat up, casting aside the pillows and quilt in a flurry of activity, swinging your legs over the mattress and planting your feet on the wooden floor.

Only a second later, your knees buckled and you found yourself in a heap on the woven rug, the flowery patterns dyed into the wool mocking you with their cheery brightness. You lay there for a while, finding no merit in attempting anything but motionlessness, and then slowly you extended your arm, tracing the bleeding edges of the red petals that were now at your eye level.

Dimly you grew aware of a thudding that was becoming progressively louder, and the thought crossed your mind that you should perhaps be worried, but whoever was approaching had not hurt you while you had slept, so you felt that it was fair for you to ignore it. Anyways, what would you do even if they did mean you harm? There was no sense in caring, so you remained sprawled on your side, stroking along the carpet and wishing the stems of the flowers might manifest into reality so that you could braid them together into thin, spidery plaits.

The door banged open, and you gave the entrant the grace of lifting your chin, as much out of your own curiosity as in polite acknowledgement. He did not notice you at first, his shoulders tense as he scanned the room, and when he realized the bed was empty, something like a scowl formed on his kind, lovely face — though it was not anger but despair that drove it, or at least that was how it seemed to your untrained eye.

“Oh, you’re awake!” he said, his eyes widening and a slight smile replacing his frown when he finally noticed you peering up at him. “Though, why are you on the floor? Never mind, I suppose it doesn’t really matter now that you’re there. You really are proving to be a lot more troublesome to take care of than a lamb, you know that?"

In a swift movement, he hooked one hand under your knees and cradled your neck in the bend of his other elbow, lifting you with a surprising ease and then depositing you back on the bed. It might have been impressive to some, but now that he had drawn the comparison, all you could think of was that he did not view you with anything more than the dutiful responsibility of a hound to its flock.

“I was just about to come and change your wound’s dressings, so it’s good timing, anyways,” he said, reaching for your waist before pausing, an odd, delicate pink shade blooming at the tips of his ears. “Ah, I’m sorry. You were asleep, so I never asked permission…”

“Whatever for?” you said. Your voice came out scratchy and burnt, remnants of something acrid sticking to the back of your throat, and you coughed to clear it, prompting another frown from him. Shaking his head, he sighed and tugged at the hem of your shirt, which hung off of you so awkwardly  that it must’ve been his and not yours at all.

“I have to lift it a bit,” he said. “Not — not immodestly or anything, I swear! I had the neighbor’s daughter come to bathe you and change you out of that torn dress you washed up in, but your wound is so deep that it requires attention more frequently than I can justify calling her for, and I have some experience, you know, with the puppies and the foals and whatnot, so I’ve just been doing it myself…”

“Is that what you’re fretting over?” you said in amazement. “Why, I should not complain. You may think of me as a lamb or a puppy or a foal, if it eases your mind, but all you have done has been in the effort of saving me, I am sure, so whether you consider me a woman or a beast, I do not think there is any need for guilt regardless."

“If you’re sure,” he said, the shirt bunching around your ribcage when he pushed it up and leaned closer to the covered wound, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he peeled away the white gauze from your skin, bit by excruciating bit.

“So — so you must be fond of animals, then?” you said, biting back a hiss as the cool air dug into where tendrils of infection laced along your exposed, gouged-away skin. “No, do not apologize; please tell me of them, so that I may be duly distracted.”

“Yes, there’s not much else to be fond of around here,” he said. “Here being Aedes Elysiae, if you didn’t know; we are terribly isolated from anything of note, and the sheep outnumber the people by far, so what choice do I have? It’s a dull, sleepy place, this village, but no one ever leaves it, perhaps because there is a certain charm to a home and a livelihood so secluded from the mess and bustle of the capital.”

As he spoke, he patted down the packing in your wound, wiping away the excess blood spilling over the sides with a tenderness that belied the clinical nature of the task. Of course it still ached, but you were quite sure that if it were anyone but him, it would’ve been ten times worse, so in thanks you stayed as still as possible and allowed him to work without complaint.

“My name is Phainon,” he continued. “I’m only a shepherd, to be honest with you, so all of this is a bit strange to me — I’m not really the kind of person that this sort of thing happens to, if you understand what I’m saying. I was just chasing after a stray ewe that day, but then my dog got to barking and led me straight to you.”

“I don’t remember a dog,” you said. “Though I don’t remember much of anything, so I suppose that’s a bit meaningless. ”

“He didn’t want to go near the sea. It’s odd, because he’s normally so fond of swimming, but that day all he could do was whine and paw at the sand like he was waiting for me to do something,” Phainon said, winding a pristine roll of bandages around your torso methodically, with the mindlessness typical of accustomization to an everyday task. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“No,” you said. “When I try to think of my past, I come up with nothing. Nothing, that is, but you.”

He pursed his lips, and then his fingers brushed over your navel, tying the strips of dressing together in a cross. You didn’t know if it was intentional or an unconscious, fidgeting habit; you thought it must’ve been the latter, given that he did not dissolve into a fit of apologies for daring to touch you, but then again you did not know him well enough to say for certain. Either way, it was so quick that you did not mind and would not have mentioned it even if you did; then he was adjusting your shirt and stepping away, clasping his hands together like he was gathering his thoughts.

“It hasn’t healed any,” he said. “I was hoping that when you woke up you would be able to tell me where you’re from, or at least what happened for you to end up in such a manner. I might be able to treat you better if that’s the case, but as it is, I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“My apologies,” you said, bowing your head. “I owe you my very life, and yet the only repayment I can afford you is further distress.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t thinking of repayment when I found you. I wasn’t thinking much at all, really, just that you were there and you were dead, or soon would be, and I couldn’t accept it.”

“You couldn’t accept it,” you repeated. “Why, because you’re the one who found me? Do you feel some measure of duty to me for it?”

“It’s not just that,” he said. “I don’t know. I can hardly explain it to myself, let alone someone else…but I thought I would have to stay and breathe for you until the tide grew low and the crabs came to mock me, and strangely enough, I would’ve done it. If that was what was necessary, I would’ve.”

You narrowed your eyes, scrutinizing the man who had played as your heart and your lungs until such a time that you could do so on your own. He was a striking figure, albeit unassuming at first glance, his taste in ornament and dress detracting somewhat from the imposing nature of his presence. Taller and broader than any shepherd had the right to be, his eyes were shimmering and clever, his hair carelessly mussed and pale as the moon, the silvery strands framing his appealing face in such a fine way that you almost could not believe he was real, that he was not some empyrean figment of your imagination.

“I see,” you said finally. “Whatever your reasoning might be, I’m indebted to you.”

“Oh, um…anyways, now that you’re awake, I guess the only thing to do is to take you to the village proper, where we can see an actual healer,” he said, wrinkling his nose, clearly unused to praise being lavished upon him, especially such a great, generous amount. “I was too frightened to jostle you about so much while you were unconscious, but I don’t know that we have much of a choice anymore. I’ve been treating your wound as one would treat an abscessed hoof, but this may be a few orders of magnitude more serious.”

Unbidden, your knuckles pressed into your aching ribs, and with a wince, you chuckled. Phainon’s face fell, his eyebrows drawing together and the corners of his lips curving downwards, and this for some reason prompted a sinking sort of disappointment in you.

“It may be,” you said. “But I am sure that with proper medicine, it will heal and be as if it never happened.”

Both of you knew you were being unnecessarily and unrealistically optimistic, but he did not say anything to correct you, only nodding, perhaps needing the reassurance as much or more than you did. After all, wouldn’t it be worse to know that despite everything he had done, you had still died? Wouldn’t it hurt more now that he had brought you into his home than it would’ve if he had simply left you on that beach, rotting amongst the stinking seaweed?

With the help of your grip on Phainon’s proffered forearm, you managed to stumble down the stairs to his kitchen, though it was an exhausting endeavor, and you would’ve fallen several times over if it weren’t for him. You knew from the set of his mouth that he didn’t approve of your attempts at independence, but he was not the sort to argue, nor the type to gloat when you settled in a chair at his small table with a sigh.

“I don’t have much,” he said as he opened and closed the doors of his cabinets, pulling out various preserves in glass jars, weighing them in his hands before putting half back. “It won’t be anywhere near as nice as you’re used to, I’ll bet.”

“I’m not ‘used to’ anything,” you reminded him, craning your neck so you could watch him as he crouched, muttering something about needing to go to the market again soon.

“Ah,” he said, turning and blinking at you nigh-owlishly, his lashes surprisingly dark as he batted them at you. “Right. Sorry, it’s just that you’re so proper and beautiful and — I mean, not beautiful! Wait. Yes, you are beautiful, but that’s not why — I just — ugh, my mother always told me I was well-practiced at shoving my foot in my mouth, but until now I didn’t understand what she meant by that. Here, I hope this is acceptable.”

He slid a plate of something or another over to you, and then he turned on his heel and busied himself with tidying the already-spotless counters. You admired him as he wiped over the grainy wood, in the meanwhile cutting your food into pieces with the fork and knife he had given you, taking the smallest bite and then humming in approval.

“It is more than acceptable,” you said. “However, need I remind you I’m in no position to complain either way? I would eat even if you only gave me pig slop.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” he said, dropping his rag and brandishing his index finger at you. “Do you really think — you’re joking.”

“Yes,” you said, laughing despite how it hurt, thinking that there might be some remedy to be found in this version of pain. “I am only joking.”

“I can’t quite understand you,” he said. “You speak like one of those Helikan tax collectors, but you have the sensibilities of any ordinary girl.”

“Is ‘Helikan tax collector’ the worst insult you can fathom? I am duly offended, though you really ought to improve your creativity for the future,” you said.

“You’re joking again,” he said flatly, and you could not even deny it, your continued laughter betraying you. “I’m not trying to insult you, I’m simply telling the truth. It’s an honor if anything; being associated with Helike is high praise here.”

“Why is that?” you said. He handed you a mug filled to the brim with a warm drink that had a sweet, unfamiliar aroma wafting off of it, and then he sat across from you with his chin in his hands.

“It’s the capital of the region,” he said. “The most powerful city on the coast. Aedes Elysiae and the other villages like us are technically part of the Helikan state, though for the most part they leave us to our own devices, as long as we pay our taxes and don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Do they lend you protection in exchange?” you said.

“They’re supposed to,” he said. “But the city itself is much too far, and we are of much too little consequence for them to care, especially since that Lord of Swines took over and let the countryside fall to chaos.”

“What sort of a place is this, to be ruled with such a loose fist, and by a man called the Lord of Swines, no less?” you said incredulously. “Have I found myself in some strange fiction? I can’t quite believe it.”

“He’s not actually called the Lord of Swines,” Phainon said, clicking his tongue impatiently. “And officially, he’s not the ruler of anything but his temple. Helikan politics are a bit of a complex situation, but you shouldn’t pay any mind to them. Focus on getting well and remembering where your actual home is. I’m sure there are people who are missing you.”

“Right,” you said. “If I have a mother and father, they must be worried…or siblings, if I am so privileged as to have a brother or sister or both, then maybe they are searching for me…and friends, surely I have friends, right? Do you believe they think of me in my absence?”

“Of course they do,” he said. “They will be overjoyed when you return, I’m sure of it.”

“It is such a difficult and delicate thing, to mourn a life and love I do not know,” you said, chewing contemplatively in the ensuing silence, continuing only after you had swallowed. “I am sad for what I have lost, but I am more sad for those who have lost me. My suffering is only bodily and can be treated, or at least alleviated, but what recourse do they have?”

It was a rhetorical question, and thus he did not try to answer it, but you could tell by the softening of his eyes that he pitied you. Perhaps you should’ve found it condescending or infuriating, but it was only heartening to think that he understood, that he, too, shared your sorrow, or at least held sympathy for it; so, reaching out, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and held his hand against your eyes, smothering your tears before they could come.

Outside of Phainon’s small home stretched endless fields of grass, green and gold in turn, sheep dotting the landscape like small, fleecy clouds. A tan hound lounged by the dirt path, a pink tongue lolling out of his black muzzle, and when he noticed you had come out, he beat his tail against the ground, sending up plumes of dust into the air. You smiled as you passed him, remembering that Phainon had mentioned it had been his dog who had led him to you and wondering if this was the very one who had done it.

“He’s been moping about ever since I brought you home,” Phainon said, as if he could read your mind. The dog got up with a deep exhale, trotting along behind you with his tail still wagging, though he broke off eventually to chase after a pair of wayward rams. “You may think it fanciful, but I do believe he was worried.”

“How helpless it is, to be a dog in a world meant for people,” you said. You meant it as a rumination, an earnest contemplation on the nature of these things, but Phainon only snorted, tightening his grip around your shoulders as you rounded the corner of a stone barn and came up to a white-fenced pasture where a pair of horses grazed.

“You’re funny,” he said. “Maybe you used to be a court jester.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, furrowing your brow. You had no frame of reference for it, but the very title felt uncomfortable and wrong, settling on your shoulders like a mismatched cloak. He glanced at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he took a halter over the taller horse’s head and led it out of the field behind him.

“Yes, probably not,” he said. “I’ve not met any jesters, but from what Natasha has told me of them, you wouldn’t fit the role.”

“Who’s Natasha?” you said, sitting on a bale of hay and observing him as he bustled about, readying the horse for the trip to the town center.

“She’s the best healer in all of Aedes Elysiae,” he said. “Actually, she’s from the capital, but something happened in her family a few years ago, so she moved out here and has remained in the village ever since. It’s a lucky thing, really — she knows how to treat maladies most of us have never even heard of, and I’m sure she’s saved more lives than I count just because of it.”

“You’re taking me to see her, then,” you said. He nodded.

“If there’s anyone here who can figure out what’s going on with your wound, it’s her,” he said. “Like I told you, I would’ve taken you to her earlier — I should’ve, I know I should’ve — but —”

“You mustn’t upset yourself like this,” you interrupted before he could continue. “You have done the best you could. I do not blame you, so do not blame yourself; how could you have known that it would turn out to be such an abnormal case? Anyways, you may have done the right thing after all. I am still alive, and who knows if that would’ve been the case had you been hasty? Enough with your worrying, for I cannot continue to reassure you in this way. You must be certain that you were correct and understand that even if you weren’t, you cannot undo what has already been done. The only thing left for both of us is to continue onwards with the situation as it is.”

He gawked at you for a moment, like he had not been expecting you to say that, and even you were taken aback, for you, too, were surprised by the gravitas in your voice, the stern, cold nature of it. An awkward silence descended upon you both with a swiftness, and it was only broken when his horse huffed, pawing at the ground in an impatient reminder that he was still tied and half-tacked.

Phainon cleared his throat and busied himself with the buckles of the saddle, clearly embarrassed. “Right, I’ll do that.”

“I am sorry,” you said.

“Don’t be,” he said. “You spoke correctly. There’s nothing that can be changed now. All we can do is go to Natasha and hope it was enough.”

The ride to the village center was not terribly long, or at least you did not think it was, for you spent most of it with your cheek between the bony blades of his shoulders, drifting in and out of sleep, although you had just awoken a few hours earlier. It must’ve been a symptom of the decay festering in your ribcage, for the weariness felt unnatural, forced, a fog over your mind that combined with the lack of your memories to lull you into a blank motionlessness, your failing body weighed down as if by stones shoved in your pockets.

To call Aedes Elysiae a village was generous; it was a cluster of homes wound through with a few cobblestone streets, a small square lined with shops the closest to a center that they had. Wood-painted signs declared each merchant’s wares, but Phainon led you past all of them, ignoring the staring townspeople who whispered as you walked by and halting before a grey-walled house with flowers blooming in the windowsills.

“Here we are,” he said, helping you off of the horse and tying it to a wooden post. You reached out and took one of the blossoms between your fingers while he did so, stroking the velvety petals with a slight frown, though you could not say why they brought such distress, why your stomach dropped as soon as you saw the steadfast blooms. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” you said, startling at the sudden address, the flower falling from your hand and drifting to the ground, where it was promptly crushed under the horse’s hoof. “Yes, yes, I’m alright. I was just surprised.”

“By the flowers?” he said, far more discerning than you would’ve expected from someone who had been kind to the point of near-naivete up until this point. When you nodded hesitantly, he frowned. “I don’t know what kind they are. They don’t grow around here; I think she brought them with her from Helike or something.”

“Anemones,” you said, the name materializing like the ghost of a person you once knew but had long ago lost. “I…they mean something, I think, but I can’t say what. Of course.”

“Do you think that once your injury is cured, you’ll be able to remember everything again?” he said, knocking on the blue door, cocking his head slightly while he waited for a response.

“I would like to believe so,” you said. “But it feels overly hopeful, so I will refrain for now. It’s better not to have expectations at all, right?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But isn’t it also important to have faith? I mean, what else even is there to be had?”

Before you could muster a response, the door swung open, revealing a slender, willowy woman with an oval face and dark hair tied at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils falling in her eyes and white ribbon trailing down her back. When she noticed you and Phainon standing there, she frowned slightly, but it was concerned, not disdainful, and nearly maternal in quality, although she could not have been more than a few years older than either of you. 

“Phainon? Who’s this? Is everything alright?” she said, and the calm, steady cadence of her voice was enough to set your heart, which inexplicably had begun to race, at ease. Here was a woman who understood things, who might understand you, despite the sorry fact that you could not yet understand yourself. She ushered you in without even waiting for Phainon to explain, taking over the support of your limp weight as easily and naturally as breathing — which, to a healer, such a task really was so ingrained, you supposed.

“I found her on the beach,” he said, and although she did not require any assistance, he hovered at your side with the worried air of a mothering hen, like he could not bear to relinquish the care of you entirely. “She washed up in a wad of seaweed, bleeding all over the sand from this horrible wound in her side. For a while I was sure she would die in my arms, but then miraculously she began coughing and breathing on her own, without my help, although she did not wake up for some time, and the condition of her wound never improved. Ah, that’s actually why we came to see you, Natasha, if you don’t mind looking…”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she chided him, as if he had been a fool to ask her in the first place. “Just wait outside. I’ll bring her to you when I’m done.”

“Okay,” he said, but it was drawn out and long, like he was hoping by the end of the word she would change her mind. His reluctance was obvious, and with every step he took away from you, your heart squeezed a little tighter, which meant that he was not alone in the feeling — but who were you to argue? She was the one who knew best, and so you had no choice but to follow her directives.

Natasha waited until the door was well and fully closed before she turned to you, clearing her throat and folding her hands in her lap. You had been expecting her to immediately take to inspecting the site of your injury, so you were surprised by the reaction, and even more so by her subsequent scowl.

“Was he telling the truth?” she said.

“Huh?” you said. She nodded towards the window, where, presumably, Phainon stood in anxious wait, unable to do anything of merit but unable to leave, either.

“Phainon,” she said. “Did he really find you under such…altruistic circumstances? I don’t want to believe it of him, he’s always been so good, so wonderful, but neither do I wish to presume. So, I ask you again: is he telling the truth?”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you suggesting that he could be the one who hurt me?”

