#me posting more than once in the span of a few days

[remxedmoon]

your friends don’t know what to do.

so!! i redrew every single enemy in the game. in the span of like 9 days (excluding the king i made him right after the last update). that’s abbbout 79* drawings total, with only 3 custom ones for once!! i’m so normal. as always, these are free to use with credit!! go nuts!! spritesheets are included <3

got some notes under the cut, along with As Many Enemies As I Could Fit without making this post obnoxiously long. and i failed. i had to swap between the app and browser several times and i still couldn’t fit every drawing. open this post at your own risk (silly).

okay so first of all. what’s with the asterisk. well. I Drew A Lot More Than 79 Assets Actually. they’re getting posted separately, because this post is ABSURDLY long. you can find most of them in the miscellaneous folder, but for a bit of clarity, i added the teleport map and a bunch of ui elements that reference sprites from the icon sheet. and also the game over and loop back animations but i haven’t finished the spritesheets for those because they’re a pain in the ass so they’re not in the drive yet

if you missed my complaining a few days ago, a few enemies might look a bit crunchy in the actual game? specifically, calamité and désespoir were drawn at the wrong size, because their images in the files do not match the spritesheets! i avoided the issue with most of the other enemies, those two just blindsided me. sorry about that!

^sadnesses having inconsistent designs was actually a running theme with these. détresse rock has an unused design in the files (which i managed to catch before having to redo it thankfully), anxiété has extra spikes that don’t appear on the spritesheet (sorry i was too lazy to fix that one), even the version of the friend rescue in the files doesn’t match any of the frames in the spritesheet. hfjfhfj. sorry about the quality issues.

tangentially related to that, massive thank you to @riggedbones for grabbing the individual frames for the animations for me!! they made my life so much easier. vs friends would’ve been so annoying…

speaking of the animations! hi can you tell i’m not an animator. these were my first time doing Anything animation related since, like, middle school. super sorry for the Jank in some of these! the friend rescue looked way better when i drew it 💔💔.

bourdon’s hands also might act a bit odd, my apologies. the sizing ingame is SUPER inconsistent (why is one of the hands SMALLER than the other????). once i’m able to actually test the mod, i’ll try to fix it wauaua.

the 3 custom sprites are for the triplets! i ended up making two versions for each, one that follows the ingame art, and one with my personal designs for them. i like my own designs for them, but they’re a lot easier to tell apart? so if you want to use the ones that fit the gimmick better, they’re also in the drive 👍

this update. was originally going to have way more custom art. i’ve actually got an act 6 siffrin enemy asset in my art program! but school started and i decided it’d be better to just get the normal stuff done. so the mod can actually come out in a reasonable timeframe. promise that’ll all come out Later! sorry about the wait 😓😓😓

also adding this because i almost forgot: no i don’t know if these are compatible with sasasaap. i don’t have the game still and it’s not my main priority atm, apologies!

okay! that was a lot! and there’s a ton of art down here! thank you for reading all this, i’ll be back with the game over animations and teleport map pretty soon! like. within the weekend. enjoy!!!

[pa1nrema1ns]

You've Seen the Butcher || Sung Jin-woo Headcanons (18+ MDNI)

Featuring: fluff, smut, and the lingerie he loves most on you

You slowly enter 'Cause you know my room And then you crawl your knees off And then you shake my tomb

A/N: I've been meaning to make a thirst/shameless smut post for this scrumptious man, and his appearance in the last episode finally gave me the push to do it. As always, please be mindful of the content warnings listed below.

༺♡༻ Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

༺♡༻ Lingerie set images from @martysimone

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, shameless smut, body worship, praise, slight degradation, afab!reader, A-rankhealer!reader, established relationship, feral!Jin-woo

Sets featured (top left to bottom right): 1.) Agent Provocateur | Dianah in leavers lace + crystals | Spring Summer 2024, 2.) I.D. Sarrieri | Venetian Glass in Blue Jeans embroidered tulle + silk, 3.) Dita Von Teese | Victresse in Kingfisher Blue satin + embroidered tulle, 4.) Dita Von Teese | Rosewyn black + green embroidery on tulle + velvet straps + finishes

Dungeons are harsh, unforgiving landscapes devoid of warmth or light. There was no room for error in these dangerous outliers. Even attempting an "easy" raid in a D-rank gate can come at the cost of your life. The double dungeon incident was more than enough proof of that. Due to the unpredictability in their line of work, many hunters simply could not afford the luxury of a love life much less a committed relationship. Sung Jin-woo was one such hunter.

As the man once mocked as being the “weakest hunter of all mankind”, he had more than his fair share of life stressors: a father who's been missing and presumed dead for the last ten years, a sick mother whose hospital bills would’ve totaled in the billions of won if not for the Hunters Association, and being the sole provider for his hardworking and studious little sister. Compound all this by him nearly dying every day and it was easy to see how romance was furthest thing from Jin-woo’s mind.

And then you stepped into his life –

Prior to entering a relationship, you and Jin-woo were fellow hunters who embarked on many of the same raids together. Despite being an A-rank healer, you chose to frequent E- and D-rank gates to render aid to those in need. Many of your peers sneered at your actions deeming them to be beneath a hunter of your caliber. But you paid them no heed. You enjoyed being able to use your mage craft to help others.

You're constantly crossing paths with Jin-woo because of how often he’s injured. He's never left a raid without at least one broken bone, a nasty gash, or some other form of bodily harm. Yet no matter how grievous his wounds are, he’s always coming back to participate in more raids. You can’t help but feel for the young man especially after witnessing his sheer grit and determination. You find Jin-woo's strength of will to be admirable and in your opinion he's far more courageous than most of the A- and S-ranks you’re acquainted with.

You tend to be very hands-on when it comes to healing Jin-woo: cradling his head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair, and speaking in soothing voice to distract him from the pain. He was just so vulnerable like this; you couldn’t help but coddle him. Within the span of a few weeks, you became comfortable enough around Jin-woo to share the intimacies of your life with him. And he did as well. Ironically it’s in a dungeon of all places that a deep emotional connection develops. It isn't long before your mutual friendship progresses into something more.

Unfortunately, the former E-rank was too insecure at the time to act on his feelings. It’s not until he acquires the system and starts leveling up that he becomes confident enough to confess to you. The radiant smile that blossoms across your face and the sensation of your soft lips molding against his has Jin-woo mentally kicking himself for not doing this sooner. He’d only had a small taste but he was already addicted to you.

It's only after he falls in love that Jin-woo discovers his appreciation of lingerie.

He's never given much thought to women’s undergarments before. Sure, the intricate patterns of tulle, silk, and lace appealed to the eye, but Jin-woo much prefers you bared in all your naked glory. To the reawakened hunter there was nothing more gorgeous than the sight of your lush body writhing in ecstasy as he fucks you into oblivion.

Jin-woo absolutely adores fucking you. He just can't get enough of his pretty girl. He'll make you cum repeatedly until your mind melts and you're completely consumed by pleasure. The man revels in your softness, delights in your cute moans and sighs. Hell, he’d spend all of eternity with his head buried between your thighs if you'd let him. Jin-woo wants to drown in you and your perfect little cunt.

Making love to Jin-woo is an otherworldly experience. He's the most selfless and giving partner you've ever had, bar none. Part of this can be attributed to his high perception stat. It enables him to be fully attuned to all your sexual needs and desires. He can even sense when you're ovulating, and it’s at the peak of your fertility when your normally gentle and considerate lover becomes downright insatiable.

Running his calloused hands all over your smooth thighs while he spreads them apart. Grunting rough and low into your ear when he sees just how much of "wet and needy little slut" you are for him. Sinking his deft fingers into the fat of your hips as he bounces you up and down on his cock at a frantic pace. Every delicious drag of his thick cockhead has your eyes rolling back into your skull and pressure continuously mounts in the pit of your stomach. He's hitting all your best spots just right causing you to keen and arch against him. And just as your climax washes over you he silences your cries with his lips, kissing you to completion.

Although he can be incredibly rough with you at times, Jin-woo always ensures you receive an ample amount of body worship and after care. You’re the most cherished person in his life after all. You were there for him when he was at his lowest point. A source of solace in a world filled with violence, deception, and betrayal. How could he not treat you with the utmost reverence?

As you come down from your high, Jin-woo gently caresses your inner thighs with his hands, trailing a path of feather-light kisses from your ankles to your calves and all the way up to your hips. He then brings his face towards your soaked pussy, still puffy and swollen from being ravished earlier. Jin-woo smirks and shoots a smoldering gaze at you.

“Want me to kiss it better, pretty girl?”

Your only response is to stroke his mussed-up hair and push him directly into your cunt. Liquid heat courses through your veins as Jin-woo lavishes attention on your core. You almost tumble off the bed when he abruptly takes your aching clit into his mouth and sucks hard on it. At this rate he’d be making you cum for the sixth time that evening.

Throughout his ministrations a ceaseless stream of praise falls from his lips in between wet smacks and groans.

“You’re doing so good, so fucking good for me sweetheart.”

“You needed this, didn’t you pretty girl? Big strong hands all over your body and that perfect little pussy.”

“You’re gonna cum? Go ahead and cum then, sweetheart. Take what you need, yeah. Take what you fucking need.”

“Mhm –  yeah, that’s it! Cum all over my tongue! Good girl, perfect fucking girl!”

Suffice to say the man is enamored with every last inch of you. The very idea of impeding your mouthwatering curves with flimsy pieces of fabric seems like a crime against nature to Jin-woo.

After a series of particularly grueling raids, Jin-woo wants nothing more than to return home, wash away the day’s frustrations in a hot shower, and fall asleep with you in his arms. You had other ideas, however.

A sudden vibration from his phone catches his attention. When he retrieves the device from his pocket, he's greeted by a text from you with an image attached to it. Shit, he forgot to call or text you as soon as he closed the gate! Jin-woo hadn't been able to stay in contact while traversing through dungeons due to the interference from their magical energy, so he always made sure to reach out to you as soon as he was back. He must've been so tired that it slipped his mind. He'd also been gone longer than he intended to. Dammit, you were probably worried about him...

When he opens your text, he expects you to have sent a short message to check in on him like you usually do in these situations. However, there's only the attached image. The moment Jin-woo takes in what's seeing, he nearly ends up crushing his phone from how hard he was gripping it. The text contained a picture of you, dressed to kill in a royal blue lingerie set. Your body was splayed out provocatively over the king-sized bed you both shared. Jin-woo finds himself at an utter loss for words. You were just stunning, like sex incarnate.

An embroidered bra comprised of tulle and silk cups your supple breasts, accentuating their beauty. The matching garter belt and thong are equally flattering, trailing across the dips and curves of your figure like running water. Kohl rimmed eyes and rouge lips round out your sumptuous appearance, making you even more beguiling. Jin-woo feels as if he's been enraptured by an enchantress; he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Unable to bear being apart from you for another second, he performs a hasty Shadow Exchange with the high orc appointed as your bodyguard.

A coy smile tugs at your lips as you see Jin-woo manifest behind you from the top of your vanity mirror. His timing was impeccable, you had just finished touching up your make up. He all but pounces on you before you even have the chance to turn around. Jin-woo captures your lips in a flurry of hot, open mouthed kisses. His hands grope and wander all over your form, pinching and teasing your nipples through the sheer material of your bra. You moan and tilt your head back, granting him access to the column of your neck. You chuckle breathlessly as he mouths against the tender flesh.

"I take it you liked my surprise for you, huh Jin-woo?"

"Mhm," Jin-woo hums as he leaves a small love bite under your ear, "I loved it. You're the hottest thing I've ever seen, sweetheart. I couldn't last another moment without having my lips on your skin. Fuck, how did I get to be so lucky?"

You wrap your arms around the back of his broad shoulders and lean forward to whisper seductively in his ear.

"It's been so long since I've had you, Jin-woo. Please, don't stop. I need you inside of me."

He pulls his head back, and the look he sends you almost causes your knees to buckle. His eyes have taken on a beautiful amethyst hue and there's a voracious hunger in them. You felt like a rabbit staring into the gaze of a wolf, and it thrilled you. You loved when Jin-woo got like this – completely unhinged and feral for you.

He effortlessly hoists you over his shoulder and tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll. It knocks the wind out of you, and you can only stare up at him as he begins to remove his shirt, his eyes never once leaving yours. You drink in his appearance as more and more tantalizing skin is revealed. The muscles of his chest and abdomen are drawn taught, and his biceps flex and bulge when they come into view. Your legs spread automatically at the sight, and Jin-woo proceeds to pin you to the bed, unable to control his lust any longer. You feel yourself sinking into the abyss as he has his wicked way with you. Neither of you end up leaving the room for the next three days.

From that point on, Jin-woo made sure to fill your wardrobe with multiple sets of expensive lingerie. He was finally beginning to understand the appeal of an S-rank hunter's exorbitant salary. One would think Jin-woo would be drawn to darker, more mature pieces that matched his tenebrous aura. But his taste in lingerie was very much the polar opposite.

Teal, sky blue, navy blue, and neutral shades of green, beige and white are his favorite colors on you. He's also obsessed with garters, sheer material, and lace. Nothing gets Jin-woo more fired up than seeing his girl all dolled up. You're a goddess in his eyes and you only deserve the best.

[likelysobbing]

walk with me now, juju and her gf arguing because juju hasn’t been around lately and reader gets tired of it, and they’ve been ignoring each since so to get her mind off of things her bsf takes her out to a party or smth, juju finds out and is mad because reader didn’t tell her where she was going, and a other stuff but idk what

𖥻 COLD COUCH. juju watkins x reader

reblogs + comments are more appreciated than likes.

synopsis: juju’s absence leaves nothing but a cold couch you wake up to and a hole in your heart that you try to fill—lucky for you, your girlfriend has common sense.

notes: hi lovely! i’m so sorry i got to this request so late, i thank you for your patience. juju and the reader don’t necessarily ignore eachother for long, but they definitely don’t speak for long enough to be concerned!!! this all happens in the span of one day because me thinks juju would never leave you with a heavy heart for too long… unless it’s toxic juju. but this isn’t toxic juju nonono … but anyways !!! i did my best to make your vision come true and i hope you enjoy it <3

cw: arguing, juju is a tiny bit conceited but guys she’s a celebrity, partying, reader drinks alcohol but not to the point it’s detrimental, kind of fast paced because i’m using dividers, reader and juju are both down bad in their own ways

juju has shit to do.

it can’t be helped, and you know that. she’s juju watkins— the face of women’s collegiate basketball, with multiple awards to show for it. but juju, in all ten months and fourteen days of being your girlfriend, has never once missed a date. she made sure to make time for you, always showing up and going an extra mile: flowers, ironed outfits, an extra clean car even though it’s already clean, and most of all—the biggest smile on her face. you loved that part the most; the telling sign she was happy to see you, to spend time with you, to relax.

you haven’t seen that smile in a while. that’s usually what occurs when you date a D1 athlete with like 20 NIL deals.

you haven’t seen that smile in a long time.

you thought you would be able to. you had texted juju two weeks ahead of time telling her to keep herself free today, tonight, and you had tore the internet apart finding the best recipes—subsequently ending up with a splitting headache from looking at the directions too much to make sure you followed them perfectly. perfect; that’s what you wanted this night to be. you’d greet juju with a kiss to her cheek and a tight hug, then you’d eat dinner, then you’d watch a movie, you’d cuddle— juju would fall asleep first, hopefully, and then you’d steal her hoodie because she always took off her hoodies whenever she wanted to cuddle with you. she’d pretend she didn’t know you stole it, and she’d leave the next morning feeling lighter in more ways than one. the first because she didn't have her hoodie on, and the second because you soothed her enough to, for once, just stay in the present.

you hoped you’d be able to bring her the peace you knew she deserved. you set up the table, and even had the blankets and pillows all ready. infact? netflix’s searchbar was already waiting—and as you plated juju’s portion of the dinner you hoped you cooked right, the only thing you were waiting for was juju.

juju, who should’ve been here by now.

did she get caught up in traffic? she should’ve texted about that. she hasn’t texted you at all today.

she hasn’t texted you a lot in general these past few weeks.

you sit on the edge of your kitchen counter despite the chair you already pulled out being right infront of you, because a part of you— your heart—does not want to sit alone. you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, until a notification snaps you out of your zone. it’s juju.

juju posted something on her story—another common mainstream logo in your face directly confirming it’s some sort of brand deal— and... wait, why would she be posting about brand deals? isn’t she supposed to be on her way to you right now? she said she’d be able to make it.

you search for answers.

you find out it wasn’t just a brand deal, but a brand trip. juju’s not even in the same area code as you right now. juju’s away.

you call her the moment that it clicks.

the phone rings for way too long, and you count the seventh ring before she picks up with an exasperated, “what? what is it?”

you don’t speak.

she repeats your name, impossibly more exasperated: “what is it? i’m on a cruise right now—“

“your food is cold.” you say, simply. there is silence on the other line and you don’t know if it is from realization and subsequent guilt, or complete and utter apathy. you don’t want it to be the latter. you don’t speak any more.

judea’s voice comes out on the other end of the line. it’s slow, low, and barely apologetic. “i had a last minute offer.”

“and you didn’t think to tell them you weren’t free today? tonight? because you would be— or you were meant to be having dinner with your girlfriend?” you reply, snappy, your sweaty hand gripping your already-heating-up phone too tight. you’re exasperated, obviously. you saw juju mark this date on her calendar app— she had it labelled ‘date with my baby’ with three exclamation marks. god forbid you believe she’s genuinely eager to see you.

you hear her click her tongue on the other line. “i warned you about shit like this,” she responds, her tone more angry than exasperated—more uncaring than the (barely) apologetic tone you previously heard.