“In a sense,” she said, the air suddenly growing fraught and thick with tension. “Or, perhaps, that in your current condition, he might have—”

“No!” you said, and it burst out so vehemently that your hand clapped over your mouth immediately afterwards. What cause did you have to defend him so staunchly? You did not know him, not well and not at all, and what Natasha was saying was not baseless. It would not have been difficult for Phainon, not with how you were at present…but you could not fathom it, you rejected it, you knew it wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t have, he could not, you were so sure, and your certainty was frightening, it was frightening and confounding and should not have existed in the first place, least of all in such a great quantity, but it was there nonetheless.

“You’re quite convinced?” she said, and you nodded, because, although you could not remember much, you did recall the day he had found you, for it was in a sense a second birth, the rest of your life a dark blur up until the moment you had opened your eyes to him. Him and the deep punctures in your side, which were blackened around the edges and wept red onto his turmeric-stained tunic; him and the kelp tangling around your throat, which crumbled away as soon as his palm lit upon the firm bone of your chest; him and the brine at the corners of your mouth, which dribbled down your chin as he pinched your nose shut and pressed his lips to yours, breathing life back into a sodden, weary heart that had no choice but to accept the offering.

“I am. He saved my life. I — well, to be fully honest with you, I have found myself without much if anything in the way of memories, but there are some things that exist in the back of my mind in the way some words exist on the tip of one’s tongue, just out of reach but maddeningly close, and this is exactly such a thing. I can’t explain how or why, but I can tell you unflinchingly and calmly that I would be dead if it weren’t for him. Perhaps many times over; perhaps in ways that he himself cannot know; perhaps in a manner that the explanation for does not yet make sense. But I would be dead without him, I assure you. He has saved my life, and I won’t — I won’t hear anything to the contrary!” you said.

“Alright,” she said. “Please do not misunderstand; I am relieved to hear it. I did not want to think of him as anything less than what I do now.”

“And what may that be?” you said, removing your shirt at her indication and raising your arms so that she could begin to undo Phainon’s attempts at bandaging.

“A boy who is meant for more than shepherding cattle,” she said, and the answer was simple, practical, yet the kind that spoke volumes for its abstractness. “Oh, dear girl, what happened to you?”

“He said it hasn’t improved any. He’s been treating it as best as he can, but he did not want to take me into the village until I was awake — you mustn’t tell him he was wrong, even if he was, I think it will crush him — although it is clearly more serious than anything he has ever seen,” you said.

“I’ll say,” she muttered, and then, to your surprise, she only rebandaged the wound exactly how it had been, not even addressing the site with anything more than a sad look. “Put your shirt back on. I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good, and I think it’d be best if I tell both you and Phainon at once, to save you from having to repeat it. If I know him, I know he’ll take it worse than anyone, perhaps even worse than you yourself, and I wish to spare you this singular torment, for it is within my power to do so.”

Phainon swept in as soon as Natasha opened the door, and he did not even greet her, returning to stand before you, taking your hands between his and searching your expression like he could tell everything he needed to know just from the reflection of it in your irises.

“You should sit,” Natasha said to him.

“I’ll stay standing,” he said. The with her remained hanging in the air, unsaid but known by you all, and to it she could only exhale heavily, like she had expected as much but had wished most fervently for a different response.

“I can’t do anything for her,” she said. “As far as I can tell, the depth of the wound isn’t the main issue, although it’s definitely aggravating it; it’s that it’s poisoned, and that this poison is spreading, which is killing her slowly. But if it really is a poison, then it’s one unlike anything I've ever seen, and I don’t want to use medicine on it for fear of accidentally causing a reaction that’ll exacerbate her suffering further. The kindest thing we can do at this point is give her a comfortable place to live until she finally succumbs.”

“What?” he said. You supposed you should’ve felt equally as indignant as him, but you had been half-expecting from the moment you had awoken that your fate would be something like this, so the only reaction you had was the fleeting thought that even this much was a blessing. At least now you could die somewhere peacefully, happily, buried amongst flowers in those green-gold fields that Phainon and his dog watched over, defended with the same zeal that they defended their flock, instead of left to be pecked at by carrion-birds on the unforgiving shore of the stony beach. “How am I supposed to just accept that? How am I supposed to just — just — just watch her die, like she’s some ailing cow bound for slaughter? She’s a person, not livestock, doesn’t she deserve more than that?”

“There is one other option,” Natasha said, silencing Phainon’s tirade as quickly as it had begun. 

“Why didn’t you start with that?” he said in exasperation. “Well? What is it?”

“You won’t like it, and it’s not a guarantee. The answer may not be any different, and you’ll have put both of yourselves through undue stress for nothing if that’s the case,” she warned. He rolled his eyes, and although he had dropped your hands about halfway through his rant, clearly overcome, he now brought his right to rest protectively on your shoulder, like he could tether you to the world, to him, with just that one point of contact.

“I don’t care about whether I’ll like it or not. Just get on with it,” he said.

“Take her to the capital,” she said. “Bring her to my former master, Luocha, who is perhaps the most learned medic in the world. Surely he will be able to better diagnose her malady.”

“You don’t mean Helike, do you?” he said.

“I can’t recommend it,” Natasha said. “The journey will be riddled with difficulties. The road is not safe on the best of days, and as for that wound…no mere accident could’ve caused it. Do you know what that means? Someone or something is, or at some point was, trying to kill her. You may be safe for now, if they believe they were successful, but what do you think will happen when they realize she lives? They will surely hunt her down, and no matter how talented of a swordsman you are, Phainon — and you are, I acknowledge that much — you can’t defend both yourself and a woman on the brink of death from a being that is hellbent on her end.”

“It’s her choice,” he said finally. “No one else’s.”

“Yes,” Natasha said, and then she turned to you. “It is. How about it, then? Knowing everything, what do you say?”

“Phainon,” you said instead of answering her immediately. “Will you stay with me?”

It was suddenly imperative that he answered that. For the first time but not the last, you wondered if you had met him before, to trust him so intrinsically, to need him so instinctually. What other explanation was there? Logically you knew it was not so, or else he would have recognized you, but you could not help it, could not help that nagging sense of familiarity, could not help that whining desire to be nearer and nearer to him.

“Until the very last,” he said, so solemn, so grave. “All of the way until Helike, if that’s what you ask.”

“Then I will go,” you said. “Even if it is not guaranteed, I want to live a little longer. Even if it is more painful, I don’t want to accept my death without first trying as hard as I can to fight it.”

Natasha clearly did not approve, but she did not seem particularly shocked, either, her lips pressing into a thin line as she nodded slowly, sadly, before standing and telling you she would return in a few moments if you did not mind waiting, please. So you and Phainon stayed in that empty room, and for a while neither of you spoke, lost in your own musings, until finally you gathered the strength to ask him the question that was newly weighing on your mind.

“Did I know you before?” you said.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly, like he was waking up from some long dream, shaking his head and giving you a polite, confused smile. “No, I’m quite sure you didn’t. I’d remember you if we had ever met.”

“How can it be? You say I am a stranger, but who does this much for a stranger? And if I truly did not know you, then why…” you trailed off, because in face of the befuddled furrow of his brow, you did not dare complete your thought: why is it that I feel so much for you? Why is it that I have, in the span of hours, found myself so enthralled? If you are a stranger, then does that make me a fool? I cannot be so weak. I cannot be so hapless. My body has failed me and my mind has failed me, my heart cannot as well. It cannot, and so you cannot.

“I can’t answer that,” he said, and he sounded so contrite you regretted even bringing it up in the first place. “Of course, I wish I knew you. I wish you weren’t a stranger, so that I could fill in the gaps of your memories, so that I could tell you about the entire life you had led up until the point you lost it. I would remember each detail, you know, and I wouldn’t withhold even the most mundane of them — I’d tell you about every single breakfast you ever ate with me, which jams were your favorite and which you turned your nose up at, the flowers you loved and those which distressed you, whether you preferred to play with the sheep or the ponies or the dogs — you would find me tiresome and boring to listen to, I think! But anyways, you are not the type of person who would be found doing such unimportant, silly things, so it’s irrelevant. Can you really believe yourself to be from Aedes Elysiae? We both know you aren’t, which means that you really must be a stranger to me, who has never left this place.”

“If only I were,” you said. “Girls from Aedes Elysiae are not poisoned and hunted and drowned very often, are they?”

“No,” he said. “They have their own problems, but those are not amongst the most common. Whoever did this to you, they are a special kind of monster, the sort that most people are lucky enough to never encounter in their lives. We only have to worry about wolves and ordinary bandits in these mountains.”

“Natasha didn’t seem to think so,” you said.

“Well, the road to Helike is dangerous,” he acquiesced. “And the city itself is a separate entity altogether. Who knows if we’ll even manage an audience with Luocha? He is a busy man, and not the generous sort, who might hear our urgency and make an exception. She’s right to be against us going.”

“But you think it’s a good idea,” you said. “You didn’t say as much, but I could sense it.”

“I hope I didn’t sway your decision,” he said. “You’re right, though. I do think it’s worth it. If we stay here, then your death is assured, and I will always regret that I did not do the best I could to prevent it.”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking,” you said. “Don’t worry. I arrived at the conclusion of my own volition; if I am to die, I do not want to just lay down and accept it. It would drive me mad to spend my days with that anticipation, especially knowing that there was something I could be doing in the meantime. I could not manage such an arduous journey alone, but if I can have you with me, then I will go to Helike and demand that this Luocha sees me.”

“I already told you I would go,” he said. “I’ll deliver you to the capital, and until we can find out who you truly are, I will remain by your side and fulfill the role of every person it occurs to you to miss.”

“What if he cannot do anything for me?” you said, giving voice to that which had been quivering between you, massless and amorphous until you forcibly acknowledged it, affording it credence and shape. “Then you will have to lay me to rest in Helike. I will be an unnamed body amongst the many others who die everyday in such a large place, another unmarked grave amongst a sea of the like. It sounds so sad and lonely, I don’t — I don’t think I want that—”

“You can’t think such things. Focus on getting better,” he said.

“But I must consider every outcome carefully. There’s a chance that this entire matter will end in such a way, after all, and not a small one, either,” you said. “Can you do me a favor? Please, if it comes to it, ask them to burn me, and then take what’s left to the most beautiful place you can imagine. I know that’s a lot to ask of you, given that we have only met so recently, but I have no one else…” 

“I meant when I said I will be everything to you,” he said. “If that’s what you really want, then it’ll be done — but it won’t come to it in the first place. You will live, I promise. Those in the capital will know how to fix you.”

After that, he placed his hand on the top of your head, which was more than you needed but less than you wanted, and there you stayed, yourself on the bed and Phainon standing between you and the rest of the room, until Natasha returned with a few more sets of bandages and a bundle of clothes and a letter for Luocha, as well as a final warning to be careful before she sent you on your way.

Instead of returning directly home, you went to Phainon’s neighbor’s house, for if he were to accompany you to Helike, there were affairs that required settling. The animals he tended would still require feeding and watering and looking after, and he told you in a fond, level voice that there was no one he could entrust with the task better than the neighbor’s daughter, who was some years younger than you but possessed, in his words, the sort of determination that lent her far more reliability than mere experience might.

She was a vivacious girl, answering on the first knock and beaming when she saw you, the crescent moon of her grin splitting her freckled face nearly in two. Shoving aside Phainon, she threw her arms around you, and although you were taken aback by the affection, you were also warmed by it, by what she must have intended only as politeness but which came across to you as an offer of sincere friendship.

“You’re awake!” she said by way of greeting, and in the back of your mind, you vaguely recalled Phainon telling you he had called upon her to strip and bathe you of the filth of the beach. Maybe you might’ve squirmed, but she was the sort of person that was so guileless it seemed impossible to be uncomfortable around her, for she really was as wide-eyed and harmless as the lamb toddling around her feet. “You look much better now.”

“Do I?” you said dubiously. “I’m told I don’t.”

“This one,” she said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper as she motioned towards Phainon. “Would you believe he’s the hero of the village? He’s such a bumbling clown when you meet him that it’s easy to forget.”

“Don’t fill her head with silly stories,” Phainon said, but his cheeks were pink, and it was obvious he was trying very hard not to boast about what he may have done to attain the designation of hero. “Where is your father? I need to ask him for a favor.”

“I think he’s out collecting eggs with my mother,” she said. He stared at her expectantly, but she only jut her chin out and stared back with her hands on her hips, her foot tapping impatiently against the tiled floor.

“Can you go fetch him?” he said finally, slowly, like he was talking to an impertinent little child.

“You know where he is, and you always tell me you’ll do it when you come, so go on, then! What’s different this time?” she said, and you coughed to disguise your snicker at the glitter of her eyes darting between the two of you. Phainon frowned, opening his mouth to argue before clamping it shut and mumbling something under his breath, ducking past you both, ostensibly in search of her father. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, she sobered, her grin dropping as quickly as it had come. “You know, you’re lucky he’s the one who found you.”

“Hm?” you said. 

“Like I said, he plays the part of the bumbling clown all too well, but that couldn’t be further from the truth of who he really is,” she said. “Phainon’s different from the rest of us. It’s as plain as day; my parents talk about it sometimes, I’ve heard them, so it’s not just me saying that, mind you! Just a few years ago, when I still went to the village for my lessons, there was an attack by a group of bandits. They were intent on holding Aedes Elysiae hostage until delegates from Helike could arrive, after which they planned to use our lives as the bargaining chip for what I can only assume would have been large sums of money.”

“How frightening,” you said, and you meant it entirely. “It’s abhorrent to think that they would attack such a defenseless place."

“It was frightening,” she agreed. “I was walking home already, as my teacher had suddenly grown ill and dismissed me early that day, so I escaped their notice, hiding in the trees as they corralled the townspeople in the square. When I judged them to be well and fully distracted, I began to run, and I did not stop running until I was banging on the door to Phainon’s home.

“He answered almost immediately, and he did not joke as he usually does. He knew as soon as he looked at me that something horrible was happening — I’m not particularly good at hiding my emotions, and he has a talent for reading even the best-concealed expressions — and he went with me to the village, and then—”

“And then?” you prompted when she suddenly fell silent.

“And then I told her to stop embarrassing me with these exaggerated accounts of events,” Phainon said. You turned to see him with a wiry man who resembled the girl most greatly, a cross look on his face, which was so at odds with the geniality you had come to expect that it seemed all but comical. “Please don’t take her too seriously. It’s true that there was a bandit attack that I helped fend off, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Now, son, don’t be too humble,” the man, his neighbor, said, giving you an affable nod in greeting. “My daughter isn’t exaggerating that much. Phainon here really did take the guardsman’s sword and slay all the bandits that held weapons in their grips, sparing those who had nothing and bidding them to spread the word that Aedes Elysiae was not to be touched. He is undoubtedly our savior, so it only makes sense that he’s the one who found you — who else would?”

“He’ll protect you well,” his daughter added, her voice a lark’s chirp as she hefted her lamb in her arms, holding it before her like a peace offering, which was promptly denied by a playful scowl on Phainon’s part. “You won’t have to worry about a thing if he’s with you! Like I said, you’re lucky to have him.”

“He tells me you have business in Helike,” Phainon’s neighbor said, and although it was not a secret, necessarily, you found you were still grateful that Phainon had not told him what that business entailed. 

“Yes, that’s correct. He has graciously offered to accompany me,” you said. It was a credit to everyone in the room that they did not laugh at the notion of Phainon’s presence being a gift you could have denied. One did not need to look at you more than twice to know you were helpless in the wake of this poison, this half-death, but all three of them allowed you to keep your pride and did not point that out, Phainon’s neighbor even grunting in assent.

“Why, he’s always been the type. If there’s problems, he’ll be the first to try and solve them. I’m not surprised in the slightest,” he said. “But there’ll be trouble if you try to go like this.”

“Trouble?” you said. “Whatever do you speak of? What’s wrong with how I am now?”

“It’s not you, actually,” he said. “The clothes Natasha lent you are Helikan in origin; even if hers do not fit you well, she sent some from her mother that will surely work, so you should have no issue blending in. I’m more worried for Phainon…”

“Me?” Phainon said. “I see no problems with what I’m wearing. This is how I always dress.”

“Right,” his neighbor said, which brought Phainon to turn to you as if for reassurance. You cringed, for you could not come up with anything positive to say about the yellow tunic nor the pants, which were an inexplicable and blinding shade of violet that would not even suit a king in full regalia. In fact, the combination was all but offensive to the eye, the sin of it multiplying by how the swathes of fabric marred his comeliness, the muddy ochre tinting his skin sallow, the looseness of the drape folding over and concealing every line and angle of his body from view. 

“Perhaps it is better suited for guarding sheep than visiting the city,” you suggested, attempting to soften the blow as best as you could. “He is right. From what you have told me of the Helikans, should they see us as peasants, then I am doubly sure they will not grant us an audience. If you do not speak, and wear handsomer clothes, then you will easily be believed as someone of import, and although you are not an authority on the matter, you did mistake me for a Helikan earlier, so I think that I can also manage. But where shall we find that sort of attire, such that you are convincing enough to pass through without question?”

“I would have kept silent in the first place if I did not have something,” his neighbor said. “My brother once tried to pass the exam to be one of the guards of the Temple of Cygnus, you see, and he made it far enough to receive a uniform, though he fell in love with a singer before he could actually take the role. He left it here with me, along with the rest of his belongings, before running off to become a traveling musician.”

“The guise of a Temple guard! You think my current dress will draw attention, and that won’t?” Phainon said. 

“Well, they have a certain reputation,” his neighbor said. “Even the most fearsome of bandits would not dare incur the wrath of the Temple. It will grant you a safer passage…and anyways, if I am correct in my estimations, then the Temple is your end goal, is it not? It will serve you well there, too.”

“Fine,” he said reluctantly, though only after casting a sidelong glance at you, his lips pursing when he did. “You may be wrong, but if you are right, and if this uniform brings us before Luocha even a moment sooner, then how can I say no?”

Based on how averse Phainon had been to it, you had expected the garb of the Temple guards to be something practical but near to hideous, perhaps even fearsome, grotesque and twisted and hiding his shining visage from the world. Yet when he returned to you, self-consciously adjusting his white shoulder plates, you found you could not have been more wrong, for he was beautiful, so beautiful, awkward and shy though he was, the pearly threads of the long coat and the gold of the fastenings suiting him so well it was as if he had been born to wear them.

“You’re crying!” he said, and it might’ve been humorous, how he all but wilted, if he weren’t also right. “Do I really look that bad?”

For you hadn’t noticed until he had said it, but you really were weeping, and upon the realization, you could only bury your face in your hands in the effort of abating your senseless lamenting, wishing that your eyes would not sting so horribly and your throat would lose its humiliating swelling. 

“I knew this wasn’t a good idea,” he said when you did not say anything. “I’ll go and change now, don’t worry—”

You shook your head, wiping at your face as quickly as you could, blotting away your tears despite how they came back twice as strong with every press of your palms against them. You knew he was confused, he must have been, for you were, too, and you hated that most of all, hated that your own actions were a mystery to yourself. But there it was regardless, your heart, your traitorous, jealous heart, which kept the remnants of your many secrets locked away from the rest of you, singing and singing as you clenched your fists to prevent yourself from reaching for him.

“Don’t change,” you said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what overcame me. You just looked so familiar for a moment that I could not help it, but — but no, you don’t look bad, not at all.”

“You are a picture!” his neighbor said, clapping his hands together. “Truly, you suit it much better than my sorry old brother ever did. This must have been what Luocha envisioned when he designed them; I don’t think there’s been a guard more striking than you since the Temple of Cygnus was founded!”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Phainon said, nudging his neighbor away as the man tried to reach up and ruffle his hair. “You’re certain it won’t be too much of a burden for you to watch over my home while I’m gone?”

“After all of the help you’ve given us, I would never dream of calling you a burden. Take your time and worry only about your pretty girl here,” his neighbor said, nodding his chin towards you. “We will pray for her health and your safe return the entire time you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” you said, ignoring Phainon as he began to sputter indignantly at what was unmistakably only said to provoke that exact reaction from him. “I appreciate it, and I am eternally grateful for everything that you have done for me. For the rest of my life, however short or long it may be, I will remember you all, who saw a stranger by the sea and found it in your hearts to save her.”

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @itseightamineedsleep

[invincibledc]

⋆˙⟡ THE THREE FOUR MUSKETEERS⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ DAMIAN WAYNE, JONATHAN KENT, DEMETRIUS PRINCE (OC) X CIVILIAN!READER⋆˙⟡

SUMMARY: being best friends with the supersons while you are just a civilian isn’t really easy as most people think…

GENRE: fluff + silly + oc x reader + slight angst

INFO: This is a superson OC I’ve written for my own amusement. Demetrius is clearly the son of Diana Prince, and being the older brother of Elizabeth “Lizzie” Prince. He’s canonically handsome cause he’s the son of Diana Prince and Steve Trevor (this is my own AU. SO YES STEVE IS ALIVE!!). Demetrius is a brute.

WORD COUNT: 2,205

HANG-OUTS

Hangouts with the supersons…. They are quite amusing…

Especially that one time back when you guys were thirteen, Demetrius pushed Jon a little too hard into a fountain. All because Jon got a “little” too close to you. Making the great fountain at a mall break.

Damian could only hold you close as Demetrius pulled his arm back as Jon glared at him.

“You imbeciles need to calm down,” Damian says lowly, ensuring you weren’t still a little spooked by the strength of the Amazon male and the Kryptonian.

“We are in public—with L/N.” He hissed as the two brutes stopped almost wrestling, almost exposing their identities.

“Please stop…” you awkwardly said, feeling Damian’s hand grip onto your shoulder. They immediately stopped by your command, shaking hands and nodding.

“Yes, Mx.”

But that wasn’t the only time, there was one time when you were trying to stay at your home. Usually, this night would be the night the boy’s decide to which house to hang out and watch random movies.

Friday night had different plans, you had a narrative story to do and you needed to do it this night.

Your phone rang. You picked it up to see the name “SuperDweebs” as the group call contact. Answering—you heard a bunch of yelling.

“YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT WE ARE NOT STAYING AT MY HOUSE!” Demetrius’s voice rang first. It made you jolt with wide eyes before you turned your phone volume down.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN!! WE COULD STAY AT MY HOUSE!!? WE CAN PLAY WITH THE COWS!?”

“Kent, no one’s playing with cows for fun. Unless we’re petting them for free. I demand we stay at my place for all of our wanted entertainment. My father has installed a game room for our.. ‘tastes’.”

The boys stayed quiet, you scrunched your face. “Guys.. what’s going on?”

Damian simply explains that they are debating whose house should be the hangout spot for tonight. You sighed, or course these guys are being angry and annoying.

“Well… I can’t hang out tonight..” you said softly, tapping your finger against your computer pad.

Silence.

“What do you mean you can hang out with us?” Jon said lowly, his voice soft and gentle. You swore you could see him pouting. His baby blue eyes wavering.

Damian narrowed his eyes, his emerald eyes scanning over to his window to the phone he held.

“Why not?” He says, his tone concerned but a little disappointed.

“Because I have a narrative to write. So I can’t be distracted by you guys.” Simply saying, you sighed when Demetrius groaned loudly.

“Yknow what. How about we come over to y/n’s house since obviously, we can’t have them at our houses.” Demetrius says, his wavy hair being pushed from his eyes as he looks at his TV.

“I agree with Prince, do you Kent?”

“Yeah! I like this!”

Your eyes widen, no way these boys already had agreed on this quickly.

“Wh-what I don’t get a say in this?!”

“No.” They all said before they hung up the call, leaving you in your room purely shocked.

Minutes later, you were halfway finished with your narrative—your mother knocked on your door.

“Sweetie.. your uhm.. friends and boyfriend are here?” Your eyes widen when hearing a snicker from behind your door before a smack is heard.

“Ow!”

You sighed, you really thought they wouldn’t come over. But who’s lying here, Damian knows everything about you cause he’s a Wayne and a Robin. Jon is kryptonian, he can hear your heart beat when you lie. And Demetrius? He’s just sneaky and assertive.

So here you stand as you look at your three super best friends who held different items for this night’s hang out.

You can never stop them…

PICKING UP

You’re probably wondering why there’s this section called “picking up”? Right?

Well, it’s you being picked up from school.

Damian, with his bougie ass—shows up at your school. No matter how old you guys have gotten. He’s showing you smirking with Demetrius and Jon in the back or at least just him.

Demetrius picks you up by literally showing up, and texting you to meet him in the back. You meet him of course, only for him to throw you over his shoulder and fly off to whatever.

Jon, being the sweetheart, he ask his dad if they can pick you up. Just so you both can get ice cream!

It’s adorable, but boy—you never had to ask either of your parents to pick you up when these goofballs can easily come to your recuse.

BEING PROTECTIVE

Protectiveness… its something.

Because when you all started to get older, things changed. For everyone of course, not just you.

Say if you were bullied, immediately if you tried to hide it. Ignoring calls of the group call. Ignoring any knocks at your apartment door, even your mother tries to talk to you.

Its no use, because you don't want to worry anyone.

But that stops when Demetrius bursts into your room, pulling up your window sill and coming in.

“Whats up with you?!” you jumped back shocked to see the Amazon male point at you aggressively. But his eyes held so much worry.

“Ignoring our calls, ignoring us?! Its like you want to fall off the planet of earth.” he yells, you try to not cry, but its no use when you are pulled into a hug.

“You’re hiding something… please just tell me.” he says softly, his hair tickles your neck when you hold him tightly.

“Please.. Tell me moró mou..” you break down, telling him about the bullying. How you didn’t want to worry anyone.

You didn’t notice how his eyes gotten darker, with rage and justice for you. As much as you plead for him not to tell the others, you had fallen asleep afterwards.

Demetrius pushes hair from your face, stoic and calm. He leaves your room, closing the window and flying off making a certain call.

Jon was enraged, and Damian had a dagger already in his hand the moment the Wonderboy told them about the situation.

But they had to calm down, they were the mighty future trinity.

So don’t be surprised when the people who bullied you have suddenly become scared of you. Maybe Damian gave one of them a black eye, but that’s the worse he could do at that moment.

NOW, if this was about an evacuation… the supersons would do a plan about which one of them would get you to back to safety.

Damian/Robin probably being one to plan it fully out the moment you became their best friend.

Jon being the one to tune in on his superhearing to hear your heartbeat only to see if you’re okay. And then there’s Demetrius ready to be unleashed like a rapid dog to go and get you.

They’ve been planned this out since you became their best friend.

SLEEPOVERS

OH DON'T GIVE ME STARTED. DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE SLEEPOVERS.

Sleepovers are more chaotic than those stupid hangouts.

Hangouts end with Damian scolding the two super strength idiots, sleepovers end with who’s getting to host it and who’s getting to be the one who is listening to your problems.

You could try and rant, and Damian would hum while nodding as Demetrius makes small comments like “punch that hoe.”

Jon would be like, “Violence isn’t must needed.”

Sleepovers at Damain’s house always lead to some of his brothers breaking it or being nosy. Although Alfred makes sure his brothers aren’t much of a pain.

Sleepovers at Demetrius’s house always have Lizzie wanting to join. When the Amazon male tells his little sister no, she throws a tantrum. Diana then has to calm down her little warrior, telling her son to let Lizzie at least participate a bit.

Now Demetrius is glaring at his little sister who is smug, holding onto you who just giggles with Damian taking a picture of this and Jon just waving at the small girl.

Now Jon is probably the one most of you guys go over—that’s a lie. It’s your place again. But anyway, Jon’s place is cool. It’s a nice and calm place since it’s the countryside.

Mostly since he lives with the farm, he can always show off the farm animals and be happy to see his best friends.

Anyways, the sleepovers are either fun or chaotic. Demetrius always makes Jon wrestle with him, and you try to stop them before Damian holds you close to him so you won’t be injured.

It’s just a whole mess!

HOLIDAYS

Let’s do this… in the normal year of holidays. By months here is how it goes..

NEW YEARS: okay first of all.. you were alone during new years. Your family was out to see other family—so you were left alone in the apartment. And your best friends were out saving the world.

It’s sad, isn’t it? Well, the next thing you knew when you woke up, was the supersons sleeping on your floor in weird ass poses.

Turns out, you won’t be spending any year alone after.

VALENTINES DAY: Damian already sends you so many gifts on the way to your place. Your parents are shocked at how much the son of a billionaire spent on you as you flushed. Jon flew by your window and gave you a big teddy bear, it was up to your face as he gave you a big hug. And then Demetrius just shows up with a DVD of your favorite anime movie. It’s shocking cause it was 2 years ago when you mentioned this. And he easily bought this for you���

ST. PATRICK’S DAY: don’t try and pinch the boys, cause they will pinch you harder. Ten times harder! Although they did wear green along with you so none of you were victims.

APRIL FOOLS’ DAY: I think you can try and fool them. But I think most of the time 9/10 you will fail or succeed based on your lie and how calm you seem when saying it. You know those childish jokes like “I like you, more than a friend” kinda April Fools?

I feel like Jon would just blow up, red face, and fly away before tackling you down. Damian would just stare at you til you awkwardly tell him April Fools only for him to say “I know.”

Demetrius being his sarcastic self would say, “I like me too a lot. I don’t know about you.” Obviously his heart dropped before remembering what day it is.

EASTER: the egg hunts are so… interesting.. Demetrius will literally push a kid for a chocolate egg. Damian would just stay home rather than do that… he’s so not hogging all the chocolate coins. And then Jon is cheating with you close by his side to get alot of chocolate eggs.

HALLOWEEN: watching horror movies with the supersons is so entertaining! Jon would accidentally hold onto you so tight that Demetrius has to push the Kryptonian boy from you so you won’t be harmed. Damian says he isn’t scared of such “horror” gimmicks. But he says this as he is holding your hand under the blanket. Demetrius trying to be the oldest of the group, sets up a small little thing where if anyone goes to the bathroom alone—they have to bring a partner.

Immediately Damian gave him a disgusted look.

And then there’s time where you and the boys had dressed up a four group party from an anime/show/cartoon and you got a lot of candy.

THANKSGIVING: a big ASS Justice league and their family, young Justice/teen Titans having a superfamily Thanksgiving. You were somehow invited due to Damian dragging you along. You sat near the supersons, smiling softly at how cool it is to be by the superheroes who treat each other like family. It just feels—like home.

CHRISTMAS: sitting, staring at the big Christmas tree in the small living room of your apartment. You smiled gently, but it held sadness. You weren’t mad at your best friend for not being able to be with you. You’re not. So you just fell asleep by the tree, holding warm milk and cookies for “Santa”.

Damian, being the usual one to always break into your place. He lock picked the window sill open that shows you sleeping by the tree.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Jon says lowly, not wanting to wake you up as Demetrius gets in after Damian lands his feet on the soft carpet floor.

“I had a weird feeling about not being able to be with l/n for such a time for this night.” Damian whispers, placing a few gifts that he and the boys have gotten you.

“You mean guilty. You feel guilty dipshit.” Demetrius says, his voice low while picking you up and taking you to your room.

Jon could only smile as he eats the cookies, “wow.. they’re a great cook!” He eats most of the cookies and drink the nice warm milk.

Damian gave him a weird look before he finished placing the presents.

The Amazon boy walks into the living room to see Jon wipe his mouth and Damian mess with his watch.

“The package is safe and sound asleep,” Demetrius says with a small smile. “Good. Then we should head home before our parents find we snuck here.” Damian immediately got onto Jon’s back. Jon starts to float out the window with Demetrius shuts the window behind him after they had fully left.

Your holidays may seem lonely, but you were never unappreciated.

Demetrius Prince tag: @darkfaethedestroyer @dead-ry-walking @chalkadow @eclecticeaglebluebird @mistake34 @dandelion-delusion

[nghtwngs]

can i pretty please get a bob reynolds fic with the prompt “ you’re bleeding— how long have you been hiding this?! ”

yes you mayy!!! not a new white man for us both to obsess over… how predictable we are… unfortunately. this reads both platonically and romantically tbh but that wasn’t my intention

send requests !

“You’re bleeding—how long have you been hiding this?”

You try to laugh and brush off his concern, but it only hurts and makes you wince. Warm pools down your stomach, and not in any nice way. “I’m alright, Bob. Swear it. Hey, it’s only been like… fifteen minutes. I thought we’d be back before then.”

His eyes meet yours before assessing your injuries. Bob holds you carefully, trying to be mindful of his strength. The fingers of his free hand ghost over your limbs, sending a subtle shiver down your spine. It’s embarrassing how much he can affect you even though you have a giant hole in your stomach.

“You’re not alright—you’re hurt. You could be dying—“

You hold your palm out, waving his words away. “Jeez, dude. Relax, okay? I’m fine. And neither of us are gonna let me die, yeah?”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and nods. “No.”

“Just like we practiced, right? You’re gonna fly me back to the tower before I…”

In a panic, he calls your name, gently shaking you. You’re unresponsive. He curses lowly, bracing himself for flight. Bob, well, The Sentry, had only recently been cleared for (New) Avengers missions—saying he’s nervous is an absolute understatement. You guys all rode together in the jets. There are plenty of risks at hand here: he could lose control and hurdle you into space, he could lose control and let you both fall back to earth (and you’re not invulnerable), he could lose control and contort your body into a human ball, and plenty of other awful, horrific, terrible scenarios his cruel mind could conjure up.

Ultimately, they all equal an extremely painful death for you, and it’d be his fault.

But if he doesn’t act now, you would definitely die. The two of you got separated from the others during the fight, so he’s on his own now. He takes an even deeper breath, glancing down at your limp body in his arms. He could do it. He wouldn’t fail you. Not now. Not ever.

And he flies.

The moment you wake up, eyes scrunching at the bright fluorescent lights, you can kind of make out Bob’s sleeping form. The chair is a bit small for him, and it looks uncomfortable.

Your mouth feels like you swallowed about thirty cotton balls, so you go to sit up to drink from the glass of water on the tray next to you. You let out a long breath before you hear, “You’re awake!”

Bob scrambles to your bedside, helping you sit up.

“Thanks,” you tell him, grabbing the water. After taking a sip, you continue with a smile, “You saved me. Like I knew you would.”

“You’re the one who helped me practice my flying.”

“And you’re the one who can fly. I’m just… your moral support. Go Thunderbolts!” You giggle, making a fist of encouragement in the air.

He smiles bashfully, looking down at your bed. “Go Thunderbolts.”

“Welcome to the team, Bob,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Officially, now.”

[twisted-affections-for-u]

Run, Rabbit, Run

Pairing: Retired!Yandere!Poly!141 x Shy!Civilian!GN!Reader (Mainly Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, more poly!141 towards the end.)

Summary: You try to escape the isolated house the 141 keeps you in, but you don't make it far.

Trigger warnings: Kidnapped reader, Yandere 141, manipulation, obsession, failed escape attempt, mention of punishment, fear of 141, thoughts of abuse, toxic love (this is just a story, don't seek this stuff out in real life), no use of y/n, use of names: Birdie, Bonnie, and Lovie but reader is gender-neutral, bad accents, writing errors, fanon 141. Let me know if I missed anything!

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

It was hard to slip past the 141 when they always had one person with you at all times. It took lots of planning and memorizing routines to time your escape perfectly. But you didn’t plan good enough. Listening to the panicked shouts from the large house, deep in the woods and far away from civilization. Perfect for keeping a little birdie caged and far from prying eyes. 

How did you end up here? An innocent civilian who just happened to get four retired military men living in the flat across the hall from you. You rarely had interacted with them, not that they were looking to seek new companionship outside of their little group at the time. But Johnny seeing you struggle, trying to drag your heavy new mattress down the hall to your flat, had piqued his interest. You had just saved up enough money to replace the tattered mess of your old mattress, and didn’t have the money to pay someone to help you get the new one up to your flat. 

Johnny had come over as you stopped to take some deep breaths. Offering to have him and his boyfriends help move the heavy load for you. Your eyes had lit up and you couldn’t stop mumbling weak, exhausted ‘thank you’s to him. He was only gone from sight for a moment before three other big guys came out to see what had caught his interest. Finding the sweet, shy neighbor who was too nervous to bother anyone of their neighbors for free labor. 

The men made quick work of dragging out the old mattress and setting up the new one. Their eyes kept glancing to you as you anxiously watched them. You felt awful making them do all the work, but they had refused any help you tried to offer. John could see the look in his boys’ eyes. You were going to be theirs; you just weren’t aware of it yet. 

Maybe that’s why you ended up here; kept like a bird in a cage. They had slowly added themselves to your life, pushing others out of it to keep your attention all to themselves. Then pressuring you to quit your job and move with them to a quiet isolated house, all under the pretense of helping you during your struggle to get a better job that didn’t work you to the bone with such little pay. You couldn’t say no to the offer, or the sweet kisses you were given to add some extra sugar to the deal. 

Now, you regret ever agreeing. Kept away from friends and family, unallowed to do anything you wanted if it meant that the boys couldn’t have your attention as they pleased. You tried to argue with them about it after you had realized sometime after moving in, but you were outnumbered. Just the threat of what punishments they would give you, if you truly pushed their buttons, was enough to shut down any of your verbal complaints.  

Instead, you planned this very moment. Leave everything behind and flee. If only you had planned for the issues of how quick they would react at your sudden absence. The shouts of your name, mixed with their own personal nicknames for you, ringing through the night air.  

Your legs and lungs burned, not used to the strain you were pushing them through. Slowing down when your legs almost gave out on you. You weren’t far enough. They noticed your absence too quickly. Those thoughts swirling around in your head as you tried to keep moving, keep trying to struggle like an animal in a trap.  