“i scheduled this with you two weeks in advance, ju,” you countered, “don’t give me that excuse. don’t- don’t even give me excuses.” you choke on your words, simultaneously choking on your own pride. you wait. she speaks again, and it’s another excuse.

you go back and forth.

“i just haven’t seen you in a while, and i missed you,” you say,

“i’ve been busy, you know how it is,” she replies,

“but you promised you’d be able to make it.”

“see now, i didn’t promise—“

“you said you’d be able to make it, juju.” you interrupt.

“yeah, and i just got … sidetracked.”

sidetracked?

sidetracked?

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“you know what i mean, ma,” she murmured,

“no. i don’t. you said you could come last week— but now you’re not even here because of a last minute offer. am i being put to the side now?” your response is curt, and by now, things get noticeably more tense.

“god, can you stop doing that?” juju says on the other end.

“doing what? i’m just saying the truth—“ you tried to reason, because— side tracked? did she mean she put you on the sidelines? what did she mean? more importantly, what else could she possibly mean?

“it’s not always about you.” juju says, finally.

she’s right, and you say so.

“you’re right,” you say, voice breaking. “it’s not always about me. that’s why i haven’t been texting that much, or asking to hang out,” you begin, “or asking for too much,” there’s a lump in your throat, and a crack in your heart, but you press on. “because i know you’ve been busy. but juju, you said you’d be—“

“and now i can’t.” her voice cuts, her tone cutting. juju isn’t yelling, but her voice is low and outright cruel when she says your name— she says it as if it disgusts her to say, and when you hear her on the other end, your ears start to ring.

“i’m a fucking celebrity,” she continues, “i can’t be at your beck and call immediately when you say,”

“that’s why i scheduled you two weeks in—“ you tried to interrupt,

“yeah, and this brand's been eyeing me for way longer—come on, i couldn’t flake out on a deal like this. they asked for whenever i was available, and tonight was really the only night because it was just you—“

you end the call.

it’s just you, she says. it’s just you. juju obviously doesn’t want your company, doesn’t she?

it can be just her now.

you eat your plate alone. it’s still warm, but that doesn’t mean it’s good; the call with juju left a bad taste in your mouth. now juju’s plate is in the fridge labelled as leftovers you’ll probably never eat. you remove the extra pillow from your couch and use both blankets for yourself, playing another episode of your favorite show, tuning out the entire night despite hoping with all of your heart that you’ll have missed calls and texts from juju when you next check your phone.

you feel the lump in your throat still. you swallow it.

you wake up in the morning on the same couch, and you shiver at how cold it is. juju usually brought you the warmth.

you check your phone and you can’t swallow the lump anymore.

there are no notifications. your friend, bree, texted you about some party and how all her ���fyne shyts’ were coming, but you could barely read the rest of the text because of how blurry your eyes were.

there were no calls. there were no texts.

not from her.

there was only silence, and it sent you into a spiral.

bree opens the door with the extra house key you gave her and a single knock to see you slumped across your couch completely and utterly miserable. you look at her, and she looks at you—bree, psychology major, miss know it all, looks at you and instantly knows.

“trouble in paradise?”

you burst into tears. bree’s kitten heels clack on your floor as she sits next to you and places your head in her lap, urging you to vent it out. “it’s good to get stuff like this out, hun,” she murmurs, “i’m saying this as a future therapist.”

you, three minutes into your wailing, will yourself to calm down for a moment— usually, when bree says that, it means she has something else to say, but “as my friend?”

your hunch is correct. bree tilts her head and looks down at your very miserable form curled up into a fetal position. “i say we get wasted tonight.”

“okay.”

that’s how you’re here now.

the bass is booming in your ears, and usually you’d leave solely because it’d make your head hurt—but right now, your heart hurts more. you could care less about the head ache you know you’ll get. you’re free right now. your phone’s charged, your arm is entwined with bree’s, and with every click of your heels you grow livelier. eyes flutter towards you by instinct, and they stay on you—you’re not wearing anything given to you by juju. this is your dress, these are your heels, and this is your jewelry— everyone seems to get the message.

tonight, you speak for yourself.

you’re bound to judea, but she isn’t pulling her leash, so you’ll stray. you’ll stray far, until she either lets go or you choke yourself.

bree looks at you with a soft smile, and tells you to drink safe knowing you’ll get absolutely knackered whether or not you drink. she pinky promises not to separate from you.

the gods may not have blessed you with a good week, but they’ve blessed you with a good friend.

she keeps the promise.

three hours in, and your heels are already off and in your hands, and you’re three drinks in, and you’re dancing, and bree has her arm around you and is singing the lyrics to the hollywood undead song playing. you are on top of the world but the ache has not subsided.

you’re sober enough to know you can’t drink the ache away.

so you choose to dance longer.

until your feet ache even more than your head, and your head aches more than your heart— until your legs are numb and your right hand is tired from holding your heels. but somehow, the ache, as small as it should be, is still the one you feel the most.

you don’t stop dancing.

the police crash through the back door.

you run straight for the front, with bree hot on your heel, and an unfinished cup of coca-cola and… something mixed into it, and your heels. the ice in the glass cup is melted so you throw it into the patch of grass near you. bree ends up more wasted than you are, and she, giggly, says that you watered the plants. you have no idea how she saw water in your cup when it was legit an abyss of dark brown... you know, the coca cola color? but maybe that’s why she’s more drunk than you.

the campus is not far from this party. you don’t mind walking barefoot. bree can crash at your place tonight, you owe her this much.

you are so focused on looking forward, as if there is any hope left for you, and keeping bree steady, that you don’t really pay attention to the fact that there’s a car coming up right behind you, who probably went over the speed limit just to. you also don’t notice when the car lowers it’s passenger seat window.

but you do notice when juju yells your name from the drivers seat.

your head whips around so fast you nearly drop bree, who’s taken to being slung across your shoulder. “what the fuc— juju? juju, it’s—“

“yeah, yeah i do know what time it is, genius. get in the goddamn car.” she snaps, unlocking the door as you open the backseat to gently place bree in. you get into the passengers seat next to juju.

she looks worried sick.

it’s three minutes into the car ride when the lyft that juju apparently called, and paid, for bree whisks her away from the two of you—and it’s four minutes in that you stay in complete silence out of your own shock.

in the empty car, as you drive to what you recognize is not the way to your dormitory but to juju’s apartment— you muster up the courage to break it.

“how are you here?” your voice is soft.

juju doesn’t answer for a good while, but when she does, her voice is impossibly softer.

“i have your location.”

“that's not what i meant. i thought you still had the brand trip.”

“i left early.”

“what?” you say, incredulously. juju doesn’t say anything. she parks, and then she gets out of the car—and before you can even open your door, she’s already helping you out. as you walk? you pry for answers.

“juju, i don’t think you can do that—“

“i’m a celebrity, i can do .. basically? anything.”

“juju.” you scoff. “you’re not serious. it’s just me—“

“it’s not.” juju interrupts this time, so firm it makes you lose your track of mind— her hand, once wrapped around your wrist, lowers itself and softens its grip. it intertwines with your fingers. “it’s not just you.” she repeats, visibly regretting her choices of words last night. “it’s you. you get it?”

“truthfully, no.”

“bro—I,” juju stutters, chokes even, on her own words, fumbling like she’s fumbling with the keys to her apartment right now—“i mean that…” she restarts, “i mean that i’m sorry, okay?”

you stand still in your pretty dress and high heels. you stand frozen until she pulls you in. she closes the door and she takes your face into her hands, and her palms are warm, and she is warm.

warmth. that’s what you were missing.

the ache disappears.

and then you start crying.

“you’re such a fucking asshole sometimes.”

“oh, baby,” juju immediately coos. “i know,” she says, pulling you into her chest, her right hand stroking your head while her left hand pulls you in close by the waist. “i’m sorry.” she whispers. “i’m so sorry, baby. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry. i got my common sense back, yeah? i’m here now. i’m here, baby—please don’t cry.” she whispers. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she repeats, sinking down to the floor with you—“i got you gifts, ma?” she offers. “got you so many gifts.”

“i just wanted you.” you say through a rather pathetic voice crack.

it only makes juju even more apologetic.

“i’m so fucking sorry baby. i’ll make it up to you, okay? i’ll make it up to you. come onn, prettiest girl—“ she whispers, kissing your temple, smoothing down your hair and getting it out of your face. you finally look up, still mad but not able to resist her—and you breath a shaky sigh.

“there she is,” juju says anyway, because the fact you’re looking at her is progress. “my girl.” she continues, “my girl who set up a whole dinner for me, set it all up for me, my girl who worked so hard— my girl who missed me s’much—shhh, baby, i’m here, i’m here,”

you find yourself squeezing tighter. she’s here now. that’s all you've really wanted.

she ends up cleaning you up, putting you in what she knows is your favorite hoodie (hers), carrying you, bridal style, to her couch—wraps you up in a little blanket burrito and places you on her chest where she can kiss your forehead easy. this time, she has netflix opened and ready—and she knows exactly what to have you guys watch: your favorite show that you’ve watched over seventy times, but can’t seem to get tired of.

your eyes are blown wide, focused entirely on snuggling into her hoodie and at the show you’re watching, and you’re too lost in your own post-party, post-argument, post-bad week bliss that you don’t notice juju spends every second looking at you.

you just know that it’s warm.

her hands are wrapped around you, and she’s so warm. and she’s saying sorry. and her voice is soft and it makes you sleepy.

so you close your eyes, and you start to fall harder for her, and simultaneously start to fall asleep.

there is no ache anymore. and you know it is not okay yet, but it will be.

but for now, the awareness that you will not wake up to a cold, empty couch—that's enough.

@likelysobbing.

[st4rr-girrl]

Stranger

M.R

Summary; You thought Mattheo was different, but he’s just like everyone else.

Warnings; swearing, mentions of sex, nsfw, underage smoking & drinking, angst. Douchebag Mattheo.

Inspired by Stranger - By Jhene Aiko

I ain’t posted in hella long im sorry if u thought I was dead xox 🥰🥰😘💋💋💋

Pt 2

We at 700+ followers yall!! I love u guys 🥺🥺💋❤️❤️

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

You tried to ignore the familiar feeling you would get each time you were around Mattheo. The stinging that tickled your irises each time you started to view him in a new light, each time you saw everybody else in his features.

Why was this such a common occurrence during the span of your relationship? You and Mattheo never talked, and if you did- it was only in bed. It was exhausting and you couldn't deny that.

He was starting to look more and more like the people who had used you in the past. The ones who discarded your well-being for their own sick pleasure. You stared at him from across the Slytherin table, an inexplainable sadness etched onto your tired features.

Mattheo was the last person you expected to turn out like a copy and paste of your past experiences.

It wasn’t always like this. He used to be lovingly attentive, affectionate and gentle with you.

He noticed your gaze, his brow arching in silent question. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, forcing your eyes off of him. He shrugged dismissively, recentering his attention to the conversation he was in the midst of.

What hurt even more, was the fact that you had told him about the others. Every single one of them that he had promised you he wasn’t like. And you trusted him.

But he lied.

He didn’t care. He never did. And if that information wasn’t crystal clear, you didn’t know what was.

Daphne nudged your side, her brows furrowing in concern as she scanned your melancholic features. “You alright, lovely?” She asked gently.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quieter and shakier than you had intended— blinking back the tears that threatened to escape your glossy eyes. “I’m okay.”

She gave you an unbelieving look, but decided against being pushy. “Okay, babe. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” She offered a soft smile, her brows furrowing.

“Sure,” you replied, a grateful tone to your voice as you nodded.

She went back to chatting with Pansy, and you found your regretfully longing gaze flickering back to Mattheo. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Because it did. It hurt so bad.

He wasn’t paying you any mind, blatantly unconcerned despite the sadness he found in your expression. He boasted about something or other to Theo and Blaise— both of the boys watching him verbally show off in amusement. Usually, you would have been fond of the sight. He was an idiot, but he was your idiot. Or— well, he was.

It was routine for you now. This wasn’t your first rodeo— you knew how this worked.

So, the same night— when he laid you down in your dorm room, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. Not that he cared, or anything.

And when he left, you lied in bed— your gaze locked onto the ceiling. You’d lazily thrown a t-shirt and underwear back on— Mattheo nowhere to be seen. He didn’t even have the decency to stay back and make sure you were okay, and help clean you up. Not like he used to, anyways.

The hickeys and bite marks littering your skin were a constant reminder of what once was. Shame engulfed your body, an all too familiar feeling.

You couldn’t control the tears beginning to spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks in a rapid manner. You broke down, your body wracking with sobs— burying your face into a pillow to muffle said sobs.

When your roommates walked in, Daphne and Pansy, they immediately saw your state— rushing to your sides and consoling you as you fell apart. They shared a worried glance, knowing exactly what— or in this case, who— caused this.

Over the next few days, you’d been avoiding him. Daphne and Pansy both covered for you, giving Mattheo bullshit and half assed excuses as to why you couldn’t see him.

But, it’s not like he was actively searching for you, anyways.

You thought you were indifferent to this by now. You wanted to be. But you actually trusted him this time, you loved him.

But as you stared at him from across the Potions classroom, watching as he flirted shamelessly with girls who hung onto his every word— you knew you’d never become accustomed to the hurt and pain that followed betrayal.

You knew you had to cut things off, and that’s exactly what you did. You couldn’t allow yourself to mope around aimlessly for any longer.

After class, you pulled him into an empty hallway and went off— cussing him out in an emotion fueled rant. He got what he wanted, and he no longer needed you. He made that very obvious.

He replied with a simple, “okay,” before turning and disappearing down the hallway. You watched as he left, the sound of your heart shattering echoing throughout your own ears.

———-

[yammpi3]

𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙆𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙞 [𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙠𝙨]

synopsis. You were a former hero commission hero but when you made a simple mistake in a mission the commission sent you on they deemed you unfit and fired you, hence made you out to be a villain to the public. A few years later you meet your old partner Hawks out on his nightly patrol then you guys make up….made out .. :3

— content warnings. sorta plot with smut, eating out, p to v, kissing, sex sex sex, not really coordinated well? i think? dom/sub hawks

— W.C 2.3k

— authors note. This has been rotting in my drafts for like a year now but i thought i should post something…so..heres this!! Im rlly sorry if it’s formatted kinda weirdly, imo the smut is also written sorta weird but i think thats just me..overthinking it ANYWAYS enjoy reading <33 also Thank you FOR 100 FOLLOWERS?? i didn’t expect my blog would reach that much so TYTY.

Hawks sighed heavily, leaning back in his office desk chair, elbows propping on the armrests. He rubbed his tired eyes, tilting his head back, attempting to avoid eye contact with the stack of paperwork that lay out before him.

Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion. It felt like he had been sitting in this same spot for days, poring over reports and documents in an endless cycle of busy work. As the number-two hero, the public demanded nothing but his very best. They expected him to always be alert and swift in responding to any crisis, dealing with volatile situations and dangerous villains with calm precision. 

But they didn't see this part. They didn't witness the countless late nights spent filling out forms, compiling statistics, and attending meetings after meetings. No cameras captured the headaches induced by mind-numbing bureaucracy or the frustration of dealing with petty politics. This was the hidden cost of his elevated rank—an incessant paper-pushing grindstone that wore him down more than any actual fight ever could. 

 

Slowly dragging his hands down his face, Hawks sighed again as the aches and knots of tension complained loudly in his neck and shoulders. For a brief moment, he considered using his feathers to shred just a few stray documents, to do less work. 

He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his tense muscles, his wings fluttering restlessly behind him. All he wanted at that moment was to forget. To spread his wings and fly through open skies, feeling the wind ruffle through his feathers as he left his troubles far below.

 

Tilting his chair back as far as it would go, he gave a long-suffering look at the piles of work that towered precariously around him, silently pleading with it all to spontaneously catch fire or simply vanish into thin air. With a resigned sigh, Hawks dropped all four chair legs back to the floor and reluctantly pulled the topmost file towards him once more, bracing himself for another grind of the ever-turning wheel.

Hawks rubbed his tired eyes once more, feeling his motivation drain away with each mundane paragraph he read. At this rate, he'd be here all night and well into the morning. With a groan, he tossed the file back onto the pile, temporarily defeated. Maybe a quick break was what he needed to recharge his focus. 

 

Pushing away from his desk, Hawks stood and stretched out his cramped body to its full height, his wings unfolding to their full span. A midnight flight around the city was just what he needed. The cool night air and darkened streets would do wonders for clearing his cluttered mind. 

Stepping out onto his office balcony, Hawks took a few steps back, then launched himself into the sky with his wings. He flew high, circling up towards the crowning heights of the skyscrapers that shone below. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath of the fresher air, feeling tensions beginning to melt away already. 

 

As he glided back down towards street level, Hawks scanned the sidewalks lazily while lost in thought. He was mulling over the options when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. 

Your shadow slipped between alleyways, scanning for any civilians in the area. Suddenly flashes of red nearing a rooftop drew your eye—a familiar winged silhouette.

Going on a nearby rooftop, you spotted Hawks looking down, trying to find who or what he saw. 

You and Hawks used to know each other pretty well in your teen years when you dreamed of being a great hero. So when you were selected by  the Commission to become one, you were ecstatic. But from day one, Keigo Takami made things... complicated.