“Lovie?!” The shout of Simon’s nickname for you sending a cold bolt of fear through you. How had he gotten so close?! He was still by the house just a minute ago, you were sure of it. You try to force your legs to keep going forward but the burn of overexertion is just too much. You stumble and collapse against a nearby tree, attempting to collect your breath.  

You could hear his foot falls creeping closer, his calls feeling like they were almost on top of you. Tears pricked at your eyes, the fear of being caught and dragged back to that hell was too much. A sob tore through your throat, the world going deathly silent as you tried to hold in your sniffles. 

“Lovie?” Simon’s voice was nothing but calm with his usual gruffness. He knelt next to your shaking form, the sobs finally escaping passed your sealed lips to flow freely. Admitting your defeat. His hand gently brushed against your face, even as you tried to curl in on yourself.  

“What happened, Lovie? Why did you run away?” Simon’s voice wasn’t accusatory as you had expected, you could hear the underly worry within them. Could feel how his hand was trying to soothe and slow the tears. “Come ‘ere, Love.” 

You were scooped off the forest ground and into Simon’s strong hold. You knew it was over; there would be no second try now that you failed your escape. You would go back to just being the pretty birdie they kept to sing them sweet songs, ignoring your sad calls to be set free. Now your wings would be clipped. Any small freedom stolen away. 

Simon held you close to him as he now leans against the tree, allowing you to get your emotions out before approaching the elephant in the room. Had they done something wrong? Upset you to the point you felt you needed to run away to communicate that something was wrong? Had they not been listening to you as well as they thought they had been? 

Your sobs had settled into nonstop sniffles, then to heavying breaths till your breathing evened out. Exhaustion from the adrenaline rush and panic taking its toll on you. Your body slumped against Simon, unable to try and fight out of his hold. His head came to rest on yours as he finally spoke once more. “What caused this, Lovie? Did we upset you?” 

You wanted to scream ‘YES!’ Let out every issue you had with them having tricked you into; only for the words to die on your tongue. Who knows what they would do to you if you told them of your wishes to return to your old life. Your wish to have never met them, for Johnny to have never offered to help with your stupid mattress.  

Simon gently squeezed you, his way of prompting you to focus and answer him. You tried to keep your voice from sounding weak and shaky as you spoke, “I hate it here. I want to go home.” 

“You are home. We're your home.” Simon responded without a second of hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You simply kept your mouth shut, you knew he wouldn’t take it well if you said anything to the contrary. “If the house isn’t to your liking, it can always change. All you ‘ave to do is say so, no running away to get your point across.” 

You don’t fight Simon as he lifts himself and you off the ground, clearly making up his own explanation in his mind on why you believed the house was not your home. There was no point in correcting him, he wouldn’t listen. They would try to warp your explanations to fit their delusions, never truly hearing you.  

You turned your eyes to look up as you heard the other’s voices when they spotted the two of you approaching the house. Feeling the three pairs of eyes looking you over for injuries before flicking to Simon for an explanation.  

Johnny was quick to approach once you two were just a few steps away, cooing at you while brushing his fingers across your face. “You had us worried to death, Bonnie! You tryin’ to give us a fright?” 

Even though Johnny was trying to lighten the mood like always, you could see him and the others eyeing Simon. They were looking for any sign of anger or irritation, figuring out if they should worry you would try this again or if it was a one-time event. John seemed to find what he was looking for as he claps Johnny on his good shoulder, ordering the boys like he is still their captain. “Let’s get the Birdie safely inside. Kyle, make some cuppas for everyone. Johnny, change of clothes for Birdie. I need to take care of somethin’ before I join you, muppets.” 

Everyone immediately disperses as they go to complete their tasks. Simon is quick to bring you to John’s room, sitting you on the bed as Johnny is back like he never left Simon’s side. Johnny allows Simon to slip away as he helps you change, going off to see what John has gone off to do. He has his suspicions, but he needs to confirm it with his own eyes.  

Simon finds John in the den, silently thinking over what has transpired as Simon approaches him. Simon leans into him, while his arm wraps around his waist. Nothing is said, the silent presence of each other enough of a grounding force for the two of them. 

“What happened tonight?” John questions as he finally breaks the silence, looking deeply into Simon’s eyes.  

Simon is unsure how to tell him at first, still in his own hidden shock at your words. He thought you were adjusting well. You would ask for things and be understanding of the limitations they put in place. Were you just scared to hurt their feelings? 

“Think Lovie is having a hard time adjustin’. Says this place don’t feel like home.” Simon mummers to John, not wishing anyone else to hear. 

John sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into Simon. They would need to fix things. See what needs improving to avoid things such as this in the future. Have a talk about why you can’t just run off into the woods when your upset.  

John slips from Simon’s grasp, taking his hand to lead him back to John’s room. They can here Johnny and Kyle fussing over you, but your sweet voice isn’t heard. It causes John to frown as he peaks in. He sees the way you stare at the cup of tea in your hands, like you're not fully there. Your probably still upset and stuck in your head. You will need a bit to come back to your usual self after all the tears you’ve shed.  

The two approach the bed, John gently coaxing you to drink your tea to help you relax. You do it without thinking, too used to the way John always knows what to say to make you do what he wants.  

You can feel the tea taking effect as soon as you’ve drank the whole thing. Your eyes heavy, body swaying as you try to remain upright. Kyle and Johnny slip into the bed, gently guiding you to lay down between them. They wrap you in their strong arms, making it harder to fight off the fatigue. The blanket that Simon throws over you guys, before John and him join in, only seals your fate. No longer able to remain awake while the four quietly plot while cuddled around you. The drug Kyle slipped you making it, so they need not worry about you hearing them while you are dreaming deeply. They need their Birdie happy, but they can’t let you go either. 

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[1:46 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

( @bluedbliss here you go!!)

"I don't know, I just feel bad. Don't you guys?" Jaehyun asked quietly as his eyes stayed locked on fratboy!Yuta who was staring at something on his phone.

"Do you guys think she's even real?" Mark replied with a confused look on his face.

You, Yuta's so-called girlfriend. There had been so many canceled visits, unanswered calls, late night calls, and dropped FaceTime calls between you and Yuta that at this point, his brothers were concerned. Did Yuta think he needed to make up a girlfriend so they'd like him? Did he feel left out when the other girlfriends came around? They were concerned that they were making him feel left out or that he maybe even had to lie to fit in. It totally wasn't the case. They'd support Yuta with or without a girlfriend.

"So, uh, tell us about how you guys met again?" Jaehyun asked Yuta.

Yuta turned from his seat on the couch with a bright smile, "I went home two summers ago and she was starting her semester abroad. It was love at first sight."

"She's still coming today, right? I feel like you've been waiting out here for a while, bro," Johnny asked in a gentle voice.

Yuta nods, looking back at his phone to check something, "yeah, dude, of course. Her flight was a little delayed and then she had two Ubers cancel, but she's already on her way."

The brothers nod slowly. Excuses, excuses... a couple months ago you could't make it because your flight to them was cancelled. Before that it was that you were swamped with homework. The time before that your flight had emergency landed with a 14 hour layover because a woman had given birth on your flight. There were just too many coincidences for the brothers to not be concerned.

Plus, Yuta never posted you under the guise of, "well, my girlfriend is a really private person." Sure, buddy...

"Tell us about her again?" Mark asked.

"She's a totally gorgeous, way out of my league, beautiful, sunning, breathtaking, genius woman. She's the best person I've ever met. She makes me a better person. She's the smartest person on the face of this planet. My mom loves her, my sisters love her, my dad loves her. Everyone loves her!" Yuta rants excitedly.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Yuta let's out some kind of choked honk before he sprints to the door. The group of confused brothers move in a unit to the hall to get a good view of the front door.

"Baby girl! You're here!" Yuta cheers as he engulfs someone. They all crane their necks, but its impossible to tell who Yuta is hugging.

Then, as if some silent prayers were being answered, Yuta moves and there you stand. "She's actually real," Haechan whispers. They're all stuck in some kind of trance, in shock because, yeah— you are real and you're in their doorway.

Taeyong is the first to greet you with a warm smile and the rest follow suit. Soon enough you're all standing around in the kitchen snacking while making conversation.

Doyoung clears his throat, "so Yuta tells us you're a genius?"

You chuckle, shaking your head, "I'm not a genius, he just says-"

"She is!" Yuta interrupts, "she got into university early. She graduated early with the highest GPA in her university, and she's getting two master's degrees right now!"

"Well, I haven't gotten them yet, I'm pursuing them," you correct softly, squeezing Yuta's hand lovingly.

"Woah, two master's at once. Is that even possible?" Mark asks with his brows arched high.

"For my baby girl it is," Yuta answers with his chest puffed out in pride.

Again, you laugh softly as you correct your boyfriend, "it's definitely not common, but for my program the dual degrees are an option. My program mentors are very supportive and helpful. It keeps me busy, but I have a free weekend since my dissertation is being looked over this week, so I came to see my guy."

"Holy cow, you're so cool!" Haechan exclaims in a whisper.

"Why are you dating him? You know he's failed more classes than any of us here, right? Don't you want someone on your level?" Mark asks.

Yuta glares at Mark, but he calms when you rub his back. You turn to Mark, "I don't expect him to be perfect. Everyone has struggles when they first enter university and Yuta was far from home. There were a lot of other factors contributing to those few failed classes."

You take a sip of the water in your hand, "and I'm with Yuta because I love him, plain and simple. It's... hard living up to the expectations of all the people around me. I was so used to functioning under a crazy amount of stress in a way that isn't healthy in the slightest. Yuta just made me feel lighter. I met him and I felt like I could just... breathe. He supports me in whatever I choose. If I decided to drop my program tomorrow and move to the South Pole, I know he'd support me with no questions asked. He doesn't care about me because of my school, my academic abilities, or my brain. He cares about my being happy. That's all I can ask for."

"Bro, that's so romantic. Wait, I love you guys!" Jaehyun smiles, as he tugs you both in for a hug.

You hug him back with a watery laugh, leaning into Yuta's side when Jaehyun steps back. Yuta squeezes your side and lays his head atop yours, "and I failed three classes, Mark! Three! Bowling, massage, and judo. Don't make me look bad in front of my girl, again!"

"Judo?! You're Japanese, dude!"

"Mark! I play soccer! You don't fight people in soccer!"

You pinch his hip, "you got a red card a few games ago for tackling too much."

"That doesn't count, baby girl."

-

(gasp! gyeomsweetgyeom called it soccer!)

[arcane-ish]

I have to look up the exact quotes.

The quote in tthe news was:

“The first version came back from [animation studio] Fortiche and they’re like, ‘Guys, it’s over an hour long. We can’t do this.’ And we were like, ‘Yeah, okay.’ So we kind of chiseled away from that point," Linke said.

Which indeed sounds like "they had a script, Fortiche said it was too much work for them, they cut it to spare Fortiche".

The other quote is this one:

"No, we didn't ask Fortiche to produce a 1hr 30 final episode. It's quite the opposite, our scripts are always shorter than what Fortiche ends up proposing in the story board phase. We wanna let them get inspired and roam free, so we can then reel it in while also allowing for the magical moments to find themselves. "It's a tight creative collaboration, not some sort of 'alright vendor company, do your work, achieve the impossible, but do it quickly!' – I consider many of the people at Fortiche to be some of my closest friends. I find it disappointing that people suggest these things. No, we didn't get 'corporate greed' pressure or anything."

This suggests Fortiche came up with more stuff than the script asked for and they cut it, but money was not the reason. (but note the "reel them in")

I was thinking of this Christian Linke interview in German:

The interviewer says something along the lines of "I read the finale was longer, does that mean that the Arcane extended cut is somewhere still lying around on the desk".

Christian says: "What that was just storyboards. And I mean, one has to say it, the people there at Fortiche, they kinda like actioning (??) things long. The story wasn't different, but the scene were longer and (makes a face) partially too long. But, (makes a face again) in the end more time you always want to have. The economics of the animation are in the end brutal, every minute costs something. In a action bundle (??), if you are in a location, how many seconds you need to make a break between two lines of dialogue, that's different for us."

To me that sounds more like "Fortiche came with extra stuff storyboarded and they cut it" and it wasn't dialogue (which again fits with his twitter quotes and the cut stuff wasn't dialogue but Fortiche running free) and yes in this interview it sounds like money might have been an option since that is his first topic he goes to (time as in "can Fortiche do it in time" might also have been a factor. Or maybe they had an agreed on budget they wanted to go to and so they cut to match it).

This is Amanda on the bridge continuity:

(I think there might have been another quote that talks specifically about communication/not enough communication with Fortiche but if there is, I couldn't find it)

For what it's worth, this seems to be the normal way that the interact with the animators that they give the animators a lot of leeway, ie the Christian quote:

We wanna let them get inspired and roam free, so we can then reel it in while also allowing for the magical moments to find themselves.

Amanda:

This is an example (of the Ekko Jinx bridge fight in season 1) of how the directors at Fortiche took an idea in the script and elevated it beyond anything we imagined. I LOVE that scene SO MUCH. It’s so emotional and so visually unique. I cried the first time I saw it

We talked in the room about what Ekko and Powder’s friendship was like as kids, the dynamic, how their similar ages brought them closer - but the specific visualization of both of those sequences was all Fortiche making their magic happen.

Amanda and Fortiche

Most of all though, the Fortiche and Riot creatives emphasized that production on Season 2 was defined by a more collaborative workflow from the very beginning, with scripting closely intertwined with look development and preproduction. Scriptwriter Amanda Overton from Riot Games spoke about the exchange between her writing process and the visual development at Fortiche: “We got to pitch our story ideas and get their visual input,” she said, able to incorporate the animator’s own ideas back into her work as she wrote. Production designer at Riot Arnaud-Loris Baudry (who previously worked at Fortiche) noted how he had gotten used to his part in production being a little siloed off, while praising the fact that here it was more open across departments.

This is the quote about how more Ekko and Jinx stuff in the main universe would have been redundant to the AU.

I don't know where the rumor comes from that it was specifically a montage that would have paralleled their AU montage, but maybe some of the timebomb exports can clarify. It would kind of make sense with what Christian says about location if it would have been for example inside Ekko's hut at the firelights (ie the thing we see Jinx working in Jinx Fixes Everything). But it might also just be a urban myth just based on the much harder cut between Jinx in the scene with Ekko versus when they appear at the battle field (ie different hair, having drawn symbols all over her flying machine, having come up with an agreement with Sevika off screen).

I think the way the camera treats Caitlyn in the first act of season 2 is really interesting. It cuts off her eyes at some very key moments.

The eyes are how we connect with someone. Cutting them off cuts off the ability to sympathize with them. And depending on how the mouth is shot it can make the character seem more base or animalistic in a given moment. I think the show did this quite a bit with Silco in season 1, and they do it with Caitlyn in season 2.

The first one is from s2e1 when Caitlyn says about Jinx, "I want to rip that laugh from her throat forever.

Up until this point the viewer has been quite embedded in Caitlyn's POV when she's on-screen. The musical segment was showing her perspective. We witness her fantasy of being able to take down Jinx. The show is making sure that we understand where she's at mentally.

But here, the first time she's expressing violent thoughts, we're decidedly not in her POV. Her eyes are cut off, we don't get that connection with her. But what we do get is Jayce's reaction. And he's concerned. It's the first kind of "uh oh" moment, where you get a sinking feeling about where Caitlyn's headed.

2. After the memorial attack, she calls the attackers "animals" and we get this uncomfortably close shot of her teeth.

She's calling others animals, but she's the one who's shown snarling in this animalistic way. Again, her eyes are cut off, cutting off that avenue for sympathy when she says this, cutting the viewer off from her perspective, distancing her. Instead our attention is directed at this ugly, unsettling expression of hers. The camera is presenting her as something to be worried about rather than someone to feel sympathy for.

3. After interrogating Heenot, when she's gearing up to go after Jinx, and Vi is about to ask to talk to her.

Throughout the preceding scene, we were getting a lot of shots of Vi reacting to Caitlyn's behaviour, with a quite open expression, and a lot of shots of Caitlyn looking hardened and aloof. And then we come to this shot, and though Caitlyn is centre-frame, it's still Vi's POV. We see how Vi is feeling and reacting to things, but Caitlyn's eyes are again cut out of frame. She's distanced from the viewer, just like Vi is feeling distanced from her. Vi's position in the frame communicates how she's feeling, like she's being edged out of Caitlyn's life by Cait's singular focus on revenge.

And just like with that first shot with Jayce, by focusing on the reacting character, the camera is showing the viewer how they should be reacting to Caitlyn too: unsettled, disturbed, alienated.

4. When Cait and Vi are fighting, and Vi grabs Cait's arm, before she jabs Vi with the butt of her gun.

It's a reaction shot, Vi just grabbed her arm and told her she's acting like Jinx, this cut should be showing us how Caitlyn feels about that. But we don't see the reaction in her eyes, we just see her mouth.

In this case, I think it's not just about presenting Caitlyn in a way where she's cut off from the viewer. Because it is a reaction shot, I think this communicates that Caitlyn also feels cut off from herself in a way, cut off from the sympathy she had for others that was such a part of her character in season 1.

And then it's interesting to compare all this to when Vi and Caitlyn cross paths again, and Vi calls Caitlyn "cupcake." And we get this shot:

We get the closeup on her eyes. Whereas before, the audience was repeatedly cut off from having that connection with her, now it's like, boom, big connection. And just as before, I think the shot is not just about the audience being able to connect with her, but Caitlyn being able to connect with herself. That despite everything, she's still the same woman who fell in love with Vi, that part of her is still there. She's been on this whole awful journey, and she's done awful things, and allowed awful things to be done in her name, but she's still the same person, and she can't pretend anymore that it's all fine. She sees clearly again.

[yuujispunches]

Things we lost, things we found ~ Y.O.

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

Summary: When Yuta left for Africa he took part of your heart along with him then Shibuya tore the remains into pieces. Will you be able to pick up the pieces or is it beyond repair?

CW (content warning): angst, mentions of death, grief, PTSD, mentions of abandonment, mentions of injuries, some cursing.

AN (author’s note): Hi guys! This took me ages to write and I thought about completely ditching it but I’m actually kind of happy with how it turned out at the end. As always a reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this in my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You didn’t cry when he left.

You were proud of that, in a way. You didn’t let him see the way your hands trembled behind your back as he slung his bag over his shoulder. You didn’t let the heartbreak show when he made promises that he wouldn’t keep.

“I’ll write as often as I can.” You forced a smile because you knew he wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, but because Yuta Okkotsu never did anything halfway.

If he was going to Africa, to help others, to grow stronger, to get better,he would disappear into it. That was who he was.

You loved that about him almost as much as you hated that about him.

The platform was cold under your feet that day, cold enough to seep into your bones, but you stood tall, lifting your chin as he smiled that nervous smile of his. You could still remember the way he looked at you: gentle, as if you were made of something precious. You felt like maybe that was what hurt the most.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He had promised again.