You two went way back to your training days, though you mostly kept your head down back then. Once in the pro scene though, Takami always found ways to rile you up during sessions, whether with sly taunts or risky stunts that pushed protocol to the limit. 

Part of you wanted to throttle that arrogant asshole, but another part couldn't deny the thrill he made you feel. 

Late nights spent training turned into more..private scenarios. For a time, it was nice to find solace in each other. But then came the ruling—you'd been deemed "not hero material" after one mistake, ruining your future. That's when Takami tried to connect with you again, but the hero commission wouldn't even allow him to be close to you to not damage the reputation he already made with the public. 

"You're up rather late for a hero," you whispered directly into his ear, barely suppressing a chuckle at his startled flinch. Golden eyes met yours warily, yet he made no move to escape our intimate embrace. 

"I'm off duty," was his measured reply. "And you?" Smoke clung thick to the memories in his eyes. 

Your fingers, carefully gloved, traced the proud arch of his wings, feeling tension bleed away slowly. "Care for some company, Keigo?"

He held your gaze steadily, considering. At last he nodded, extending a hand. “Not that I can shake you off anyway,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You sat together on the secluded rooftop, settling close against one another. As you caught up, you both couldn't help but feel deprived of each other's touch; it had been far too long since you'd seen one another face to face. Sure, he'd heard about you through others in the commission, but being here together was different somehow. 

When your voices at last fell silent, a gentle touch turned your chin to meet Hawks' searching eyes. "Y/N…" he murmured, leaning in so your faces were mere inches apart. One of his wings stretched out to block any view from the street below, enveloping you both in its feathery embrace. 

Hawks closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft yet insistent kiss.

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, as the other wrapped around your waist to draw you flush against his body. You felt even better than he remembered. 

 

When your lips parted under him, Hawks held back a groan as he rested his forehead against yours as you both panted for air. Wisps of steam rose between the two of you in the chill night. 

If he tasted you fully, it would undo his last shred of willpower.

“You're going to be the end of me.." Hawks murmured thickly. Already, he ached to have more, but taking you here against the railing would be too brazen, even for his recklessness. 

"Then take me somewhere more...private then," you shot back in a sinful whisper. 

With a sly smile, Hawks swept you into his arms in a bridal carry, wings already prepared for launch. "Hold on tight.”

 

Hawks kicked off from the roof of the building and took flight, relishing your tight grip around his shoulders. The thrill of having you in his arms sent adrenaline surging through his veins. 

He landed lightly on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, still holding you securely against his chest. Your masked face was turned up to meet his gaze.

"I.. I really missed you," Hawks murmured, pressing you back against the wall with his body. He caged you in with outspread wings, feathers gently ghosting your skin. 

 

"Me too.." you replied. Your hands came up to roam his body just as eagerly.

Hawks captured your lips in a searing kiss, conveying all his pent-up needs and desires without restraint. This was wrong on so many levels, and yet he'd never felt more alive. 

 

Kicking open the balcony doors, he swept you inside and laid you down on his plush sofa. His hands worked busily to remove your mask, wanting nothing between you and him; clothing fell piece by piece until nothing was left. 

 

"Say you want this," Hawks pleaded roughly, desperate for your answer. 

Your intoxicating laughter rang out as you pulled him against your body. "I want all of you, Keigo." 

Hawks' hands roamed your body eagerly, relearning every curve as his lips traveled along your jawline. You sighed contentedly, arching into his touch while undoing the fastenings of his hero costume with practiced expertise. 

 

Slowly, methodically, he kissed his way down the delicate column of your throat. Hawks lingered there to suckle your rapid pulse, eliciting breathy moans. His name falling from your lips in such a manner sent fresh spikes of arousal through him.

 

As you lay bare under him, Hawks paused to simply take in the sublime vision of your naked form, illuminated by the moonlight. "You're so..beautiful," he whispered in awe, tracing idle patterns upon your sensitized flesh.

 

Your hands delved into the downy feathers at his wings' bases, eliciting a guttural groan. The way you caressed his most sensitive areas, teasing but not quite enough, tested Hawks' faltering control. He nipped lightly at the swell of your breast in retaliation.

Tracing a tortuous path down your torso with wet kisses and love bites, Hawks' fingers dipped between your thighs. He chuckled at discovering your slick arousal, already swollen and desperate for friction. Slowly, he circled your clit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers.

 

"Please..." you begged wantonly, bucking your hips to chase more contact. But Hawks would loathe to grant your unspoken request so easily. He continued his maddening ministrations, coaxing you higher and higher with expert precision. Only when your keening cries bordered on anguish did he finally decide to sink two fingers deep inside.

 

The powerful rhythm he set drove you swiftly towards the peak. Hawks swallowed your hoarse screams of completion, savoring your intimate essence on his tongue.

"I've missed this..," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

Then his tongue delved into your slick arousal with deft, practiced strokes. Your responsive sighs and the way you grabbed Takami's hair only spurred him onward in his devotions. 

 

He alternated between broad, flat licks and focused flicks directly over your clit. When Keigo very lightly grazed his teeth along your folds, you keened and bucked again into his ministrations wildly. He hummed his approval, sending vibrations through your core.

 

It did not take long for you to climb once more towards the precipice, unraveling beautifully beneath his skilled mouth. Hawks drank deeply from your release, prolonging each aftershock with slow caresses of his tongue. Only when your quivering stopped did he withdraw, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he cleaned his glistening chin. 

 

As he swirled his tongue around his lips, savoring the last hints of you, you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your chest still heaved in languid aftershocks of pleasure, your limbs boneless and slack upon the plush cushions.

"Come here," you beckoned hoarsely, crooking a finger. Your body cried out to be filled after such thorough worship, muscles reflexively clenching around nothing inside. 

 

Hawks obeyed without hesitation, crawling up to drape himself over your welcoming form once more. You gripped his shoulders firmly, flipping your positions with a playful show of wiry strength, and smiled down at him wickedly. 

 

Grasping his aching length and rubbing the tip of his cock had him seeing stars. Hawks groaned unabashedly.

Slowly, you let him inside, savoring each velvet glide. Hawks bucked helplessly, claws scrabbling for purchase against the cushions as your sensual walls milked his length.

 

The pleasure you drew from Hawks was exquisite torture. Each roll of your hips sent fresh shockwaves through his twitching member, shattering his composure. He was reduced to begging, his nails scratched weakly at your thighs as you rode him to the brink. 

 

"Please...I need to come," Hawks gasped, moving his hips upward in frantic little thrusts. His cock throbbed painfully with the desperate need for release. 

You smiled down at him cruelly. "Beg for it." Your lips formed the words deliciously slowly, knowing their effect.

Hawks keened, wings fluttering uselessly. "Please let me cum p-please I wanna cum, I need..to please..” 

 

Suddenly, you bore down on him, grinding your pelvis against his in brutal circles. The new angle sent Hawks reaching his high with a raw cry. 

 

You quickly let him pull out as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of seed spilled forth, splattering his taut stomach in pearly ribbons. Hawks shuddered through wave after wave; your continued help milking every last drop from him. 

Breathless and spent, he could only lay pliantly as you leaned down to collect his essence on your fingers. Your wicked tongue flicked out to taste, making Hawks twitch anew in oversensitivity.

 

You smiled softly, your expression gentling as you gazed upon Hawks' flushed, panting form. His chest still heaved mightily in the aftermath of his climax.

 

Reverently, you traced light patterns on his ribs and pecs with delicate fingers, soothing away any last tremors. Hawks hummed appreciatively at your tender touch, grasping one of your hands to press a lingering kiss to the palm. 

 

"Come here, Birdie," you murmured, beckoning him into your open embrace. Hawks complied readily, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. Your legs tangled together comfortably as his wings folded around you both like a feathery blanket.

No threats of capture or duty rules could penetrate the sanctity of that moment. There, held securely within your arms, Hawks felt at once protected yet free—freed from the shackles of self-doubt and expectation. He belonged, body and soul, to one who accepted him fully without judgment or demand.

 

Drowsiness began to take hold as your rhythmic caresses through soft-down lulled Hawks towards slumber. "Stay?" he mumbled into your skin, his voice blurred by oncoming sleep yet filled with gentle hope. 

You kissed his forehead, followed by a whisper, "I’ll stay, promise." was the sweetest assurance Hawks could wish for.

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Good Girls Don't (But I Do)

I've been meaning to post this for like three days. Actually longer than that, but my attention span is shot to hell because I have not been sleeping well. Anyway, who wants some Buck discovering he's into feminization? I sure do. You can read it over here on AO3, and there's a preview below the cut because it starts with porn:

Buck has a healthy relationship with his sexuality and his body and sex, but he's also learned through those journeys that he needs to be open to changes and to trust himself. He'd spent years convincing himself that the way he looked at other guys and the way he viewed porn was totally heterosexual—it wasn't—and that nothing about that could point toward what was missing from his life. He'd felt jealous of friends who seemed to be settled into their own skin, even though he's always been open to trying anything and gets called confident for it. Kinks, fetishes, all of that came pretty easy to him. He would try most things once, because the worst that could usually happen is he found out he didn't like it.

So he really doesn't freak out when he's watching bisexual threesome porn on his day off and starts getting so into it that he's starting to verbally participate in the scene, and as the actress begs the guy inside of her to fuck her pussy hard, Buck moans: 

“God, yeah, fuck my pussy.”

He then shudders on the dildo he's riding as he cums over his fingers, whining through the aftershocks as he grinds down on the toy, wishing it was his boyfriend's dick. When he's done, he eases back, pulls the toy out with a small wince, and blinks at the ceiling. 

“Huh,” is all he can really say.

He spends the rest of his afternoon researching, jerking off, and trying to get in touch with Tommy so he can confirm that he'll be coming over after his shift. 

Buck finishes putting away the utensils from his dishwasher and goes upstairs to pop his phone on his dresser, setting a timer and using a pillow as a mark for framing. He's had to get creative with how he shoots nudes since dating Tommy, because it's not all about dick pics. Sometimes he just wants to show off his ass or reach back and spread himself. He does that now, biting his lip as he waits for the camera to go off. When it's done, he’s satisfied with how his ass looks and how red his hole is from being played with. The camera had even caught his hole mid-flex, so it's just the slightest bit open.

He checks the time and waits until Tommy should be alone before sending it, reflexively clenching on nothing while he waits. He wants Tommy’s dick now and hates that he has to wait a few more hours for it.

Instead of texting, Tommy calls him. 

“I'm in my truck,” Tommy says in lieu of greeting. “Jesus, kid, what have you been doing?”

Buck almost tells him the truth, which is that he's been figuring out whether or not his new kink is a kink or if it was just a heat of the moment thing. He goes with a half-truth instead. “Thinking about you.”

“I absolutely can't jerk off in here, but you're going to kill me. How many times did you cum today?” he asks, his voice going gravelly and low. It always makes Buck’s hair stand on end in a good way, because he loves it when it sounds like Tommy’s about to lose control. That exact tone is usually a precursor to hands grabbing him and a mouth crushed against his or teeth closing on his neck.

Read the rest here.

[h4itani-4ddict]

Hello! I read you wanted requests? In honor of the new dr stone season, could please write some fluff with Ryusui?

I was thinking something like Ryusui receiving a hug from reader for the first time? Like a genuine " I am glad you are ok" kind of hug ?

Thank you!

Embrace Amidst the Stone World [Ryusui Nanami x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: Ryusui Nanami encounters Y/N, a figure from his past

Pairing: Ryusui Nanami x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff / SFW

TW: None

Word Count: 1,020

The world had transformed into a vast expanse of stone statues, remnants of humanity frozen in time. Among them stood Ryusui Nanami, his confident demeanor immortalized in petrification. Centuries passed, and the once bustling world lay silent, nature reclaiming its dominion.

In this new era, Senku Ishigami, a brilliant scientist with a vision to revive civilization, discovered Ryusui’s statue. Recognizing the value of a skilled sailor, he meticulously applied the revival fluid, watching as cracks formed and the stone encasing Ryusui began to crumble.

As the last fragments fell away, Ryusui took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar landscape. “What a thrill!” he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “A new world to explore and conquer!”

Senku smirked, appreciating Ryusui’s unyielding spirit. “Welcome to the Stone World. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Days turned into weeks as Ryusui adapted to the challenges of the post-petrification era. His insatiable desire for adventure and acquisition drove him to assist in rebuilding efforts, his expertise proving invaluable. Yet, amidst the camaraderie and progress, a lingering thought occupied his mind—a memory of someone he had cherished before the world turned to stone.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the landscape, Ryusui approached Senku. “There’s someone I need to find,” he stated, his tone unusually earnest. “Before the petrification, she was… important to me.”

Senku nodded, understanding the weight of such a request. “Describe her to me. We’ll search the surrounding areas. With any luck, her statue remains intact.”

The search spanned several days, each moment filled with anticipation and hope. Finally, amidst a grove overtaken by nature’s embrace, they found her—Y/N, her form preserved in stone, a serene expression on her face.

Ryusui’s breath caught in his throat, memories flooding back. He recalled their shared laughter, the adventures they had dreamed of, and the unspoken bond that had connected them. With careful hands, he applied the revival fluid, watching intently as life returned to her.

Y/N gasped, her eyes fluttering open to meet Ryusui’s gaze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the weight of centuries dissolving in the space between them.

“Ryusui?” she whispered, disbelief and joy mingling in her voice.

He smiled, his usual bravado softened by genuine emotion. “In the flesh. Welcome to the Stone World, Y/N.”

Overwhelmed, Y/N closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

Ryusui held her close, the reality of their reunion grounding him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. “It’ll take more than a few thousand years to keep me away,” he replied, a hint of his characteristic confidence returning.

As they pulled back slightly, their eyes met, a shared understanding passing between them. The world had changed beyond recognition, but in this moment, they found solace in each other’s presence.

“There’s so much to tell you,” Y/N said, her gaze drifting to the transformed landscape. “So much to understand.”

Ryusui nodded, taking her hand in his. “And we’ll face it all together. There’s a new world out there, full of possibilities. Let’s seize it, just like we always dreamed.”

With renewed determination, they returned to the village, where Senku and the others welcomed Y/N into their fold. The days that followed were filled with shared stories, laughter, and the rekindling of a bond that had stood the test of time.

One evening, as they sat by the riverbank, watching the stars emerge in the clear night sky, Y/N turned to Ryusui. “Do you remember the night we planned our voyage around the world?”

He chuckled, the memory vivid in his mind. “How could I forget? We mapped out every destination, every adventure we wanted to embark on.”

Y/N smiled, a sense of nostalgia washing over her. “Those dreams seemed so distant then. But now, in this new world, maybe we can make them a reality.”

Ryusui’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “With the Kingdom of Science at our side, there’s no limit to what we can achieve. The seas are waiting, and so are our dreams.”

In that moment, beneath the vast expanse of the night sky, they made a silent pact—to explore, to discover, and to embrace the unknown, together. The challenges of the Stone World were many, but with each other’s support, they felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

And so, amidst the trials and triumphs of rebuilding civilization, they found something even more precious—each other. Love ♡

I’m matching with Valentine’s Day hihi 🤭 (Sorry for the delay I’m drowning in homework 💀)

[chernabogs]

“kiss  me.  take  me  from  this  place.  ’” for the writing prompt with Lilia and reader 👀👀

I went a bit of a different approach with this where the prompt isn't written in, but is instead what this whole fic builds off of. I couldn't find an appropriate place to put the words based on the content, so I hope this is ok <3

HOOKED

Inc: Lilia, Baul mention, Reader (spoken second person here). Warnings: Heavy discussion of PTSD including a detailed PTSD-attack. Read at your discretion. WC: 2.5k Summary: Many of those who came from the era of Briar Nation before Briar Valley believe the silent suppression approach is both more mindful and correct in terms of etiquette. Lilia is not exempt from this, even when he knows it's a ridiculous belief.

There is a stigma against seeking help that Lilia would argue is the most ridiculous belief to have been ingrained in the older generation. Rather than communicating one’s thoughts and emotions to others, many of those who came from the era of Briar Nation before Briar Valley believe the silent suppression approach is both more mindful and correct in terms of etiquette.

Of course, he’s not exempt to this.

The difference between himself and the rest of his generation is that he’s the largest hypocrite to exist among them. He encourages his children and those nurtured by his hand to speak their thoughts and to be aware of how they feel in the moment. Meanwhile, he’s shoving every stressor he’s experienced into the nooks and crannies of his mind, where they sit and stare at him expectantly as he tries diligently not to look back.

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

He wasn’t quite aware of the term ‘post-traumatic’ until he heard it spoken of on one of his trips abroad forty years back. By fate, be it cruel or kind, there was a conference occurring in the hotel he was staying at that he took upon himself to quickly visit. Uninvited and for free, of course, but that’s beside the point. At the time glamour still wasn’t as illegal as it is now, and so it didn’t take much concentration for him to conceal the pointed ears and sharp teeth he has to blend in with the crowd of well-dressed folks with degrees too long to remember. That day he played a clinical psychologist, a physician, a biologist, and someone in forensics all in the span of a few hours. It was an exercise in acting he quite enjoyed.

Back to the main focus, though: Post-traumatic, or PTSD, as it would come to be called.

It was new, it was fresh, and it made the pinpricks of discomfort crawl across his skin the more he listened to the psychologist whose name he didn’t recall describe it. Glasses—the man had large, coke-bottle glasses on his face, which kept glinting under the fluorescent glow of the lights while he spoke about the consequences of war on the mind. His hands would wave in the air with each sentence and his glasses kept glinting as the pinpricks grew to daggers until finally Lilia just got up and left the room. He went to the hotel bar, got smashed for the first time in god knows how long, and spent the rest of the night staring at the colourful glasses on the shelves until he was finally asked to leave.

Glasses had described it as presenting in several ways. Recurring dreams (he dreamt of it at least once a week, a dragon’s shriek, and then the sudden nothingness), avoidance of external reminders (he didn’t immediately go back to Wild Rose even when it became accessible), persistent negative beliefs about oneself (no comment), self-destructive behaviour (no comment), sleep disturbances (no comment). If he and Glasses had engaged in a one-on-one conversation for all of a minute he wagers the man would’ve tried to recruit him to be studied.

Glasses did miss the mark on a few things, though. Granted he was basing his work off of a human’s experience in war, not that of a fae like Lilia. Glasses had said that PTSD could make someone feel as though they were trapped in a prison that was their own mind—but prison felt like a very child-friendly way to describe it. To Lilia, it felt more like a fish on a hook. It pierces into his body and pulls at the flesh, ripping into his muscle and making sure it’s the only thing he can think of coherently. Sometimes he’s so numb that he hardly notices it’s there, until something triggers it, makes the string the hook is on yank upwards, and then he isn’t able to do anything because all he’s stuck on is that fucking hook.

Sometimes in the late evening when he finds himself sitting with Baul on the man’s porch there will be a sound—a twig snapping, a tree falling—that will make both of them tense and look around. Their eyes will meet, an unspoken look of understanding will be shared, and then it’s back into the next topic of conversation. Maybe if he told someone he was caught, if either of them told someone, they’d be able to wiggle that hook free. But that’s not mindful or correct in terms of etiquette, isn’t it?

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

_________________________________________

It’s because the sky is blue.

It’s the simplest, most common thing in the entire world that never changes no matter what occurs. The sea changes colour, the leaves change colour, the earth changes colour, but the sky somehow consistently stays blue.

He’s been having a bad week, and he knows you can tell because he hasn’t been poking fun at you as often. He hasn’t felt like gaming, he hasn’t felt like socializing as much, and he’s been going for walks more than usual. His boys can tell as well—the close scrutiny Silver has had him under is almost endearing—but they also know better than to react too much.

You don’t. He likes you mainly because you know barely anything about him. You’re not as aware as his boys may be. You don’t know the Right General: the man who destroyed armies and fucked up on the biggest task he was given (in his mind, at least). You know Lilia: the vice Housewarden of Diasomnia who hangs upside down in hallways and plays screamo on a guitar.

He's also developed a bit of a soft spot for you.

Well. Perhaps more than a bit, but that’s semantics.

This is also why he doesn’t say no when you invite him to go into town with you for a few errands. It’s a simple task that he’s done with you many times before, but today it feels like a huge commitment he isn’t sure he should have done. This is because he can feel it tugging in his head—the gentle pull of a thread that’s done before whatever is on the hook is yanked up to the surface. He’s trying hard to ignore it, trying hard to focus on your voice as his hand taps his thigh and he keeps looking around the woodland path.

“—and so, Ace is paying for it, because he was the one that went and dumped the grape juice on it in the first place.” You look down at the red-stained garb in your arms as you frown. His gaze goes to it only for a moment before he hums and looks away again.

“How much of a fight was it to get him to agree to that?” He asks, pushing to keep the conversation going and to keep you talking so that he has something to focus his attention on. The trees around you feel both familiar and foreign in this moment. “If I recall correctly, our dear Ace is as good at negotiating as Azul when it comes to his own money.”

You give a laugh at that which allows a brief blanket of warmth to drape itself on his shoulders. “Combined with Deuce, we managed to get him to agree quickly enough. I don’t think dry cleaning costs that much though, so it isn’t like this is going to break his bank.”

“Ah, you would be surprised.” A smile touches on his lips which still doesn’t quite reach his eyes as you both continue walking. You direct the conversation to other matters going on around the school and he falls into an attentive silence, letting you talk away so he can focus on your voice.

It’s when you step out of the forest and into a meadow clearing, when his eyes inadvertently go upwards to look at the blue sky, that the world shuts off. The sky had been like this—clear and blue—right before it had all gone to shit. Sunny, slightly cooler, with the sounds of a thousand bodies moving and the heady scent of grease in the air. He can see the glinting of light (glinting like Glasses had been), he can feel the tension grow in his body, taste saliva and copper in his mouth. In a manner of a few seconds, he’s sucked up out of the forest around NRC and into a sub-level of his own personal hell where he’s now sitting and watching all of his mistakes play back.

He's fighting against that hook. He’s squirming, wiggling, and biting as it pulls him all around. The world is black. He’s sitting on a silver chair and there’s a television in front of him and it’s playing that day at Wild Rose as the sky becomes a thunderous grey. He wants to scream and change the channel, but the hook has pierced the back of his head and is jutting out of his mouth. He can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but watch as the same shit happens again and again and—

“—Lilia?”

His head turns as much as the hook allows. He can taste the rust from it as it stays in his mouth, but his eyes go wide when he sees you in the corner. The hum of television static and his quick breathing are all the sounds he can hear as you stand there in those shadows. Something garbled leaves his lips. You move a few steps closer, close enough that the light of the television reflects on your features, which wear a mask of your own fear as you kneel by his side.

You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t there, not when it was all unfolding, so you shouldn’t be in the same basement of horrors he’s currently in.

Your hand rests on his arm. It’s as though a thousand needles erupt where your skin touches and he recoils in that chair, jerks to the side, and causes that hook to split more skin. You move back quickly, and he can see what he thinks might be panic on your face.

“What can I do?” You ask. It’s such a simple question and he wishes so deeply to tell you an answer but what can you do? What can he do? It isn’t mindful or correct in terms of etiquette, right? He shakes his head. Panic turns to a touch of worry, of frustration, as you move to sit cross-legged beside his chair.

“I... don’t know what’s going on.” You say slowly. He listens as he forces his breathing to regulate. The dim hum of static is still coming from the right side of him as he keeps looking down at you. “But I’m going to sit right here, okay? I’m going to sit right here until you can tell me what I can do to help. And if there’s nothing I can do, then at least I can keep you company until you’re ready.”

Ready? Company?

He keeps looking down at you until he finally turns his head back to the television where those scenes are still playing. Beyond the television, he can see the outline of trees forming in the dark room.

The two of you sit there for what feels like an extraordinarily long time. The hook has stopped tugging, and the trees are becoming more visible in the darkness as the show comes to an end. He can hear birds chirping past the static, he can smell woodland instead of grease. He isn’t tasting rust anymore. A small, strangled hum leaves him, which catches your attention.

“Yeah?” You ask, scooting forward on the floor beside him to look up at his face. You’re so goddamn endearing when you look up like that, and he hates that you’re in this room with him right now. He needs to leave because he needs to get you out of here as well. You barely know anything about him, and he isn’t ready to ruin the perceptions you have quite yet.

“Can I touch you?” You ask.

“Yes,” is what he manages to choke back beyond the hook.

You stand back up and your hand comes to rest on his cheek. He doesn’t feel daggers like he did before, but he does still tense, which makes you stop again. A heartbeat passes before you lean down so your lips are by his ear.

“Breathe,” you whisper, and he does.

“Focus,” you whisper, and he does.

“Come back,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple, and he does.

The television shuts off and is pulled back into the shadows by something he can’t quite see yet, but he feels he will come to meet very soon. The chair he sits on vanishes and is replaced by a rock with a bubbling creek at his feet. The hook unlatches itself and is reeled back up for another day. It’s like he’s waking up from a dream as a groggy feeling settles over him.  

Neither of you speak for a long moment as he continues to sit on the rock and your hand moves to rest on his back. A sense of embarrassment forms in his chest that he knows shouldn’t be there, but it exists anyway. Embarrassment, shame, and heavy, heavy exhaustion. His tongue licks his dry lips as he clears his throat to speak.

“How long?” He asks.

“It’s been an hour.”

An hour. That feels shorter than usual as he rolls his shoulders and gets to his feet. His hands are trembling slightly, and he appreciates you not mentioning it despite the way your gaze lingers on them.

He turns to you as he shoves them in his pockets, and he forces his lips into a smile. It’s a good thing he’s an expert at fake smiles to the point that he does this without a thought. “Do you mind if I...?”

“Not at all.” You reply quickly, grabbing your stained clothing from the ground. When you rise, you look worried. For a moment he fears that you may ask what just happened right now—but you don’t. You just offer him a slight smile back and hold your clothes a bit tighter. “Will you text me when you get back?”

“Yes,” he replies automatically, feeling a bud of relief blossom in his chest when you nod and step back onto the path. This is immediately replaced by guilt. “Thank you.”

The words feel dead and heavy on his tongue, despite the way they seem to soothe your own anxiety.

“Always.” You murmur in response as he watches your gaze linger on him a moment longer. He so wishes to ask you to stay, to explain to you what this all was, but he stills the words in his throat.

He likes you mainly because you know barely anything about him. You’re unaware of his past, much like his boys, and your perception of him is one he’s carefully gifted to you himself. The abruptness of this attack may have broken a crack in the pristine image which unsettles him.

He isn’t ready to discuss it yet. Not with you, not with his boys, not even Baul. He’s the largest hypocrite to exist for a good reason.

He continues to watch you until you vanish back into the forest, and it’s only with your departure that he finds himself able to breathe properly. The back of his skull aches and all he wants right now is to go to sleep for a few hours. His smile drops to a grimace as he turns and begins to go in the direction opposite of you.

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

[cupidjyu]

happy with you

sangyeon x reader

when life gets particularly overwhelming, your boyfriend is always there to distract you.

genre: established relationship, hurt/comfort, burnout, kisses and hugs, sweetie understanding perfect boyfriend sangyeon notes: reader is lowkey me during the time i was gone and busy with school ,, 💕 this is for @winterchimez since we’re both going through sangyeon withdrawals 😞😞 word count: 3.9k

One, two… three…

Your hand lifts up before it comes back down onto the soft sheets of your bed. You hum to yourself. Well, it’s a start, you think before taking a deep breath and counting once again.

One, two, three.

You lift your arm this time. But you find yourself frowning at how it feels like it’s been weighed down by heavy, stubborn weights. You let out a frustrated groan as your head falls back onto the headboard. Shutting your eyes momentarily, you try to find some sense of peace, anything to help get rid of the stupid pounding in your heart, much more burdening than your heavy limbs that refuse to move. Yet, the darkness that you see only makes it worse.

You blink your eyes open and stare at the wall of the bedroom. Your gaze wanders across the blank space until it lands on a small photo, framed and perched perfectly so that it’s one of the first things you see when you wake up. It’s a picture of your boyfriend, Sangyeon, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You’re smiling and so is he. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to recreate that same smile, yet your face feels numb.

Then, you lift your head slightly to stare at the mess of the bed you created over the span of just a day. There’s a book, thrown off to the side, with only a few pages read. Then, there’s your computer, still at ninety percent because you only used it for a good thirty minutes. Your phone is beside you. It’s open to one of your social media apps yet you liked one single post so far.

You’ve tried everything to be somewhat productive, to do something with the free day that you have. You wanted to distract yourself from your racing mind yet nothing has worked and you continue to feel awfully restless. 

To be frank, your week full of stress and despair is over. The countless assignments that you needed to turn in, the group project that didn’t get done until the very last day, the coworker who had belittled you… technically, it was all over. You should feel relieved, really, but instead you feel agitated and unable to relax. It’s almost like the adrenaline that has coursed through your body during that week still hasn’t left, leaving you anxious, almost paranoid.

You blink back a few tears and let out a low sigh. 

There’s nothing you can do.

So you just wait.

Wait for what? You wonder.

Your eyes land on that picture again. Maybe… Sangyeon? He is coming home soon, after all. Your heart skips a beat at the thought, but it settles back into its normal pace soon after. You would hate to bother him, especially because he was supposed to be practicing today.

The image of his worried face is what leads you to slowly lift your body out of bed. It’s difficult and heavy, but you manage to do it. You yawn and stand up, your muscles feeling tight. Maybe you should find something else to keep you busy so that when Sangyeon comes home, he won’t notice your previous state.

You nod to yourself and walk out of the bedroom, setting your mind on organizing the kitchen drawers. But, as soon as you begin walking down the hall, you find Sangyeon exiting the bathroom, his hair slightly damp as he dries it with a towel. 

You freeze.

Huh.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear him come home and wash up.

Sangyeon notices you almost immediately, and just as quickly, his eyes light up. He sets the towel down nearby and walks over to you like an eager puppy. Your heart thumps, which is a little funny because the two of you have been dating for a while, long enough to move in together and spend every lovely morning and evening as a pair.

Then, he immediately pulls you into a hug, scooping you into his arms as he nuzzles into your neck. Your breath halts for a second before you melt into his hold. Though it takes all your strength to try not to burst into tears right then and there. He smells good, fresh from a shower and just like home. 

A few moments pass before Sangyeon leans away and gives you a quick kiss.

“I missed you,” he whispers, his voice full of warmth. He always says this. He could spend a mere hour away from you, and he’ll still tell you about how much he was thinking of you. His hand comes up to your hair, and he soothingly strokes his fingers through it. “How was your day, beautiful?”

Your chest feels tight as you look away. “It was great,” you lie. “Quite boring actually. I’ve done literally nothing today.” Well, that isn’t a lie.

Sangyeon only smiles wider. “Relaxing is also good, you know.” His eyes soften, and he swipes a thumb under your eye, as if he’s noticed how tired you are. “I’ve noticed how hard you’ve worked this past week.”

You give him a weak smile and shake your head, already feeling nervous about burdening him with concern. “That’s just… how it is. There’s nothing to worry about.”

That doesn’t seem to help, as Sangyeon only gives you a careful look. But, he doesn’t mention it anymore as he says, “If you say so.”

The two of you just stare at each other, almost awkwardly and unsurely. Your heartbeat picks up, anxiously, your mind racing about how he’s noticed and he’s going to be bothered.

Sangyeon almost always notices when you’re feeling off. It’s almost like some sort of superpower. He can tell you’re uncomfortable at a social event, and he’ll subtly pull you closer to him. He can tell when you’re tired, and he’ll offer his shoulder for you to lean on.

It’s pretty clear that he’s noticed now.

But he’s not saying anything about it.

It’s perplexing, but at the same time, you feel a little relieved, knowing that if you started talking about it at this moment, you’d probably burst out into tears.

“Well, gorgeous,” Sangyeon speaks up with a soft tone. “I’m free for the rest of the evening. Anything you want to do?”

You let out a sigh, your chest lightening. Then, you think for a moment. Is there anything you wanted to do? You give him a shy look. Really, you just wanted to spend time with him, however that may be.

Sangyeon laughs, giving you a teasing look. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Hm?” You step away with a small smile. “What am I thinking?”

Your boyfriend shrugs, but you can tell he’s eager to say it. He’s always eager to give you attention, no matter the circumstance. When he’s working at home and you stop by to give him a kiss, again, like an eager puppy, he’ll excitedly turn his head and ask for another one. If he’s tired and it’s late at night, but he sees that you’re still up working, he’ll stay with you. Sometimes, he’ll watch you with an admiring face, which makes you a little nervous at times.

He steps forward and leans in. “You want to be with me.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the hot feeling that spreads across your face. “Of course I do. We’re dating.”

“That’s true.” Sangyeon gives you a proud look.

“Well, is there anything you want to do?”

“I want to be by your side, my gorgeous.” He grins. 

“Doing what?”

He pauses and gives you a sheepish look. “I didn’t get that far in my plans.”

You burst out laughing as you reach for the nearby towel and begin to finish drying off his hair. He leans into your touch as he looks at you with complete endearment.

“I’ll think of something, just give me a moment.”

You smile at him. “Take your time, mister.” You continue to dry his hair as you take the opportunity to admire your boyfriend’s handsome face up close. It doesn’t help that he looks adorably focused, thinking of something to do with you. Sometimes, you wonder how you’ve gotten so lucky. 

“Ah,” he breathes. You pause, letting your hand fall to your side, still holding onto the towel. Sangyeon looks down and takes it from you, setting it on the bathroom handle before taking your hand in his. “Well, you know how I went to practice my singing today?” He asks with a smile.

You nod because yes, he always likes to relay his plans for the day to you before he leaves the apartment, which you find endearing.

“Mhm, what about it?”

“I took some videos of the new songs I was practicing. They’re on my phone, and I need to monitor them. If you want to… with me…” He gives you a hopeful look. He’s shy as well. He’s always shy when it comes to his singing, which is a little baffling because his voice is beautiful. In fact, it was one of the main reasons why you had such a large crush on him.

“Of course,” you answer. Just as shyly, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek before whispering into his ear, “I’d love to.”

Sangyeon gives you an excited look. “Just… don’t judge if my voice cracks. Some of the songs were kind of out of my range.” 

You giggle as he tugs your hand and leads you in the direction of your shared bedroom. But, just as you’re about to reach the door, you freeze and your breath hitches, remembering that you’ve left all your failed attempts of distracting yourself–the book, computer, your phone, probably a few unopened snacks–on the bed.

Sangyeon notices your hesitance and instead of asking what’s wrong, he opens the door, peeks into the room, and turns back to face you. He gives you a gentle, soothing smile before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the very tip of your nose. Then, without a word, he enters the room and proceeds to pick everything up off the bed. He puts the book back on its shelf, sets your computer and your phone on the bedside table, and places the snacks on the desk.