“Promise me.” You pleaded.

He kissed you. It tasted like lies and hope.

��—————————————————————————

The days turned into weeks. The weeks bled into months.

The world didn’t wait.

The Shibuya Incident struck like lightning, sudden and catastrophic, and all you could do was hold your ground in the aftermath. Blood soaked the streets. Friends died. You lost so much in such a short time, and he wasn’t there.

You told yourself that it was better that way. That if he had been there, maybe he would’ve been one of the ones who didn’t make it. Maybe you would have lost him, too.

But grief didn’t work like that. There was no room in your chest for maybes. Only the sharp, unrelenting pressure of loss.

When you heard he’d come back, you didn’t believe it at first. Not until you saw him again, standing in the ruins of what used to be your world, you didn’t cry then, either.

You didn’t hug him. You didn’t smile.

You just turned around and walked away.

——————————————————————————

He found you again two days later. You weren’t hiding. Not really. You still worked with the others, patrolled Tokyo, helped patch together the fractured society the jujutsu world had become. There wasn’t time to mourn. Just time to survive.

But that day, you were alone on a rooftop, watching the sunset over the ruins. Smoke curled from far-off buildings. The skyline looked jagged now, broken and unfamiliar.

“Hey.” Came his voice, soft but too close as if had been carried by the wind. Like he didn’t know how far away he should stand anymore.

You didn’t turn around.

“I know what happened in Shibuya.” He said. “I heard about Nanami. About Nobara…” He trailed off, like he didn’t know whether to say more or shut up forever. You still didn’t move.

“You weren’t here.” Was all you said. Your voice was quiet, like a secret you’d only just realized you’d been holding.

There was a beat of silence. “I know.”

“You said you’d write.” This time it came out bitter, and you hated yourself for it.

“I tried.” He said quickly. “I wrote so many times. They just… there was a lot of interference. Some never got sent.”

“So none of them got here?”

Another silence. He didn’t lie. “I don’t know.”

You turned slowly to look at him. His eyes were wide and open, still kind. Too kind. Like he hadn’t learned to guard them yet.

“You missed everything.” You said, the words falling from your mouth like bricks. “You missed everything, Yuta.”

He flinched. You should’ve felt bad, you wanted to regret it but all you felt was emptiness.

“I know.” He said again, and this time it made you want to scream. “I- I would’ve come back if I’d known sooner. But I was completely cut off. They kept me away. For training. For control. I didn’t even know about Shibuya until-”

“I don’t care.” Your voice cracked. “I really don’t care, Yuta. That doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t here. That you left.”

You expected him to be angry. You almost wanted him to be. It would’ve made it easier.

But he wasn’t. His face just crumpled into something sad, and you realized, with a pang, that he was hurting too.

“I left because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.” He whispered. “I was still so scared of what happened to Rika repeating all over again, scared I’d lose control. That I’d lose you.”

“You lost me anyway.” Your words were like venom.

That did it. That made him step back, just a little. Like your words had finally landed.

You swallowed thickly. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. It even scared yourself, you had never been like this, never bitter, never harsh no matter how hurt or mad you were but ever since you stepped on that station…

You didn’t even recognise yourself anymore and it terrified you like nothing else ever had.

“I can’t do this.” You said, turning back to the skyline. “Not now.”

He stood behind you for a long time. You could feel him there, his presence was impossible to ignore. Finally, after what felt like forever, he spoke again.

“I’ll wait.” He said quietly. “As long as it takes.”

You closed your eyes. “You should stop making promises you can’t keep.” After that all that was left was silence.

——————————————————————————

You did your best to avoid him after that.

He didn’t push. Not much, anyway. But he was everywhere, as if Tokyo had become smaller now that he was back. He would sit across the room during meetings. Sometimes you’d find small things like your favorite energy drink in the break room fridge or a packet of your preferred instant noodles stocked among the supplies.

You never said thank you. But you stopped pretending you didn’t notice.

The ache didn’t go away. If anything, it grew sharper with time. Until one night, you found yourself walking back toward your old apartment. The one you used to share. It was supposed to be just a safe house for a mission that Gojo somehow had let you keep and the two of you ended up turning into a makeshift home away from all the noise and pressure at the school.

It was still there. Untouched, somehow spared during the worst of the destruction. You stood outside the door for ten minutes before you found the nerve to unlock it.

The air inside was stale and heavy with dust, but everything was just as you remembered it. The couch you used to curl up on together. The crooked picture frame he could never quite get to stay straight. The blanket Rika once tore in half during a tantrum, the one that had been stitched clumsily back together with your hands and his after that.

You sat down slowly, the silence swallowing you.

And for the first time in over a year, you cried.

——————————————————————————

The next time you saw him, it was raining.

Not a storm, just a steady, soaking drizzle that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones. The kind of rain that made the city smell like metal and ash, like memories you tried to bury.

You were coming off a solo patrol near the outskirts of the 7th district, still shaking off residual cursed energy when you turned the corner and there he was.

Standing alone. No umbrella. Just a soaked hoodie and those same soft, searching eyes.

“Yuta.” You said, before you could stop yourself.

He didn’t move at first, as if afraid you were a mirage. Then he took one step forward.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He said gently, eyes flicking to the bruised shadows under yours that matches his. “Neither have I.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I’d run into you.” He admitted. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. I’m not mad, I just…” He looked down. “I wanted to talk.”

You should’ve walked past him. Told him no. Told him to stay out of your orbit like you had every other time.

But something was different. The night was quieter. The rain was soft, almost forgiving.

“Okay.” You heard yourself say. “Talk.”

——————————————————————————

The café you ducked into was almost empty, save for an elderly couple in the corner and a bored teenager manning the counter. You sat at a table by the window, wet sleeves clinging to your arms. Yuta got two cups of hot tea, even though you hadn’t asked for one. He always remembered how you took it: overlysweet, more milk than water.

You stared at the cup for a long time before finally asking. “So what is it?”

He hesitated, then folded his hands on the table. “I kept thinking about the last thing you said to me. That I lost you.”

You looked away.

“I don’t want that to be true.” He said. “But I get why it might be.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t know how to make it right.” He admitted. “I wish I did. I keep thinking that if I’d just written more, or called, or somehow gotten out when things got bad, maybe-”

“Stop.” You said softly.

He blinked. “What?”

“Stop apologizing.” You said. “Stop making excuses. You can’t go back and change what happened.”

“I know-”

“You weren’t there.” Your voice trembled. “And no matter what reason you had, no matter how noble or selfless, the fact is: you left. And I needed you.”

Yuta’s shoulders slumped. He looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world and finally realized it wasn’t his alone to bear.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “For real. Not for the decision I made back then but for how much it hurt you. For what you went through without me.”

Tears prickled at your eyes.

“I was so angry.” You admitted. “At the world. At Gojo. At Sukuna. But mostly at you. Because you were the only one who chose to leave.”

“I didn’t know how to stay.” He breathed out, voice barely audible. “Everything felt like a ticking time bomb. I thought if I stayed, I’d hurt you. Or lose control. Or…”

“Or you’d have to watch the people you love die?” You finished for him.

He froze.

You gave a hollow laugh. “Welcome to the club.”

——————————————————————————

He walked you home that night.

Not your shared apartment. Not yet. You were staying temporarily at a dormitory unit reserved for active field sorcerers. It was sparse and functional, barely lived-in. The type of place that made it easy to pretend you didn’t need roots anymore.

He stood awkwardly in the hallway as you unlocked the door.

“Do you still hate me?” He asked suddenly.

You looked over your shoulder at him, wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek.

“I never hated you.” You said. “I just didn’t know how to love you without breaking.”

His expression crumpled, open and devastated. Because somehow this was worse.

“I still love you.” He said, with the kind of raw, trembling honesty that made it impossible to pretend otherwise. “I think I always will.”

You turned away. “Goodnight, Yuta.”

The door closed softly behind you.

——————————————————————————

You dreamt of him that night.

Not the Yuta who had left. But the one who used to sneak into your room after curfew. Who always made too much rice because he never remembered how to portion it for two. The boy who used to hold you in his sleep, as if afraid that even in dreams, he might lose you.

You woke up crying.

——————————————————————————

Days passed. Then a week.

Something shifted between you. There was still space, still a hundred unspoken things but the walls weren’t as high anymore.

He stopped showing up at your door uninvited. But when you bumped into each other, he’d smile. Not in expectation, but in acknowledgment. Like he was saying: “I’m still here. Whenever you’re ready.” A constant linger of a ghost that somehow was starting to become warmer.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself waiting for those moments.

——————————————————————————

You were the one who finally asked to talk again.

It was a long day and your team had just returned from a low-grade exorcism outside Yokohama, but it had gone south quickly. You’d barely made it out without serious injuries.

Yuta found you sitting on the training ground bleachers after dark, alone, your uniform torn and blood crusted on your sleeve.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat beside you, close enough to feel, far enough not to crowd.

After several minutes, you broke the silence. “Do you remember when we talked about names for a cat?”

He looked over. “Yeah. You liked stupid ones.”

“Cursedpaws would’ve been iconic.”

He gave a breath of laughter, and for a moment, it felt like time hadn’t passed at all.

“I don’t want to go back.” You said. “Not really. That world doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t know who I am after…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to forget, either.”

“I won’t let you.” He said. “I’ll remember for both of us.”

You looked at him. The scars were more visible now, both emotional and physical. He was still the same Yuta underneath, but harder around the edges. Sharpened by grief. Tempered by time.

So were you. Still broken. But no longer alone.

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” You admitted.

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“That’s okay too.”

You stayed like that until the sky lightened.

——————————————————————————

You started spending more time together after that.

Not romantic. Not exactly. Not yet. But steady.

You walked together after missions. Trained side-by-side. Shared silence without expectation.

One night, he cooked dinner for you.

“I found the recipe you liked.” He said, lifting the lid of a pan. “The curry one that you used to add an embarrassing amount of ginger to.”

“It was the perfect amount.” You said, smiling faintly.

He handed you a plate. “Guess you’ll have to judge.”

The food wasn’t perfect. A little over-salted. The rice slightly underdone.

It was the best thing you’d eaten in months.

——————————————————————————

Two months passed.

The wounds didn’t disappear, but they faded. The grief never left, but it learned to share space with other things.

Yuta began to open up about Africa. About the training. About the guilt.

You told him about Shibuya. The carnage. The fear. The losses you still couldn’t name without breaking.

Sometimes, you still pushed him away. And sometimes, he still left too much unsaid.

But the distance grew smaller with every step.

——————————————————————————

One night, you stood outside your old apartment again. This time, you weren’t alone.

He didn’t ask if you wanted to go in. He just waited as you unlocked the door.

Inside, the dust had mostly settled. Things hadn’t changed. But something about the air felt warmer.

You looked around slowly, then back at him.

“Do you remember what you said?” You asked. “That night on the platform?”

He nodded. “I said I’d come back.”

“And I said… to promise me.”

“I did.”

You looked down.

“You broke it.”

He didn’t answer.

“But maybe,” You said. “it was a promise you weren’t ready to keep.”

Yuta looked at you, heart in his throat.

“And maybe,” You added, “I wasn’t ready to forgive you. But I think…” You swallowed. “I think I want to try.”

The silence between you stretched, then softened.

“Try what?” He asked, voice low as if he was afraid that if he spoke too loud you’d disappear.

You stepped closer.

“This.” You said. “Us. Whatever this is now.”

His eyes searched yours.

“I’m not perfect.” He said. “And I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes.”

“I’m not asking for perfect.” You said. “I just want you to stay.”

He reached out, slowly, gently, his hand curling around yours like something fragile.

“I will.”

This time, you believed him.

——————————————————————————

It had been four months since that night.

The apartment felt lived-in again. Warmth bloomed slowly. First in the way the curtains were drawn open again to let in sunlight, then in the mismatched mugs on the kitchen counter, the quiet music humming from an old speaker, and the pair of worn sneakers left beside the front door.

You’d half expected it to be awkward. You and Yuta, falling back into the rhythm of something once broken. But it wasn’t. It was gentle. Careful. Intentional.

You didn’t move back in overnight. It happened gradually. A toothbrush left behind. A jacket you forgot to take. A drawer that became yours again before you even realized it.

Now, you woke up on a Sunday to the smell of something faintly burnt and the sound of muffled cursing from the kitchen.

You pulled yourself out of bed, blanket tangled around your legs, and padded down the hall.

Yuta stood at the stove, armed with a spatula and a determined frown. A pan of pancakes, one with suspiciously dark on the edges that sizzled in front of him.

He turned as you entered, expression sheepish. “They got away from me.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So… cereal it is?”

“I have a backup batch.” He said defensively. “These are just the test pancakes.”

“Are they safe to eat?”

“Mostly.” He shrugged.

You walked over and leaned up to kiss his cheek. He looked surprised and then softened under the touch.

“I like the burnt ones anyway.” You mused softly.

He grinned, a little shy, like he was still getting used to the fact that he could reach for you again and you’d be there.

And you were.

——————————————————————————

Later, you sat on the couch together, your legs over his lap, your mug warm in your hands. A movie played quietly in the background, forgotten halfway through.

You watched the early sunlight stretch across the floor and thought. This isn’t what I expected. But maybe it’s what I needed.

Yuta’s hand found yours. His thumb traced idle circles over your skin.

“Are you happy?” He asked softly, like it was a question he’d been holding onto for weeks.

You didn’t answer right away.

“I think I’m learning how to be again.” You said. “And that feels like enough right now.”

He nodded. “I’m glad. I’m still figuring it out, too.”

You rested your head against his shoulder.

“I don’t need it to be perfect.” You muttered. “I just need you to stay.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

He just held your hand tighter.

——————————————————————————

The scars didn’t vanish.

There were nights when sleep came late, and mornings when grief crept back in with the rising sun. There were moments when the weight of the past curled like fog at your feet, threatening to drag you down.

But those moments passed.

And now, you weren’t alone when they came.

Sometimes, Yuta still dreamed of Africa. Of isolation. Of Rika. Of the voices he couldn’t silence. You would hold him through the worst of it, steady and quiet, your fingers in his hair.

And sometimes you dreamed of Shibuya. The screams. The rubble. The smell of blood in the air. He would light the lamp beside the bed without a word, and pull you close until your breathing evened out again.

You didn’t erase each other’s pain. You simply made space for it to exist and space for everything else, too. Laughter. Forgiveness. Hope.

Love.

——————————————————————————

One evening, you found him on the rooftop, sitting on the ledge with a sketchpad in his hands.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps. “Hey.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Never.” He smiled, then turned the pad toward you.

You blinked. “Is that… Cursedpaws?” You asked trying to stifle a laugh.

The sketch was crude, a little lopsided, but unmistakably a cat with three tails, enormous eyes, and a jujutsu ward tag stuck to its collar.

You failed miserably and laughed, honest and bright.

“I thought maybe we could adopt one.” He confessed, a little bashful. “A regular cat, I mean. No cursed energy.”

You sat beside him, the city spread out below like a thousand stories you hadn’t lived yet.

“I think I’d like that.” You said.

——————————————————————————

It wasn’t the life you planned but it was the one you chose.

And this time, this version of you and Yuta… you weren’t afraid of what came next.

Because even in a world where curses still lingered in the corners, where loss was always one breath away. You had found something worth staying for.

And that was everything.

Tags: @pickledsoda @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[anon-188]

mini series: wicked games 🥀 — pt. 3

pairing: AJ x f!reader 

series summary: it was supposed to be simple. no feelings. no fallout. but when tempers flare and lines blur, simple turns dangerous fast. because AJ plays just as dirty outside the bedroom as he does in it—and you? you’re not afraid to match him move for move.

warnings: explicit content (18+), strong language, alcohol use, strip poker, toxic dynamics, power plays, suggestive themes, mean!AJ, jealousy, emotional tension.

a/n: no bc why am i liking toxic AJ more and more??? 😭 anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one!! ♡

⟢ wicked games 🥀: part 1 | part 2 | part 4 (coming soon)

The first round started fast, all noise and chaos.

Shit talking flew across the room as the guys placed their bets without hesitation. Jesse slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the table, swearing up and down that John's hand didn't stand a chance. The others jumped in with wild confidence, voices overlapping.

But when the cards hit the table, it was your hand that won.

Silence followed. Then came the noise again, but this time with disbelief. They called it bullshit.

You didn’t say anything, just smiled and shrugged. 

AJ’s hand was the worst, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. He just sat back, eyes locked on you, and moved his hands to his belt. 

You watched as he pulled it free, folded it once, then set it beside his chair. He grabbed his cigar from the ashtray where it rested, took another slow drag, and kept his eyes on you. 

It was a challenge.

One that had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with how far you were willing to push each other tonight. 

The following rounds moved fast, layered in more drinks and even fewer clothes. By the fourth round, you still had your dress and heels on—every safe option already gone. The rest of the group was scattered in varying states of undress: John down to just his pants and socks, Jesse practically naked, Gordon as composed as ever in his full ensemble, and the girl John brought, in nothing but her bra and miniskirt.

AJ sat across from you, still shirtless, inked skin on full display in the low light. You tried not to look, but that only made it worse. His pants and shoes were still on, but the cigar was gone now, and the grin he wore in its place was worse—smug, unbothered, infuriating. 

Gordon shuffled, dealt again. And of course, AJ won.

You cursed under your breath then leaned forward to unbuckle the straps of your heels. AJ’s eyes followed every movement, no attempt to be subtle. 

It was his turn to deal. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees as he gathered the deck. His fingers moved easily, shuffling once, twice, before he began dealing out the cards. The room had gotten louder again. Laughter and crude jokes bounced off the walls. But underneath it all, you could feel AJ’s presence like always. It pressed against your skin, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Then—

“What’s wrong? Not having fun?” AJ asked, voice flat, low, laced with a hint of arrogance that made your stomach tighten.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t have to.

You knew he was talking to you. The edge in his voice made it clear. It was a jab wrapped in silk, meant to land right beneath the surface.

You gave a breathy, humorless laugh. “No,” you said, pausing long enough to let the silence stretch.

“I’m just trying to figure out who I should fuck next, remember? Gotta keep up appearances.” You slipped off your heels, setting them aside.

His hands faltered for half a second, the smooth rhythm of dealing disrupted. You saw it—the smallest hitch, but it was there. Then he recovered, kept going like nothing had touched him. Like your words hadn’t hit exactly where you wanted them to.

But just before he dealt you your final card, he paused. Held it in his hand. Looked right at you.

“One fifty,” he said.

You stilled.

He was actually fucking betting you.

“Insulting me wasn’t enough? Now you want my money too?” The words came out dry, like the taste in your mouth hadn’t left since the rooftop.

“It’s just a game.” His voice dipped slightly, and that smirk didn’t budge.

“Everything is to you.”

AJ leaned forward again. “You in or not?”

You pressed your tongue to your cheek, jaw tight as your glare sharpened.

“Yeah. Whatever,” you muttered, the heat in your chest rising.