You watch, completely shocked, as he sits down on the bed and gestures to you to join him. 

“I…”

Sangyeon grins. “What are you waiting for, darling?”

You let out a shaky breath at the nickname before carefully walking over to the bed, sitting next to him. You gulp nervously. “Sorry for not cleaning up.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’m always going to be here.” For you. “To help you clean up.” But, you know what he really means.

You nod quietly and sit back against the headboard, trying to forget the fact that previously, you’ve sat here for hours, wallowing in a feeling that you couldn’t even describe. You watch as Sangyeon pulls out his phone and turns on the first video.

“Are you ready?” Sangyeon asks, a shy smile on his face.

“Always.”

“Don’t expect too much.”

You giggle. “Okay, handsome.”

Intrigued, you scooch closer, and Sangyeon welcomes you, leaning his shoulder against yours. In the video, he’s in the studio, looking at what you assume is a screen with the lyrics. He sings beautifully into the microphone in his hand. You can already feel your chest lighten as you admire him, his everything–from his lovely voice, handsome face, and soft gaze. He messes up the lyrics a few times, yet that only makes it more perfect. He’s perfect.

The first video comes to the end and Sangyeon nervously turns to you. You look up at him and give him an encouraging smile.

“So… what did you think?” He asks with his soft voice, one that you know is capable of making any song sound beautiful.

“I think… it was beautiful as always.”

It’s adorable how Sangyeon brightens up, and you can tell he’s feeling proud. Soon enough, his smile softens, and he looks at you as if trying to read your expression for something more. You gulp and look away, praying he won’t notice that you were just a mess when he wasn’t home. You can see that hint of concern in his gaze as clear as day.

But then, to your surprise, he leans in and kisses the very top of your forehead.

“You’re beautiful as always.”

Your eyes widen, and you can feel your cheeks start to redden. You clear your throat and turn to look down at your lap.

“Thank you,” you mumble. “I’ve… heard that a lot already.”

You feel a finger under your chin, nudging you to look back up. He hums teasingly as your eyes meet his. “From only me, I hope,” he says with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, only you.” 

“Good,” Sangyeon replies. Then, he swipes to the next video.

Again, you watch, though your eyes begin to droop as you focus more on listening to your boyfriend’s voice, like honey, and so full of emotion. It’s a love song too–the words he’s singing seem to be directed towards you. It doesn’t help that he’ll look away from the screen and instead, straight at the camera, making your heart flutter foolishly.

Soon enough, the video ends, and you realize that you feel relaxed. Your body doesn’t feel stiff, rather, it melts against Sangyeon’s side. Your breathing isn’t fast either. Instead, it’s slow and perfectly in sync with your lover beside you. It’s a slow rise and fall, and you start to feel warm inside.

Sangyeon turns to you, even leaning a little forward so that he can get a good view of you. He always does this, saying that you’re “too beautiful not to stare at.”

“Good?” He asks, his voice a calming whisper.

“Mhm.” You give him a shy smile. “Keep going.”

“As you wish, beautiful.” 

You laugh quietly as you lean your head against his broad shoulder, taking your first, long and full breath of the day. You can’t help but smile contentedly as your boyfriend shows you the rest of the videos he’s taken. Sometimes, you can feel him cringe at one of his own mistakes. Other times, he’ll mention a particular lyric that reminded him of you. One time, he pressed a kiss to your lips for the fun of it.

It’s calming–so calming that you can feel yourself dozing off. Just as your eyes are about to shut, you hear a loud clatter come from his phone. In the video, you see that something small and shiny was just knocked off the table.

You widen your eyes momentarily before smiling fondly at the way Sangyeon gives the camera an apologetic look before ending the video.

“I forgot to delete this one,” Sangyeon grumbles to himself. “This song was hard to sing anywa– oh!” He interrupts himself before turning to you. “I completely forgot. That thing… it was a keychain that I bought for you.”

“Oh?” You look up at him with surprise. 

Sangyeon looks adorably excited. He always loved to surprise you with gifts after all.

“I can go get it for you right now… if you want?” 

You nod with a soft smile.

And so, Sangyeon gets off the bed, and that’s when you feel his comforting warmth leave you like a candle flame being abruptly blown out. You try to ignore the odd hitch of your breath, but it soon becomes clear that that feeling has come back. It’s hard to describe still, but it’s a mix of restlessness and hopelessness. Suddenly, you’re reminded of everything that’s gone wrong these past few days. Your eyes frantically dart around the room, remembering everything that you’ve failed to do today as well.

You regret that nod.

Desperately, and without even thinking, you reach out and grab hold of Sangyeon’s hand. You feel yourself tremble, and your heartbeat is picking up again.

“Wait,” you whisper, looking up at him. You’re already feeling your throat close up, embarrassingly enough. Sangyeon turns around in response, and his expression is full of worry. 

“Hm?”

“I…” Your voice cracks, and you feel mortified. What were you thinking? 

And that’s when you feel the tears begin to well up in your eyes.

You can just barely hear the small intake of breath that Sangyeon takes in at the sight. Quickly, he’s already kneeling down at the side of the bed, looking up at you with soft, gentle eyes. His gaze is full of concern as he watches the tears begin to dribble down your face.

“Y/n,” he whispers. “You can tell me what’s wrong. If you’d like to. I’ll listen, always.”

“I thought you already noticed,” you whisper. 

Sangyeon’s eyes widen before he reaches over for your hand, taking it in his. “I did. But I didn’t want to pressure you into telling me what’s wrong. Not until you’re ready.”

You can’t help but cry more at his words. Still embarrassed, you try to turn your head away to hide your face, but Sangyeon’s quick to cup your cheek. With a small frown, he helps to wipe your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I–” More tears escape. “I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“So why are you crying, sweetheart?”

“It’s just–” You let out a frustrated sigh. “All the stress is over. There shouldn’t be more of it, not after– after last week. But the whole day, I’ve just… constantly felt restless. And sometimes I think about what’s already happened in the past, and then I get sad and–” You let out another sob. “It’s dumb.”

Sangyeon’s quiet. But, only for a moment, because he’s already getting up and sitting back down on the bed. Throughout all of this, his hand doesn’t leave your cheek as he holds you like you’re the most precious person ever.

“It’s not,” he finally says. “Not at all.” And he doesn’t say more after that. You feel strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you into a hug. It’s gentle, almost hesitant, as he makes sure you’re comfortable with it. 

But when you melt into it, that’s when he holds you tighter. Your head rests against his chest, and you feel a few more tears escape.

“I know you’ve had a hard time,” Sangyeon mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And even though it’s over, I’m sure it takes a bit to heal from it. There’s nothing wrong with that, my darling.” You feel a soothing hand begin to stroke your back. “But know that I’m here for you. Whenever you need, hm? Just call for me.”

The tears drip down your face, yet you feel yourself relaxing more and more. 

“I’ll do anything,” Sangyeon continues. “I can help you clean up, take a walk with yo–”

“I just like being with you,” you huff with a sniffle. “You being here already makes me happy.”

Sangyeon squeezes you, something he likes to do when he finds you cute.

“That’s all that matters to me. You being happy.”

You try not to burst out into tears once more as you lean away and look him in the eye.

“What about you?” You ask, your voice trembling, full of emotion and love. “Are you happy?”

Sangyeon gives you a smile, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you and only you. “Of course I am. Because I have you, darling.”

You feel your face contort as more tears escape the corners of your eyes. Though these particular tears are not of sadness, not anymore. They’re more of… overwhelming love.

“So,” Sangyeon starts, brushing away a stray strand of your hair with a fond smile. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” 

You scrunch your nose and try not to shy away from the expression he’s giving you. It’s full of affection and admiration for you. With a shake of your head, you reply, “I already feel better. But…” You give him a small smile. “Do whatever you think will work.”

Sangyeon’s gaze immediately falls to your lips, and you can already tell what he’s planning to do. He grins, and you can see that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “I’m no professional, but I think–” He suddenly leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips. He pulls away with a hopeful, love-drunk gaze. “This might work,” he whispers before leaning back in, this time to kiss you on the cheek. You can’t help but giggle as he seems to lose an internal fight because soon enough, he’s pressing small kisses all over your face.

“Sangyeon–”

You can’t control the laughter that escapes you as he keeps on kissing you all over. At some point, he leans away and simply admires your happy expression with a fond smile of his own. Once you notice, your laughing dies down, and you begin to feel shy. 

“Hey, pretty.”

You give him an embarrassed look but still respond with a teasing, “hi, handsome,” making your boyfriend smile even wider. 

“I missed you so much,” he mumbles. “And–” Another kiss, this time on your lips again. This one is deeper, full of want, and the drying tears on your cheeks are now long forgotten. “I love you,” he whispers, his bottom lip brushing against yours. 

You smile widely. “I love you too.”

“Mmh,” Sangyeon hums, looking at you with smugness. “You know I tell everyone about how lucky I am to have you, right?”

You gasp, your cheeks starting to burn. “You do?”

“Of course. I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he replies like it’s the easiest thing to say. His hand slides around your waist as he pulls you in for another kiss. “So don’t hesitate to tell me when you’re feeling down, hm?” His eyes soften. “Because I adore you. I’ll do anything to help you.”

You nod. You feel happy, now that he’s in front of you, showering you with endless love.

Yet again, Sangyeon has another surge of affection because he’s suddenly collapsing back on the bed and pulling you down with him. The two of you are face-to-face, and it’s then that you’re reminded of just how sleepy you are, your eyes drooping.

“Don’t leave,” you whisper.

“I would never. I’ll stay here in bed with you for as long as you’d like, darling.”

You smile to yourself. Then, you hum mischievously. “But… what if you have to use the bathroom?”

Sangyeon sighs, and he presses a kiss to the very top of your head. “Go to sleep already.”

You only giggle in response. “What if someone rings the doorbell?”

Sangyeon, whose eyes are already shut, shushes you as he holds you closer. 

“What if it’s the police?”

“Y/n.”

“What if–”

He peeks an eye open adorably before he kisses you to finally make you stop talking. You smile against his lips and you don’t say anything more after that. With a sigh, you relax into his hold as the two of you drift off into sleep.

Miraculously, there is something better than staring and admiring that lovely picture of the two of you, framed on the wall. And that is waking up in the morning to the sweet and forever love of your life as he gives you a bright, lovely smile to start the day.

[moonchildxoxx]

Hii Blue!

Hello, could i get a neteyam x human fem reader one? Neteyam and reader were together for a short amount of time and they didn't have time to cuddle or stay together. One day Neteyam comes at the lab to meet with reader and forgets how small she really is. She's a rly short girl, maybe 4'11 (148 cm) so she smaller than all the humans from the lab. He takes advantage of it and corners her to the wall knwoing she can't escape or manhandles her like a doll. OML I WANT A NETEYAM IN MY LIFE SO BAD

Title: Doll-Sized, Apparently

Rating: 18+ / Mature

Aged-Up Character: Neteyam is aged up (18+) for the purposes of this story. ( don’t like don’t read)

Pairing: Neteyam x Human!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

Genre: Flirty fluff, suggestive tension, post-canon

Synopsis: After weeks apart, Neteyam returns from a long patrol to find you buried in lab work, too distracted to notice the world or how much you’ve missed him. What begins as a surprise visit quickly turns into a tender, charged reunion filled with playful teasing, unspoken longing, and the deep comfort of someone who knows you too well.

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience I’m so sorry this took longer than planned! Life got in the way, but I never forgot this request. Once I sat down, Neteyam and the reader just clicked, and the story flowed into something softer and more intimate than I expected. I hope it was worth the wait and that it brings a little warmth to your day. Thank you for the inspiration and for sticking with me!

The lab was quiet, humming with the low thrum of machines and the faint antiseptic tang that never entirely faded. You sat hunched over a flickering monitor, wires tangled like ivy across your lap, muttering frustrated threats under your breath like it might scare the screen into working. A half-eaten ration bar sat beside you, forgotten. Your fingers were smudged with dust and grease, your eyes were strained from too many hours squinting at code.

It was peaceful, in that sterile, chaotic kind of way.

You didn’t hear him at first.

Not the soft hiss of the airlock sealing behind him or the muffled thump of heavy, bare feet padding over the smooth floor. Not even the shift in the air warmer now, the kind of warmth that came with living things and open jungle, with wildness and calm wrapped into one impossible person.

“Still wrestling machines instead of asking for help?”

His voice was low and amused like velvet and smoke. You jumped hard, elbow cracking into the metal shelf behind you.

“Shit—Neteyam!”

He laughed, that rich, deep sound that always seemed to bloom in your chest before your brain even registered it. He ducked beneath the lab’s upper beam, his frame nearly too big for the cramped space, tail curling in lazy spirals behind him, unbothered by the tight quarters.

And stars, you stared.

He was all azule skin and lean muscle, braids still damp from the forest mist, a few fallen leaves clinging to him like they didn’t want to let go. A smear of green streaked his bicep sap, maybe, or war paint, faded from patrol. But it was his eyes warm, gleaming amber that made you forget how to breathe. The way they softened the second they found yours.

“You came just to scare the crap out of me?” you managed, cradling your elbow with a wince.

“Let me see,” he murmured, already crossing the room.

You didn’t even get a chance to argue. He reached for your arm, huge hand wrapping around your forearm with ridiculous gentleness. His fingers easily spanned your wrist, his touch warm, almost reverent.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be.

“You’re reckless,” he said with a teasing hum. “Tiny things should take better care of themselves.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not that small.”

Neteyam tilted his head, smirking. “You’re smaller than Spider. And Spider is… a stick with limbs.”

“I prefer fun-sized,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes.

He leaned down slowly, deliberately, nose brushing yours. “You’re doll-sized,” he murmured, and before you could fire back

He moved.

One arm slid behind your back, the other under your thighs, and suddenly you were off the ground, yelping in surprise as he swept you up like you weighed absolutely nothing.

“Neteyam!” you squeaked, boots kicking helplessly.

His chest rumbled with laughter. He carried you easily, pressing you back against the wall with a soft thud, holding you just high enough that your nose was level with his collarbone.

“You really have no concept of personal space,” you muttered, breath catching as his body pressed into yours firm and solid and way, way too warm.

“Tell me to put you down,” he said, voice low.

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Your fingers had curled into his shoulder on instinct, your heart a traitorous rhythm beneath your ribs.

He lowered his head, nuzzling lightly at your cheek. “You smell like lab and sugarfruit sweet and a little wild,” he said, voice husky. “I missed that.”

You tried, tried to glare. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “But I missed you.”

The soft confession stole your breath more than anything else had.

“…You did?”

He nodded slightly, lips brushing your temple. “More than I should’ve. But I was afraid if I came back too soon…I wouldn’t want to leave again.”

Silence bloomed between you, thick with everything you hadn’t said the last time he left. The last mission. The last too-long goodbye.

Your fingers were already curling into the chest beads that hung between you, grounding yourself in the reality that he was here warm and solid and so stupidly beautiful. You hated how much you’d missed him. How badly you’d counted the days.

“I kept thinking about your hands,” he whispered, shifting his grip so that your fingers were cradled between his. His thumb stroked your knuckles, featherlight. “How small they are. How they feel on me.”

Your heart kicked like it wanted to answer him. You hated how easily he did that melted you with nothing more than words and touch.

“…You’re not playing fair,” you whispered.

“I’m not trying to.” His lips brushed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth barely a kiss, but the promise of one. “I want you to remember what it feels like when I’m close. I want you to miss me.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” Your voice was barely there. “I haven’t stopped.”

His expression softened. He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Neither have I.”

And then, finally, he lowered you. Slowly. Like he hated giving you back to gravity.

Your boots hit the floor again, but he didn’t move away. You were still caged in by the lines of his arms, his chest, his tail curled behind you like punctuation.

“I forgot how small this place is,” he murmured, glancing around the lab. “How do you breathe in here all day?”

You shrugged. “I like it. It’s quiet. Controlled.” You hesitated, then added, “It’s easier not to miss things when there’s too much to fix.”

Something in his eyes flickered, like he understood. Because he did.

He pulled a satchel from his shoulder like it had just occurred to him. “I brought fruit,” he said, nonchalantly. “The weird kind. Sticky. The one that stains your mouth purple.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “You brought me snacks?”

“You skip meals when you’re distracted,” he said simply. “And you’re always distracted.”

Your heart squeezed tight, the same way it always did when he saw right through you. He pulled the fruit from the satchel and offered it, the skin glossy and deep violet, still cool from the shade of the forest.

You took it with both hands, fingers brushing his. “You walked all the way here just to make sure I eat?”

He tilted his head. “I came to see you,” he said, matter-of-fact. “The fruit is a bonus.”

You bit into it, juice slipping down your chin, sticky-sweet and tangy. Neteyam watched you with an infuriatingly pleased look on his face.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your brow, softer than a breath. “But you like me.”

“I do,” you admitted, voice barely a murmur.

“Good.” He laced his fingers with yours, holding your hand like it was precious. “Come with me. No missions. No patrols. Just us, this time.”

Your smile bloomed slow and sure. “Took you long enough.”

He squeezed your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, yawne.”

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe it.

But you didn’t move right away. You just stood there, wrapped in the hush of the lab and the gravity of his gaze. You looked up at him—this impossibly tall, impossibly careful person who could carry you like a feather and still ask for your hand like it was sacred.