AJ finally slid the card across the table to you, signaling the start of the next round.

You glanced down at your cards and felt your pulse kick. It was a good hand. A strong one. The kind that usually won. Maybe tonight was finally swinging back in your favor.

The others revealed their hands one by one.

Jesse threw his cards down first. “Pair of fives,” he said, already reaching for his drink like he didn’t care either way.

John was next. “Two pair. Nines,” he grinned.

Gordon raised a brow, laid his down with ease. “Kings.”

The girl on John’s side giggled, barely looking at her cards. “I’ve got twos. Don’t judge me,” she said, shrugging like she wasn’t the least bit invested.

You let the tension ride just a second longer, then fanned your hand out on the table, your voice light but confident. “Straight.”

A few impressed whistles sounded off. John immediately started talking shit, accusing you of cheating like he always did when he lost. You let the sound of it all soak in. This round was yours. It had to be.

Until AJ laid his hand down.

Silent. Slow.

The cards hit the table one by one. All the same suit.

“Flush.”

Your smile dropped.

The room didn’t fall quiet, not exactly, but it faded. Because even the others knew—your hand was solid, better than most. But it wasn’t the best.

AJ’s was.

And worse? Fucking house rules.

Normally, the lowest hand strips. But if the whole table’s playing low and two people come out swinging? The second-best hand takes the hit.

Which meant, even though you beat everyone else at the table, you lost. To him.

AJ’s eyes met yours across the table.

“Tough,” he said.

His voice was soaked in mock sympathy, and you swore it vibrated straight down your spine.

Your eyes narrowed. That stupid look on his face ignited the flames inside you all over again. You could’ve called him a fucking asshole right then and there. The words were at the edge of your tongue. But you bit them back.

No.

This was his game. And the only way to beat him was to play it better. When AJ didn’t like the outcome, he didn’t fold—he changed the rules. That’s how he always got what he wanted.

So you took a page out of his book.

The room was spiraling toward its inevitable end, especially with John practically on top of the girl he brought. Still, you owed the table a piece of clothing. 

You could’ve taken off your bra. Slipped it out of the dress, smooth and simple. No fuss.

But that wouldn’t sting. Wouldn’t win.

Your eyes stayed locked on AJ’s as you reached behind you, fingers brushing over the zipper at the back of your dress. You felt the faintest tug at the fabric, the pressure of the moment mounting, and you didn’t stop there.

You smiled. Soft. Then, you started to fumble—intentionally. Your fingers danced at the zipper like you couldn’t quite get it, like maybe you needed help.

You tilted your head, still smiling. “Hey, John,” you called sweetly, your voice cutting through the room.

He paused, pulling his mouth from the girl’s skin as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?” 

“I just can’t get this,” you said, shifting your body toward him, exposing your back. “Can you—do you mind?”

You’d seen that flicker in AJ’s eyes the second your hands moved. He’d watched you get out of tighter dresses in record time. He knew damn well you didn’t need help. Which was the point.

You weren’t playing fair.

You were playing him.

John didn’t think twice about it. He laughed under his breath as he reached for the zipper. His fingers tugged it down, the fabric parting slow over your back as it slipped open. After he was done, his focus returned to the half-naked woman beside him without missing a beat.

But you didn’t care about John. You cared about the eyes across the table.

You looked at AJ.

He sat still, a little too still, leaning back in his chair. His jaw was locked so tight you could see the muscle twitch.

He was pissed. Good. 

You stood. Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and let the fabric fall. It hit the floor in a quiet pile at your feet.

AJ’s eyes held yours for one long second.

But then they moved.

They dragged. Down your neck. Across your chest then lower like he wanted to memorize everything and rip it apart in the same breath. And then his gaze stopped exactly where you expected it to—on your black lace thong with a tiny satin bow at the front. The ones he once said looked too damn good on you to leave on for more than thirty seconds.

His eyes snapped back up as he met yours again.

That was it. That was the moment.

You had him.

You knew it.  And, so did he.

You took your seat again as the next round started, the girl dealing this time. It moved fast. Gordon won—again. Jesse had the worst hand, but no one cared. The game was over. 

John and the girl barely bothered pulling their clothes back on before she started tugging him toward the stairs, lips brushing against his ear as they stumbled out.

Everyone else started to clear out, the buzz fading into loose conversation and scattered laughter. You pulled your dress back on, fingers clumsy with the zipper as the shots finally started to hit. But the haze in your head wasn’t just from the tequila.

It was him.

AJ.

You listened as the guys threw a few jokes his way—even expected some sort of smartass comeback from AJ, but he barely acknowledged them. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed down the cash he owed them. Then he grabbed his things—belt, watch, shirt—and walked off without putting a single piece back on. He didn’t say a word as he headed straight up to the rooftop.

For a second, you thought about following. But you stopped yourself.

You, AJ, and that rooftop were starting to have a bad track record. And truthfully, this wasn’t on you. He wanted to play. You just played better.

So you let him go.

You turned back to the group, let the laughter pull you in. Let the burn of tequila mask whatever else was crawling under your skin.

As the night went on, you and John ended up downstairs in a booth. You both were decently drunk by now, drinks half-finished and conversation sloppier than it had been upstairs.

At some point, John started talking about the girl from earlier. Unfortunately, he gave too many details—explaining how they fucked in his car after the game. He spoke casually, like it was just another story, and to him, it was. In his eyes, you were one of the guys. Nothing off-limits.

You changed the subject eventually, dragging him for how he played earlier in strip poker. How you should’ve bet against him and made extra cash.

He told you to fuck off, laughing through it, then pointed out that Jesse lost the most money thinking with his dick, trying to impress the girl John brought upstairs.

“And what were you doing?” you asked, teasing him again.

He just laughed, smug as ever.

You shook your head with a smile as you stood.

The bottle between you was nearly empty, so you offered to grab another. You walked to the bar, reached for the whiskey, and as you turned back toward the booth, you caught movement near the stairs.

AJ was coming down the stairs from the lounge, dressed again and laughing with Gordon. 

You hadn’t seen him since the game ended, since he stormed off—and you didn’t need to guess why. You knew it was intentional.

You rolled your eyes. Ignored it. Ignored him.

And kept walking.

As you sat in the booth, you remembered the bets John made earlier and asked how much he owed Gordon.

“Four hundred and a pack of cigars. Cuban,” John said, leaning back against the seat with a sigh.

“Yeah, that’s on you.” You laughed. “You know he wins every time.”

“Every fucking time,” he muttered, raising his glass and finishing what was left.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I owe AJ one-fifty.” You smirked, teasing.

John laughed again, this time quieter.

“No you don’t.”

“I lost, John. Or are you too drunk to remember that?” you said, laughing a little before taking another drink.

“He’s not going to make you pay him,” John mumbled, voice loose and slurred as his head tipped back against the booth.

You paused, glass halfway to your lips.

AJ wasn’t casual about money. Everyone knew that. If he weren’t in the middle of ignoring you, he probably would’ve been on your ass the second the game ended.

You brushed it off.

John was drunk. This was just him talking.

“Shut up,” you muttered with a grin, bumping your foot against his under the table.

He shook his head and poured himself another drink—one he definitely didn’t need.

Soon the night was winding down, Lili already on last call. Your head swam with more than just the alcohol. John’s comment lingered, circling in the back of your mind. It didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t.

Still, when you caught sight of AJ heading out front, something in you stirred. You were tempted to put it to the test.

Just then, another girl approached the booth, eyes locked on John. She didn’t hesitate, sliding in beside him like she’d been waiting all night. That was your cue. Or maybe just your out.

You slipped out of the booth without a word, crossed behind the bar to grab your purse, then made your way to the door. A moment later, you stepped out front, the door swinging shut behind you as your heels clicked against the pavement. 

The air was cooler now, the night quieter—but not by much. Just ahead, AJ stood leaning against his car, head tilted slightly as he lit a cigarette.

He took a slow inhale, then blew the smoke up into the air, eyes flicking to you once before shifting away.

You walked over with every intention to keep things neutral. But AJ already decided how this would go.

“What now? You come out here to finish your show from earlier?” he said, his voice rough—but more than anything, drunk.

You didn’t answer. Just steadied yourself and let the comment roll off. 

Then, you reached into your purse. “You said one-fifty, right?” Your voice stayed even, casual, like it wasn’t a test. But it was.

You pulled out the cash, held it out between you. “Here.”

AJ took another drag, slower this time, before flicking the ash onto the pavement beside him.

“Keep it,” he said, voice flat, smoke slipping from his mouth.

He hadn’t even looked at you or the money. Which meant—John was right.

Your brows pulled slightly, not enough for him to see, but enough for you to feel it sink in.

Still, you tried again. Quieter this time.

“I lost.” You held it out. “Take it.”

“I said keep it,” he snapped, sharper this time. He took a hit, then—

“Besides, I don’t want your guilt money.”

For fucks sake. Your jaw tightened, irritation building up. “It’s not guilt money. I lost your stupid bet—”

He let out a short, bitter chuckle, cigarette still clinging to the corner of his mouth. “Now you want to play fair?” His head tilted slightly, tone condescending.

He exhaled smoke, pulling the cigarette free. 

“You want to even the score?” he said, stepping in—close enough to shadow over you. His voice dropped, every word deliberate.

“Don’t waste my time with cash. Go fuck John. Make it count.”

The words landed hard. But AJ didn’t wait for a reaction this time. He didn’t even look at you again. Just pushed past you, flicking his cigarette to the ground, and disappearing back into the bar.

Heat rose in your chest, your head still cloudy from the alcohol. But even through the haze, you were livid. It wasn’t just the insult—it was how far he was willing to go to avoid being honest with you. To push instead of admit anything real.

You turned away, arms crossed as you started walking home, trying to shake it off. 

Then your eyes caught on John’s car. 

You paused.

An idea formed—fast.

You were angry, yeah. But more than that, you were done letting AJ pretend none of this mattered. He was still playing the game. 

And if he wasn’t done, neither were you.

If AJ wanted to punish you for something that never happened—fine. Maybe it was time he had a real reason to spiral.

You changed course before you could second-guess it. 

When you reached John’s car, you pulled the handle on his driver’s side door. Unlocked. Of course. He never locked it.

The parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few scattered cars and the faint noise of music still echoing from inside the bar. The crew hadn’t left yet, which meant you were alone out here.

You stepped closer to the car and with a quick glance over your shoulder, you hooked your fingers beneath your dress and slid your underwear down your thighs. The lace slipped off easily. You balled the fabric in your hand as you leaned in, and dropped the lace onto the floorboard of the backseat. Not too obvious, but enough.

Then you shut the door. Calm. Quiet. Like you hadn’t just started a war. 

AJ and John always ended up talking out here at some point. It was routine. You knew AJ would see them—he couldn’t miss them even if he tried. He was too sharp, too observant.

John likely wouldn’t notice. And if he did, he’d probably assume they belonged to one of the many girls who had passed through that car, wouldn’t even question it.

But AJ? 

One look, and he’d know exactly who they belonged to.

It was petty. You knew that. Bold and impulsive, tiptoeing that fine line between reckless and too much. But the knot curled in your stomach, the one that churned not with regret but with anticipation—yeah, that told you it would be worth it.

Every damn second.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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if you want to be tagged in my future posts, just let me know (comment or message me). i’m happy to do it! :)

links: masterlist

[cherry-blossom-honey]

Melted (Bucky Barnes x F! Reader)

Where the reader tells Bucky how much his metal arm turns her on 👀🦾

A/n: Uh, yeah. This is the infamous 5am smut I told you guys about, enjoy! :)

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities, fingering, implied age gap, temperature play if you squint, Sergeant kink

—There goes the last drop. We've got another dead soldier here!— Bucky said with a hint of comical drama in his voice— They used to call empty bottles that way in the 1800s.

—Oh, were you there when it first happened?— You laughed at your own joke while taking a sip of white wine.

It's been a long time since James Buchanan Barnes had a relationship. You made him feel safe, younger, human.

Now that the second bottle was gone, the conversations deepened.

People have left the Winter Soldier and his atrocities behind. He was just Bucky Barnes, sometimes a hero, but certainly not a villain.

But there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about...

—This shit— he sighed, looking sadly at his metal arm— Y'know, even if kids say it's cool... I still don't feel like it's a part of me, it's hard to look in the mirror and see it.

It was the first time you heard him opening up his heart like that. The situation making you experience a mix of pride and pain.

Standing up, you got closer to the blue eyed man to sit on his lap, kissing him softly.

—Thanks for telling me this, Buck. I know it's not easy for you— He nodded, giving you a sad smile in return. —Can I tell you a secret too?

—Go ahead. Won't tell anyone if you don't tell 'em I'm a crybaby.

You smirked, ready to whisper in his ear.

—I think your metal arm is hot.

—Do you, doll?— Bucky's face changed completely to a lustful expression.

You weren't lying. For many nights, you fantasized about how good it would feel touching your body.

—Please. Do something about it, Sergeant Barnes— you whimpered, biting your lip.

—Take off your shorts and panties, now— he commanded, following your intentions.

—Yes, Sergeant

After you did what he said, Bucky invited you to his lap once again.

—C'mere, beautiful

This time, you straddled him, devouring his lips in the process. Then, he took one of your hands to put it on his clothed, painfully hard cock.

—See what you do to me?— Bucky panted— But tonight's about you, doll.

Your eyes widened as you saw him taking two metal fingers to meet your soaked folds.

—So wet. You'd like me to finger you with this hand, yeah?

—Y-yes— you moaned, already unable to form a sentence.

—Yes, what?— he said, grabbing your chin firmly with his free hand.

—Yes, Sergeant Barnes!

—Good girl

One.

Two.

Three fingers.

The contrast between Bucky's cold metal digits and your burning insides was driving you crazy. His actions turned you into a moaning mess on top of him.

Without any warning, the dark haired man untied the knot of your top.

—No bra? What a naughty little doll you are.

Bucky smirked right before attacking one of your breasts with his mouth, making you scream at the sensation and unintentionally pull his hair.

When your walls started squeezing him, he switched to the other breast.

Diabolical.

—B-bucky. Need to cum, please!

—You're gonna make a mess all over my pants, doll. Cum for me.

Crying out his first name, you followed his orders, realizing by the sticky feeling under you that the man also came in his pants.

—Never been so proud of being called James in my entire life— he laughed after catching his breath— You've never called me that before.

—Guess it was just the heat of the moment, Sergeant Barnes. I like your name.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

first of all, congrats!!! u really deserve the 500 followers, your writing is sosososo incredible <3

im begging you to do number 3 🙂‍↕️ tysmmmm <3

Hi, baby! Tysm 🤭 I'm so so so sorry it took SO long. I was really busy but now I'm back. This prompt was supposed to be small and suggestive but I got carried away and honestly turned out to be the best comeback hehe please enjoy 💜

3. Flirting during his insta live

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sub!hyunjin, sex toy (idk if the toy actually exists irl but in my fic it exists)

Alexa, play Hotline Bling by Drake

Hyunjin’s live starts late.

His hair’s a mess, fresh out of the shower judging by the damp strands tugged behind his ears. He’s in a loose white tee, collar stretched just enough to reveal his collarbone, one side of the fabric sliding dangerously off his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep”, he murmurs, eyes flicking to the comments, “Figured I’d keep you company”

The chat is exploding, but one comment makes his lips twitch.

‘You couldn’t sleep so you came here to thirst trap us. Be honest.’

He huffs a laugh through his nose. Looks into the camera like he knows exactly who sent that.

“Some of you are very… confident tonight”, he says, sipping his water slowly

You send another:

‘Pull that collar down a little more. For science'

He chokes, coughing into his fist.

“I think this shirt’s already struggling for its life”, he murmurs, fingers ghosting over the edge of the neckline. His thumb dips under the fabric like he might give it to you

Then he stops and smirks

“Nah. Not for free”

The chat is in chaos:

“WHAT IS GOING ON??”

“WHO is he talking to???”

“Hyunjin why are you RED?”

Another comment:

‘Don’t act shy now. I’ve seen how you get when you’re desperate’

His lips part. He sits back, letting out a slow exhale, like he’s trying to behave.

“You’re very brave behind a screen”, he mutters, “Want to say that with your mouth full next time?”

The room goes silent for a second before he realizes

Instantly, his eyes go wide

“I MEAN! Like… Full of… tea. Or food. Because you’re eating. Clearly”

He buries his face in his sleeve, muffling his laugh while fans go feral.

You don’t let up:

‘You’re twitching your thigh again. Getting worked up, baby?’

His leg immediately stops. He shifts in his seat, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“I hate you”, he says with a grin, “You know exactly what you’re doing”

More chaos:

“IS HE FLIRTING??”

“HYUNJIN YOUR THIGH IS WHAT??”

“Oh he’s GONE"

You finish him off with:

‘If you end this live without calling me, I’ll remind everyone what your voice sounds like when you moan’

He freezes.

His mouth falls open. He slams the screen with his hand like it’ll shut you up.

“Okay! Alright. That’s ENOUGH. This was nice. Love you guys. Goodnight, BYE…!”

The live ends mid giggle, his face and ears red

Seconds later, your phone lights up:

[Jinnie 💜]:

You’re so devilish.

I'm hard and mad.

Call me now.

You reply to him:

No. You call me

Just like that, your phone rings ten minutes later.

You answer without a word, smirking as you picture him pacing his bedroom, hoodie probably yanked off already, hair still damp, frustrated fingers raking through it.

“Are you out of your mind?!”, he says low

“Hi to you, too”

“You made me hard in front of a hundred thousand people!”, he groans, “Do you have any idea what I looked like trying not to shift in my seat?!”

“Oh, I know exactly what you looked like”, you stretch out on your bed, “Leg twitching, thigh flexed, little pout. The usual”

“Stop”

“Why? You like it”

You listen to his breath turning heavy

“You really said moan” he mutters, disbelieving, “I almost threw my phone across the room. My manager texted me with question marks!”

You laugh softly, “What did he say?”

“‘Was that meant to be public?’” Hyunjin mimics in a mocking voice. Then, he adds lower, “I told him it was improv”

“You’re welcome for the material”

Another pause.

You hear him exhale

“I had to sit still for ten minutes before calling”, he confesses, “I was so hard it hurt”

You bite your lip, “And now?”

“Now I’m on the edge just from hearing your voice”

He sounds wrecked already, like the tension hasn’t left his body since the second you typed that last comment.

“Say something else”

“What do you want?” you murmur, “Something filthy, or something sweet?”

“Something that’ll make me lose it”

You smile into the phone.

“I’m picturing your hand right now”, you whisper, “Fisted in the sheets or wrapped around your cock… I don’t know which, but I know your eyes are fluttering. You’re biting your lip. You’re wishing it was my mouth, aren’t you?”

A strangled sound escapes him, halfway between a groan and a curse.

You go on, just a little devilish

“Bet you keep replaying my comment in your head. Wondering if they could hear it when you moaned for me last night”

“Fuck”, he breathes, “You need to come over. Now”

“Why?”, you tease, “So I can finish what I started?”

“No”, he says, voice shaking, “So I can shut you up with my mouth”

Another silence falls between you.

Then, he adds

“I’m not even touching myself yet. I’m just hard. Just… imagining your voice and trying not to come in my sweats like a desperate loser”

You hum, “Then let me talk you through it”

He groans when you say it. His reply is barely audible, more breath than sound, “Please…”

You hear rustling, clothes shifting, probably the slide of his sweats down his hips. Then another sound— skin on skin, a slow stroke, a long exhale

“God, I’m so hard” he whispers, “Feels like I’ve been edged for hours”

“Is it leaking?”

“Of course it is! You ruined me on live and now you ask like you're innocent!”

You hum, smugly

“Wrap your fingers around the base. Squeeze just a little. Pretend it’s my hand”

“Shit…”

“Slow strokes, baby. I want you aching, want you whining”

His breath catches at that, a soft whimper spilling out before he can stop it.

“I miss your mouth”, he groans, “I’m picturing you on top of me, licking the head, taking me so well and slow and deep… I’d go crazy”

“Good”, you whisper, “Because if I were there, I’d keep my tongue just barely on you. Teasing your tip, watching you twitch, making you beg”

Another needy moan.

“I’m close already”, he confesses, voice shaking, “Your voice is… fuck, it’s too much”

“Then stop”

He freezes, “What?!”

“Take your hand off. I want you desperate”

You hear his breath hitch.

“You’re cruel”

You laugh, “No, baby. I’m careful. You’re not cumming yet. I want it to feel unbearable when you finally do”

He groans, deep and guttural.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep talking like that”

“Then don’t touch. Be good for me”

He breathes hard for a few beats, trying to obey. You can feel the tension even through the call— his thighs probably clenched, abs tight, cock dripping and untouched.

You lower your voice, letting it wrap around him like a spell.

“Tomorrow, I want your knees on the bed and your hands behind your back. I want to see how long you last with nothing but my mouth and my voice. You won’t get to touch me. You’ll be so good, Hyunjin. You’ll cry for it.”

The gasp that leaves him is shattered and helpless

“Please, Yn. I… I can’t. Let me come. Please”

“Not yet”,you murmur, wicked, “Get your toy. The one I bought for you. We’re not done”

You hear the shuffle of him getting up again. You hear his grunt followed by the sound of a drawer opening.

“I hate how fast I knew where it was”, he mutters.

You grin, “No, you love it. Now lie back, be a good boy and put it on”

He huffs— you can feel he is half aroused, half embarrassed.

“You’re so lucky I’m in love with you”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even ready for what I’m going to do when I get there”.

The sound of him gulping fills the silence before you hear a click. Then,a quiet vibration hums through the phone line.

“Fuck… it’s cold”, he gasps, “But it’s… shit… oh my god”

“Feel good?”

“Feels perfect. It’s just barely moving but it’s already driving me insane”

“Great. Now imagine me straddling you, using it on you while I kiss your neck. My lips are right on that spot behind your ear you always twitch for”

He moans— throaty, desperate.

“Keep your hands off”, you warn gently, “I want your hips jerking on their own. I want you to just take it”

He whimpers and the sound shoots heat straight down your core

“‘Jinnie”, you whisper, “I want you so ruined for me that your legs are shaking when I finally ride you”

“I’m already shaking”, he breathes.

The vibrations intensify a little, his breath stutters as the toy pulses against his leaking tip.

“You sound so pretty”, you murmur, “So needy. I could keep you like this for hours. Wet. Hard. Helpless”

“I’m gonna come”, he gasps suddenly.

“No, you’re not”

He groans loud, long and filthy. You can hear the tension in every inch of him, the fight to obey even while his body begs to finish.

“Please, baby… just a little, just let me…”

“No”, you whisper, “Not until I say so”

He cries out again, frustrated and fucked out already, hips twitching as the toy drags him through wave after wave of denied release.

And then softly, broken and breathless he begs again,

“…I can’t wait anymore. I need you”

You smile, voice softening into something sort of indulgent.

“I’m already in the car”

The drive takes just ten minutes. You keep him on the phone the entire time, teasing him with words that drips into his ear like venom.

“Are you still shaking, baby?”

His breath is ragged, “I can’t even think”

“Good. Keep the toy on the lowest setting. Don’t you dare touch yourself”

He groans, completely tortured, “It’s throbbing. I’m so close, just from your voice…”

“Don’t finish, Hyunjin. Not yet. You want me to take over, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please. I want… fuck, I want your hands, your mouth, anything”

You smirk, pulling into the parking lot.

“I’m outside”

He whimpers

“Open the door for me. Don’t cover yourself. I want to see everything”

A pause. Then a resigned, ruined, “You’re actually evil, aren't you”

But he obeys.

When the door opens, he’s wrecked— shirtless, sweats pushed down just far enough to expose the head of his cock, the toy snug against it, humming softly. His hair’s a mess, his lips are parted, skin flushed pink, and his thighs tremble from restraint.

You step inside without a word, setting your bag down slowly as you drink in the sight.

Then, finally you say, “Back on the couch. Hands behind you”

He sinks into the cushions, eyes wide and glassy with lust, trembling as he folds his hands behind him. You sit beside him, trailing one finger over his knee.

“Look at you”, you whisper. “All this from a few comments on your live”

He exhales shakily, jaw clenched, “You knew what you were doing, Yn”

You hum, “And you knew you liked it”

Your hand slides up his thigh, but without touching where he needs you most. Not yet, just light circles, featherlight pressure, making him twitch and groan and beg silently with his eyes.

“You’re going to take your punishment so well, aren’t you?”

He nods frantically, “Please. I’ll do anything. Just, please…”

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then ask nicely”

He chokes on a whimper.

“Please let me come. I can’t take it anymore. I want to come for you, please… please, Yn…”

You smile.

“Then lie back for me, babe”

He lies back like you told him, chest rising in shallow bursts, the muscles in his thighs drawn tight from holding back.

“You’ve been so good”, you murmur, kneeling between his legs, “So obedient for me”

“Please”, he whispers, voice cracking, “Please just touch me”

You wrap your fingers around the toy, guiding it in slow circles over his tip, cruel but sweet. His entire body jolts. His head tips back with a strangled moan, hips twitching off the couch.

“Shh” you coo, “you’re almost there”

You finally take the toy off, and his cock slaps against his stomach— red, leaking, aching. He cries out at the loss, desperate now, every inch of him trembling.

Then your hand wraps around him— finally— and he sobs your name.

“You’re gonna come so hard for me”, you whisper, starting to stroke, “You’ve been so good. Just let go, Hyunjin”

His eyes squeeze shut. His mouth falls open. Your pace is steady, slick, punishing, your thumb dragging over the slit with every upward motion.

“Yn… fucj, I’m gonna…”

“Yes”, you whisper, “Come for me. Right now. Show me how much you need me”

He breaks with a loud, shuddering moan— violent, helpless, beautiful. His back arches off the couch as he spills hot across his stomach and your fingers, legs trembling uncontrollably, voice reduced to gasps and half sobs.

But you don’t stop.

You keep stroking, slow and firm.

“W–wait... fuck... Yn!”

His whole body flinches, hands flying up instinctively, trying to push you away but you catch his wrists easily, pinning them against his stomach with one hand.

“No” you whisper, breath hot against his neck, “You don’t get to stop yet. Not after how filthy you were on that live”

He lets out a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching painfully sensitive under your touch.

“Please... oh my god, please.. I can’t, I...”

You kiss his neck, sweet and unhurried, while your hand works him through the overstimulation— his moans breaking, turning into gasps, into high pitched sounds he probably didn’t know he could make.

“Look at you", you whisper, “Shaking so pretty. All for me"

He’s gone. Eyes glassy, voice cracked, body trying to twist away from the unbearable friction even as his cock stays hard like a rock in your grip— needy even after release, aching for mercy.

“Please, baby”, he whines, “It's enough... please, please...”

You finally ease off, hand releasing him slowly, trailing your fingers gently up his stomach.

“Next time you whisper, lips brushing his ear, “you’ll think twice before reading my comments out loud”

He’s still panting when he looks at you, dazed and completely ruined.

“You’re insane” he mumbles.

You grin, brushing his sweaty hair

“Better than my comments on your insta live?”

He lets out a tired laugh.

"I’m never going on live again"

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[shortbcofkoffee]

Jason picked up his phone, already a little annoyed. He’d beat the shit out of a guy trying to mug a little kid and he still had some properly pent up aggression. It certainly didn’t help that Tim was calling him when he was just getting ready to go home.

“What,” he barked into the phone.

It was loud on the other side, music and voices overlapping. “Oh, he picked up! Hi, Jay,” Tim said, half giggling, half shouting over the music. “Bear, stop, ‘m on the phone.”

“Ignore me,” another voice said. Jason could hear them loud in clear which meant he was probably right on Tim.

“What do you want, Tim?” Jason asked.

“Well, me and Bear are at a… club? Bar? We’re at a rave. And I’m very drunk and he’s very cross-faded, so neither of us can drive. So like, can you come pick us up?”

“Call a taxi. Or an Uber.”

“I can’t,” Tim whined. “I don’t have Uber. I don’t have my wallet, I was getting free drinks by making out with randos. That last guy really sucked, he was a bad kisser.”

“I still have to clean your mouth out,” the Bear guy said, and Tim giggled again.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d kill God for you.”

Tim cackled. “How romantic.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not want to hear this, but he also didn’t want to leave his little brother stranded and drunk. “Will you two stop flirting if I pick you up?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, we’ll try. No promises.”

“Send me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

-

Jason waits outside of the building, leaning on the hood of his car with a cigarette in his mouth. Tim stumbles out of the basement rave with a blonde guy around his waist. Jason figures that must be Bear. They’re both definitely dressed for the event. Tim in a neon green fishnet shirt and shorts so tiny, they’re basically underwear. Bear in a white leotard, low-waisted shorts that were only really the length of a belt, and thigh highs. Tim waves at him, smiling widely.

“Hi, Jason! Bear, say hi to my brother.”

“Hey,” Bear says.

Jason silently waves and walks around his car to slide in the front seat. He unlocks the back door, and Tim and his boyfriend stumble in. 

“Where are we going?” Jason asks, eyeing the couple in his rearview mirror. They’re sitting next to each other, so close, Tim is basically on the guy’s lap.

“My houseboat,” he answers. The blonde guy puts his hands on Tim’s waist and kisses down his neck. Tim giggles, “Bear, stop.”

“Yeah, stop. Or you can both walk home.”

“Boo,” Tim pouts. “You wouldn’t, Dick would get mad.”

Jason scoffs, rolls his eyes, and turns his music all the way. It’s not a really long drive, only 15 minutes without traffic. But there was traffic. Because this was Gotham, and there was always at least a little traffic. To their credit, the couple in the back was being quiet, though that might just be the music. They were whispering and giggling in each other’s ears. It was innocent enough at first. Then it wasn’t. At some point Tim had climbed onto the blonde guy’s lap again, back to chest. Bear was kissing his neck again, one hand on Tim’s waist and the other on his thigh. Tim was smiling, wrapping his arm back around him, and his hand was buried in blonde locks. 

“Bear!” Tim gasps as his boyfriend bites down.

Jason’s grip on his steering wheel tightens tenfold. “If you two start fucking back there, I swear to God I will crash us into a wall.”

“We won’t,” Bear promises. He sees Tim nod in the rearview mirror.

They go back to being silent for a little while before Jason starts hearing muffled whines. He expertly decides not to look back there for the remainder of the trip, no matter how unsafe that is. There’s five more minutes of the trip when Tim’s shirt is discarded in the passenger seat. Jason stares daggers into the bumper ahead of him. He learns the guy’s name is Bernard and not Bear in what might be the worst way possible. There’s definitely sounds of pleasure being made, though luckily no wet noises or slurping. 

Jason parks outside of Tim’s boat. “Both of you get the fuck out.”

He finally glances back and sees Bernard push himself up from where he had Tim pinned to the seat. Tim’s chest and neck are covered in bites and hickies, more than someone should’ve been able to produce in the time given. Tim grabs his shirt from the front seat and opens the door. Clumsily, the couple untangle from each other and climb out the car.

“Thanks Jason! You’re my favorite brother.”

Jason huffs. “Obviously. That’s why you want to torture me.”

“Yup! Now, I’m gonna go break my bed. Stay safe and don’t tell Bruce I was out!” He waves as he walks into his boat, pulling Bernard along.

“You are so fucking lucky I don’t want you dead,” he grumbles.

Jason takes a deep grounding breath before he pulls away and fights the urge to crash his car into the water. Because what’s one more death under his belt? But he doesn’t.

-

When Jason wakes the next morning, there’s $500 in his Cash App. The note attached just reads ‘sorry.’ He could probably extort more, but he doesn’t want to think about Tim right now.

[rivendellwatch]

🌙✨🧸 That’s a wrap on Cozy Cuddle Week! 🧸✨🌙

Hello hello my dearest snugglers, fluff-masters, and creators of serotonin and softness!!!!💖

As of yesterday, the AO3 collection for Cozy Cuddle Week has officially closed — and I just want to say, with all the warmth of a Hobbit hearthfire and the devotion of a particularly clingy elvish steward (you know who), thank you. Truly!!!!!💌

This event has been… a gift. I don’t say that lightly. In the midst of everything going on in fandom — the drama, the messiness, the algorithm noise — this week felt like a pause. A moment to breathe. A soft place to land, full of laughter, sweetness, and tenderness, wrapped in warm blankets and soft kisses and found families falling asleep next to one another. 💫

You made that happen. Each of you.🫂

Whether you posted a fic, a sketch, a silly meme, a reblog, a lovely comment, or simply read and supported others quietly from the shadows — thank you. It all mattered. Every bit of it added to the feeling of shared coziness and joy that this week brought.🧡

I want to especially thank the people who took a chance on this little prompt list, or tried something new — who maybe never shared their work before, or felt nervous doing fluff, or hadn’t written in a while. You’re incredibly brave and I’m so proud of you. And to all the fluff week veterans who returned with open arms, I loved seeing your names and tags pop up again like familiar faces at a favorite café!!!☕

Every piece — every cuddle, every blanket fort, every accidental bed-sharing moment — was a joy. I read so many works where I actually felt myself physically relax, like my body exhaled reading the gentleness you poured into your stories and art. What a beautiful thing to share.

This event was also a breath of fresh air for me personally. Organizing these cozy chaos weeks has been a balm for my heart, and I’m so grateful to everyone who made it such a joyful experience. Your kindness in the DMs, your feedback, your excitement, your tag rambles — it all meant more than I can say. Thank you for being so lovely.

A huge thank you to: @greenleaf4stuff , @varda-star-queen , @lullaby-lilies , @iwanderbecauseimlost , @koyaildoesstuff , @mysteriesunfoldthemselves , @wowstrawberrycow , @thephoenixandthecrocodile , @elvendreamsfics , @ffigwit , @everthestormbraver , @adarssuggestionbox , @lya-dustin , @finchinmoria , @xximmortalkissxx , @hobbitinnumenor , @nekroticism , @finrodsketchbook , @hikarielizabethbloom , @eowyn7023 , @tulacastrej , @aroacebaggins , @tentative-tolkienite for joining, and all the other amazing peeps sharing and cheering on everyone!!!!💖💖💖

You guys rocked and I cannot thank you enough for joining us on this fluff-filled adventure, bringing such a breath of fresh air in this fandom!!!💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Our beloved AO3 collection has officially reached 26 WORKS, peeps!!! 🥹💖 That’s 26 cozy, fluffy, snuggly, sweet little bundles of joy all tucked together in one warm archive corner — I’m absolutely melting. Thank you all for sharing your softness and creativity so generously!! 🧸💤✨

Here is the link to get access to our collection besties!!!

For those who want to share thoughts, there's also an optional feedback form down below — feel free to fill it out if you’d like, it helps for future events (and also warms my lil event-runner heart 💕)!

🍑 SPICE WEEK 🍑 will be coming later (the 16th of June and we'll have 10 DAYS). Prepare yourselves. Fluff week was the gentle kiss on the forehead. Spice week is... well. You’ll see 😌🔥

But until then: Take care of yourselves. Be gentle with your hearts. Keep creating, even if just for yourself. You deserve softness, and so much more.

Thank you again for making this event magical. I’m sending you all a thousand virtual hugs, mugs of hot cocoa, and very clingy fantasy characters who want to nap in your lap.

With love and warm blankets,

Bucky aka @rivendellwatch

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Girl! Congratulations on your 15k followers!! That's so amazing! I hope you're doing well 💕💕 thank you so much for sharing your writing with us. Your stories are such a yummy little immersive treat to read. A little escape from reality 😇

I'm not really sure if I'm doing this correctly, so apologies in advance, but for the palate cleanser / dark! request I've been playing a scene over in my head, and if you like it, I would be honored to see where you go with it.

Reader is an investigative journalist at her university's school newspaper and wants to get a juicy scoop for an exposé being released about their most notorious fraternity, so she goes to the frat's house one day while she thinks everybody is gone and tries to sneak in through the doggy door (do frats have dogs? I guess this one does lol) but gets stuck in a very compromising position when the boys get home and find her trying to squirm her way out. Maybe they rip her leggings in the crotch and force a couple of orgasms out of her before frat leader!Bucky gets home and decides to put on a show to teach the reader a lesson on what happens to snakes who try to infiltrate the brotherhood. (If you're comfortable with this) maybe that display involves reader's first time doing anal and sending her home with a messy gift to remember them by.

Woof 🥴🫣

Hope you have a great weekend celebrating your 15k followers!!! Take care,

a/n: it's giving classic nasty porn and i'm living! although, you can't just throw the iconic "stuck in a doggy door" at me and and not expect me to take that and run with it. so please, sit back, relax, and enjoy bucky taking over while you're still stuck there hehe

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist |  join my 15k celebration!

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” the low timbre of the fraternity’s fiendish leader suddenly broke through the crowd that had formed on the other side of the door, prompting the guy that had been bullying your exposed core to snap back his touch and make room for his president, “wait a minute, I’d recognise that ass anywhere…” a grin stretched across his lips as your bottom wiggled once more, hopelessly attempting yet again to free your hips from the confines of the doggy door, “Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

Huffing out a heated breath, you only hissed, “fuck you,” as your knees trembled against the porch.

“Breaking and entering–, well, half entering… bad fucking girl…” you heard Bucky click his tongue and he kneeled down behind your entrapped frame, “what did you think you’d do, huh? Sneak in so you could sniff out all of our dirty little secrets?” his hot breath trickled against your embarrassingly leaky cunt, “you really want the scoop that badly? Look at you now… investigative journalist, my ass. You were so desperate and willing to do whatever it took that now you’ve degraded into nothing more than a bitch in heat.”