Your thumb brushed over his palm. “You really mean it? Just us?”

He nodded. “I’ve already told Lo’ak. He’s covering my watch. Mom knows. Kiri helped me pick the fruit.” His smile turned sheepish. “She said I was being dramatic.”

“You are dramatic.”

“Maybe. But I want time with you. Not stolen hours. Not quick visits. Time.”

You didn’t realize your eyes had stung until he leaned down again, catching a tear at the corner with his thumb.

“I’m here now,” he whispered.

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his chest. The soft tap of his heartbeat echoed through you, steady and grounding.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay. Let’s go.”

His arm wrapped around you again, careful, cradling. Not to carry this time but to hold.

And this time, you let him.

————

Moonchildxoxx 2023 | all rights reserved. do not republish, repost, steal, modify, translate or claim my work as your own.

[broodwoof]

things are coalescing in my mind.... ( hopefully yall don't mind being tagged! if u do just lmk and i'll remove it <3 )

@nists art and its statement about solas being a desiring and willing partner to elgar'nan...

@charamei's meta about elgar'nan as a spirit of faith...

all the voice lines from the fight, including the data-mined (and voiced!) lines that @flowersforthemachines posted here....

the dialogue between solas and cassandra during inquisition, such as:

Solas: You seem troubled, Seeker. Still plagued by thoughts of your order?

Cassandra: I... am reminded of what I was told following my vigil. They said my abilities were a gift from the Maker, a reward for my faith and dedication. But it was a trick, wasn't it? A ritual no different that the Harrowing, simply magic...

Solas: Do you know how rare spirits of faith are? How difficult it is to draw them to this world? You should be proud, having accomplished something so remarkable, not ashamed it was not what you thought.

Cassandra: Thank you, Solas. That... does make me feel better.

Solas: Your faith does you credit, Cassandra. I hope your Maker is worthy.

and cole:

Cole: I am sorry your friend died, Solas.

Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Cole: I didn't know there were spirits of wisdom.

Solas: There are few. Spirits form as a reflection of this world and its passions.

Solas: We will never lack for spirits of rage, or hunger, or desire. The world gives them plenty to mirror.

Solas: The gentler spirits are far more rare. We can ill afford the loss of even one spirit of wisdom, or faith...

Solas: Or compassion.

Cole: I will try not to die.

Solas: Do that, please.

and this banter, also with cassandra, which does not directly touch on the subject but does give us some insight into solas and his concept of faith, and specifically how he does not really have faith as such, but believes in people - perhaps a change from believing in faith (Faith) once

Cassandra: Solas, if you do not mind me asking, what do you believe in?

Solas: Cause and effect. Wisdom as its own reward, and the inherent right of all free willed people to exist.

Cassandra: That is not what I meant.

Solas: I know. I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same.

Cassandra: You have seen much sadness in your journeys, Solas. Following the Maker might offer some hope.

Solas: I have people, Seeker. The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people.

and i am connecting the fucking dots here

(okay i am actually open to many interpretations and hold multiple interpretations of things simultaneously, but this is giving me a very compelling angle to explore)

elgar'nan as faith. solas as wisdom+pride (bc i do think he was tapping into both aspects regularly). solas asked to take form to help quell elgar'nan, perhaps because mythal could see the corruption beginning to take root, or perhaps because of the titans more than elgar'nan; nonetheless, he took form and walked amongst the evanuris for so long

somewhere in that span of time, approached by elgar'nan or approaching him, discussing things at length. conversations that lasted days, weeks. debates that were heated but never angry. faith and wisdom+pride pushing each other, but never maliciously. a rigorous scholarly exercise

and then. the beginning of the end. elgar'nan growing a little colder, a little sharper. making more demands of those who followed him - willingly. the wars taking their toll. fewer debates. more arguments, or more condescension. solas, bitter and hurt, retreating to mythal... much later regretting this (not because of mythal tho) since he is convinced that he could have reached elgar'nan at this stage, could have made him see what he was becoming

solas being disappointed to see a spirit of faith being corrupted, trying to stem the tide (alongside mythal, in my view!), but eventually losing the battle. the deep regret of that; of, one, having someone you care for slip away, become someone - something - else; and, two, having that someone else become a tyrant. believing that you had a chance to turn them from that path if you had only done it right. the weight of that regret... and how solas is so shaped by his regrets...

different angle on solar'nan and i am Thinking About It 👀

i also want to include this bit of solas and cassandra banter, because i feel like it touches on solas' view of the evanuris, of course, and arlathan, and organizations - very possibly including his own rebellion - but can also be looped back to more broadly referencing the corruption of, in this case, elgar'nan and how that was the beginning of the end for an arlathan he remembers fondly:

Cassandra: I noticed, Solas, that you did not seem surprised by what I uncovered about the Seekers.

Solas: No? They are an organization.

Cassandra: You think organizations to be inherently corrupt?

Solas: Given enough time, yes. To survive, an organization must devote resources to maintaining itself. Those resources inevitably accumulate until the original purpose, however pure, is all but lost.

Cassandra: You make the Seekers sound like a mindless beast.

Solas: A beast, no matter how mindless, will die and give way to a successor. An organization is eternal. There are always corrupt men who hoard power for their own gain and there are always honorable men who hoard power to fight them.

side note, i absolutely love his "No?" the question mark. solas the man u are.

[hheaven-sentt]

devotion

summary: because love doesn't quite capture it | leon kennedy x partner!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: depictions of injuries, angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol consumption, yearning, mutual pining, partners to friends to lovers

notes: BACK FROM THE DEAD W A VENGEANCE. my semester has finished and my second one doesn't start until january so i will be posting for once. college is kicking my ass like all the time so it puts everything else on pause for me anyway ily all | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dress feels itchy against your skin. You don’t want to go to this event, so you can’t imagine how Leon feels. He doesn’t even like when you thank him for doing the dishes, so you wonder how he might behave up on a stage to receive a medal. You stretch behind you, reaching for the zipper. Wordlessly, Leon turns to you and zips it up himself. Of course he does; that’s just Leon.

“This is weird,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, breath dusting over your shoulder as he says it. You nod with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you return. You watch his eyes in the mirror. They hover somewhere on your forehead. “Not normal, but not weird,” “I think it’s weird,” he says, and steps away. You nod again, because what else can you say?

Working with Leon has its ups and downs. He’s too quiet some days, and you have to fill in the gaps yourself. Or he’s too loud–sometimes without even saying anything–and you have to figure out how to deal with it. Or he’s just Leon; he laughs and jokes, he helps cook dinner, he doesn’t talk about work. You like those days the best. Had you seen these versions of Leon when you were assigned to him almost ten years ago, you would’ve laughed. Ten years ago, you couldn’t imagine being this close to someone, to care as much as you do about someone you’re paid to be around.

You suppose there’s layers to it, layers you haven’t fully unraveled yet. You know only a few things for certain: Leon is your partner, he is also your unofficial roommate, and you care about him more than you care about others.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the light from the hallway making him look like an angel descending to relay a message from God. You swallow and nod.

“Just need my shoes,” you say, moving to the bed and sliding your shoes across the floor to be in front of you. Leon bends down without a word to help you fasten them.

When he looks up at you, he looks less like your partner and more like someone you’re meant to love. An ache resonates within you, a need to reach out a brush your fingers through his darkened hair. He shifts his gaze to your upper arm. Gingerly, he runs the tips of his fingers over a scar that spans from your elbow to your clavicle. It’s ugly and red, courtesy of the nasty burn you’d sustained there a few years ago. The ridged skin is unfeeling as Leon skirts his hand across it, tracing it from your elbow to your shoulder.

“I remember when you got this,” he says absently. His fingers dance across your skin, and you wish the scar didn’t run so deep so you could feel his ministrations. “Thought I’d lost you,”

He says nothing more, just stands up and offers his hand to you to help you off the bed. You take it, and he hauls you up with ease. He twists out of the room like a ghost. You follow him, like you always do.

The scar is one of a few you’ve come to own. You remember the day you got it, too. For whatever reason, you replay the moment in your head over and over in the taxi on the way to the gala. It makes your skin burn.

It was supposed to be a normal day, a normal mission. Go in, extract, get out. Three simple steps that you had done a hundred thousand times before. Leon stood beside you, always offering to enter a room first. You’ll admit, years removed from the situation, you should’ve been more careful, should’ve listened to what he was saying. But you were so angry at him. You felt weak, unnecessary. You remember shoving past him and through a door you hadn’t known was connected to a trigger. Almost as soon as your boot touched the concrete on the other side of the threshold, your hearing went out. It felt like you were standing miles away from a nuclear blast, and you had felt the effects of the delayed shockwave. You were knocked to the ground in an instant, but you didn’t feel pain–not yet at least. When you woke up in the hospital a day later, Leon was asleep in the chair beside you.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he’d said. You vowed not to.

“Do you think they’ll at least have an open bar?” he says now, drawing you back into the world. You turn away from the window of the cab to look at him. He’s staring at his hands, forcing a small smile.

“They better,” you say, reaching over and settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you. “It’s the only reason I’m going,”

This turns his smile genuine, and he even offers an eyeroll. You squeeze his shoulder, bracelets jingling with the motion. His eyes are on you, and you feel as hot as fresh sin. You hate this; hate that he makes you feel this way, hate that he is so beautiful, hate that you can’t seem to shake this deep seated love you harbor for him. You miss him when he looks away and you remove your hand.

The gala is overwhelming. Leon stays near you, hand hovering near your own. You wish he would reach out and take it. You debate the consequences of doing it yourself.

Breath hot on the shell of your ear, Leon whispers, “You think our taxes went into this?”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips into a thin line to fight a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’ll pretend like this was all donated,”

“You can consider taxes a donation if you really think about it,” he says, gliding across the floor with you toward an empty table. You snort.

“I think that depends on what your definition of donation is,” you say. He pulls out your chair for you before pushing it in, then takes his own seat beside you. His legs are angled toward you like he only plans on talking to you.

“I think you underestimate my ability to bend definitions to suit my needs,” he says. You laugh again.

You like this version of Leon, and you know that it won’t last very long so you should hold onto it while it’s here. An old jazz song rings out from the speakers across the hall, and the lights catch his eyes just right. They’re really blue, as true blue as blue gets. They’re your favorite shade of blue. If you could paint your living room that color, you would. It’s a soft blue, like the crest of a wave blue, like the sky just after dawn blue, like two perfect oceans set into his skull. There’s a hairline scar that runs between the crows feet of his left eye, one you ache to reach out and trace.

That’s the best way to describe how you feel when you look at Leon: aching. It’s desperation, an aching need to touch and hold. It’s not exactly love, but you don’t have another word for it. Maybe devotion? Looking at him feels like the first time a child sees a kitten. You’re like me, soft and lovable, and we should stay together.

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said in the last few minutes?” Leon asks, putting a hand on your knee that brings you back to the gala. You suck in a breath and shake your head. He smiles wide. “Quit staring at me, makes me feel like I’ve got something on my face,”

“You’re pretty,” you say before you can stop yourself. Maybe pretty is the wrong word, but you don’t know what the right one would be. He’s handsome, sure, but handsome doesn’t encapsulate the way his lashes flutter against his cheekbones or the way he blushes when you smile at him. “Sorry,”

He’s grinning now, giving your knee a squeeze. “You flatter me,”

An hour later, and he’s being called up on stage by your director, who intends to decorate him. You’re beaming with pride, even though you know Leon is dreading this moment. He stumbles across the stage. Cameras are flashing, and you can almost see Leon cringe between photos. He’s off the stage a few minutes later, heading straight for you. You grin more, knowing that he’s choosing to seek solace in you, in your company. He wraps you in a stiff hug that loosens as it endures. You laugh into his shoulder.

“Don’t let me do anything heroic ever again,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck. You bark a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree. “I’ll make sure to step in next time,”

In an act that surprises you, Leon tugs you toward the dance floor. You must look wildly confused because he explains, “Just this once. Just one dance,”

You agree, not that you could deny even if you wanted to. He’s looking at you like you’re someone he’s meant to love, like you’re more than just his partner. His hand slots against the curve of your waist like it was made specifically to be there. He’s warm and smiling, and you think maybe he’s had a bit too much champagne. But you like him like this. Who knows when you’ll see him like this again? You stare at him, intent to memorize his features and the way the light catches on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re staring again,” he whispers. You smile sheepishly.

“Never seen you like this,” you reply. He bows his head to chuckle. “Not sure I’ll ever get the chance to again,”

“I’m sure you will,” he says. “You’re the one who brings it out of me,”

You roll your eyes. “I’m more convinced it’s all the free champagne we’ve been drinking,”

“You can believe whatever you want, sweetness,” he says, spinning you. “I’m telling you the truth,”

You’re both giggly and joking the whole way home. Leon has you wheezing about something you can’t remember as you step into the apartment. Tears rest at the corners of your eyes. You shove him playfully. He follows you from room to room like a puppy, making you giggle and flash a smile as you clean up for the night.

You crash onto the bed, warm and light from the night, and reach to take off your shoes. Leon stands in the doorway, watching you. The light from the hallway gives him a halo. Your feet ache as you release them from their prisons, and you glance up to see Leon smiling at you. You return it with the cock of one of your brows.

“You’re pretty,” he says by way of explanation. You feel heat snake up your body. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, hair slightly messy from where he’s run his hands through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. If you weren’t as shy as you are, you’d probably move to touch him.

Instead, you huff a laugh and toss your shoes to the floor. “You flatter me,”

When you stand and begin to move around him, he grabs your elbow. “I mean it,”

Perhaps, in another life, you would see this as a win. The man you’ve spent most of your life following around and yearning for seemingly returns your affections, and you are about to deny him. Admitting it out loud makes it real, makes it mean something. What happens the next time something goes wrong out there? The next time he does something heroic? Everything will be much too real, and much harder to bury. You blink at him, looking at him for what feels like the very first and last time. He’s still Leon; scruffy stubble, blue eyes, and warmth. He’s still Leon, teetering on being your Leon, and you’re not going to let that happen. You, again, are going to deny yourself from what you want.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You take in a shaky breath. He’s still holding you, but his touch is a ghost on your flesh.

“Leon, I don’t know-”

“You know that one Frank Sinatra song?” he interrupts. You gape at him.

“Why did you ask if you won’t let me answer?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He returns his hands to his pockets.

“Predicted where it was going, figured I’d circumvent it,” he admits, the corner of his lips turning upward slightly. “The song he sings with his wife?”

You shrug. “Maybe? What’s your point?”

“I love you,” he says. Your body goes cold. “That could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but I feel like you should know that before you make whatever decision you’re about to make,”

Your face breaks out into a grin, and you laugh in spite of yourself. “I’m sure you’ve said stupider,”

Whatever worry was on Leon’s face dissolves, and a real, full smile splits across his lips. He takes your face in his hands. He holds you delicately, like you’d break under the slightest pressure. To be fair, you feel like glass at the moment–if glass could have legs made of rubber.

“This makes it real,” you say. He swallows. “No going back, no forgetting, no pretending. When something happens, it will be real,”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he whispers. “It’s worked out for us so far,”

You’re not sure who closes the space first, but it matters little after it’s happened. His lips are gentle and giving against your own. Your hands splay against his sides, using his suit jacket to pull him closer. His hands wind into your hair. There’s a desperation behind his movements, one you’re all too familiar with. After what feels like hours, he breaks from you, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing is labored, you can feel it in his strong chest beneath your hands.

“This is real,” he says.

“We take risks for a living,” you say. He opens his eyes to peek at you through his lashes. “What’s one more right?”

He grins and kisses you again.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

 Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate. 

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans. 

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

[hornymonsterlover]

Compliments Matter. (Pt.1)

M!Drider x GN! Lonely! reader

in which one of the videos you ended up watching subconsciously encourages you to say the words that end your streak of loneliness

I think the reader in this one might be depressed but I'm not exactly sure, I just wrote it and let my internal autopilot take the wheel

cw: you are terminally down horrendous, spiders be upon ye, this is the plot before I post the porn in a couple days, lotta description of crushing loneliness

I wrote this, once again, for me. Driders are my favorite monsters and I am frothing at the mouth for more drider content

so I'm making some myself.

Yippeeeeee

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The dim glow of your phone screen flickers between different shorts on your YouTube Shorts feed. With each swipe of your finger, another dull, slightly uninteresting reminder of the distance between you and everything else this world has to offer. The endless stream of content parade across your screen, but none of it seems to matter to you. It's all a blur: people laughing, traveling, sharing moments that feel so out of reach. Despite the virtual faces, there's a hollow space where connection should be. The loneliness lingers like an invisible weight, pressing down, growing heavier with every passing scroll. You sigh heavily as you shift around in your bed, doomscrolling away instead of sleeping like you should be doing. Tsk Tsk.

"You people need to compliment driders more!"

Your thoughtless scrolling had come to a halt, your attention span snapping back as someone almost aggressively told you to do something through your phone. Okay, they have your attention.

She was pretty, down right model material. She pointed into the camera accusingly at you, the viewer, with her long aesthetic nails making that tnk tnk tnk noise against the lens. It retained your attention to the point it almost offends you. The camera pans higher, above and beyond her shoulders as it focused on a black widow drider in the background. He looked pretty cute, humming to himself as he was doing the mundane task of moving a laundry basket around. You could hear the gigglings of mischief coming from from the woman before she calls out to the poor, unaware drider. He turns around, curious eyes look at her with silent questioning before he gets hit with the "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever met in my life." All six of the drider's eyes widen, a deep crimson spreads across his face as the laundry basket clatters to the ground. He's absolutely stunned, staring at his partner for a moment before she focuses the camera back on her again. "I swear, they all have a praise kink~" She whispered into the camera before the last few frames were her being pulled away from view, giggling like a maniac, by her drider that looked hungry for something beyond food.