His broad palms then drifted up to grasp either side of your butt, smacking it playfully before he spread you apart, smirking at the mess the others had already turned you into.

“So, you really wanna be a big bad wolf that much? Oh, honey… a sweet little bunny like you could never be at our level…” his thumb stretched out to trace your puffy folds, “we’re the foxes who sneak into the henhouse, only to leave behind nothing but blood and feathers…” he murmured as his finger then suddenly began to travel up past your poor pussy, “it’s so cute, you truly thought you were about to destroy us all, didn’t you?”

“W-what are you doing?” your eyes promptly grew wide as you felt his touch find your other hole.

“Putting you in your place,” he circled the virginal entrance, smearing your mortifying mess against the little rosebud, “since you so obviously don’t know where your own little nose belongs.”

“But, wait! Not there! I’ve never–”

“Oh, what? You’ve never had anything up your ass before?” he chuckled before briefly casting his glance over his shoulder at the rest of the brotherhood, “gather around, boys,” he uttered before finally sinking the very tip of his finger inside, “I think this is gonna be more fun than I expected…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[fuselsstuff]

Like You

Hot take, but I didnt hate the donor storyline. Anyway, a latenight in the discord server sparked something and I decided that Buck needs friends. @bangpop91 and @thecarrott take the full blame 😘

coda/fix it post s8, words 1,2k, Characters: Buck, Kameron, Connor and little Leo

Like You

The ring of the doorbell startled Buck; he wasn't used to the sound yet. After moving out of Eddie's house and spending two weeks on Ravi's couch, he just moved into his new apartment a couple of days ago. His living room was mostly moving boxes, the kitchen, the only thing already unpacked and ready.

The doorbell rang again; he didn't expect anyone tonight. Or at all. Maddie and Chim had enough on their hands with Baby Bobby, and if he is being honest, nobody except Ravi even knew where his new apartment was. Nobody bothered to ask.

He stumbled over the boxes, and the third ring was just about to bell through his place as he opened the door to find Kameron, Connor and little Leo there.

Well that's a surprise.

"Uhm…Hi? What are you doing here guys?” He was so confused.

“Hi, Buck.” Kameron said with a shy smile. “We brought cookies, can we come in?” Connor shook a tupperware full of, what looks like, chocolate cookies behind her and grinned. “We didn't know if you were still on ketosis, so they are sugar free.”

“Yeah, sure I am…I just moved, sorry for the mess.” he huffed and smiled, stepping aside to let them in. What are they doing here?

They settled around his little round kitchen table. Little Leo was resting in a baby wrap on Kam’s front. He was sleeping, and you could only hear his adorable little breaths and snores. Buck filled a glass of water for everyone, set the cookies out on a plate and put it on the table before he also sat down.

“So how did you guys know where to find me? And why didn't you just call?” Buck asked, because as happy as he was to see his friends, he was still a little confused on the surprise visit.

Kameron answered first, “we saw on the news what happened to your firehouse, and we…we wanted to reach out, so we stopped by the loft.”

“Yeah, uhm, I moved out.”

“Figured that much.” Connor chimed in. “We then tried to call you, but” 

“I changed my number a couple weeks ago.” Buck realized.

“Also figured that out, dude.” Connor patted him on the shoulder.

Kameron smiled. “I then called Tommy.”

Oh

“How did you…?”

“Remember when you introduced us last year?”

Buck did remember; they met for coffee shortly after he and Tommy got together. It was one of those carefree, sunny days. Connor telling stories about Buck 1.0 when they still lived together and Tommy just laughing about the thought of Buck with blond highlights in his hair, trying to grow it out before the fire academy started. Baby Leo was snoozing in Kamerons lap, and Buck got to tell how he helped bring him into this world.

“Yeah, uhm, I do, but I didn't realize you two…” 

“He gave me his number because I told him my niece is obsessed with flying, so he offered to give her a harbor tour.” She reached for his hand. “I didn't know you two broke up. "I am sorry.”

 It still hurt, even after months but nobody needed to know that so he just answered with “Yeah, that…thanks.”

Connor continued with their story, “ well, he explained the situation. That you sublet your friend's house but also that he didn't know if you were still there. Since that friend just came back.” 

“Yes, Eddie…he moved back a couple weeks ago, so I gave him his space back.” The part that they haven't really spoken since Buck piled everything into a Uhaul to crash at Ravis place, he didn't tell.

Kameron sighed, “Who does that Buck?”

And here we go.

He was just about to explain his situation, that he needed a new place anyway that that was the perfect opportunity and all, when Kam added:

“I mean, moving across the country twice in that short timeframe? Doesn't he have a kid? And just kicking you out like that, what was this idiot thinking?”

Oh

“Anyway, we then thought we just go by your firehouse, somebody will surely know how we can find you.”

“Hmm, A shift was there today, I had a day off to unpack.”

“Yes they were, I remembered some of them but,” she frowned, “nobody knew?”

Not surprising

“So how did you find me?”

“Ravi came back from getting takeout just as we walked out, he told us where to find you.”

Buck was about to answer something when a little soft cry came out of the baby wrap.

He watched Connor pulling Leo out of his wrap, an adorable face marked with sleep, and little sounds escaping the small lips. Just the cutest thing.

“He doesn't look like me hmm?”

“Yeah, it makes it easier sometimes.”

It was a stupid question, it just escaped his mouth like always, he instantly regretted it. And in an attempt to save the situation he answered: “Oh, yeah I get that, less explaining right?”

“Yeah, but you know, everytime I look at that little birthmark on his left foot, I smile.” She looked at Buck, made sure he was listening. “And everytime Leo passes out in a weird position, Connor swears he looks exactly like you. Back when you sometimes after a shift didn't make it to bed and slept on the couch.”

Buck had to smile at that, but he knew what this was. “That's nice of you to say, Kam, but you really don't have to. I understand what role I play in this.” 

Kam just shook her head, muttering something like “unbelievable” before she reached for his hand again and said: “I am not telling you out of pity Buck, I am telling you because everytime I look at that birthmark, I get reminded of the man that gave me the greatest gift in this world, who helped me and Connor build this little life. And everytime he looks like you passed out after a shift, I hope he grows up to be as selfless, and bighearted as you. Sometimes I wish he would look a little bit more like you. So I get reminded more often that good people exist.” She looked at him, smiled, and added “We love you, Buck, not just because you gave us Leo, but because you are you. And I am so sorry we were such bad friends lately.”

Maybe it was her words, maybe her voice, maybe the fact that the three of them spent the whole day looking for him, it didn't matter. It got to him, something deep deep in his gut that started to twist. The grief, he tried to push as far away as possible, came out in full force. A silent tear down his cheek at first. He could feel the wetness collecting in his eyes, the tears burning as they made their way down. And finally, an ugly sobbing sound escaped his lips. He couldn't hold it back anymore.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Kam said. She opened her arms and tried to hold as much as possible of Buck's big frame. She hugged him, let him cry it all out.

[athenalvss]

DRAMATIC ( wally west )

requested: yes ; no

summary: Wally is completely devastated cause the girl he likes is talking to another boy, and the girl he likes is devastated cause she thinks Wally is in love with someone else.

pairing: Wally west x fem spider!reader

a/n: I used a nickname for the reader cause i feel weird writing yn. Whatever, feel free to make any kind of request, I really have fun doing this.

open request — dc masterlist

It all started with a hug, something normal for everyone, but not for Wally West.

For Wally, it was a scene straight out of a romantic tv show, one of those you watched with your grandmother when you went to visit her. You were standing at the school gates, laughing with a tall boy, that was bad enough, but the worst was when he messed up your hair.

And you... you laughed. YOU LAUGHED! As if a catastrophic event hadn't just happened in front Wally's eyes, and it got worse when the boy put an arm around your shoulders and you didn't take it away.

"I'm dead," he muttered as he hid behind a column. "I'm not the protagonist of her story. I'm the cool, handsome friend who appears in the post credits scene."

And without looking back, he ran off until he reached the young league. A red blur crossed half the city until he arrived. Wally appeared in the training room as if he had run from another dimension.

"GUYS, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!!" he shouted, dramatically throwing himself onto a mat. "A big, big problem!"

Dick raised an eyebrow, without looking up from the screen. "We have? Did something happen with Spidey?"

"My heart's broken!" Wally crawled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if the universe had just kicked him in the heart. "She was with someone else! He hugged her! And he touched her hair! You know who does that? LOVE INTERESTS IN ROMCOMS!! I'm losing, guys!"

Kaldur appeared in the doorway with a towel over his shoulder. "Why are you always so dramatic?"

"I'm not dramatic! My feelings and my heart are shattered!" Wally sat up, dramatic as ever. "I'm never going to have a story with a soundtrack and a happy ending!"

"Maybe if you would stop spying on her from behind columns..."

"I DIDN'T SPY HER! I was just… discreetly watching from a distance to make sure she wasn't kidnapped."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. So, what do you plan to do now?"

"Nothing. Cry, eat ice cream, and maybe move to another dimension."

Conner grunted from the couch, where he was lifting weights while listening to Wally's dramatic performance in front of him. "Or you could just tell her you like her."

Wally looked at him with a Greek tragedy face. "Are you crazy? What if she rejects me?"

"Then you'll be just like you are now, but you'll leave with dignity and a real reason" Conner said, lifting another weight without changing his expression.

"Besides," Dick added, turning off the console, "I think you're missing the point. She always laughs at your bad jokes, and she saves you a seat in the mission room, and she doesn't do that with just anyone."

Wally frowned. "Of course no, everyone does it!"

The three boys sitting there looked at him with a raised eyebrow and responded in a coordinated manner. "I wouldn't do that."

Waly snorted. "What if she's just nice? That's a strong possibility."

Kaldur sighed deeply, crossing his arms. "You have two options: confess what you feel like a semi-mature adult… or keep screaming like her hair is a souvenir stolen from a mission."

"It takes a lot of confidence to touch someone's hair!" Wally shouted, pointing to the sky. "That dude knew what he was doing!"

"What boy?" Dick asked, hiding his laughter.

"A tall one with a confident smile and the energy of a dangerous supporting character! I don't know his name."

Conner raised an eyebrow. "Are you jealous of a guy you don't know and haven't even spoken to?"

"I'M JEALOUS OF ANY GUY BUT ME!"

The training door opened with a soft creak, and M'gann walked in, accompanied by Artemis and Zatanna. The three of them stopped in their tracks when they saw Wally sprawled on the floor, one hand on his chest and the other reaching toward the ceiling as if begging the gods for mercy.

“Is he… hurt?” Zatanna asked, lowering her voice.

"Only from the heart," Conner grunted, still lifting weights.

"Again?" Artemis sighed, crossing her arms.

Wally sat up with theatrical swiftness. "Not “again”! This time it’s real! This time it was a direct attack on my emotions! On my hopes! On my perfectly styled hair meant to impress her!"

"What happened now?" M'gann asked, trying to sound empathetic, even though a smile tugged at her lips.

"I saw her! With another guy. Tall, confident… probably perfect hair. He touched her hair. Her hair!" Wally put a hand to his forehead theatrically " And she… she smiled. SMILED!"

"Wow, that's a big problem" Artemis said sarcastically.

"Thank you for your emotional support!" he replied, hurt.

Zatanna leaned closer, tilting her head curiously. "So what are you going to do about it, Romeo?"

Wally looked at her, disconsolate. "Eat ice cream, watch sad movies, and cry"

"Or you could ask her out, right?" M'gann chimed in, sitting on the edge of a mat. "You're literally one conversation away from resolving this drama."

"And risk her saying no?!" Wally stood up, horrified. "Do you know what that would do to my self esteem? Nothing, cause I don't have any! I already lost it all this morning at the school gate!"

── .✦

You had arrived at the training room earlier, but when you saw that the door was ajar and you heard voices inside, you decided not to interrupt.

“…Eat ice cream, watch sad movies, and cry” Wally said.

“Or you could ask her out, right?” M’gann suggested.

Your eyes widened. Ask her out?

You moved closer to the door, as if that would change the fact that you felt an invisible fist squeezing your stomach.

“And risk her saying no?” Wally’s voice sounded again. “Do you know what that would do to my self-esteem? Nothing, because I don’t have any! I already lost it this morning at the school gate!”

You covered your mouth, holding back a pained and exaggerated sound. You walked away quietly, as if you'd been stabbed in slow motion.

You ran into Artemis and Zatanna a few minutes later in the hallway, and that's when your tragedy unfolded:

"IT CAN'T BE! WALLY IS IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE!" you blurted out with a dramatic shriek, clutching the door frame as if you were about to faint.

The two girls stopped, confused. "What are you talking about?" Artemis asked, frowning.

"I heard him!" you said, pointing into space. "HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO ASK ANOTHER GIRL OUT!! He said it with his own mouth! How do I recover from this? How?!"

The three of them were stunned by your performance. Zatanna had a hand on her chest, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing; M'gann was trying not to laugh; and Artemis well, just looked at you like you'd lost your mind.

"Wait... you heard the conversation?" M'gann asked, already suspecting where this was going.

"And you know what the worst part is?!" you exclaimed, pointing at them like a betrayed heroine "YOU WERE HELPING HIM! YOU DIDN'T CARE ABOUT MY HEART! OR MY DIGNITY! OR MY DAILY HOROSCOPE THAT SAID 'BE CAREFUL WHO YOU ARE AROUND'!"

Artemis brought her hand to her face, resigned. "Oh, please…"

"BETRAYAL!" you continued, now twirling dramatically. "And just today I had done my hair for him..."

Zatanna approached you, very serious. "I need you to tell me right now: Was that acting or are you always this crazy?"

“I’m so crazy about him!” you screamed, throwing yourself to the ground as if you had been mortally wounded.

“…I need to sit down a second” M’gann said, laughing.

Just then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, Wally appeared on the scene, holding an ice cream cone, stopping in his tracks when he saw you on the floor with the girls around you.

Wally stopped when he saw the scene in front of him, you were lying on the floor, Zatanna crying with laughter, Artemis shaking her head, and M'gann literally fanning herself with her hand from laughing so much.

"What's going on here?" he asked, holding up the ice cream as if it were a peace offering.

"DON'T PLAY INNOCENT!" you yelled, pointing at him from the ground with a trembling finger. "I heard everything, West! EVERYTHING!"

“What? Wait, you heard the conversation with the guys?” Wally asked, but his tone instantly changed to nervous. His eyes widened, and the ice cream trembled a little in his hand. “Wait… what part did you hear exactly?”

You sat up slowly, as if you were in a dramatic soap opera. "The part where you said you were in love! And that you were going to ask her out! And that your self-esteem was collapsing like my heart right now!"

Wally took a step back, pale. “Oh no… no, no, no… Did you hear all that?!”

"EVERYTHING!" you shouted, emphasizing with your arms wide open. "And you guys," you pointed at the girls, "were cheering him on! How could you? My own war sisters!"

Zatanna couldn't breathe anymore from laughing. Artemis looked at Wally with a mixture of pity and amusement, and M'gann just said, "Well... at least they're just as intense."

Wally clapped a hand to his chest, as if you'd shot him with a word. "So... if you heard everything... is it so bad that I have feelings for you?!"

"Wait. What?"

[jynjackets]

I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts on these matters. I'm frustrated that this show is receiving so much praise and being held on such a pedestal. It's worth of criticism just like anything else. Also I saw people on twitter saying you are a racist if you ship rebelcaptain and prefer Cassian with Jyn over Bix and Cassian but like, its not even a shipping thing for me, I feel uncomfortable when women are sidelined in romantic arcs and I feel like that's valid??? Like there's a lot of issues happening at once.

Hi thank you anon <3 People are hella stupid. It’s a lot right now, but it will die down just as s1 did. I hope it helps if i can put some truths into perspective tho.

1. Andor is a flop.

Streaming services are not legally obligated to share their numbers but your most reliable source will be to check Nielsen ratings. Season 1 was a flop.

These are fan made Nielsen-based charts pulled during the middle of when the acolyte was airing. You can do your own updated research and the numbers will not be different. Data for all series before the acolyte show that Andor was the second least watched star wars show on Disney+ all time.

This is partly where a lot of the “you guys aren’t nearly as intelligent as we are” argument comes from because this show is just super unpopular. Deadass nobody cares and it makes them upset.

It was so severely unpopular that ABC and Hulu scheduled to air 6 of the 12 episodes for free. Until the first 2 episodes flopped so hard they pulled the rest from the schedule before it could air. Later, Disney posted the entire series to YouTube to garner more audience for season 2. Season 2’s lets-get-this-over-with 3-week block release schedule is most logically due to s1’s overall failure.

Nielsen needs some weeks to release the complete numbers but what we know already is that Andor S2 failed to make the Top 10 for at least 2 out of the three arcs with most notably its premiere having missed out. That’s quite embarrassing when all your Emmy competitors, even the ‘boring’ ones, have zero problem with this. They also have won a total of zero Emmy’s. So much for critically acclaimed.

2. Social media sucks right now more than ever

I don’t think people seem to remember that twitter is literally owned by Elon Musk. If people are drawing dicks on teslas why are people still using twitter? But they’re also not. Since the takeover, twitter has lost around 7 million users while making no revenue. New AI features and purchase-able exposure has made it unusable while the demographic has also largely shifted to noticeably less poc users. This is also similar for reddit.

So not only do we have a shit platform, we are looking at one of the worst star wars (emphasis on star wars!) fanbases on a shit platform. That post about being a racist rebelcaptain shipper if you don’t like bin, is stupid as fuck. I’m 90% sure it’s coming from someone white. Even if it’s not they’re still fucking stupid and get off making shitty discourse. These people want to talk race relations when their favorite show consistently hates black and brown people. And the most important topic for them is how race is a factor in picking a fictional girlfriend. be so fr.

Back to the show, season 1 was criticized for being boring which many agreed and voiced. The special case with season 2 is that everyone that loved it will be returning, while other parties are completely checked out, making for a very polarizing fanbase. So in looking up conversation about season 2, you’re only going to find the exact type of people that have no problem with gratuitous sexual assault and latinophobia, having not bat an eye at the sexualization and racism of s1. We are looking inside a bag labeled dead bird and expecting to find something else.

Sorry to blurb!

These are just my own affirmations that help me stay sane in this mess. You said you believe women shouldn’t be sidelined for shitty romantic arcs. You are right and you know it. Remain confident in the fact that you know what’s right even when everyone else makes you feel insane. They want you to cave, they want a reaction. You dont need to fight it but you need to keep yourself safe which includes protecting your values.

Also last thing if you’re still here. Deadass, everyone just watch rogue one. and have a good cry about it.

For me, watching it again and i was reminded how there really isn’t a movie that has made me want to kill myself (compliment) like rogue one. I don’t love the movie because it was made by disney star wars, i love it for what it was on its own and what it meant to me. If something is going to even COMPARE to that feeling it gives me, it sure as fuck not going to be a hyperflop anti-women fanfic youtube series. It all becomes so small when i’m reminded that a character like jyn was even a possibility.