You rewatched it several times. They... They looked so happy. It almost hurt to watch. Yet, you did, over and over again.

After doomscrolling for another few hours you eventually passed out, phone in hand.

The sunlight creeps through the blinds of your room, soft and warm, but it doesn’t quite reach the corners of the room where shadows linger. The feeling the heaviness of a night spent in restless sleep weighs heavy upon your shoulders. The silence of the morning feels different than usual, it’s pressing in. Like its wrapping itself around your throat and forcing you to get up and leave the four walls you havent said goodbye to in days. For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of what to do with the stillness, the dull ache in your chest. Then, without much more thought, you stand, stuffing your low battery phone in your pocket. You mosey on over towards the door and put on shoes that have seen better days. A vague sense of urgency moves you forward. Get out. Go somewhere, anywhere, that might offer a sense of connection, even if it’s just the murmur of leaves rustling in the wind. The park is only a short walk away. It’s not much, but it's something. Maybe, just maybe, You'll find a moment there to breathe, to feel a little less alone.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon. The kind where the breeze was so bitter it made the hair on your forearms stand on edge, before it died down for a few seconds at a time to allow the sun to warm you and seep into your bones enough to not think about getting a coat. The park stretched out ahead, a peaceful expanse of warm colored trees, the branches swayed gently overhead. The path beneath was cobbled, smooth enough for an easy stroll but worn enough to carry memories of countless footsteps. As you walked, your hand fiddled with the phone in your pocket. You sigh, this is tolerable, good enough. The wind keeps you from smelling yourself, you who, in your bout of clinging to your bed, haven't showered in a couple days.

You didn’t have anywhere to be, just moving through the park with no real goal, letting your mind wander. The world around them was peaceful, calm: a welcome escape from your little bubble of solitude.

An oddity in the autumn colors catches your eyes, pulling you out of your thoughts. Beneath a weeping willow tree, a cobalt blue tarantula drider sat, his silhouette framed by the drooping branches.

At first glance, they might’ve seemed like a figment of your imagination, but as your feet took a couple shaky steps forward, the details and color became sharper. A dude, tall, lean, draped in layers of black, from a long coat that sat perfectly against his abdomen. Their hair was jet black, messy yet somehow styled to perfection, strands falling into their face in a way that screamed both careless and meticulous. He had a couple piercings, a nose ring, two on each eyebrow. The contrast of their pale skin against the dark clothes and blue lower half was striking and mesmerizing, a visual contradiction that made it hard to look away. He sat in a slouch, his eyes: deep, dark, and intense, hyperfocused on adding details to a sketch book well used. He was the most handsome being you've ever seen on this planet. He looked up, his two sets of eye widening every single one of his arms freeze in place. He's looking directly at you.

Wait, did you say that out loud?

  You stared, he stared. You both sat there for a moment before your anxiety compelled you to book it. You turned around, and was about to high tail it before you heard the most gentlest "Wait, please" you've ever heard in your life. His voice was so smooth it made you weak in the knees. You find yourself turning back towards the stranger, face redder than half of the trees nearby. His expression softened, chelicera chittering together as his shoulders moved with the sound of his chuckle. "I've never had someone compliment me out of the blue before." His tone was teasing, the little grin he had solidifying he was far from upset with you. You still felt compelled to apologize. He shakes his head, beckoning you over. You hesitate, you feel anxiety start to crawl up your spine. You probably looked like a starved sewer rat right now, you shouldn't even dare approach him. Gosh, you probably smelled like ass-

He snapped his fingers, breaking you from your momentary trance. He barely hand any nails and his hand looked soft. You wonder what it would feel like against your skin- "Don't tell me you said something like that, and you're afraid of spiders? Come here, sit with me." You do so this time, though you weren't sure how close was appropriate.* "You can get closer, I won't bite." The way he looked at you at that moment, you knew exactly what he was thinking, how he refrained from saying the other part of the line that would make you die on the inside. Because in the moment, you absolutely wanted him to bite.

He turned his sketch book over towards you, three hands handling the book with care while a fourth gripped onto a pencil. Your eyes widen with wonder, every single little detail of the park surrounding you looked like it was frozen in time in layers of grey on his page. He catches you speechless, and it fills him with pride. "Usually, I stick to nature and my surroundings, but I wouldn't mind practicing faces. I'd have to see yours a bit more often if I want to get it right."

This smooth fucking bastard!

He chuckles again, seeing you mentally short circuit. One of his legs pulls you a little closer, and suddenly you feel as if it were a hot summer day. "Do you happen to be free tonight?" You nod, and he smiles. "Perfect, Do you have a name, or do I have to call you cute all day?" You wanted to reach up and kiss him right fucking NOW. Externally, you tried to show none of it, told him your name with the most calm energy you could muster. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but the way his eyes shined in the afternoon light, the way he smiled down at you, it's like he knew something that you didn't. "My name's Nyk, it's a pleasure, my little muse." One of his hands run through your hair, soothing. You lean into it, attention starved and almost desperate enough to beg to keep it there. You didn't have to. One of his four hands keeps running through your hair and idly tracing the line of your scalp as he starts to focus on his drawing again, adding miniscule detail after detail. You don't realize it, but you start nodding off, a fuzzy blue leg softly caging you into his side. You could barely hear something among the lines of "what a cute little mate" before you fall into a peaceful snooze.

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now go write the porn, you loser (I am talking to myself)

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Paper Cuts." CH3—Daryl Dixon.

Chapter summary: As if taken from your most romantic, most cliché book, the incessant rain drives you to take refuge in Daryl's house.

A/N: Since life didn't let me live out my teenage romance, I have to write it hehe, this chapter raises a question that Daryl discovers in "Like There was no tomorrow," what did you write in his arm? which is why I'm posting this first. This series will only have a few chapters, too, based on your relationship with him—a span of three and a half years in maybe 10 chapters. But thank you so much to those who follow this story, and the other one. I won't go into the stories of Daryl's scars in case anyone here has one or more that are self–inflicted, or caused by someone else. But I hope you all are okay or at least trying to be. That's all. Thanks!

When life and the four walls of the office where you worked became a prison, suffocating and dangerous, the bench in the backyard was idyllic for taking a break.

The day was gray, but the grass was greener with the occasional rain that passed through the week and that was about to end. Although the place was small, it was always better than the sight of the surrounding concrete inside the building. Gazing down at whatever book you were reading at the time, you could still occasionally feel the burning in the corners of your eyes, your skin slightly reddened according to the mirror. Because even if at that very moment you had become a concrete wall, sadness would still find a way out through some crack.

Sensitive, not weak.

Living with your dad was never easy, a bumpy road that made your body ache. He was obsessed with making sense of everything, constantly destroying your goals, making them appear like the cold reality you would eventually have to face. But why the hell hadn't you left yet? You kept asking yourself that, all the time.

But now the view you used to see every day for at least an hour has expanded, turning a yard into a whole park with a labyrinth of walls made of branches hidden among wildflowers that seemed to grow up to the sky—which was still beautiful and gray and filled with rain clouds—a field of daisies that looked endless, like a small paradise of your dreams and hopes, and a natural pond, a little so large that you can barely hear the laughter of the family on the other side.

"How do you know this place?"

Beside you, sitting on the grass, Daryl shrugs.

“Ma brother brought me here once when we were lil'. Haven't been here in a long time actually, but I thought ya'd like it.” He swallows, still slightly nervous, fighting the thought of being selfish and keeping his traumas to himself, because saying them out loud still feels like reliving them. “At my house, everyone... talked shoutin' so I prefer silence. That's why I like the woods, but this place is fine too.”

Your nerves seem to rise with his confession, because you can sense his own insecurity about sharing a piece of his life in those words. Almost everything about Daryl was a sign of loneliness and pain. His posture looked like he was always expecting nothing but bad, prepared for the worst–case scenario, and his gaze, cold almost all the time. Amid all that emptiness, there were places he seemed to have filled with silence, because that company wasn't always bad if you knew how to make it your friend. Although in his case, loneliness and the lack of sounds felt like an imposition, an obligation, a: this is all you have now, deal with it.

“In my house there was only silence cause no one knew how to communicate at all, so no one talked and I used to make up for the gaps by talking to my grandparents all the time. I was quite talkative until they passed away.”

Daryl snorts.

“Was?”

His thoughtful expression had completely disappeared, leaving only his mocking gaze.

“Screw you.” You chuckle, and he does with you, a low but sincere sound. “I have to make up for your silence, not mine. Grunting and huffing aren't words, you know.”

Daryl lets out a short sound, amused by your words, but also embarrassed by himself and his inexperience.

“Sorry. M'used to keepin' ma mouth shut. I think m' a better listener.”

You nod softly, still surprised by his ability to pick up on the small details.

“Don't be sorry. You really know how to listen.”

He shrugs again, only to dismiss your words as Daryl glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Only 'cause I care 'bout what ya say.”

Nerves make you clear your throat, gently so he doesn't hear the sound that fades into the nature, but even in the cold breeze, you can feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. Fortunately, out there, breathing in the fresh air, you can calm the pounding of your teenage heart and the temperature change that hits you hard on the pieces of your exposed skin.

“Tell me something no one would believe about you.” You say just to change the subject, in a more cheerful tone, chuckling when Daryl looks at you in confusion.

“Why?”

“I don't know. I think it's funny.” You shrug, but when he grunts, you know he's embarrassed. “Oh, come on. Please don't get all shy with me now.”

Daryl scoffs, trying to hide the heat burning in his own cheeks.

“Fine…” He exhales, trying to find something deep in his mind, something that doesn’t fit with who he is now. “I remember the first time I went to the woods with my brother when we were kids.”

You nod for him to continue.

“Was all right 'cause that asshole wasn’t always a shitty brotha. We swam in the lake for a bit, but while we were puttin' our clothes back on, he pushed me into poison ivy jus’ 'cause I made a joke 'bout him.”

Your mouth threatens to open, remembering the time your brother tripped and his hands clutched at that same plant to keep from falling flat on his face.

“And how old were you?”

“Six, maybe seven. Came home with a horrible rash and the jerk laughin' at me.” Daryl frowns at the memory, but thinking about him as a kid suffering like that makes you sad, and it’s starting to feel hilarious.

“Please tell me you fell on your face.”

He looks at you, unafraid this time, as serious as life had forced him to be, and Daryl shakes his head. His quiet no makes you press your lips together even harder, and the sound comes out muffled, but like sadness finding its way through cracks, laughter finds a way out too.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You even cover your mouth with your hands for a moment, though trying to avert your face from his eyes only causes you to miss the way Daryl smiles, as if the colorful sound of your laughter, without a hint of mockery, has awakened that dormant expression, forgotten God knew where.

“Yeah. He laughed at me jus' like ya.”

His voice doesn't command you to shut up, but you clear your throat to force yourself to do so.

"I'm sorry, it's just that your story went from sad to funny in a single second."

Daryl doesn't want to start reconsidering his entire life, the missed opportunities to laugh when he had them, as if he'd forced himself to always make everything so dull when he could have avoided it, punishing himself with his apathy when he knew full well that nothing that happened along the way was his fault.

"Yer turn. Somethin' embarrassin' would be nice."

"Well… I'm not kidding when I tell you nothing embarrassing has ever happened to me."

He frowns.

“How so?”

You shrug.

“All my life I was so… careful with what I did or said that I never dared to expose myself in front of others. Now that I think about it, I never lived my life having fun for fear of making a fool of myself. Maybe that's why I'm friends with Sam, because she's the complete opposite of me. That's why I studied to be a journalist too. It's easier for me to write than to talk.” You stop when you feel yourself rambling again, so you decide to change the subject, again. “But I guess people would never believe I trained to shoot for years.”

Daryl frowns in surprise, but his blue eyes widen slightly for a second.

“Yer shittin' with me.”

You laugh at his obvious disbelief, the same reaction everyone who's ever heard about it has had.

“No. I really don’t. Ever since I was a little girl, I had a hell of an aim, and my dad saw that, so when I grew up, he kind of forced me to learn in the hopes of being like him, I think. I swear, if an apocalypse ever happens, that will save me.”

A natural talent, like his and his crossbow, and yet, Daryl can’t help but keep his brow furrowed. He isn’t judging you, but he is contemplating with seriousness and wonder that you are more than you let on, more than he assumed you were the moment Daryl first laid eyes on you, connecting with that kind gaze that right now put you on the other side of something as crude as holding a gun and knowing how to shoot it.

Finally, Daryl exhales a short laugh.

“Shit. Ya really are more interestin' than I thought.”

You scoff, being the one who's skeptical now, not when you always had a hard time letting people see you—your essence, the person behind your reserved personality.

“I'm not, believe me.”

Daryl maintains that honest, soft smile.

“Believe me, sunshine, yer the most interestin' person I've ever met in my life.” You subtly look away, just for a few short seconds, trying not to let the nickname sink too deep into your heart. But taking it as a refusal, Daryl scratches his forehead with the back of his hand, cursing internally. “Ya write for yerself, too?”

“Uh? Well…” You consider his question, just to buy time because you know he knows there's only one answer. “Why?”

Daryl can see the evasion in your answer, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Ya said writin' was easier than talkin'.”

“Yeah, well, you could say so, but I haven’t shown it to anyone.”

“Would ya show it to me?”

Knowing there’s no one in line causes a strange feeling in him, the thought that Daryl doesn’t have to wait for a place in first row on something he sees as special to you, noticing the way that even through your nervous tone, he could still hear how important it was in your life—that passion, that fire, that love.

“I would, but I don’t have anything with me now, Daryl.” You see that he’ll push the subject further, but maybe for that very reason—even though it was still embarrassing to think about showing something you considered a part of your soul—you would show it to him, because you know he wouldn’t judge you in any way. “Why do I feel like you’re going to keep pushing it?”

“Oh, come on. Don’ get all shy with me now.”

His poor imitation of your voice makes you roll your eyes, but you pat your jeans down for the pen you used to carry.

“Would you mind lending me your arm? I don’t have any paper on me.” Daryl swallows, an involuntary movement, but he nods, his own excitement making his heart race. Feeling your own pounding in your throat, your fingers curl around his arm, eager to let the breath out of your lungs and determined that your nervous hands won’t betray their trembling. “Please, don’t read it until you get home.”

The heat of your skin against his seems to burn away everything like a forest fire, but Daryl doesn’t take his gaze off you the entire time you take to write a sentence in cursive on the outside of his arm in case he wants to cheat.

When you finish, you look up, your gaze meeting his: and yes, in that moment, the sentence comes alive like his eyes.

"I think we should go now; it's getting dark."

He nods, extending his hand to help you stand.

The rain begins to patter down the city the moment you two reach the exit, his motorcycle close to only two cars. The view is still somewhat gray, but never sad with the day ending this way. Daryl hands you the only helmet, and you turn it over in your hands until a thought flashes through your mind, so fast it makes you dizzy.

“You wear it.”

He frowns, stopping.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Please?”

The rude part of him wants to laugh and tell you that he cares more about your life than his own, but Daryl tries not to use sarcasm as an attack or his way of defending himself, not with you when he has no need to build walls around himself, so he takes the helmet, only to put it on you.

“Now get on the bike 'fore Daddy starts askin' where his baby is.”

Sarcasm all the same, but Daryl ignores it as he climbs onto the bike, missing the way you narrow your eyes at him before hopping on as well. More trustingly, you cling to the sides of his shirt the whole way, your fingers still touching a bit of his skin as the rain falls almost mercilessly now, making the avenue so dangerous that Daryl has to speak over the sound of the drops pitter-pattering on the uneven pavement.

The cold doesn't manage to quell the sudden surge of heat that fear brings—the thought that your dad won't be happy if he finds out—but you stay silent until Daryl pulls into a brown–fronted building that's peeling with the harshness of time, among other things.

The closest place.

Your clothes still stick to your skin as you get off the bike and take off the helmet.

The full night makes the view even more bleak.

"Nothing's gon’ happen to ya if that's what yer thinkin'."

You hear the mockery in his voice as Daryl hooks his helmet before leading you down the path to the main entrance.

“Sorry, I’m not judging. In fact, my concern isn’t about me.”

The moment you reach the shelter of the roof, Daryl pauses for a moment, as if standing still will give him the stability to weigh your words.

“Ya really care 'bout me?” The lights above you flicker dimly, as if they’re threatening to plunge the world into darkness, but you can still see his smirk trying to hide his own surprise—though you don’t know that—so you wave your hand, dismissing your concern, which makes him snort as he uses his key to unlock the door. “Ya ain't that nice, y'know? Not as much as I thought.”

You chuckle, stepping into the hallway.

“I never said I was.”

Daryl chuckles too, wanting to say more words, as many as he's ever spoken in a single day, only for them to drown out the sound he can hear in his chest—maybe saying you're as sarcastic as he is, or more so, but now all he can think about is that he didn't plan all of this, and it's all happening so fast it's making his world unreal.

"S' three floors up."

You nod, finding the top of the stairs at the far end.

“Is your brother home?”

You’d heard little from his older brother, but enough to keep your distance.

Daryl shakes his head.

“Nah. He’s never here on the weekends.” The walk up is easy, but the lump in your throat only seems to get bigger and bigger, as heavy as the pounding of your heart. For a moment, when the key fits in the lock, Daryl stops to look at you. “Listen, this place ain't a five–star hotel or some shit like that. Ya jus' need a safe place 'fore I take ya back to Daddy.”

Frustration hits suddenly, so fast you can feel it in your stomach.

“I know.”

Daryl opens the door and lets you in first. The place is small, and the empty gray walls feel cold, just like your house: a house, never a home. The silence lasts a few seconds, but it's long enough for Daryl to feel like you really didn't belong in a place like that, to think of you as a shining sapphire among a pile of discolored rocks, or the dull color of the place.

"No tour?"

He ignores you.

"I'll get ya some clothes jus' for a while at least. Don' move."

Daryl heads down the hall, but he can hear your voice behind him.

"You're grumpy.”

In an attempt to rid himself of the feelings and sensations that suddenly, almost brutally, overwhelm him, Daryl shakes his head, entering his room. It's even smaller, like a mousetrap before his eyes, and he picks up the two pieces of clothing from the floor before heading to his dresser, the center of it housing the only photo in the entire house. All the days of his life, walking around without looking at his mom's smile, with a child version of himself there beside her—when she was present and aware, when she was kind and loving.

"The fuck am I doin'?" He curses under his breath, pushing the photo frame down before searching his drawer for something decent. The walk back feels suffocating but not long enough to give him more time, and when Daryl reaches the kitchen that connects to the dining room table, he sees you putting your phone away. "Ya lied to dadd—"

"Say daddy again, asshole."

Daryl lets out a chuckle even though he can hear the sour taste on the tip of your tongue, and yet, his lip lifts slightly in a smirk.

“Ya got a dirty mouth, y'know?”

A blank expression spreads across your face.

“Whatever you say. Can I use your bathroom, please?”

You take the clothes from him, watching the way he nods down the hallway.

“The second door on the left.”

It takes you a few minutes to change, to take off your clothes in a place that wasn’t your bedroom.

Like being in a strange sea, you can almost feel that feeling of suffocation as you feel his clothes on you, his T–shirt and his pajama pants, which almost feel new, perhaps worn only once. The T–shirt has an almost imperceptible scent of detergent, but it's also imbued with the memory of his life in the woods, because that was his place to exist in peace: that's why the smell of dirt after the rain makes you smile.

Years had passed since your only relationship, so healthy but so flat and boring until it became the monotony you fear now. Just existing next to another person, that terror is still latent. Living on automatic all the time. Life was so tasteless.

Live as if there were no tomorrow, your mother often tells you, because for her, mortality became terribly visible—as if it didn't exist for you, as if you were immortal—but you hadn't lived that desire of hers for years.

Your white sneakers make almost no noise until you reach the kitchen, watching Daryl, leaning against the counter next to the stove, a cigarette between his fingers, resting it against his lips, his brow furrowing with the severity of his thoughts.

“Ya mind?” He points to his hand with his chin, but you shake your head.

“No. Do you have anything edible in the fridge? Something I could cook with, maybe?”

Daryl curses under his breath.

“Maybe two vegetables an' noodles in the drawers. My brother an' I don’ cook.”

His words make you smile as you walk to the other side of the room.

"Ah. That's why you're so grumpy, it's because you haven't been fed well." He chuckles at your joke, briefly—although it's actually funny for him—but half embarrassed because that had been his reality, half sarcastic because he didn't let you see that you seemed to be able to see right through him again. "Aren't you going to change?"

"Nah." He shrugs, dismissing the subject with his disinterest.

"You're going to get sick."

"Whatever, Mom."

You laugh, a soft and imperceptibly melancholic sound, pausing in the empty space of the counter between him and the stove, placing the only two vegetables on top.

"Did I tell you my mom's in the hospital with lung cancer?"

The last words that leave your lips make that sentence real, something tragic and violent, and Daryl chokes on the smoke. It takes him a second to compose himself as he turns his entire body toward you, waving away the smoke still hanging in the air with one hand.

"Fuck. M'sorry. M'sorry, sunshine." This time, his face completely distorts into a pained expression with the apology, his brow furrowing in concern. "I didn't know. I mean, I knew, bu—"

“How did you know?”

His expression changes, into a deep, thoughtful one.

“Yer brother came to pick up his bike a few days after we met, an' he jus'… we started talkin', an' he told me his mom was in the hospital, but not for what reason.”

You nod.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. Thanks anyway.”

He nods back, scanning your face for a lie to his next question.

"Ya okay?"

You smile softly.

"I am."

But like nature’s trick, the rain started to batter the city harder an hour later. The stars seem to have aligned for a cruel joke, you think bitterly as Sam is the last one you call, your perfect cover for a few hours until everything calms down.

“I can be your cover for the whole night if you want, baby.” She laughs shamelessly, making you rub your face with your free hand. “Uncle Jeff is going to believe you because you’ve never lied to him. Another night at my house. I can tell him that if he calls. Just give me a sign.”

You shake your head, feeling the scorching heat in your stomach again.

“I’m not giving you any signs.”

“Oh, please. At least if you're going to do it again, you should do it with that rough man.”

“Sam, shut up. Right now I'm embarrassed to be your friend.”

Sam laughs openly.

“Okay. Let me know the moment you're home. I love you.”

“Okay. I love you.”

You hang up.

We're adults, behave like it.

You tell yourself that like a cheap mantra as you walk into the second bedroom down the hall, the one in the middle of the hall. It's small and strangely comfortable, his own little world just like yours. Daryl is lying sideways on his own bed, his boots nearly falling off the edge, arms flexed behind his head—trying to act as nonchalantly as if this isn't the first time someone he's interested in has entered his most personal space.

“Ya gon' get in trouble for being late?”

You sit back against the headboard as you kick off your sneakers, tucking your legs over each other and leaving your phone on his nightstand that holds the single amber lamp.

This time, there's no mockery in his voice, only concern.

“No. I usually spend the weekends at my best friend's house, or she at mine.”

“No offense, but yer dad sounds like a jerk with all those rules for ya.”

You shrug, laughing softly.

“He’s a jerk with a severe alcohol problem, but he’s okay, I guess.”

Daryl frowns slightly, thoughtful, though the weight of hundreds of questions want to push his brown even deeper—why did you lock your bedroom door? Why did your dad seem like a dictator in his own home? And why did Daryl feel like maybe 0.1% of your story was just like his?

“Why haven’t ya left?” His gaze takes on a different depth, with infinite curiosity, but mixed with fear of hearing your whole story if you’re willing to tell it, even scared of hearing that you were thinking of leaving. “Got rid of my father a long time ago, but yer still livin' in his shadow. Why the hell haven’t ya left? Yer smart as hell, (Y/N), ya can make a life for yerself elsewhere.”

You feel like that sigh you make has been the longest yet, but now, that haze that kept you from seeing the answer seems to dissipate, just a little. You rub your eyes, feeling the instant burning in them that's strangely pleasurable.

"Do you mind if I lie down for a while?"

Daryl swallows, but the sound of the stormy rain outside the window drowns it out, and he shakes his head, telling you to do it without a single word. You place the pillow next to him, but not so close that you overstep his boundaries, and you lie back, your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“If you want the long version, I thought about leaving when my mom leaves. I believe in heaven and I wait for the moment when she'll be back with her parents because we all know my mom will be gone soon. But Austin respects Dad too much, and he wouldn't leave him alone, and I couldn't leave my brother. Any day now, Dad will drown in his vomit, and someone has to save him, he often says, half–mockingly, but I also know he means it. Besides, my best friend is from here too, and she's happy, and I couldn't leave her alone or ask her to leave her perfect parents. And do it on my own…” You chuckle shyly. “I can't fly solo. I'm not that brave.”

What about me?

And what about you?

Your thought and his don't merge or even hear each other, but he wants to ask—Daryl wants to know if having met him would destabilize the entire escape plan, he wants to know if that nervousness was a good thing or just a potential disaster in disguise, if all this happening is the birth of a life together that might be fleeting—or maybe not—but one that he is beginning to want to live with you.

"Let's talk about something else."

"Okay." He nods softly. "Ya fell on yer knees a lot as a kid, did ya?"

Your eyes widen slightly, and surprise compels you to roll over until you're on your side.

“Of course not."

Daryl chuckles, but the feeling in his chest as a result of teasing you is a funny, almost expectant tingle because he's beginning to understand that, if he teases you long enough, there would be colorful laughter and a mean name at the end—and that was even funnier, hot as hell when he sees that ballsy look in your eyes.

"I saw the scars. Ya fell a lot."

“Well, I was a bit of an uncoordinated kid, that's all.”

He scoffs.

“A bit much, like Bambi when he was born.”

“Asshole, that's rude.” You laugh in surprise, though the comparison is funny. “Thanks for the comparison. Don't you have scars?”

His joy fades, without being drastic, without feeling it like a cold shower, but his expression turning somewhat thoughtful as he moves to lie on his side, too.

“I do.” His voice is husky as always, but soft, like a deep whisper, almost a melody that accompanies the echo of the drops outside hitting a surface. “I’ma kiss ya now. Can I?"

Breathless for a second, you nod, his gaze shifting between your face and your lips as Daryl moves closer, his arm snaking around your face to cup the back of your head, and your eyes and his close the moment you feel the warmth of each other's lips. It feels hot but cozy, the feeling becoming overwhelming, but closing the door on all the fears, all the doubts, all the questions with a possible bad outcome.

Nothing could be so bad in the end if the now felt so good, so right.

“Yer like a drug.” His lips brush yours, his hand still on you to keep you close, eyes pleading for so many things at once. “An’ I already hooked on ya.”

You exhale slowly, his words so strong they steal your breath again.

“I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

Daryl tries to smile, but his nerves make the corner of his lips tremble in the attempt.

“S’not… for the first time in my life, s’ not.”

His lips crush against yours again, and for the first time in your life, you spend the night in a bed that wasn't yours.

Between letting you see all the scars on his body and holding yours without a single piece of clothing between you and him, recognizing each other, a lifetime together seems to have passed in the hours of the night until dawn. The rain leaves a trail as it passes through the city too, and Daryl can finally relate it to something other than sadness. Finally, something good in the midst of that storm, something he hoped would last for a long time.

If you don't want to be tag, please let me know :) It's okay, promise!

@spookygothmommy @walkingtalkingsomething @m1nda0 @fluffy-dixon @stunkbiggu @kurogxrix @ffsjustletmesleep @kaz11283 @daryldixmedown @enretrogue @confusebiassbitch @onlyrealjoy @secretlettersfromyourlove @chateaujoon

[blueberry-ink-93]

kindreds kitchen: neoptolemus

the day has finally arrived! this will be both me yapping and scattered thoughts i wrote months ago im absolutely exhausted and everything aches lol forgib me pls

willow!! the fic where neo gets what he deserves after a reign of (domestic) terror is finally starting to shape into a feasible project lol

i made an epirus post already for anyone who wants a lil introduction to when & where were at, today ill be dissecting neo (foreshadowing hehe) for yalls entertainment. kindreds kitchen is both a reference for me and a motivator to not ditch stuff i actually want to do (i may or may not have a habit...) and also for the readers to acquaint themselves with whatevers chilling in my brain :>

anyway without further ado:

--

war stuff:

ive mentioned it elsewhere, but the gist is that the sweet innocent child corrupted by big bad events is a tried and true classic, but i find neo being a sour and disagreeable kid extremely interesting

wherein he softens slightly as he matures later on <- this line of thought was to be explored in sub rosa bc its a character study, and since willow is a spinoff of that lol ill be using the same characterisation, tho idk how much of it will show in writing.

anyway thats the general idea, hes an ill tempered and demanding child, bitter and friendless, his isolation (be it self inflicted or otherwise) makes him really unpleasant to be around, very few tolerate him much even less seek his presence.

i dont subscribe to deidamia slander, i do think shes dealing with her own issues, but she does try her best with neo. mostly. its complicated lol

anyhows neo is now lured off with the promise of greatness that lead to the demise of his father before him (honestly i dont think hed know all that much abt achilles. hes somewhat off limits? at home at least idk)

hes shown around his fathers camp and all the things that were once his now belonged to pyrrhus turned neoptolemus, they tell him stories of his greatness that feed into the infallible image he has of him. more on that later aha

his divine blood can only aid him so far, he still has a lot to learn.

he doesnt really do all that much fighting imo but hes aight, using his size and agility and speed to exhaust his enemy before going for the kill. tis pretty efficient

anyway like i said he doesnt have to do much, his men are well trained and regard him with fond reverance, but he rises in the eyes of the others after he kills scamadrius/ astyanax and praim.

rest in peace 😔

hes agamemnons fave now lol and has won the admiration/ approval of the other kings whom he insists are his peers (so this is liek a double victory to him. hes become a man & proved himself). polyxenas sacrifice is a whole thing in sub rosa and she haunts the narrative (go queen) so shell be mentioned here but only briefly ig

also i havent made a timeline but i imagine all this shit going down over the span of just under a year, the last before troys fall.

anyway now with several high profile kills under his belt hes finally made a name for himself, and in his grisly triumph he fails to notice that people regard him with more disgust and pity than anything else. huge blow to his ego lol he truly is nothing more than a tool.

i hope that made sense aha

--

le daddy issues:

neo is out of his mind (i like to thing hes a lil insane, rage of achilles and all but also not exactly?) ranting and raving, drunk on wine hes too young and naiive for (he gets really sick but he swallows it bc he has to be 'manly'. hes a rightful king now dammit

wouldnt it be cool if like his whole life he looked up to his dad, and then as soon as he got the hang of war hes like lmao this shit is easy look at me im a child and i lived (hubris intensifies). hes so full of himself to mask the deep horrifying insecurity that hell never be able to be anything outside his fathers shadow.

only for his image to break (still need to figure out what the breaking point is lmao) and entire sense of self comes crashing down, he no longer knows what to do nor who he is. kinda like this;

--

he doesnt get to be the good guy nor redeem himself, but what fascinates me the most abt the epics is how human everyone is. neo is a child, taken from his mothers less than willing arms, forced by himself and his peers to fit in a mold many men couldnt fit let alone him, and yet he did. he did and it stretched him out and left him hollow. left him for dead. potent stuff

the men he thought were comrades had forsaken him, they never cared for him, only when he was of use to them. glorified lapdog indeed.

also achilles: man child, neo: child man. to ME

--

this:

neo to me is ✨ace✨ (le gasp). i think theres something to be said about the sexual violence that is well i wont say taught per se but is something strongly associated and even expected of war; back when i read silence of the girls (a post for another time lol) priam telling briseis that a fall of a city was always hard on the women folk just slapped me across the face.

i mean aside bearing the brunt of the misogyny and all the fun times it entails, my god the fear and grief and all of the things that come with not only the loss of ones home and kith and kin but also your own body. horrific

neo being ace spec and genuinely uninterested in the physical winnings of war is fascinating to me (not to mention hes still very much a child) and not unlike like the wine above hes aware of this and hell be damned if he falls beind his peers (in his eyes)

i think his tragedy is that he, a child, forces himself to be in places no child should ever be, not only with men but arguably with the worst of them, or at least seeing the long drawn out worst sides of them

so he takes andromache as his slave to like rub it in further bc no one else is worthy of his efforts (he likes the shiny things like daddy dearest) and i mean it as not only is my beloved andi trojan royalty, but he specifically and achilles are both responisble for the loss of her family, something he holds over her head as a constant reminder. its like one of the ways hes exercising power over her. "look what ive done and can continue to do."

and this is not to say that other trojan women didnt lose as much if not more, but here im playing witht the noble becomes a slave angle as opposed to slave to trojans is now slave to achaeans.

--

andromache:

for more pain (or less if u squint hard enough) to me andromaches children all die in infancy, which is like quadruple homicide fjdhjsk but i think its almost a kinder fate to her and the bebes than to have neo as their father. i dont think she could look in their eyes. how could she when they served to remind her of all what she had lost?

andi afaik was described as the perfect woman/ wife (in the literature or the commentary im not sure but i do know its a thing) and so having her contain a rage to put achilles' to shame is super interesting to me. one of the very first if not the first ideas i had for willow was her unknowingly saying to neo what achilles had told her husband on the battlefield. bc we all need the kick to the face lol.

her anger and grief consume her and fuels her desire for vengeance, and when she recieves divine instruction who is she to deny lol. this was a whole plot point also (a crackier version) where apollo teams up with andi and they both go to town on neos corpse lmao. and then he steals his wife heh <- inspired by the version of the the myths where neo commits blasphemy or sum and apollo nerfs his ass. funniest shit ever to me. mans has beef with achilles' entire lineage.

she is a character who i think is always looking for somethings. like "sure, almost everything sucks, but at least i have something" and she needs to do that in order to live instead of just surviving because she's been in survival mode for so long. (via my dearest @maruyaaya from this post. rip summerwasjuly i miss u everyday hgfyjh)

love this very much so im stealing it aha. also ive said it in the tags of a post somewhere but hermione is never a part of this shitshow lol. let her be happy with orestes theyve been through enough as it is.

--

uh yeah. das about it, will edit or reblog with more if i can think of anything i forgor to add, big huge overdue thanks to my beloveds babs cassie and imeda for holding my hand as i downward spiralled into oblivion and cooked more angst than i ever thought i had in me lol this couldnt have been made without u so tysm :')

lmk if yall want the somehwat medically accurate murder lmao (and the reason for the fic name; willow). i made it sound cool but im just a nerd XD